Life is Like a Journey – Chapter 120
by Little PandaVolume 3: Transition
Passing Away
With her brief life, she surpassed all the youth that lay ahead of her.
Everyone bought An Ran flowers and cake, but since visiting hours at the ICU were over, six or seven young boys and girls could only stand outside the glass door.
An Ran hadn’t expected her former teammates to come visit her. As she lay in the hospital bed, tears silently rolled down her face.
Fang Zhiyou raised a whiteboard from behind, smiling at her while quickly writing a message with a marker: “Don’t cry, we’re here to see you.”
A young boy with a crew cut, looking only fourteen or fifteen years old, took the whiteboard and left his childish handwriting: “Sister Ran, I’m ‘Lao Fan’. Get well soon, we’re waiting for you to come back!!!”
Lao Fan was the team’s main tank [gaming term: primary defender], and no one had expected him to be such a young boy. An Ran smiled through her tears – she wanted to speak but could neither raise her hands nor leave the ventilator, so she could only smile and nod.
The next girl took the whiteboard, and everyone gradually introduced themselves and wrote their well-wishes. Those who had once fought alongside her, sharing both joy and anger, suddenly had vivid and lively faces.
An Ran felt warmth spreading throughout her body, kindness from these familiar strangers.
When leaving, Lao Fan turned back reluctantly. An Ran struggled to raise her hand with an IV line attached to its back, and gently made an “OK” gesture.
It was the gesture they would all make after every victory, and suddenly the young boy’s eyes filled with tears.
Fang Zhiyou escorted them downstairs. Another senior support player [gaming term: healer role] from the team, who was actually a father in his thirties in real life, wanted to smoke but put his cigarette away when he saw there were minors present.
“After this national competition ends, I’m going to quit gaming…”
Lao Fan was surprised: “What? But we agreed…”
Fang Zhiyou patted his shoulder: “I think Brother Ma is right. After this competition, you should focus on studying and try to get into a good high school.”
“But before that, we should give it our all, if not for ourselves, then for Sister Ran. She’s always dreamed of seeing us win the championship.”
Someone said this, and seven pairs of hands stacked together again, their faces – whether young, innocent, or weathered – all showing determination: “Let’s do our best!”
After seeing off her friends, Fang Zhiyou finished smoking a cigarette outside the hospital. The name “Xiaogui” kept flashing on her phone screen with no answer. She extinguished the cigarette on the trash can and turned to enter the hospital.
Near the Emergency Department, an inexplicable dull pain suddenly crossed her heart. In that instant, she remembered An Ran’s weak smile and her struggling raised fingers.
Fang Zhiyou suddenly turned around and ran toward the Neurosurgery ICU.
People were crowded outside An Ran’s room. An Ran’s mother covered her face crying, while her father embraced her with red-rimmed eyes, consoling her softly. Looking through the glass window, she saw An Ran lying quietly on the bed, her black hair spread across the pillow, face pale, as if sleeping.
The vital signs monitor beside the bed showed two horizontal lines. As she raised her foot to rush in, a doctor stopped her: “I’m sorry, we’re performing emergency treatment now, you can’t go in.”
Watching as the tubes connected to her body were withdrawn one by one, this usually strong person couldn’t help but turn away, covering her face as she cried: “An Ran…”
Such an excellent, gentle yet strong Ranran, who would comfort her when she was down, who would make the “OK” gesture to face everything, who was a top student in Computer Science yet chose to enter the misunderstood esports industry…
Memories flashed through her mind scene by scene, from their gaming characters to real people, everything that happened between them suddenly became vivid.
Including that unfinished kiss from that day.
If she had accepted An Ran then, would she have left with fewer regrets?
There’s always someone in the world where friendship feels too deep, yet love seems too shallow. She used her brief life to surpass all the youth that lay ahead of her.
She would always remember – her name was “Shangshanruoshui” and An Ran.
That night, Fang Zhiyou remained in a daze, not knowing where she came from or where to go. An Ran’s mother kept crying, her sobs echoing through the corridor.
She sat in the dark stairwell, losing track of time, feeling intensely cold. This was the second person close to her who had passed away. After crying briefly at first, her tears had dried up. Her limbs were frozen cold, and she desperately needed some warmth, even just a little.
She got up and wandered through the vast hospital until her memories led her to the familiar operating room doors, where she immediately saw someone pushing a gurney while running.
She walked up and grabbed their white coat. Yu Gui turned around, both of them startled, both faces streaked with tears.
“Xiaogui…” she spoke with a hoarse voice: “An Ran, she…”
Suppressed emotions erupted as Yu Gui shouted through tears: “Don’t mention An Ran to me! Get out of the way! I need to operate on Teacher Lu…”
She froze, only then noticing Lu Qingshi’s pale face, lying there lifeless just like An Ran.
She instinctively stepped back as a group rushed into the operating room. A dark figure also rushed forward, grabbing Yu Gui’s clothes: “Yu Gui, Yu Gui, Qingshi, she…”
Gu Yanzhi sobbed uncontrollably, unable to speak, as if cotton was stuffed in her throat, only managing to make futile whimpering sounds.
“Captain Gu, Captain Gu,” Yu Gui helped her up, looking into her eyes. Both were crying, but the determination in Yu Gui’s eyes seemed to transfer to Gu Yanzhi’s heart.
“I’m useless, I’ve failed many times, but just this once, using everything I’ve learned in my life, I must save her.”
Gu Yanzhi’s gaze gradually focused, and like a drowning child, she tightly gripped Yu Gui’s arm: “Please, please…”
She didn’t know where she found the courage to trust Yu Gui, but she remembered that summer night long ago.
The night of the chemical plant explosion, she and Qingshi were the last to emerge from the ruins, resting against the ambulance.
She asked her: “How did you know Yu Gui would come find us?”
She smiled, holding a mineral water bottle: “Unpredictability. At Renji Medical University, she’s always been the most unpredictable doctor.”
It wasn’t clear if this was praise or criticism, but since Qingshi trusted her, she was willing to try too.
Peipei’s surgery wasn’t finished yet. Yu Gui was the first to rush out. Before the operating room door closed, Chen Yi also ran out from the anesthesiologists’ team. Hao Renjie, who was passing instruments to Liu Qingyun, his hand halfway extended, the big man with reddened eyes, slammed the equipment back into the tray.
“Sorry,” he removed his surgical cap and ran out without looking back.
Liu Qingyun glanced at Viktor, put down the scalpel, and the other nodded in understanding: “Go quickly. As soon as I finish here, I’ll come right over.”
Fu Lei had just awakened from anesthesia and, learning that Peipei’s surgery had successfully entered its final stage, couldn’t help but burst into tears.
He grabbed the nurse’s arm: “Who… who performed it?”
The nurse hesitated, then told the truth: “Director Lu.”
He suddenly clutched the sutures on his abdomen, breaking into a cold sweat as he sat up in bed: “No… impossible… she couldn’t stand for that long… Qingshi… how is Qingshi?”
The young nurse’s eyes were rimmed red: “Doctor Yu is trying to save her alone, we don’t know yet…”
Fu Lei pulled out the IV line from his hand, face deathly pale, throwing back the covers to get up: “No, I must…”
The young nurse quickly held him down, face full of worry: “Don’t move! You just had one-third of your liver removed, you can’t leave bed for a month!”
“Epidural anesthesia administered, anesthesia range expanded to full body”
Yu Gui finished scrubbing and ran into the operating room. Chen Yi had already completed the preparations. She looked at Lu Qingshi, pale and intubated, then at Yu Gui who was putting on her surgical gown.
“Just the two of us, you plan to…”
“I’m here too!” Hao Renjie ran in panting: “Though I can’t do much, I can pass instruments to you.”
Yu Gui tied her surgical gown strings herself, gratitude evident in her expression: “Thank you.”
Right after, Liu Qingyun also rushed in: “I’m here to help too. After all, I’m half a student of Sister Lu.”
Yu Gui looked at all these determined faces, her eyes misting over. She bit her lip, forcing back the tears.
“Alright, there’s no time to waste, let’s begin.”
While starting the craniotomy [surgical opening of skull], she explained her surgical plan, speaking with expertise as if she had rehearsed it countless times.
Liu Qingyun was secretly shocked: “How long have you been preparing Sister Lu’s surgical plan?”
Yu Gui smiled bitterly: “Since… the day we learned about her cancer. Never thought I’d actually use it one day.”
“Yu Gui, I’ll do my best to maintain her blood pressure. Sister Lu has a rare blood type, if there’s major bleeding…” Chen Yi stood by the machines, worried, constantly holding dopamine at the ready.
Yu Gui’s heart tightened as she nodded slowly but firmly: “I understand, I’ll try to control the bleeding.”
Just then, the head nurse ran in carrying a thermal box: “The blood’s here! The blood’s here! Is one thousand milliliters of RH negative blood enough?!”
Everyone in the operating room was stunned, but Yu Gui’s lips curved slightly.
The speaker overhead crackled to life as Liu Changsheng appeared in the observation room: “I’ll handle the blood issue. We can’t spare more staff right now, and the neurosurgery specialists are on their way. Do your best – at least keep Lu Qingshi alive until they arrive!”
Gu Yanzhi sat in the dim hallway, fingering a bullet casing that had been removed from Lu Qingshi’s neck. She had always kept it close, until Yu Gui gave it to her before entering the operating room.
This bullet had nearly pierced her heart. Some said such things were unlucky, but she felt that in some way, it was a lucky bullet, so she always wore it.
Now, the fire captain who had never believed in supernatural things clasped her hands together, praying through tears: if heaven had eyes, please save her life for all the lives she had saved. She would bear all karmic retribution alone.
“Captain Gu, come with us.” From a distance, the head nurse ran over and led her to the conference room, where a surgical consent form was placed before her.
“Director Lu has no other relatives, and her grandfather is in Beijing, unable to come quickly. Although Director Lu previously expressed wishes to give up treatment, we never intended to give up on her.” The newly appointed Medical Affairs Director, a kind-faced man in his forties, explained.
“After much consideration, you’re the only one who can sign this consent form. I know it’s cruel, but this isn’t just to protect her, it’s also to protect our doctors, in case…”
The first page of the document listed a long series of possible complications and consequences in bold black underline, including major bleeding during surgery, death during operation, permanent paralysis, vegetative state, and more.
Just looking at it made one’s heart race. Gu Yanzhi began trembling, biting her lower lip, hesitating to pick up the pen.
She understood this was standard hospital procedure, but she had promised never to interfere with Lu Qingshi’s decisions, including the decision to stop treatment.
The Medical Affairs Director pulled out another document: “This is the consent form to withdraw all life support systems. Emotionally, none of us want to see this outcome, but from a medical professional’s perspective, treatment for late-stage brain tumors has little meaning, and the prognosis…”
Standing at this life crossroads, Gu Yanzhi unhesitatingly picked up the pen and signed her name, writing “Guardian” in the relationship field.
Since Peipei’s surgery, Yu Gui had been standing for fifteen hours without food or water, in an operating room where there was no day or night, only the eternal glare of surgical lights.
When the electronic clock on the wall changed to nine, Yu Gui’s face showed pain as her arm experienced uncontrollable spasms from prolonged concentration and wrist strain.
The scalpel dropped to the floor as she desperately tried to force her cramping fingers open with her other hand, but it was futile.
Chen Yi stood up: “Yu Gui, don’t force it, relax, relax!”
“How can this… how can this happen… at such a crucial moment…” The young woman cried, her wrist in searing pain. Looking at Lu Qingshi’s still-pale face, she bit her lip until the taste of rust spread through her mouth.
Liu Qingyun pushed her aside: “Enough, it’s fine. You’ve been practicing every day lately without much rest. I can handle the rest.”
“Good Sister, give me the scalpel,” she turned her pleading gaze to Hao Renjie. Yu Gui flexed her stiff wrist, her eyes red and bloodshot from exhaustion, her expression haggard.
Just as she finished speaking, the operating room door burst open as the da Vinci was wheeled in. Viktor’s characteristic enthusiastic English rang out: “Oh babies, am I late? You know, suturing and sterilization took some time.”
Liu Qingyun didn’t look up: “Doctor Viktor, perfect timing. Replace that unlucky Yu Gui with her tendonitis [inflammation of tendon sheath].”
Yu Gui glanced at Viktor who, despite his playful expression, had clear and determined eyes.
She nodded, willingly stepping aside from the lead surgeon position.
As Viktor positioned the da Vinci, the young woman bowed deeply: “Please, Doctor Viktor.”
“Don’t mention it. She’s a lady I greatly admire, and now that she’s divorced, I can’t let her go to heaven.”
The operating room’s atmosphere lightened slightly. Yu Gui’s lips curved slightly: “Sir, you might not have a chance then.”
She didn’t go rest, instead standing nearby to observe. Honestly, Lu Qingshi’s surgery was difficult – if Peipei’s surgery was super S-grade difficulty [gaming term: highest difficulty rating], hers was at least S-grade.
One person’s strength is limited, but what about two people, three people, four people, five people… even an entire team?
More available doctors gradually arrived, including a retired neurosurgery professor. Following Yu Gui’s surgical plan, everyone worked together systematically, aided by the da Vinci’s ultra-clear surgical view, precise movements, rapid speed, and the continuous supply of blood arriving at the hospital.
Lu Qingshi’s vital signs gradually stabilized. Only then did Yu Gui truly understand the meaning of her words, “the operating table was never meant to be a stage for one person.”
Many hands make light work – such a simple truth.
Yu Gui lifted her head, reborn after a day and night of blood and tears.
Gu Yanzhi kept vigil outside the operating room, refusing to close her eyes. She had traveled continuously from north to south, exhausted in body and spirit, yet remained alert like the doctors inside. When the operating room light went off, she was the first to rush forward.
“Qingshi, Qingshi, how is she?!” She called softly twice. The person on the bed showed no response, so she tugged at the doctor’s sleeve.
Yu Gui removed her mask, looking troubled: “The surgery was successful…”
Hearing the first half, she wept with joy, but seeing the doctor’s expression, her heart sank, that tiny bit of happiness quickly extinguished.
“Let’s send her to ICU and see if she wakes up…”
Gu Yanzhi followed her in a daze, tears falling uncontrollably. No matter what, she would hold onto even the smallest hope.
Three days after surgery, Lu Qingshi hadn’t woken. ICU issued the first critical condition notice. Lu Xucheng rushed over from Beijing, and Gu Yanzhi went to meet him.
The old and young walked one behind the other, Gu Yanzhi silent and restrained. Lu Xucheng tried to speak several times but stopped upon seeing her profile.
After visiting Qingshi at the hospital, the elderly man prepared to return to his hotel. Gu Yanzhi rose from the corner – after several months, the spirited look from their first meeting was gone, as if she carried all of Qingshi’s pain. The young person’s back was hunched, her face haggard.
“Come stay at home, there’s still an empty room.”
The old man was startled. She gave a bitter smile and continued: “You’re Qingshi’s only family now.”
And the only one who could understand her pain.
So these two people, who had always been at odds, found themselves unusually sharing a roof. Gu Yanzhi prepared the guest room, carrying out the changed bedding: “Please make do, the house hasn’t been lived in for a while…”
The room was desolate. The two excited pets from last time were gone, even their dog bed and cat tower had been put away.
“Those two…” the old man frowned, unable to recall their names.
“Hamburger and French Fries. They’re still at the pet shop, haven’t brought them back.”
Gu Yanzhi answered, gently closing his door, shutting out the sunset light.
After a while, the washing machine’s sound mixed with running water could be heard, but if one listened carefully, there was also a deeply suppressed sound.
Lu Xucheng sat for a while without his cane, then slowly made his way to the door holding the wall. Through the partially open bathroom door, he could see her gripping the washing machine, biting her lower lip as large tears fell, mingling with the rumbling of the machine.
Did she think others couldn’t hear her this way?
Lu Xucheng considered for a moment, then decided not to disturb her. He stood in the center of the living room for several minutes, the house quiet except for the washing machine and her muffled crying.
Lu Xucheng slowly made his way back to his room. About ten minutes later, the washing machine stopped.
Only then did he call through the door: “There are apples I bought on the coffee table, wash one and eat it!”
Gu Yanzhi roughly wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, pulling clothes from the washing machine: “Ah, okay!”
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