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... mouth and traced down his lips and neck. He knew that this must be a sign that his lungs had been shot. With every breath taken, more blood came out.

He wanted to speak, but he couldn’t say anything.

Someone was applying pressure to his chest. Seemingly realising that it was too late, that violently trembling hand then moved to his cheek and tried to wipe away the blood from his lips.

Faintly, he heard a man crying.

He wanted to say, Song Qinglan, I know now.

Those ...

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