Waves of Chill Sweep the Human World

After the End of Heat (Chu Shu), the weather turned cool and waves of chill set in; by evening, going out for a bike ride, I could already feel the cold. Similar to the weather is the economic outlook, buffeted by the pandemic, natural disasters and war.

Last night, heading out for a ride, I noticed while pushing my bike that a part on the saddle was missing. On closer look, someone had removed it. Then I suddenly remembered: that morning, at the parcel locker, a fellow resident had been shouting that his bicycle had been stolen and that he had called the police.

I have lived in this compound for thirteen years and had never before heard of a bicycle theft. As I wheeled my bike to the repair shop, it occurred to me that the thief might have wanted to steal mine too, but I chain-locked several of our bicycles together, making that hard to pull off.

The thief must have had his eye on my saddle—it is a good one. When I bought the bike, the shop assistant said the saddle was a professional cycling saddle worth several hundred yuan. But the saddle was also hard to steal, so in the end the thief took just one part that holds the saddle in place.

From today on, I will bring my bike inside to store it. This is the most expensive bike I have ever ridden; my wife bought it for me for 3,500 yuan the year before last, for my birthday. Compared with professional racing bikes, ours is not even entry-level. But it is the most expensive bicycle I have ever owned in my life, so I treasure it. The thief's failure to steal it served as a warning; keeping it indoors is safer.

My wife wanted to call the property management, but I talked her out of it. That morning, the man whose bike was stolen had already called the police. If the police find the thief, they find him; if not, there is nothing to be done. Besides, I cannot summon the slightest hatred for the thief. Even if he had stolen my entire bicycle, I doubt I would have pursued him.

The compound's surveillance cameras cover almost every corner. In this day and age, someone stealing a bike inside a residential compound is probably driven by hardship, with no way out. In more than a decade I had never heard of a single bicycle theft in our neighborhood, which shows that this year's economic situation is genuinely hard. If the thief had any other way out, I doubt he would take such a risk.

At twenty, I once went without food, so I know what it feels like to be at the end of one's rope. If a person steals a bicycle—even mine—because he cannot put food on the table, I can forgive him. If his situation is truly as bad as all that, I might even give him some money for a proper meal.

I will never forget the time in my life when I was stranded at Jinan Railway Station, going days without food, reaching out to beg, only to be shouted at as a fraud. It was the winter of 1999, just before Chinese New Year's Eve. I was alone, wandering the streets, penniless and hungry, with no relatives to turn to—utterly desolate.

Those years, because of the financial crisis, the economy was bad and my father went bankrupt. My older brother and I were both in college; tuition and living expenses crushed my parents. That was an important reason I dropped out: at the time, I felt one of us brothers had to sacrifice his schooling to keep our precarious family from collapsing. My brother was about to get his diploma, while I had only just entered university, so I thought sacrificing myself was the better deal.

Looking back now, I feel I benefited from the misfortune. To say something that might offend my friends who teach at universities: given the current quality of higher education, the four years I would have spent in college might have taught me less than I taught myself in the library afterward. Moreover, as the philosopher Kant said, geniuses are not taught; a genius's road is forged by himself. I am no genius, but I too feel my road should be forged by me—whether in career or in study.

Today I feel a special tenderness toward the poor. Whenever I learn that someone is truly as destitute as I once was, I reach out to help without hesitation. Not long ago, a patient came to see me; to make me take her mother's case more seriously, the daughter spent money to send me some fruit by courier. But while talking with the patient, I learned that the girl is now studying while working. Her job is the night shift at a 24-hour convenience store; staying up all night is normal. At her young age, her body is already failing—malnourished, her limbs ice-cold.

This child reminded me of myself when I was young. I sent her some nutritional supplements and books by courier, and told her not to worry: I would do my best to find a way for her mother. She was born in 2000. She showed me that Gen-Z people carry the same thing that we, the 1970s generation, carry. Dividing people by generation is wrong; in every generation there are rich and poor. Poor people's children grow up through hardship, like her and like me—we had no means to be spoiled. People often ask how I read and write every day without fail. That is the answer: I have known hardship, and I love medicine and writing, so I never slack off.

My son does not want to study medicine, and I think that is actually a good thing. He has not endured the hardships I endured, nor even the hardships that girl his age has endured. His mother and I, after all, are white-collar with fairly stable incomes. He does not live in luxury, but he has never gone without food or clothing, so he cannot feel what people who cannot feed themselves feel. Even if he inherited my medical skill, it would be hard for him to read people's hearts as I do. His understanding of human relations would likely differ from mine; he would find it hard to empathize with the poor. Since ancient times, those who suffer most are the people beset by both poverty and illness; without empathy for them, it is hard to be a good doctor. So him not becoming a doctor may not be a bad thing.

These past few days, an internal speech by Ren Zhengfei has drawn wide attention online. He said the economic outlook will be grim for some time, and asked Huawei employees to "pass the chill along," so everyone prepares for hardship. I saw it too, and told my wife that we should lower our income expectations, save money where we can, and be ready to help family members when they need it—especially when the next generation in our family cannot afford school, we should reach out and help them through.

Behind us is a large extended family: she has four siblings, I have two, and the next generation numbers more than ten children, all at critical stages of growth. In this economic cold snap, we must try our best to ensure the children's basic education is not missing.

The rarest thing in the human world is the spirit of mutual watchfulness and support. In hard times, standing together makes hardship less frightening. I still remember an episode from over ten years ago, when my mother was hospitalized for a cerebral hemorrhage. A leukemia patient was traveling from Zhejiang back to her hometown; passing through our county, she suddenly became critically ill, and her husband had to rush her to our county people's hospital.

My mother was a patient there too. The neurologist attending my mother issued critical-condition notices to us again and again. At that time I did not want to see any patient on the ward die. Yet in the neurology ward I personally watched seven or eight patients pass away. Each death grieved me, and each time my heart leapt to my throat, terrified the next would be my mother.

So when this leukemia patient was brought in (I don't know why they ended up in the neurology ward), I especially wanted to save her. She needed a platelet transfusion, but her husband had no money. I told the hospital to transfuse platelets immediately and save the patient; I would pay. But that night we could not save her. As she died, her husband wailed beside her: the patient had been working in Zhejiang, working by day and making slippers at night to sell at the night market. They had three small children and a heavy burden.

This is the real human world. In every age, some live well and some live terribly. It is truly, as the poem says, "Wine and meat rot in the mansions, while frozen bones lie by the road." The husband at that moment did not even have money to buy burial clothes for his wife; alone in a strange place, with his wife just dead, he was frantic and bewildered, not knowing what to do. A woman in the same ward paid out of her own pocket to buy burial clothes for the patient. We drew a curtain around the bed, and that woman and the patient's husband dressed her, waiting for the funeral home van to take her for cremation.

I still remember that scene vividly. At least that night, on that ward, I saw a group of people bound by shared suffering watching over one another, so that this pitiable patient would not leave the world in utter loneliness.

My understanding of medicine today is far deeper than it used to be, especially of hospice and palliative care. In the face of death and suffering, what can we do for patients? Beyond pure treatment, perhaps our understanding, our compassion and the warmth we give them matter more than medicine itself. I deeply regret the lack of humanistic care in today's medical system, and the scandals that erupt from time to time in the profession grieve me greatly.

These past two years, with the economic cold snap, I have seen many patients give up treatment. I have seen many stop taking drugs they once could afford but can no longer pay for, choosing cheaper or insurance-covered medications instead. I understand all of this. I always try my best to prescribe the least expensive, most practical medicines.

Because of this, many long-time patients rely on me deeply, and we are in a relationship of mutual watchfulness. Human beings living in nature—how lonely and helpless we would be without one another's care! In this chill-filled age, the spirit of mutual support is needed more than ever. I hope each of us can be a little more understanding, a little more forgiving, a little more caring toward the rest of the world.