Late at night, twenty-five miles outside Yanzigou,
Under the moonlight, a slender figure walked towards them. This young man, who was about thirty years old, lifted the corner of his robe, squatted down, and gently rubbed his delicate and slender hands on the snow.
Under the snow was a patch of black and red blood that had already solidified.
There is no doubt that a fierce battle had broken out here before Lucas Cheng came.
"How miserable..."
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