From humble beginnings to the pinnacle of life

The next morning, Su Qing woke up early, feeling much better and with a rosier complexion than the day before.

I helped her wash up and get ready, and I told her countless times to rest well and not to touch her wound.

At 8 o'clock sharp, the scheduled caregiver arrived at the ward on time. She was professional and attentive, and communication was very smooth.

I repeatedly told the caregiver to call me immediately if anything happened and not to leave the ward.

After settling everything in, I said goodbye to Su Qing.

Su Qing advised me, "Drive carefully on the road, spend more time talking to your younger brother, don't let him feel lonely, and don't be too sad. Keep a calm mind."

"Don't worry, I know what I'm doing."

I bent down and gently hugged her, not daring to use too much force, carefully avoiding her wound.

After leaving the hospital, I took a taxi back to the small courtyard by the river.

The courtyard was exceptionally quiet in the early morning; the air was fresh and moist after the rain, and the grass and trees were lush and green.

I went into the study, took out a USB drive from the drawer, and found it full of original footage of the entire no-man's-land we had filmed.

In addition, I also specially prepared a brand new set of outdoor souvenirs and a wilderness diary that I wrote myself.

It contains my observations and feelings from each of my journeys, as well as my experiences in surviving desperate situations, hoping it might offer some comfort to the young man.

After packing everything up, I went to the fruit shop and picked out the freshest soft fruit. After packing everything up, I took a taxi to the Municipal Cancer Hospital.

The atmosphere at a cancer hospital is completely different from that of a regular hospital.

The place was filled with a heavy and oppressive atmosphere. Most of the patients who came and went looked haggard, and each of them carried the helplessness and resilience in their fight against illness.

The disinfectant smell was strong and pungent, making it hard to breathe.

Following the ward number given by the boy, I made my way to the hematology department of the inpatient ward.

The moment I pushed open the ward door, my heart sank.

This is a three-person hospital room, but the atmosphere is oppressive.

On the hospital bed by the window lay a boy who was so thin it was heartbreaking.

He was so thin that he looked like he could be blown away by a gust of wind. His body was emaciated and hunched over by illness. His hair had fallen out completely due to repeated chemotherapy. He wore a simple black thin hat, and his face was almost transparently pale.

Only his eyes were clear and bright, carrying the pure innocence unique to an eighteen-year-old boy.

Needless to say, I recognized him at a glance; he was the boy who left me a private message.

Hearing the door open, the boy immediately turned around.

His previously dim eyes instantly lit up with a dazzling light. He awkwardly propped himself up, trying to sit up, his voice filled with excitement:

"Brother Ye! You really came!"

"Lie still and get some rest."

I quickly walked over and gently pressed him down to prevent him from getting up.

The boy obediently lay down, his eyes fixed on me, filled with admiration and joy.

A middle-aged woman, who also looked very haggard, was sitting next to the hospital bed; she was probably the boy's mother.

She was very welcoming; knowing I was there to see her son, she quickly made room for me.

After I nodded slightly to her in greeting, she said to us, "You two chat, I'm going out to buy something."

After she finished speaking, she left the ward, leaving me and the boy to spend time together.

The boy looked at me, a smile playing on his lips, his youthful radiance shining even in his dire straits.

"I really didn't expect you to come in person. I thought... you were just saying something to comfort me."

"I will definitely keep my promise to you."

I placed the fruit and nutritional supplements I was carrying on the bedside table, then took out a USB drive and a notebook, saying, "I not only came, but I also brought gifts."

I turned on my phone, connected the USB drive, projected the video footage of the deserted area onto a small portable player, and handed it to him.

The moment the screen lights up, the magnificent and vast plateau scenery comes into view.

Unending snow-capped mountains, crystal-clear lakes, boundless wilderness, a dazzling Milky Way, and Tibetan antelopes running freely...

A series of breathtakingly beautiful scenes, never before seen, flowed slowly across the small screen.

The boy was instantly captivated, his eyes fixed on the screen, filled with longing and a bright light.

He watched quietly, without saying a word, only his breathing rising and falling gently.

Sunlight streamed through the window and fell on his thin frame, softening the weariness brought on by his illness and making him look no different from any other eighteen-year-old boy.

I didn't disturb him, but quietly stayed by his side, watching his absorbed expression, and my heart ached.

He should have been running freely on the playground, sweating it out on the court, chasing his youth on campus, and embarking on his own passionate life.

Instead of being confined to a hospital ward, comforting oneself with unfulfilled dreams through the scenery captured by others' lenses.

The video was very long, and he couldn't watch it all at once. After watching it for only a few minutes, he looked away.

He murmured softly, "It's so beautiful...it's really so beautiful. This is the place I've always dreamed of going to—vast, free, without illness or constraints, even the wind is free."

I smiled slightly at him and said, "Once you're better, I'll personally take you there and show you all the beautiful scenery."

I knew it sounded weak when I said those words.

But I still wanted to give him a little hope, a little something to keep going.

The boy understood my good intentions, and he smiled faintly: "Brother Ye, there's no need to comfort me. I know my own body. It's already a miracle that I've made it this far."

His tone was calm, without fear or complaint, only a sense of acceptance that came from having seen through life and death.

"I used to be a key sprinter on the school track and field team and a starter on the basketball team."

He spoke slowly, his tone tinged with a touch of nostalgia.

"Back then, I could run the 100 meters faster than anyone in the whole school. I spent every day on the playground, sweating profusely, but I wasn't tired at all. I felt that life had endless possibilities."

"My biggest dream is to get into a sports university and then travel all over the country to all the free and vast places."

But an illness shattered everything.

At this point, he looked down at his thin, weak arms and said with a soft self-deprecating laugh:

"Now, let alone running, I feel weak and breathless even after getting out of bed and walking a few steps."

I listened quietly without interrupting him.

He slowly recounted his experience, from the initial despair and collapse upon diagnosis to the agonizing ordeal of repeated chemotherapy.

From feeling guilty watching my parents borrow money everywhere and toiling day and night, to now having the peace of accepting my fate.

More than a year of treatment emptied the family's savings, ruined his parents' health, and wore down all his edges and hopes.

He wasn't afraid of death; what he feared was that after he was gone, his parents would live the rest of their lives in the pain of losing him, unable to move on.

After chatting for a long time, the ward gradually quieted down.

The sunlight outside the window grew brighter and brighter, falling into the boy's clean eyes.

After a long silence, he suddenly looked up at me, his eyes serious and solemn, and said:

"Brother Ye, there's something I want to ask you secretly. I've never told anyone about this before, not even my parents."

My heart skipped a beat, and I looked at him seriously: "Tell me, as long as it's within my power, I will definitely help you."

He turned his head slightly to look outside the ward door, confirming that his parents had not come over.

He lowered his voice and spoke cautiously:

"I know my time is running out, and I can't hold on much longer. After I'm gone, my parents will definitely be devastated. All their hopes and dreams in this life are pinned on me..."

"I'm afraid that if I'm gone, they'll have no reason to live and won't be able to get through the rest of their lives."