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If a swordsman draws their sword, blood must be shed. Fang Yourong is a peerless beauty, and even when she draws her sword, it's a sight to behold. But as that sword came down, the blade slashed across the tabletop.
Yet it brushed past a certain pretty claw that had just been withdrawn.
It didn't strike the claw, allowing it to snatch a soft, fluffy white bun.
The sword tip pointed across the table, aimed at Qin Yu.
Qin Yu, who had already grabbed the bun, smiled, with traces of previous tears of melancholy still reddening her eyes, giving her smile an air of cunning allure.
"Senior Sister, don't even want to spare me a single bun?"
"Then I'll have to take it."
Accusation of mistreatment?
Fang Yourong wasn't annoyed or angry; she simply laid the sword calmly on the table and asked her, "Is it fun?"
Qin Yu: "I was just hungry."
