Today I want to talk about a friend of mine, because I am quite sentimental and have been through a lot. This friend of mine is a construction engineer, a good friend from London, named Yang Jia. Ten years ago, he was sent to work in China. In 2016, I suddenly received a phone call from him. He said he was returning to London and asked if I could pick him up at the airport. No problem, I said, just bring me two packs of cigarettes, the Zhongnanhai 0.8s, I used to like smoking, but I don’t smoke anymore.

So, on October 29, I went to the airport to pick him up. After seeing him, I felt something was off; his face was yellow, he looked weak, and there was something wrong in his eyes. What was going on? He didn’t say anything, and we went back to the apartment he rented. Once we arrived, I felt something was really wrong with him. I said, "Yang Jia, we need to go to the hospital for an emergency check-up." He didn’t refuse me, and we took a taxi to the hospital. After we got to the hospital, he didn’t come out. I stayed with him for a full five days while he underwent all the tests. On the sixth day, the doctor called me and Amanda in to tell us the news. They didn’t hide it from us. Unlike in China, where they first inform the family and then the patient, here they tell the patient directly. They said he had rectal cancer, which had already spread to the liver, and his liver was full of cancer cells. Surgery was not an option; there was only one path: chemotherapy. At that moment, the three of us, especially Yang Jia, were on the verge of collapse.

This kind of news is unbearable for anyone. Later, I asked how much time he had left. The doctor said, optimistically, six months; pessimistically, only three months. Just think about it, when a person receives such news, how scared must he be? How strong must his will to survive be? He had just turned 60, two years younger than me. At that moment, as a friend, I immediately felt my responsibility. Because in a foreign country, especially in a strange land, there are no relatives. Just think, without friends or confidants, how could he hold on? How could he survive? So, Amanda, being particularly kind, said we couldn’t let him go back to his rented apartment alone; we should bring him to our home. I brought my friend to our family, and we cleared out our bedroom for him. Since our place was small, we both moved to sleep on the floor.

Thus began my experience of being a friend and taking care of him for three whole months. I want to share this with you today, as those three months were the most profound experience of my life. I took care of him for three months, but those three months felt incredibly long for me. Why? Because I had to cook for him, change his dressings, and provide him with immense emotional support. Caring for a patient is truly not easy. It’s very challenging.

Every day when I cooked for him, he had specific requests. Why? Because the food here in China has its limitations. For example, he told me, "Guo Yi, with my condition, I need to eat oxtail soup and soft-shelled turtle soup." I said I could get the oxtail from Chinatown, but where was I supposed to find soft-shelled turtle? You’re giving me a tough problem; in the UK, they don’t even allow the sale of live fish, so how could I get him a turtle? Later, I thought his time was limited, so I had to fulfill his requests. I remembered that there are many small rivers in the English countryside, but I didn’t know if you catch turtles by fishing, trapping, or netting. I couldn’t figure it out. So, I asked the local farmers, and they almost caught me, saying I was destroying nature by trying to catch turtles. It was impossible. I came back and said, "Sorry, Yang Jia, we won’t be able to have turtle soup. The UK really doesn’t allow eating live things, and they don’t even have live fish, so let’s stick to oxtail soup."

Just think about it; when a patient makes requests, you want to fulfill them, right? He also thought about the people he had loved and those he hadn’t, the friends he had pleasant and unpleasant experiences with. I found all of them one by one and arranged for him to meet them. Because he had things he wanted to say, especially at the end of life, the things he wanted, the words left unsaid, the people he wanted to see—these experiences and feelings, I witnessed them all. I realized how fragile life is, and how important friends are at such moments.

In my memory, three hours before he passed away, I wanted to ask him if he had a will or anything he wanted to say, but I didn’t have the courage to ask. I just sat beside him; by then, he could hardly open his eyes, and his speech was intermittent. I felt so sad; why is life so cruel? I couldn’t express my feelings. I just looked at him, but he couldn’t see me anymore; he was already blind to everything. I called out, "Buddy, buddy, can you hear me?" My friend’s last words in this life, with his eyes closed and using all his strength, he called out to me, "Buddy." At that moment, three or four people around us heard it. That was the last sentence of his life. I will never forget this buddy.

What I want to say today is that sometimes giving is also a form of enjoyment, and in life, it is essential to have friends and confidants, especially in a foreign land. This kind of strength and emotion is incredibly important. Don’t think you can handle everything on your own; sometimes, it’s not as easy as you imagine. So today, I want to share this with you. It has been four or five years since this happened, but I often recall the three months I spent taking care of him, the friendship we built, and the effort I put in. I feel it was worth it. I had such a buddy. Although he has left me, I will always remember him.

Friends, I hope you can understand my feelings and appreciate my experiences. Thank you all.