The Mysterious Resurrection of Paper Man Liu San

I am Liu San. When you read this sentence, I will be dead. This is the twelfth time. On the thirteenth day, I got off the supernatural bus with only a piece of burnt human skin paper in my pocket, with the last words of the first twelve Liu Sans written on it. I have no memory, no past, and I don't even know if I'm really "alive." The heartbeat made of paper only beats a dozen times a minute, and what comes out is not blood, but pulp. Dachang City is empty. The dead are back. Their names are on their faces and they can't take them off, so they wear them. Lao Zhou sat at the door of the breakfast shop with a bowl of soy milk every day. He said: "After thirty years of death, I finally don't have to look for anyone." The painter climbed out from the bottom of the well and said that he had painted hundreds of thousands of names with his life, and the painting was gone. The first Liu San stretched out his hand from the crack in the painting and asked me if there was a place for him outside. There was also a child who called me daddy on the wall of the well. They say paper people never die, they just forget. The name will not disappear, it will just change to another piece of paper and continue writing. What about me? I am the thirteenth. I finally have my own words on my face. Will this time be the last time?