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"It seems I really have transmigrated—"
Inside the luxuriously decorated carriage, Zong Shou watched emotionlessly at a round mirror before him.
The reflection showed a boy not yet of age, about thirteen, with a pale complexion but with features that were rarely handsome and exquisitely fine.
A pair of narrow phoenix eyes shone brilliantly, yet were filled with a bitterness and helplessness at the moment.
He remembered how, not long before, he had a completely ordinary face, the kind that wouldn't stand out in a crowd.
