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09.02.2026, 12:30
The decision was made. The silence receded, but the air was no longer the same. Desheng took the heavy ceramic teapot and carefully, trying not to spill a drop, filled Xiangliu’s cup. He looked at her hand and thought of Teacher Chen’s hands — covered in chalk dust, with trembling fingers turning the pages of an old book. And he suddenly felt afraid of how easily the threads of the living and the dead intertwine, and how a casually dropped phrase can trace a new, unknown path on the map of their habitual life
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