Durin had imagined many scenarios, such as in his past life, where a dozen old men would sit around a table, waiting for him, the only remaining survivor, to take his place.
Or perhaps like in the earlier years, sitting at the street-side barbecue in the Hangzhou suburb, still remembering the familiar faces and voices of middle-aged men as they shared solemn drinks and beliefs.
·Don't act so old-fashioned, you're young.
Big Orange rarely offered comfort to Durin.
But Durin was indifferent—if a person cannot face their own past, how different are they from a coward? In my last life, even until the end, I never thought I'd done anything wrong.
I killed people my whole life—all of them bad people. Their children thrived because of their evil deeds, so they deserved to die; their parents lived long and peacefully because of those same deeds, and so they deserved to die.
And when I faced death, I didn't hesitate to use my own demise to create value for the children in the orphanage.
