Life is Like a Journey – Chapter 115
by Little PandaVolume 3: Transition
Going Home
Body donation to Renji Medical University for osteolysis research
Obituary Notice:
Comrade Meng Jihua, former director of the First Affiliated Hospital of Renji Medical University in Jinzhou City, passed away at 20:15 on January 13, 2012, due to ineffective medical treatment, at the age of 65.
Professor Meng Jihua made foundational contributions to Chinese surgery and medical education, particularly in end-stage liver cancer, hilar cholangiocarcinoma [cancer of the bile ducts where they exit the liver], and liver transplantation. He nurtured numerous medical talents and was truly worthy of being called a master of his generation.
Following Professor Meng Jihua’s final wishes, his body was donated to Renji Medical University for osteolysis [condition where bone tissue breaks down] research, hoping humanity will soon overcome this challenging disease.
The farewell ceremony will be held at 10:00 AM on January 15, 2012, at Jinzhou Funeral Home, and as per Professor Meng Jihua’s wishes, it will be kept simple.
This notice is hereby announced.
Within just two months, Yu Gui stood here again, unable to describe her feelings. She bowed mechanically with the crowd, and upon rising, her mind wandered to Meng Jihua’s lecture that had ignited a small flame of idealism in her heart.
In his final moments, he left no words for his family, only holding their hands and instructing: “Children… this path is difficult… I am old now… you are the future of Chinese medicine… you must… must carry on… my unfinished work…”
Everyone present wept, and after these words, he peacefully closed his eyes.
Lu Qingshi came last, standing in the back row, waiting until most people had left before approaching to offer a chrysanthemum [traditional flower of mourning in Chinese culture] and giving a slight bow.
At that time, the sky was high and clear, the pine and cypress evergreen, as the wind swept across the patchy grass, rippling like waves of wheat.
Gu Yanzhi patted her shoulder: “Let’s go, Qingshi.”
Lu Qingshi turned back, her eyes slightly red: “Okay.”
“Have you really decided to leave?” Qin Xuan’s voice came through the receiver.
“Mm,” Lu Qingshi responded, packing her things on speakerphone.
“Tsk tsk, traveling around the world is quite romantic,” she leaned against the locker room cabinet, holding an express delivery package from Lu Qingshi.
“While I still have the strength to walk, I might as well do everything I want to do.”
She spoke while folding clothes into her suitcase.
“Is this really okay?” Qin Xuan asked, holding the mail.
Lu Qingshi held the phone to her ear: “Yes, if I gave it to her directly, she wouldn’t accept it. If something sudden happens to me, I’ll have to rely on you.”
Qin Xuan sighed deeply: “Alright, alright.”
Truthfully, like Gu Yanzhi, she didn’t want to face that day, though everyone knew it would come eventually.
“By the way, Xiang Nanke went to Shanghai, did you know?” the doctor mentioned suddenly. Qin Xuan froze, feeling indescribable emotions.
“I don’t know where she goes, it has nothing to do with me.”
Lu Qingshi shrugged: “As long as you’re happy.”
There were new colleagues who, though not as familiar as before, were approachable.
The new work environment was countless times more advanced than Renji Medical University’s run-down operating room.
The new salary and benefits were enough to establish a life in Shanghai’s international metropolis.
Qin Xuan lowered her eyes: “Well, I am quite happy.”
“This is…” During the latest pre-operative examination, Fu Lei stood up, staring unblinkingly at the film viewer [medical light box for viewing X-rays], with an expression of disbelief.
Victor put on his glasses: “Oh my god! The liver region is completely necrotic [dead tissue], this is terrible!”
Fu Lei took a deep breath, rubbing his brow to calm himself, his eyes red, unable to speak for several minutes.
Victor patted his shoulder sympathetically.
Fu Lei looked up with a ‘breaking the cauldrons and sinking the boats’ expression [meaning: to show total commitment]: “I’ll go get typed for a liver transplant.”
Victor suddenly cried out: “Then who will do the heart surgery?!”
Fu Lei gave his friend a bitter smile.
Victor frustratedly slapped his own head and surprisingly quoted a Chinese saying: “I must have eight lifetimes of bad luck.”
Fu Lei’s face showed sincere gratitude: “Vic, thank you.”
“You know the child’s mother is still hospitalized, please help keep this from her.”
Victor muttered: “I really don’t understand you Chinese people.”
After seeing patients all morning in the outpatient clinic, during lunch break, Yu Gui went into the simulation surgery room. Just standing there passing instruments to her exhausted Hao Renjie.
“Can’t you take a break? You haven’t eaten or drunk anything for six hours…”
Yu Gui focused on her task, using a micro-electrocautery to dissect a tumor from the monkey’s brain.
“No, Teacher Lu said that the more preparation a doctor does before surgery, the more surgical plans they develop, the more bleeding scenarios they can anticipate, and the more simulation surgeries they perform, the higher the chance of patient survival on the operating table.”
Sweat beaded on her forehead as she wrestled with the tumor. Even with gentle movements, bleeding still occurred, and the machine alarmed.
The simulation surgery failed.
Yu Gui closed her eyes, then opened them: “Again.”
Hao Renjie’s face wrinkled like a bitter melon: “Sister, I need to pee, can I go to the bathroom?”
Yu Gui gave him a side-eye: “Lazy cattle and horses produce lots of waste [a Chinese saying implying that lazy people always have excuses].”
Hao Renjie ran out clutching his stomach, as if granted amnesty.
“Qingshi, let’s get ready to go,” Gu Yanzhi called, standing at the bottom of the stairs with a suitcase.
Lu Qingshi, holding French Fries, turned to look at the spotless house. The breeze lifted the snow-white curtains, fresh lilies sat on the table, and gaming discs and controllers were neatly arranged on the coffee table. Memories flashed before her eyes like a lantern show [traditional rotating lantern display, also metaphor for life flashing before one’s eyes].
“Lu Qingshi, your alcohol tolerance is terrible!”
“Wow! Teacher Lu… can I borrow this book?”
“You? Would you even understand it?”
“You’re such a pushover, would it kill you to say no!”
…
The doctor’s lips curved slightly as she gently closed the door, bidding farewell to memories.
Wind blew through the open car window, and Hamburger poked its head through the gap, smiling at every passerby.
They traveled south, from dawn to daybreak, from daybreak to dusk, from dusk to night.
From plains to hills, from hills to plateau, passing by Erhai Lake’s romantic scenery, Qiangtang’s desolation, and the lonely antelope herds of Kekexili [nature reserve in Qinghai].
They lived on the road, saw the most brilliant starry skies and clearest seas, finding their destination in each other during this journey.
Lu Qingshi lay on Mingsha Mountain [Echoing Sand Mountain], gazing at the desert moon. Gu Yanzhi lay beside her; with a slight turn of her head, she could see her profile, so beautiful, with amber eyes so gentle and bright.
But now those eyes were filled with tears, as Lu Qingshi could feel strength leaving her body second by second.
Just like the sand.
Before losing consciousness, she heard herself say: “Gu Yanzhi, let’s go to Beijing.”
One wonders if everyone has the instinct of falling leaves returning to their roots before death.
The next day, Gu Yanzhi bought tickets, temporarily boarding Hamburger and French Fries at a reliable pet shop, and took her on the plane.
The flight was turbulent, Lu Qingshi dozed off, while Gu Yanzhi cradled her head, watching her without blinking.
She knew she was afraid – afraid that if she closed her eyes, she might never wake up again.
Lu Qingshi kissed the back of her hand: “Don’t be afraid… if things really get bad… I’ll tell you.”
She was always like this, rarely conscious, mostly sleeping.
Gu Yanzhi turned her face away, placing a kiss on her forehead: “Mm, sleep now, we’ll be there when you wake up.”
As her breathing became steady, Gu Yanzhi held her halfway, tilted her head slightly back, and silent tears slid into her temples.
A flight attendant came by with a food cart. She quickly wiped her tears with her sleeve, gesturing not to disturb them.
The flight attendant said nothing, handed her a glass of water and tissues, then quietly wheeled the cart away.
The modest residential area was located behind Xiehe Hospital. The alleyways were full of local life, with elderly people gathered under tree shade playing chess, and a row of small shops selling snacks, fruits, and stationery. The prices were reasonable, even in Beijing’s Second Ring Road [area known for extremely high property values].
Lu Qingshi pulled Gu Yanzhi to buy kaolengmian [grilled cold noodles], seven yuan for a large bowl with added sausage, egg, and meat. The stall owner, in his fifties, studied them while cooking, then his eyes suddenly lit up as he spoke in authentic Beijing dialect: “Hey, isn’t this the Lu family’s little girl?! Look how grown up you are!”
Lu Qingshi smiled: “Uncle, you still remember me.”
“Of course! My son had cancer back then, and your father cured him. Now he’s married with his own family!”
The old Beijinger [traditional Beijing natives known for their hospitality] was warm and chatty, looking curiously at Gu Yanzhi while making conversation. Lu Qingshi just smiled. Before leaving, he insisted on giving her an extra portion of kaolengmian. She couldn’t refuse, but thankfully Gu Yanzhi managed to slip double payment into the basket, allowing them to leave.
“I grew up here,” Lu Qingshi pointed. The old staff quarters’ walls were covered in Boston ivy, now just vines, but sure to be vibrant come spring and summer.
Gu Yanzhi led her upstairs, pushing open the dust-covered door to reveal a medium-sized two-bedroom apartment.
This was her childhood home, with her parents in the master bedroom and her in the second bedroom. The narrow space didn’t have much furniture, all covered with old newspapers that released clouds of dust when shaken.
“I thought your family, if not exactly wealthy, would at least live in a bigger house.”
After all, they were a medical family dynasty, with generations of expert professors recorded in history.
Lu Qingshi opened her room’s door, coughing slightly as dust entered her throat: “Doctors in that era weren’t like now, where one surgery brings in lots of money. My parents were frugal, and after they passed away, most of their savings were donated to Project Hope [a public service project to help poor rural children receive education].”
Gu Yanzhi nodded, thinking this was what true scholars and professors should be – lifelong dedication without fighting for power or fame, a tradition well preserved through generations of the Lu family.
Lu Qingshi opened windows for ventilation while Gu Yanzhi fetched water in a basin to clean the furniture, pruned the withered flowers on the balcony, and mopped the floor spotless.
Afternoon sunlight streamed in, freshly washed bedding swayed in the breeze, and the room filled with the scent of sunshine and laundry powder.
Gu Yanzhi sat cross-legged on the bed, flipping through a photo album: “Which one is you?”
She pointed to a kindergarten graduation photo. Lu Qingshi leaned over and snorted: “Find me yourself.”
“This one?” She pointed to a slightly dark-skinned little girl.
Lu Qingshi’s face darkened: “Keep looking.”
“This one?”
“…That’s a boy.”
The fire instructor scratched her head and muttered: “How can you tell boys from girls when they’re that small…”
Not willing to give up, she randomly pointed at several more. Lu Qingshi shook her head at all of them. Deflated, she hugged her and shook her body.
“Qingshi, just tell me which one it is!”
Lu Qingshi’s face turned slightly red: “Then you can’t laugh.”
Gu Yanzhi put on a serious face: “I won’t laugh, I promise.”
Her finger slowly moved toward a delicate-looking little girl at the edge of the photo. Gu Yanzhi’s eyes lit up: “I knew it, my Qingshi as a child was also…”
Before she could finish, Lu Qingshi’s finger tapped twice next to it.
“This one.”
Gu Yanzhi looked closely – a chubby little girl, almost lost in the sea of people.
She froze for five seconds, then burst out laughing: “Hahaha, Qingshi, you were even chubbier than me as a child…”
Lu Qingshi pounced on her to tickle her, blushing to her ears: “Hey, didn’t you promise not to laugh? Yet you’re still laughing!”
“Hahaha, it tickles! I’ll stop, I’ll stop!”
Their young bodies were just playing around, but sparks easily flew.
Lu Qingshi looked into her eyes and understood what she wanted to do, struggling to get off her: “It’s daytime…”
Gu Yanzhi wouldn’t let go: “There’s nobody here anyway.”
“The door isn’t closed…” her voice grew faint.
“I locked it when I came in,” she mumbled.
“The curtains aren’t…”
“It’s fine, nobody’s across from us,” she held her waist and pressed her into the bed.
“Once in a while like this is nice.”
Lu Qingshi dodged: “What?”
“Want to see clearly…” she breathed into her ear: “your face when you’re moved.”
“Mm…”
She couldn’t make any more sounds. Though it wasn’t spring yet, she seemed to hear cats in her daze.
And so passed an evening.
When Yu Gui received her parents’ call, she was working herself to exhaustion in the simulation surgery room. After getting permission, she removed her surgical cap and walked out wearing green scrubs, her black hair loose, to take the receiver from the nurse at the triage desk.
“Mom, what is it?” her voice was slightly tired.
“Xiaogui, are you coming home today?” her mother’s hopeful voice came through.
Yu Gui reflexively refused: “No, I haven’t…”
“It’s New Year’s Eve, Dad and Mom want to have reunion dinner with you.”
Afraid she would refuse, Yu Gui’s mother lowered her voice: “Your father slaughtered two home-raised chickens early this morning, waiting for you to come back so he can nourish you properly.”
The words of refusal rolled around in her throat, but Yu Gui couldn’t say them.
“Well… I’ll try to ask the director for leave, but if I can’t, don’t wait for me, eat early yourselves.”
“Ah, good!” Yu Gui’s mother was overjoyed: “Then… then you get back to work, I’ll go help your father cook.”
Yu Gui ran her fingers through her hair, seeming troubled: “Don’t make too much, I’m not sure if I can make it…”
“Zhiyou, you’ve worked hard these days. Let’s have dinner together tonight. Your aunt will cook personally, and Ranran can eat some liquid food now. We can spend New Year’s in the hospital room.”
Father An had good intentions, knowing she had nowhere to go and grateful for her care of his daughter, specifically extending this invitation.
But Fang Zhiyou still declined: “No thank you, Uncle, Aunt, and Ranran. Happy New Year’s Eve to you all.”
“Just today… I want to spend it with the most important person.”
After saying this, she politely bowed goodbye and left An Ran’s hospital room.
Father An patted his daughter’s shoulder, signaling her not to be sad: “She’s a good kid.”
An Ran smiled, her face pale, wearing a respirator: “Dad… I have a favor to ask.”
Fang Zhiyou ran to the emergency department to find Yu Gui. Hao Renjie was writing nursing logs at the triage desk and looked up: “She just got permission from the director and went home.”
“Oh… is that so?” Fang Zhiyou froze, lowering her eyes in disappointment.
Just as she was about to take out her phone to call her, a message from her team popped up.
“Boss, the finals are coming up soon, want to practice?”
She thought for a moment, dismissed it, and was about to message Yu Gui when An Ran’s pale face flashed through her mind.
She opened the message interface again: “Okay, I’ll be there soon.”
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