The last of the one thousand laps ended not with a stumble of exhaustion, but with the clean stillness of a pendulum at rest. Lin Feng stood at the edge of the black marble, his pale robes unstirred by wind or effort, his breath a steady, invisible plume in the chilling air. The severe silence of Elder Lan's peak was a tangible cloak upon his shoulders as he turned and began his descent.
The path downward was a journey through dissolving worlds. The razor-clean bite of altitude softened, replaced by the thickening scent of loam and life, then by the distant, cloying perfume of herbs and something acrid. With each step, the sacred quiet was chipped away by the rising clamor of controlled disaster. By the time he reached the tiered alchemy platforms of Elder Tao's domain, the air was a visible, shimmering tapestry of contradictions—honeyed blossoms warring with the reek of scorched metal and something unnervingly sweet, like overcooked candy.
Chaos had a new epicenter.
At the heart of a wide, soot-stained stone platform, a cast-iron cauldron, renowned for its resilience, was succumbing to a bubbling, lavender-hued goo that hissed with malevolent glee. The substance pulsed like a living thing, emitting faint, sugary-sweet fumes that smelled bizarrely of lemonade as it ate through the ancient metal with a sound like grinding teeth. Iridescent smoke coiled upward in lazy, toxic spirals.
Elder Tao moved around the periphery, a portrait of contained apoplexy. His robes were dusted with a fine powder of what might have been crushed pearl or bone, and one sleeve was slightly singed. He muttered incantations that were less spiritual and more profane, tossing handfuls of a freezing blue powder at the searing mess. Each handful elicited a violent hiss and a burst of lavender sparks, but the goo continued its relentless consumption. "Wasted... a sliver of a millennium-old Starlight Root... and for what? Lemonade fumes!" he grumbled to the uncaring sky, his eyebrow twitching in a frantic, rhythmic spasm.
And there, standing just outside the splash zone of the dissolving cauldron, was the architect of the calamity. Meixiu looked on with an expression of mild, curious interest, as if observing a particularly fascinating weather pattern. Mr. Bunbun was clutched tightly under one arm, his single ear seeming to droop in solidarity with Elder Tao. Her twilight robes were adorned with new, vibrant stains of gold and a suspicious lavender smear across one sleeve.
Her eyes lit up the instant they found Lin Feng, the surrounding disaster instantly forgotten. She beamed, a sunburst of warmth in the hazy chaos, and bounded over to him, careful to avoid a puddle of something that was gently eating into the stonework.
"Look, A-Li!" she chirped, proudly holding up a single, perfectly spherical pill nestled in her palm. It was a humble thing, the color of baked clay, utterly devoid of the radiant energy or complex patterns that usually marked a successful alchemical product. It looked... normal. Edible. "I made a snack!"
The contrast was absolute. He was a statue hewn from discipline and void-quiet, smelling of cold stone and ozone. She was a whirlwind of scented chaos and joyful invention, smelling of lavender and sugar and destruction.
He looked from her radiant, smiling face to the pill, then to the dying cauldron and the frantically muttering Elder Tao. His expression did not change, but the intensity of his focus shifted, the immense gravity of his attention fully settling upon her. He saw the faintest shadow of a pout then, a slight downturn at the corners of her mouth that belied her cheerful presentation, a tiny betrayal of frustration she would never voice.
He stepped closer, the chaos around them fading into an indistinct backdrop. His hand, pale and cool, rose. His index finger, calloused from a thousand perfect strikes, extended. With an slowness that was itself a form of reverence, he gently pressed the pad of his finger against her pouting lower lip, a soft, quiet point of contact amidst the alchemical storm.
His dark eyes held hers, seeing everything.
His finger remained a moment longer, a gentle pressure against the softness of her pout. The stern line of his mouth softened, and a faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched his lips, a crack in the marble of his composure. "Why are you pouting?" he asked, his voice a low murmur meant only for her, the words laced with a warmth that defied the surrounding chaos.
She huffed, a little puff of air that stirred the strand of hair he'd tucked behind her ear earlier. "I'm not pouting," she insisted, though the protest was utterly betrayed by the continued downward curve of her mouth. "It's just... Elder Tao doesn't appreciate modern culinary artistry. His palate is... traditional." She glanced over her shoulder at the hissing, lavender mess. "He called my masterpiece 'a catastrophic perversion of natural law'."
Lin Feng's smirk deepened, a rare and fleeting sight. He struggled to school his features back into neutrality, the effort visible in the slight tightening of his jaw. "Perhaps his cauldron lacked the necessary... conviction," he offered, the deadpan delivery making the absurd statement sound utterly reasonable.
Meixiu's eyes widened in mock outrage, but a giggle escaped her. "See? You understand! It had ambition! It was evolving!" She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "It just evolved into a puddle of world-eating goo. A minor miscalculation."
He finally let his hand fall from her face, the ghost of his touch lingering on her skin. "A minor one," he repeated, the words flat, but his dark eyes held a glint of quiet amusement he could not fully suppress. The attempt at teasing was a clumsy, foreign language to him, but the effort was its own victory. He failed to hide the fondness in his gaze, the stern disciple utterly disarmed by her whirlwind presence.
The lavender smoke thinned, leaving the ruined cauldron hissing quietly in its defeat. Elder Tao waved them both away with a furious flick of his sleeve, muttering darkly about "philosophical idiots" and "apocalyptic confectionery." Meixiu only grinned, clutching her prize pill and tugging at Lin Feng's sleeve with the same unshakable brightness that could survive any scolding. He allowed himself to be led from the alchemy platforms, their steps carrying them higher once more, back toward the solemn quiet of their courtyard. By the time the sun began to sink, chaos had receded behind them like a distant storm.
The sun bled its last light over the jagged peaks, washing their private courtyard in a soft, forgiving gold. The harsh angles of the day softened; the shadows pooling beneath the ancient plum trees were deep and velvety, not cold. The air, once sharp enough to cut, now held the day's residual warmth, carrying the faint, clean scent of stone and the distant perfume of night-blooming flowers.
They were together on the wide, flat slab of black stone that served as their rest-place, its surface still holding the sun's warmth. Lin Feng sat with his back against the smooth rock, his posture relaxed into a rare state of non-alertness. Meixiu was tucked against his side, her head resting on his shoulder, one arm wrapped around his waist in a loose, comfortable hug. Mr. Bunbun was clutched in her other hand, dangling precariously. The twilight silk of her robe contrasted with the stark pale grey of his, two halves of a single whole.
His fingers were slowly, meticulously, combing through the long, dark cascade of her hair, untangling the tiny knots left by the day's mischief. Each stroke was a silent ritual, a measured act of care.
She nuzzled closer, a contented sigh escaping her. "A-Li," she murmured, her voice drowsy and sweet. "I think I used up all my cleverness today. There's none left. You'll have to be clever for both of us tomorrow."
He continued his ministrations, his touch unwavering. "You have a surplus. It regenerates overnight. Like a weed."
She giggled, the sound a soft vibration against him. "A weed? Your mother is a weed?" She tilted her head back to look up at him, her eyes sparkling in the fading light. "You should water your weed, then. With compliments. And maybe you could massage my legs, they ache from standing all day."
His lips twitched. He looked down at her, his dark gaze softening at the edges. "The weed is demanding."
"The weed is spoiled," she corrected happily, snuggling back into his shoulder. "And she wants to be more spoiled. It's your sacred duty."
He let out a quiet breath, a sound that was almost a laugh. His hand stilled in her hair for a moment, then resumed its gentle rhythm. "Then I will perform my duty," he said, his voice a low rumble that was for her alone. "But the leg massage is a negotiation."
She pouted, but it was a performance, full of false indignation. "You drive a hard bargain, A-Li. Fine. I will accept... staying right here instead. And you can't move until I say so."
A moment of silence passed, filled only with the whisper of his fingers through her hair and the gentle evening air.
"Deal," he said.
The last of the daylight had bled away, leaving only the deep, velvety indigo of twilight and the sharp, cold pinpricks of early stars overhead. The courtyard was bathed in a silvery luminescence, the black stone of their resting slab holding onto the day's final warmth like a cherished secret. Meixiu was curled against Lin Feng's side, her breathing slow and even, lulled by the steady rhythm of his heart and the hypnotic motion of his fingers in her hair.
Then, with a suddenness that was entirely her own, she sat bolt upright. The peaceful silence shattered around her like glass. Her movement was so abrupt it sent Mr. Bunbun tumbling from her lap onto the stone with a soft, plush thud.
Lin Feng's eyes, which had been half-lidded in a state of watchful rest, snapped open fully. His body, trained to a hair-trigger alertness, tensed for a fraction of a second before assessing the lack of tangible threat. He did not startle, but he shifted, pushing himself up to sit beside her, his gaze fixed on her profile outlined against the starry sky.
Her face was alight with a new, fierce inspiration, her earlier drowsiness utterly banished. She turned to him, her black eyes wide and earnest, capturing the starlight and reflecting it back with a determined glow.
"Teach me," she demanded, her voice clear and cutting through the night's quiet.
He simply looked at her, a silent question in the slight tilt of his head.
"To feel it," she clarified, her hands gesturing vaguely around her, as if trying to grasp the air itself. "The Qi. Like you." A dramatic pout formed on her lips, both a plea and a command. "I want to be cool like you too!"
For a long moment, he was still. The request was immense, the path she asked for fraught with a lifetime of struggle he had bypassed in a single breath. Yet, looking at her determined expression, the familiar impatience that usually accompanied instruction did not surface. Instead, an uncharacteristic patience settled over him, a focus as sharp as any he applied to his sword forms, but tempered with a different kind of intensity.
He sat fully upright, mirroring her posture, their knees almost touching on the warm stone. The pale grey of his robes seemed to absorb the moonlight, while her twilight silks blended into the deepening night.
"Stillness," he said, his voice low and precise, each word a carefully placed stone in a stream. "Not sleep. Not quiet. Stillness." His dark eyes held hers, willing her to understand the profundity of the simple word. "Listen. Not with your ears." He reached out and tapped a finger lightly against her chest, just over her heart. "The world's breath is here. It is not outside. It is in." He then moved his finger to press gently against her lower dantian. "Find the warmth inside of you. The first ember. It is small. You must be still enough to see its light."
He delivered the instructions as if reciting an immutable law of nature, his tone flat yet utterly compelling. In his mind, he saw the arduous path ahead for her—days, likely weeks, of frustrated attempts, of a busy mind fighting the very stillness he described, of searching for a sensation that would remain elusive. He expected the struggle. He was prepared for it.
He waited for her to ask for clarification, to complain, to immediately try and fail.
Instead, she drew in a breath, her lashes lowering as she closed her eyes. Her small hands settled in her lap, shoulders straightening with a seriousness he had rarely seen in her.
For a heartbeat, there was only the profound silence of the peak and the adorable, fierce concentration etched onto Meixiu's face. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her brow furrowed as if she were trying to solve an impossible riddle. Lin Feng watched, the image of her anticipated struggle already solidifying in his mind, a journey of patient guidance he was prepared to undertake.
Then the world dissolved in a silent detonation of grace.
It was not a trickle, not a spark. It was a sunrise from within. A wave of pure, blindingly white light erupted from her small form, a silent nova of absolute purity that did not fade or recede. It held no heat, no violence, only a gentle, overwhelming radiance that was the very essence of creation and mending. The light did not flash; it bloomed and remained, filling the courtyard with a constant, serene illumination that had no source and every source, a luminance that seemed to wash not over things, but through their very essence, and it continued to pour from her in a steady, breathtaking river.
It washed over Lin Feng, and the effect was instantaneous and absolute. The deep, gnawing spiritual exhaustion that was the price of condensing the void Qi—a fatigue so profound it had become a part of his marrow—vanished. It was not eased; it was erased. The minor strains in his muscles from the relentless precision of his laps, the microscopic tears and tensions he was never even aware of carrying, were smoothed away as if they had never existed. He felt… remade. Polished from the inside out. Every cell hummed with a vitality so intense it was dizzying. He felt more refreshed, more acutely and perfectly alive, than he ever had in his entire existence. It was not an influx of power, but the restoration of his entirety to its most flawless, pristine state.
The light bathed the ancient plum trees, and they glowed with a vibrant, hyper-real life, their gnarled branches seeming to pulse with a gentle, verdant energy. Buds swelled and unfurled into full blossom in a heartbeat, the flowers remaining perpetually perfect under the sustained radiance. The mosses on the stones shimmered with an emerald intensity, and the very air itself tasted of rain-washed mornings and the first breath of spring, the sensation constant, unchanging.
Lin Feng could only stare, the profound wellness thrumming through his veins. All his expectations, all his precise calculations of her struggle, lay in ashes. The void within him, for the first time, was met with something it could not comprehend—not a force to oppose, but a grace that simply refused its very nature. His usual impassivity was shattered, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated awe, his dark eyes wide, reflecting the boundless white light emanating from the woman before him.
Meixiu remained perfectly still, her eyes closed, her face a mask of serene, focused concentration. The world- mending light continued to flow from her in a unwavering, tranquil torrent, a silent testament to a talent so innate, so profound, it defied every law of the path he knew. She was not trying. She simply was.
The realization struck him like a blade to the chest—too bright, too impossible, too dangerous to be left unguarded. The world would not ignore this radiance.
The awe on Lin Feng's face did not linger. It was incinerated by a purpose older than his own will. Before a single conscious thought could form, his Void Qi reacted. It did not surge aggressively; it unfolded.
A dome of absolute darkness erupted from him, a perfect, seamless hemisphere of nothingness that slammed down over the entire courtyard with the finality of a tomb seal. It did not attack the brilliant white light pouring from Meixiu; it captured it. The pure, mending energy met the absolute dark and swirled within its confines, reflecting and refracting in a breathtaking, silent spectacle. It was a contained nebula, a miniature cosmos where stars of pure white light swirled against an endless velvet black, each point of light sharp and brilliant against the perfect void.
Inside the dome, the world fell into a profound, sacred silence. The gentle hum of Meixiu's energy was the only sound, a soft vibration in the air. All scent, all sound, all energy from the outside world was utterly extinguished. Nothing could escape. Nothing could enter. It was a perfect isolation.
In the same heartbeat, Lin Feng was moving. He did not look at the celestial display. His entire being was focused on the perimeter. He positioned himself beside the courtyard's simple wooden gate, a mere ten steps from where Meixiu sat bathed in her own impossible light. His back was to the mesmerizing swirl of light and dark, his body a stark, pale sentinel facing the outside world that could not see him. His expression was not one of fear, but of fierce, unwavering guardianship. His gaze was fixed on the barrier he had created, watching for any tremor, any hint of a presence drawn by the initial burst.
He stood watch over her, a statue of protective intent. The void dome pulsed gently with the contained light, casting his profile in shifting relief against the swirling stars. This was not cultivation. This was not a technique. It was a primal declaration. This was his purpose.
In the chamber at the peak's summit, a place where silence was not an absence of sound but a tangible, polished entity, Elder Lan's eyes snapped open. The single candle flame burning on a low table of polished obsidian did not flicker; its light remained a motionless, captured tear of gold in the perfect dark. There had been no noise, no tremor in the earth. Yet, the flawless fabric of her domain had been… bruised.
Her head turned a precise, mechanical fraction toward the distant disciple courtyards situated slightly below. Her spiritual perception, a web of awareness finer than silk and sharper than any blade, which normally encompassed every whisper of wind, every settling stone, every sleeping breath within her territory, had encountered a flaw. A null point. A perfect, impenetrable blank spot where a courtyard should have been. It was not an emptiness born of inactivity, but a profound nothingness that actively rejected perception, a hole punched through the reality she governed.
A sliver of her will, a tendril of intent honed to a razor's edge, detached itself and lanced downward. It was a probe that would have sent any other disciple in the sect prostrate with instinctual fear, a touch that could unravel the secrets of a nascent core. It reached the edges of that unnatural void.
And simply… failed.
There was no resistance, no barrier to shatter. There was only absence. Her will encountered nothing to latch onto, no energy to read, no life force to trace. It was met with a hunger that was not aggressive, but absolute, a void that swallowed the probe whole without a ripple, offering no feedback, no sensation, not even the acknowledgment of its own consumption. It was like trying to hear the shape of a shadow.
Yet, in that fleeting moment of dissolution, at the very event horizon of that nothingness, her exquisite senses caught a single, impossible glimpse of what lay contained within: a flash of pure, blindingly white light, a radiance of such potent, foundational purity it felt like witnessing the first dawn of creation itself. Then it was gone, swallowed by the void.
She withdrew the remnants of her will. The chamber was colder than it had been a moment before. Her expression remained carved from ice, flawless and unmoving, but the frost that perpetually coated the floor around her meditation mat did not simply gleam—it creaked, hardening, its crystalline structure collapsing in on itself until it achieved a diamond-like density, a sheet of impossible cold that reflected the candle's unwavering flame in a thousand fractured, piercing points.
The disciple and his… companion… were an enigma she had been content to observe. A curiosity. Now, they were a paradox wrapped in a threat. A void that could hide from her perception, and within it, a light that felt older than the mountain itself.
She closed her eyes again, the mystery filed away not for contemplation, but for later dissection. The silence of the peak settled back into place, but it was a different silence now.
And just a short descent from her chamber, in the courtyard concealed within that silence, the miracle she had failed to pierce still pulsed in secret.
For a full hour, the contained cosmos within their courtyard held its breath. The swirling nebula of pristine white light and absolute black void pulsed with a soft, steady rhythm, a silent heartbeat that thrummed through the very stones. Lin Feng remained a statue of vigilance by the gate, his every sense focused on the integrity of the dome, his presence a bulwark against a world that must not know. Inside, Meixiu sat at the epicenter, a serene vessel from which the impossible light continued to pour forth in an unending, gentle torrent.
Then, with the same gradual gentleness as a receding tide, the light began to dim. The brilliant radiance that had swirled against the dark dome softened, its intensity diminishing not like a fading ember, but like a sun setting in reverse, drawing its essence back into the horizon of her body. The luminous river flowing from her slowed, thinning to a stream, then a trickle, until the last, faint wisp of white energy seeped back into her skin, leaving the courtyard illuminated only by the starlight filtering through the now-transparent void dome.
A great, shuddering sigh escaped her. The fierce concentration on her face melted away, replaced by a profound and utter exhaustion. The vibrant energy that always animated her was gone, leaving her seeming smaller, fragile. Her shoulders slumped, her body listing to the side as if the very air had become too heavy to bear.
Lin Feng was there before she could fall. The void dome above them dissolved into nothingness as he moved, his form a blur of pale grey. He caught her effortlessly, one arm sliding behind her back, the other supporting her knees, gathering her weight against his chest. She was boneless, her head lolling against his shoulder, her eyes fluttering shut.
"A-Li..." her voice was the faintest whisper, a breath of sound carried on the edge of exhaustion. "Did you see? I did it..."
He looked down at her, his stern features softened in the starlight. He adjusted his hold, pulling her closer, ensuring she was fully supported. "Mn," he replied, his voice a low, steady rumble that vibrated through his chest and into hers. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated pride, a single syllable that held the weight of his awe. "You did."
He did not carry her directly to the wide, flat slab of black stone. Instead, he paused, adjusting her securely in one arm while his free hand retrieved the thick, soft blanket they kept folded nearby. With swift, precise movements, he spread it over the stone's surface, ensuring no part of the cool, unyielding rock was left exposed. Only then did he lower her again, settling her onto the prepared bed, her form sinking into the fabric's warmth.
He lay down beside her, drawing the edges of the blanket up and around her, tucking it securely under her chin. She was already asleep, her breathing deep and even, a faint, peaceful smile gracing her lips. One hand was curled loosely near her face, the other still clutching the threadbare fur of Mr. Bunbun. Lin Feng remained on his side, watching her, his own body a barrier between her and the world, his hand resting lightly on the blanket over her arm.
The void Qi shroud had faded completely, its purpose served, leaving the courtyard to the natural, deep gloom of the evening. The stars above were cold and distant, their light a faint silver wash over the black stone and the two figures upon it.
Lin Feng lay on his back upon the blanket-draped slab, a steady and unmoving foundation. In the depths of her exhaustion, Meixiu had shifted instinctively, drawn to his warmth and solidity. She had curled into his side, her head finding its rightful place upon his chest, her ear pressed over the steady, silent drum of his heart. One hand was still tangled in the threadbare fur of Mr. Bunbun, crushed gently between her body and his. Her breathing was a soft, even rhythm against the thin fabric of his robe.
His own arm, which had been resting at his side, lifted and wrapped around her shoulders, his hand coming to rest on her arm, holding her secure against him. Then, his other hand rose. It was not a calculated movement, but one of pure, ancient instinct. His palm, calloused and capable of lethal precision, came to rest between her shoulder blades. And he began to pat her back. Gently. Rhythmically. A slow, steady beat that was a language older than words, a gesture of profound tenderness and comfort meant to soothe the deepest parts of the spirit. Each pat was a silent promise, a reassurance in the dark.
He did not sleep. He stared up at the ceiling of their courtyard, at the dark wooden beams that crosshatched the starry sky. But his dark eyes were not seeing the wood or the stars. They were fixed on something far more immense, reflecting the infinite, protective darkness that dwelled within him. He was the stoic vessel of void, a bastion of absolute silence and strength, and she was the source of pure, miraculous light, now trusting and vulnerable in her slumber. His entire existence had narrowed to this single, sacred purpose: to be the unyielding shield that guarded her rest, the shadow that kept the world from discovering the glorious, fragile secret it slept upon.
Yet the world was never blind for long.
Though their courtyard had fallen back into silence and the peak itself seemed to cradle their secret, ripples travel far, even from the smallest of stones cast into the boundless lake of heaven and earth. And somewhere, impossibly distant yet perilously near, a presence stirred.
The scene shifts from the quiet intimacy of the mountain courtyard to the overwhelming grandeur of the Central Empire's royal palace. Night had draped the capital in a cloak of indigo, but within the Imperial Hall, day was artificially sustained by a thousand floating lanterns that cast a warm, golden glow upon pillars of lacquered vermilion and floors of polished jet.
Upon a dais of white jade, seated on a throne carved from the heart of a single, ancient sun-wood tree, was Emperor Jin Tianming. He was a figure of imposing grace, his form tall and poised even in repose. Long, ink-black hair, unbound by a crown, cascaded over shoulders draped in heavy robes of imperial gold. Woven through that dark mane like grim jewels were small, sharp fragments of a broken sword, their edges catching the lantern light with a cold, metallic gleam. His face was stark and severe, all sharp angles and a jawline that could cut stone, carrying the air of a man in the prime of his fifth decade—yet beneath that veneer lingered something older, an ageless weight that no youthful facade could fully conceal. A veil of profound weariness softened his features, but did nothing to diminish the authority carved into every line of his being.
His eyes were closed. His right elbow rested on the arm of the throne, his chin propped gracefully upon his fist. Before him, a minister of the royal court, his robes a dizzying tapestry of bureaucratic rank, droned on about tax revenues from the southern provinces, his voice a nasal hum in the vast, echoing space. The emperor gave no sign of listening, his expression one of a man enduring a familiar, tedious dream.
Then, it happened.
A ripple, impossibly faint, yet profound. A sensation not of power, but of a distant, silent anomaly—a subtle dissonance in the world's natural harmony that brushed against the very edges of his perception. It came from a great distance, from the direction of the Celestial Sword Pavilion.
Emperor Jin Tianming's eyes snapped open.
They were a startling, luminous gold, the color of molten sovereign metal. They held no emotion, no immediate alarm, only a flat, ancient light and a flicker of the slightest annoyance, as if a distant, irregular beat had disrupted the monotonous music of his empire. He did not startle or sit upright. His head turned just a fraction, those unnerving golden eyes cutting through the opulent hall, past the minister who faltered mid-sentence, past the vermilion pillars and the latticed windows. His gaze seemed to penetrate the very walls, traveling across impossible distances to fix upon the jagged silhouette of a certain mountain peak.
For three heartbeats, he stared into that distance, his gaze narrowing infinitesimally, the only sign of his intense focus. He sensed the edges of the phenomenon—something that defied easy categorization, a mystery that lingered just beyond his comprehension. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the sensation vanished, receding as if it had never been.
The emperor's eyes relaxed. He turned his head back to the stammering minister, his chin settling back onto his hand, his expression once more a mask of regal boredom. He gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod for the man to continue.
But deep within those golden depths, a new note had been added to the endless calculations of rule. A curiosity. A pin on a map that had been blank for centuries now held a faint, intriguing stain. The Celestial Sword Pavilion had just registered on his radar not as a sect of cultivators, but as the source of a paradox. And Emperor Jin Tianming, ruler of all he surveyed, did not like paradoxes in his domain.
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