The Legend of the Wh

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.,Let me know if you have any other text you'd like me to translate!,The white snake, with her poor eyesight and hearing, had just missed an incredible sight. Other animals saw it clearly: thick, ink-colored clouds swirled relentlessly, lightning striking the peak of a mountain with all its might. A tiger with black and yellow stripes, a white blaze on its forehead, stood atop the mountain, roaring amidst the thunder and lightning. Its roar was filled with anger and unwillingness to submit. No matter how badly wounded, it remained proudly defiant, refusing to bow its head. A thunderbolt as thick as a water bucket struck down, leaving its wound blackened and bleeding profusely. It fell to the ground, unable to rise again, until finally, there was no sound left.。