Once Upon in Nanjing-Chapter 22 - 9 When you receive this letter, I will already be dead

The time capsule I ordered from Taobao arrived that evening.

The brown cardboard box was stuffed with white foam to cushion any shocks. At first glance, the capsule looked a bit like the inner liner of a thermos bottle—a cylindrical shape with a shiny stainless steel exterior. However, it was much sturdier than a liner. It measured twenty centimeters in length and about eight or nine centimeters in diameter, standing about as tall as a bottle of mineral water. It had lids on both ends, each fastened with eight bolts.

Along with the time capsule, two wrenches and a shovel were included, making it a complete set to take care of everything from sealing to burial.

Using the wrench, I removed all bolts from one end, lifted off the lid, and saw a rubber sealing ring under the rim, and an entirely empty inside. The capacity of the time capsule was only 0.6 liters; Bai Yang could fit his fist inside, up to the middle of his forearm.

This was the smallest version of the time capsule. The next size up cost over eighty yuan, and the largest was more than two hundred yuan. Bai Yang was too poor to afford those.

Can this thing really stay buried underground for twenty years?

Bai Yang tapped gently on the exterior of the time capsule. The smooth stainless steel reflected light, and he gave it a squeeze—it was very solid.

It's not a soda can.

He suspected that it was just a raw section of thick seamless steel tube. Cutting a ten-centimeter diameter stainless steel tube into several pieces, each could be made into a time capsule simply by fitting a lid on each end and bolting it down. The structure was quite simple, devoid of any advanced technology.

Gosh, selling these for sixty-eight yuan a piece. That's easy money.

Bai Yang thought to himself that if he couldn't find a job in the future, he should sell time capsules on Taobao.

From today, counting forwards twenty-one years, would be the era of BG4MSR—if she really existed in that future. According to the girl's statement, the Earth would face an apocalyptic disaster over the next twenty years, eradicating all humans. Bai Yang found it hard to imagine what kind of catastrophe could fully wipe out human civilization—a biblical flood? Even a collision with an asteroid seemed insufficient.

He weighed the somewhat heavy stainless steel capsule in his hands, uncertain if it could withstand such a disaster. The manufacturers of the time capsule probably intended it as a playful commemorative item, never expecting it to bear the responsibility of preserving human artifacts against a cataclysmic event.

But this was the best equipment Bai Yang could get his hands on.

What should he put inside it?

Given the limited capacity, there wasn't much space for items—apart from a tritium tube as a time indicator, Bai Yang hoped to include something useful.

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He sat on a chair, glancing around the room.

Food?

The capsule was too small to fit many compressed biscuits, and at most two cup noodles—he couldn't even cram in one cup of Master Kang's Old Altar Sauerkraut Beef Noodles.

Drinks?

Even less likely. Liquids don't preserve well, and if they leak, they would ruin the capsule. Besides, the recipient wouldn't be lacking water. Bai Yang shook his head.

What about medicine? The world in doomsday would likely be scarce in medicine.

"Mom—where are the medicines kept?" Bai Yang got up, put on his slippers, strode across the wooden floor, opened the door, and shouted into the living room.

"Under your bed." His mom was watching TV on the sofa. "What do you need them for?"

"Just need them."

Bai Yang pulled out a plastic basket from under his bed. The basket contained the household's common medications: mint oil, Wind Oil Essence, Dexamethasone ointment, as well as other drugs like fluoroquinolone, cefaclor, Ibuprofen, and amoxicillin. He packed these medicines in a plastic bag and stuffed them into the time capsule—it fit perfectly.

Alright, just send her some medicine then.

Let her have a taste of hardship.

Bai Yang was satisfied. The medicines produced by modern pharmaceutical industry were fairly stable despite having a shelf life of twelve or thirty-six months listed on the packaging. As long as they were kept away from light, water, and heat, they could last for years. They should still be usable twenty years later when taken out.

Besides the time indicator and medicine, what else should he include?

Bai Yang glanced at the remaining space in the time capsule, then pulled out a fruit-flavored hard candy from a drawer under his desk and threw it in.

Let's send a candy too.

Can't have it all be bitter; should include a bit of sweetness too.

Lastly, he needed a sense of ceremony—a letter should be written.

Therefore, Bai Yang took out a piece of white paper, unscrewed the cap of his pen, hesitated for a few seconds, and then began to write:

"Dear Miss BG4MSR,

When you read this letter, I am already dead."

These words looked like something out of a movie, where a lone hero saving the world writes a final note to his family and friends before the last battle—somewhat heroic and unexpectedly striking.

Of course, per that girl's statement, in twenty years Bai Yang would indeed be dead, leaving only one person remaining in the world.

"This is a letter from the deceased, crossing twenty years of vast time to reach your hands. When I wrote this letter, you might not yet have been born, and by the time you receive this letter, I am no longer in this world.

What is a world with only one person like? A Nanjing without people, a Confucius Temple, Xinjiekou, South Airline High School, and Crescent Lake Park without crowds—definitely no college entrance exams, no math exams, or Small Questions Frenzy.

I'm also curious how I died—if you receive this letter, I hope you could tell me how I died, and perhaps how others died too, if you know."

Writing letters to future people seemed absurd, but Bai Yang remembered that the great scientist Hawking had also conducted a similar performative act. In 2009, Hawking hosted a party for future people. He secretly chose a room for the gathering but only sent out invitations the day after the party—if the future people had the ability to time travel, they'd manage to arrive the notice went out.

Unsurprisingly, Hawking spent the night alone in that room, not knowing whether future people lacked the ability to travel through time or if they simply hadn't seen his invitation. Would this letter from Bai Yang reach a person from the future?

"—Of course, if the cause of my death is too grim, please consider how you tell me about it, in case it puts too much stress on my mind. Twenty years later, I'm not even forty yet, and it pains me to think the world would lose such a promising young man so soon.

I wish you health, that you never forget an umbrella when it rains, and that you never pick a piece of ginger when eating braised chicken; 73."

Bai Yang paused, then concluded:

"Yours sincerely, BG4MXH, communicating with you from twenty years ago."

Once the tritium tube arrived, he would seal the letter with it in the time capsule.

Then he would bury it underground, letting it wait for twenty years.