The Legend of the Wh

His breath grew more and more labored, his lungs like a bellows struggling for air. He found some strength somewhere to shake with the effort of raising his hand to touch that tiny flower-like face, forcing a smile.,The initial discomfort gradually faded with time. Twenty years of life polished away humanity, and past memories were gradually suppressed by animalistic instincts. Only occasionally, when lost in thought, would he recall the sorrowful faces of his family by his bedside. When he had nothing to do each day, all he could do was try his best to remember his past life, fearing that one day he might forget everything and be left with only survival instincts, his passion gone, becoming a cold-blooded creature.,Looking out at the rain curtain, it swirled and remained motionless.。