They Were Waiting for Me to Die, I Lifted the Sky over the Han River

"Dip-dip-dip-" The monotonous sound of electronic pulses echoed in the ward of senior officials. Gu Zhengguo opened his eyes. The ceiling lamp on the ceiling was a little dim, and the light cast a yellowish glow on the white wall. My nose was full of the smell of lysol and glucose, and it was chilly. He flexed his fingers. The five fingers bent down and then popped out one by one, the joints clicked, a series of crisp sounds. There is no pain. The late-stage gastric cancer that had tortured him for more than half a year - the ulceration of the stomach wall and the smell of blood that surged up all night long - was gone. Gone cleanly. There is a warmth in the limbs, the muscles are tight, and the breathing is steady and long. This is the body he only had when he was forty years old. The memory poured in.