LY 107

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These idiotic yao cultivators. The brains of their real bodies were only the size of a bean, and there would only be one thing that they could pack into them in their lifetimes.

They weren’t like humans, where love and hate filled the chest up full, everything ever-changing never enough to make use of. A heart could never be idle, as once it was, it would morph, becoming entirely different in the blink of an eye.


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