This man is like a silent rock, allowing the tide of pain to wash away over and over again, remaining unmoved.
The old ghost couldn't help but raise his eyes and glance at the mirror. The mirror reflected the man's resolute profile, his jawline was as sharp as a knife, his tightly pursed lips were bloodless, and his forehead was covered with fine beads of sweat, which slid down his temples and hit the black leather cushion, spreading a small patch of dark color.
