At 3:07 a.m., Parcel Locker Number 13, sealed for three years, popped open by itself.
Inside lay a package. Sender: Lu Ming. Recipient: Lu Ming. Shipping date: Tomorrow.
Inside the package was a phone with a shattered screen, identical to the one in his pocket, and a note: "At 4:20 p.m., don't let Xiaoman get on Bus 17."
That afternoon, Bus 17 crashed into the guardrail by the river.
From that day on, station manager Lu Ming received a package every night, sent by "his future self." But there was only one rule: twenty-four hours after receiving it, he had to send it back exactly as it was. He couldn't miss even once.
Until one night, the note said: Don't trust the you of tomorrow.
The truth behind his father's bizarre death, a great fire thirty-two years ago, and another locker, Number 7, that could also "receive" packages... Tomorrow's packages were pushing him toward a night from which there would be no turning back.
