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Wang Mingzheng was muttering to himself when a fifteen or sixteen-year-old walked towards him. He carried a backpack and had a pair of endearing dimples on his face, radiating youthful energy yet carrying an air of detachment.,At this time, Wang Ming's handful of walnuts had nothing but their shells. Even a bad walnut shouldn't be completely empty.,Wang Ming didn't seem like someone who liked to dwell on things. If he couldn't figure something out, he simply let it go, muttering to himself in his heart.。

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