That night, the old Mohist house.
A figure, quietly sneaked into the restricted area.
The night was quiet, and occasionally only the wind blew the leaves and made a barren sound. On the grass, dead leaves were stepped on by the soles of their feet, sending out like withered and dumb ropes.
...
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Marriage is natural: the president's husband is too presumptuous!
Chapter 357 Mohism has difficulty
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