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The moon was overhead, the world silent around Wuqu Ping, where only a few lights in the disciple dormitory were still burning.
Jiang Li's residence was one of them.
"It's been a month."
Yang Chong, his eyes bloodshot, peered through the slightly opened window under the bright moonlight, fixating on the room directly in front of him.
For thirty straight nights, the light in that room had never gone out. Had Jiang Li secretly harbored the Dao Fruit of the ...
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