I just understood: once a person dies, the clothes they wore in life, the blanket they covered themselves with, the bed they slept in, and the toiletries they used are all directly disposed of—burned or thrown into the trash. The tea cups that you saved and stored carefully, scrimping and saving while you were alive, or couldn’t bear to throw away, are soon worn out, and your family will handle them without blinking—nothing is kept, except money and the house and the car.

Life has no real meaning. After three generations, time will erase every trace of your existence. Your disciples and descendants probably won’t even know your name. While you’re alive, this won’t do and that won’t do. After you die, the living can do this and do that. Nothing comes with you—no clouds. Nothing can be carried away—no rubble. The only things you can take with you are yourself and your temper.

The most fair thing in a person’s lifetime is that the ending is the same for everyone: you all walk toward death.