Alana looked condescendingly at the woman opposite, his eyes deep and indifferent.
At this time, Song Zhiyun’s makeup was messy, and his whole person was as if being blown by the rain and the wind, panicking.
His face was pale with no blood.
The high-definition dress on her body has lost the extravagant tone, and even the most basic warmth can not be done in this cold and humid environment.
“Lin! Little! Nine!”
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