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Ye Baiyi frowned faintly. His face was even more artificial than Zhou Zishu’s, as if it had been frozen stiff for too long, and no matter what slight expression he tried to issue, it looked strained and grotesque. “You? Who are you, then?”
Wen Kexing smiled coldly. “You’re not announcing your own clan, but asking me who I am? Is this what the Ancient Monk guides his disciples to be?” he countered.