People Are in the Wasteland, and They Start to Become Gods by Picking up Garbage.

In the third year of nuclear winter, the sky is still gray. A man stands at the top of the Xinjing Landfill. A three-hundred-meter-high mountain of garbage, an old-world tombstone. Plastic, scrap metal, ashes, melted circuit boards, mobile phones that could no longer be turned on - the remains of the entire human civilization were piled at his feet. The radiation counter screamed like crazy, but he ignored it. He tore himself into pieces. Not the body. It is something deeper than the body. Every fragment is a seed, falling into the cracks of the world, into everything that humans judge as "garbage." His consciousness was dissipating like smoke. But he still had the energy to light a cigarette. Gray smoke rose and merged with the gray sky. He looked at the sky and suddenly smiled. "Wait for someone who doesn't mind trash." He finished smoking the cigarette, stamped out the cigarette butt, and threw the cigarette butt into the garbage mountain. "I have plenty of time anyway." He disappeared. Wasteland was born.