I met a friend through Zhihu, and because I don’t want to disturb anymore, I didn’t circle her out. She studied film and television production at university, and worked as an intern in a production company before graduation. In early 2018, her group will shoot a pseudo-documentary, similar to a reality show for migrant workers, which will be broadcast on CCTV during the Spring Festival. That’s when reality shows are the hottest. Because I often read my articles in Zhihu, and saw that I wrote about working in the south, she added me to WeChat and wanted to invite me to participate, saying that I was particularly suitable. At that time, my first book was on pre-sale. She told me that her show was a once-in-a-lifetime publicity opportunity, and she wanted to impress me in agreeing to her invitation. She asked me if I had delivered a courier. I said sent it. She said, if you agree, it will be Liu Qiangdong with you. I refused her invitation without even giving a reason. Out of great curiosity and a bit of complaint about me, she slowly became good friends with me. At about that time, her body sounded an alarm to her. Her left hand was unable to lift her shoulders to tie her hair, so she needed to ask her roommate for her grooming every morning, and then she couldn’t deliver even half of an apple to her mouth. In the end, it was completely numb, and it was difficult to wave it with all its strength. She lived with her father when she was very young. She has a very young sister and her mother is not around. She stopped work and rushed to the hospital in Beijing with her father. The result of the examination was that there was something growing in her neck, which was oppressing the nerve, so her left hand was abnormal. She told me on WeChat that the doctor said that the thing is benign, as long as it is cut off. The only disadvantage is that there may be sequelae of limb disability. After all, the operation will damage the spinal cord and nerves. The operation requires a lot of money. She has no family at all, so she can only ask for help from a fundraising platform for serious illness. She shared the fundraising link in her circle of friends, I clicked it in, donated some money, and forwarded the link to my circle of friends, hoping to bring her more help. There are several photos in the fundraising link, which are the hospital’s case certificate and the identity certificate of the person seeking help. Among them, one of them shows her sitting on the hospital bed with a slight smile and a book on her hand. From the cover, you can recognize that it is my book at a glance. Later, her condition went from good to bad. After surgery and chemotherapy, she entered a difficult and long recovery period. The operation did hurt a lot of nerves and severely affected her ability to move. She needs to learn to walk again like a one-year-old. The long hair that was not pierced in the past has been completely lost, and the new short hair is growing on the head. She said she would get better, and the facts are indeed as she said. She quickly recovered from the bed to be able to sit in a wheelchair. She was able to stand up from the wheelchair and walk on crutches. Later, she could simply throw away the crutches and walk ten meters away. Although she was shaking and trembling, she was already a great hope. And obvious success. Even the doctor who was in charge of physiotherapy praised her, saying that she was firm-willed and was the one who recovered the fastest in the hospital. But things took a turn for the worse. One day she told me that she suddenly forgot how to walk and her legs were very disobedient. She thought it was too hard to rehabilitate and made herself tired, so she threw away her crutches and sat back in the wheelchair, hoping to give her legs a full rest. A few days later, she couldn’t sit still, so she returned to the bed from the wheelchair. Later, just like when she was discharged from the hospital, she could only lie down straight, and only her head could move up and down. I asked her if you were too anxious and put pressure on the body. Did not get a reply. After half a month, she sent a twelve-second voice message. She told me that the incision was edema, which was pressing on the nerve. She said calmly, “But don’t worry, Dad told me that as long as the edema subsides, it’s fine.” This is the last message she sent me. She was lying on the bed and talking, and asked her younger sister to help hold the voice. Enter it and send it to me like this. She died in June 2019. That afternoon, she was suddenly in a critical condition and could not breathe. Her father called a car to Beijing, but she could not make it to the hospital. She also likes to write something. She used a pen name called Jingjiu, from the Jingjiu Railway. When she was a child, she used to wait for her father to come home from get off work by the side of that railway. Her friend told me that her father obeyed her last wish and buried her on the edge of the Beijing-Kowloon Railway. It’s been a year and a half, and I haven’t been there to see her, but I think I will go sooner or later.