May we gather with our loved ones, sitting comfortably by the warm glow of the lights, cherishing the simple joy of togetherness

我从无锡回广州的飞机上，我在飞机上给你写了这封信。我10岁那年有一天傍晚，我得知我父亲得了癌症，从那以后我夜夜从睡梦中惊醒。我怕他突然会离我而去。手术那天，我前一天向学校请了假，当天一大早我从江北跑到江南。我步行了50分钟跑去了医院，我去告诉医生，父亲当天手术肯定要输血，我可以为我父亲输血。医生说当天父亲要输1000CC血液，不用小孩子输血。那天清晨正好有位30岁的女人来卖血，她的血给了我的父亲。手术从早晨做到了下午，现在我才明白当年的医生实际根本没有把握做如此大的手术。当年医院的何院长也算是个十足的恶人，后来我听说他与他老婆一同死在养老院了。恶人就正如树上的烂果子，不必我动手，他始终会烂在树上。也许当年我们也没有什么好处给到他们这帮人，医院的医生和护士对我们也非常冷漠。我常常一个人在医院哭着跑上跑下。手术那天我与父亲的一些好朋友一直在手术室外等待。那10个小时的时光让我终生难忘。父亲在手术前为我买了手表，钢笔，毛毯，书桌，台灯以及我长大后要穿的衣服，还有一双粉红色的塑料凉鞋。父亲是怕他突然离我而去，往后余生没人会为我买这些东西。因为医院的这些事情，我发誓长大后要到谁也不认识我的地方去工作，我今生今世才不要回到中国水电八局。我死都要死在外面。这就是当年中国基层医院的现状。你只能眼睁睁地看着你深爱的人马上就要离开你，你却根本无能为力，医生护士也无能为力。他们也许压根就没能力救人。我是怕冷的，我是怕台风的，我是怕听不到你的声音的，我是怕行走在街上看不见你的身影的，我是怕脫了高跟鞋在黑夜里找不到开关，我是怕伸出手来触摸不到你的心痛，我是怕冼尽铅华只剩下最后的荒凉！2004年我第一次出国，我乘坐的飞机是一路追着太阳来到了柏林。2018年我用父亲留给我的钱创办了仁医医疗。我们现在与186位世界著名的医生一同工作，关键我们在一起很开心，很特别。2025年的圣诞节马上就要来了。家人闲坐，灯火可亲。

I’m writing this letter to you on the flight back to Guangzhou from Wuxi. When I was 10, one evening, I learned that my father was diagnosed with cancer. From that moment on, I woke up from nightmares every night, terrified that he might leave me suddenly. For his surgery, I asked for a leave from school the day before. Early in the morning of the day for operation, I ran all the way from Jiangbei to Jiangnan, trudging 50 minutes on foot to get to the hospital. I told the doctors that my father would need a blood transfusion, and that I could give him my blood. The doctor said he would need 1000cc that day, and they wouldn’t take blood from a child. That morning, a 30-year-old woman came to sell her blood, and her blood saved my father. The surgery lasted from morning until afternoon. Only now do I understand that the doctors back then had absolutely no confidence in performing such a major operation. The hospital director at that time, Director He, was a truly wicked man. I later heard that he and his wife died together in a nursing home. A wicked man, like a rotten fruit on a tree—whether or not you touch him, he will eventually rot away. Perhaps we had nothing to offer them back then. The doctors and nurses were indifferent to us. I often ran through the hospital crying alone. On the day of the surgery, I waited outside the operating room for 10 long hours with some of my father’s closest friends. Those hours are etched into my memory forever. Before the surgery, my father bought me a watch, a fountain pen, a blanket, a desk, a lamp, clothes I would wear when I grew older, and a pair of pink plastic sandals. He feared he might leave me suddenly, and no one would ever buy those things for me again. Because of everything that happened in that hospital, I swore that when I grew up, I would go somewhere no one knew me. I would never return to the Sinohydro Engineering Bureau 8. If I had to die, I would rather die far away. That was the reality of primary care hospitals in China at that time. You could only watch helplessly as your beloved one was about to pass away, with nothing you could do about it, and neither could the doctors or nurses. Perhaps they never had the ability to save anyone. I am afraid of the cold; I am afraid of typhoons; I am afraid of not hearing your voice; I am afraid of walking down the street and not seeing your silhouette; I am afraid of taking off my high heels and not finding the light switch in the dark; I am afraid of reaching out and not being able to touch your pain; I am afraid that when all the brilliance fades, only desolation will remain. In 2004, I went abroad for the first time. The plane I took chased the sun all the way to Berlin. In 2018, with the money my father left me, I founded Gloryren. Today, we work together with 186 world-renowned doctors. Most importantly, we are genuinely happy together—it feels special. Christmas of 2025 is just around the corner. May we gather with our loved ones, sitting comfortably by the warm glow of the lights, cherishing the simple joy of togetherness.