I often wonder, if I hadn't opened that strange letter instead of letting it rot in the trash can, wouldn't everything that happened later have happened? Am I still an ordinary courier, marrying a wife and living the life I want?
But life cannot be assumed. I would rather believe that all this is my destiny, or luck.
Too many people have died because of me. How many billions, I have forgotten, but I am not dead yet.
Is he dead too? I suddenly remembered that man's face, but I could never find him again. I had forgotten his name and mine. Maybe soon I would forget those familiar faces, forget my own persistence, and then turn into them completely, and finally return to the underground, underground underground.
I will live forever, until perhaps hundreds of millions of years later, the next ignorant Luo opens the door to destruction.