At the end of November, the weather was about 3 to 5 degrees Celsius, and there were not many people on the street. We only saw leaves mixed with dust and scraps of paper swirling in the air.
It was only three or four o'clock in the afternoon, and the sky suddenly turned dark, and it was about to rain. A man walked under the eaves of this residential building. He was dressed in tatters, and his body and face were covered with dust and mud, which was black. Now mixed with rain and sweat, it made him even more uncomfortable. He hugged his legs and buried his head inside his body, trembling constantly. His shirt was close to his skin, and there was a trace of coldness... His name was Wan Cheng.
This is a novel I wrote randomly many years ago, reflecting my abnormal psychology at that time. I don't know if such a random ending counts as the end, but I don't want to continue writing too much, and I have no perseverance and no clue. I was bored in class at that time, so I scribbled in a draft book, and stopped after writing half a book.
No matter how I post it, it feels like the content is strange and inadequate. So I'll just post a rough outline first and then slowly change it later.
Intention: