Last night, I received the shocking news. I found it hard to believe, and I did not want to believe it.
An old friend not yet forty had suddenly left just like that.
I felt heavy-hearted, lost, sorrowful—unable to calm down or let go.
I did not think I was old yet, but at some point, among my vast circle of friends,
there had begun to be people who would never update again.
I met Youyou around 2010.
At the time, my administrators Fufu and Xuan'er could no longer help me manage my books because of their studies and work.
They recommended someone to me: "There's a reader who especially loves your books and only reads your books. She'd be perfect as your administrator."
From War God Transformation to Arrogant Sword in the Firmament, then Heaven-Slaying Blade, Boundless, Grand Talisman Master...
Youyou led the management team in helping me with all of them.
She was a kind, beautiful, warmhearted, optimistic girl.
She was also a girl deeply responsible toward her family, friends, and work.
Youyou was my reader, my chief steward, my friend, and my soulmate.
Youyou, I had known for a long time that you were ill, and I also knew you were strong.
All these years, you had kept working hard and living earnestly.
Looking through our chat history, the last time I spoke with you was still in August.
It must have already been very serious then, right?
You told me, "It's fine, Brother. Don't worry."
I told you to take care of yourself.
You urged me not to push myself so hard with writing.
You told me I had to take care of my health, keep exercising, and control my blood sugar.
You said we both had to be well.
I said, "Okay. We both have to be well."
Your last sticker is still there.
I had never imagined that you would say goodbye so suddenly.
That you would never suddenly pop up again,
and ask, "Brother Dao, how have you been lately? How is Sister-in-law? Has Erbao grown up already?"
It truly broke my heart to look at it.
I even regretted and blamed myself for not talking with you more during your final days.
Although I would still have been unbearably heartbroken and saddened by your departure.
Perhaps there would have been a little less regret.
By rights, someone like me, past the age of forty and having already bid farewell to those closest to me,
should have been calmer and more clear-minded when facing such a parting in death.
I should have been able to say, as I had always upheld in my works: death is not the end; life is merely a trial.
But I still could not do it.
I was still that ordinary man, clinging to life and fearing death, living in this mundane world, bending my back for a meager living.
I could not calmly accept your departure.
Last night, a group of familiar old readers—the people who called you Sister You—were all devastated.
Someone cried and wanted to call me.
I did not see it, so they looked for me on QQ, on WeChat, in the latest chapter of the new book, and by text message.
They treated you as their eldest sister, and they were as heartbroken as I was.
They asked me to write something in your memory.
I said I could not write it.
I had so many things I wanted to talk to you about, Youyou, but you had left.
At the time, I did not know what I should say.
What more could I say?
My heart ached, filled with a jumble of emotions.
I opened your QQ and entered your space for the first time.
Aside from work and scenery, almost everything else was pictures related to my books.
Your collection of covers for my published works was more complete than my own.
In that moment, your brother—a middle-aged man in his forties—was truly holding back tears.
Yet my vision still blurred.
This morning, I returned to my hometown to visit my father's grave and the graves of departed relatives.
After returning and going back to the studio, the first thing I did was finish what I had been unable to do last night.
Write an article in your memory.
But I still wrote a complete mess. Through tear-blurred eyes, I did not even know what I was saying.
I believe you would not blame me.
After all, I am your brother.
People have even criticized my writing as old-fashioned and outdated.
So just make do with this article mourning you.
There was not much I could do. I could only let you remain forever in everyone's memories in this way.
I also contacted your family. After you are laid to rest, I will find a chance to visit you.
When that time comes, I will bring you the most beautiful bouquet of flowers.
In 2018, reader Little Bear's life was forever frozen at her youthful, beautiful age because of leukemia.
At a little after two in the morning on January 15, seven years later, you too left this world because of stomach cancer and returned to heaven.
If you see Little Bear, remember to send her my regards.
Farewell, my devoted reader. Farewell, my chief steward. Farewell, my beautiful girl. Farewell, my old friend whom I never met, yet who was my soulmate for a lifetime.
I hope that in another world, you can be free of all worries.
Just as in those years when we had first met, living happily and always smiling.
Just as you said in the final message you sent me: "Who do you think I am? I'm absolutely fine. Even Heaven can't defeat me."
I also hope that every friend who reads this article will take good care of their health.
After all, having come to this world for this one journey, we must cherish it.