Expired Takeout and an Undelivered Life
Chen Mo feels his life is just like a spilled cup of milk tea: a mess, and bound to get a complaint. As a delivery rider, he worries every day about rent and late orders, until he encounters a delivery scooter that can ride backward on its own and an admission letter dated 1998.
The boy in the letter looks exactly like him, but he wasn’t even born that year.
Even stranger, a notebook suddenly appears in an old box given to him by an elderly woman who lives alone. Its first page reads: “Don’t trust the person in the mirror.”
The “him” in the mirror starts smiling. A voice on an unfamiliar phone call tells him his life has “expired.” Lin Wei, the girl he has a crush on, keeps asking about “his college days,” even though he never went to college.
When the city’s clocks begin to run backward and vanished streets reappear, Chen Mo finally realizes: he isn’t delivering takeout, but other people’s lives; he isn’t racing to fulfill orders, but chasing time that was stolen.
And the “Chen Mo” from 1998 is on the other side of time, slowly devouring the person he is now.
“Your admission letter has expired, but can you still change the address on your life?”
