As for feeding Xiao Huihui, taking care of the chinchilla and the grapes, he was more often talking to himself or just making sounds, never forming complete sentences.
Sometimes, he didn't even know if he had expressed his thoughts aloud or if it was just an illusion.
Sitting up from bed, Chen Zhou suddenly spoke with a hoarse voice.
"Hello, my name is Chen Zhou."
He paused slightly, as if hearing his own voice for the first time.
The voice was rough and unfamiliar, the articulation was fairly clear, but it was completely different from the voice he remembered.
Only then did Chen Zhou realize, due to not communicating with people for so long, some things he took for granted had quietly transformed.
If it wasn't for this illness making him idle, he might not have discovered the problem for another two or three years, by which time he might have lost most of his language ability.
