Eyes of Mass Tomb

History remembers the names of heroes, but forgets the hand that drives the gears. "You are the gears, you are the dust, you are the lubricant that makes sure this magnificent machine doesn't get stuck." When he woke up in an endless ashes, his memory had been washed away. There was no name, no past, just a pair of dark red circular scars on his wrists, like a pair of silent eyes, staring into the hole deep in his soul. He is number 9527, the "unknown promoter" behind history. Under the guidance of the "Observer", he was forced to fall into the rift of time and space, and was reincarnated as the humblest ant in different eras: he was a deaf-mute old eunuch in the palace whose ribs were broken, a courier who was exhausted in the modern rainstorm, and a maintenance worker struggling at the bottom of the future starship. He does not need to stage a coup or assassinate a tyrant. The instructions he receives are often just to turn off a light, dial the wrong phone number, or loosen an inconspicuous screw at a precise point in time. However, when that light goes out, the imperial grandson who would have created a prosperous world survives; when the phone rings, the genius scientist who would have disappeared regains hope of life. A centimeter deviation in history can lead to thousands of miles in the future. But he began to have doubts: If history is really so precise, why does he need to use death to correct it again and again? Are the scars on the wrists a medal of salvation or a shackles that imprison the soul? When he finally sees his "previous self" at the end of time and space, should he push the gear or smash it with his own hands?