Han Sanqian's consciousness began to fade, his energy also shrank, and even his pupils began to slacken.
Everything seems to be a foregone conclusion.
The wind seems to be less.
Maybe it felt that the people it attacked had already started to die, and it no longer became so arrogant and bloodthirsty, nor was it so arrogant and domineering, like the death song softly sung by the god of death after waving the hook and scythe.
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