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"It seems I've really transmigrated—"
Inside the luxuriously decorated carriage, Zong Shou gazed expressionlessly at a round mirror before him.
The reflection in the mirror was clearly that of a boy not yet of age. About thirteen, with a pale face, but those features were rarely handsome and exquisitely perfect.
A pair of narrow phoenix eyes, shimmering with light. However, at this moment, they were full of bitterness and helplessness.
He remembered that just a short while ago, he still had an extremely ordinary face, the kind that absolutely could not be found in a crowd.