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... ter, and the net lining with the palm of the hand followed by the milky white mist, between the head and the head, could not tell whether he was in the sky or on the water.

The real Buddha sat and smiled, and in the interlacing of the lotus shadow, he recited the scripture slowly and slowly.

The net Lin was only eight years old, and the wrapped cockroaches dragged half at the feet. He caught the fog with his hands, and the fog was scattered between his fingers, like a dream.

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