"Sun Yanyi, I don't have a cold or fever now, nor do I have a toothache or stomach problem. I have a tumor as big as a soybean in my brain. It threatens my life at any time. Maybe it will get worse after I hang up the phone with you. I will die, Yanyi, I will die, Yanyi, but, Yanyi, no one can accompany me, Yanyi. "When Chi Yan said these words, she finally acted like a normal girl. She would be afraid and cry. She was still my Chi Yan. "Yan Yi, I have surgery tomorrow afternoon."
When I saw Chi Yan in the hospital, she was about to sign for herself. I signed for her. I have never found the words Sun Yanyi or three words so difficult to write. Chi Yan said to me: "Yanyi, thank you. In fact, I am very afraid. What if I die on the operating table? Yanyi, you know I don't know, if I really die today, there will be no one who can bury me, Yan Yi, luckily I still have you." When I turned around and walked out of the ward, Chi Yan said again: "Yan Yi, I'm scared." I didn't expect that to be the last words Chi Yan said in his life.
After Chi Yan entered the operating room, I used her mobile phone to call Yuan Xi and the others. The empty operating room was instantly filled with people. I said to the scarlet light: "Chi Yan, the person who can bury you is here." Then, I returned to Canada.
Two months later, I learned from Chi Yan's lawyer that Chi Yan died on the operating table.