In Lijiang in 2005, I formed a temporary team with some strangers to plan to enter Tibet along the Yunnan Tibet line. Passing through Meili Snow Mountain, we stopped at Feilai temple to turn the mountain. A female college student in Beijing inadvertently said that her leg was swollen. Out of professional habits, I asked her past medical history. The girl said she had aplastic anemia and had to go for blood transfusion almost every month when she was in Beijing. I was stunned: "then why did you go to Gaoyuan?" Patients with aplastic anemia have poor blood oxygen carrying function, not to mention at high altitude. The girl said, "it's my life dream to go to Tibet. I'm very happy all the way. Even if I die here, it's worth it." Having nothing to say, I immediately proposed to return, otherwise the patient's life would be in danger. There are 6 people in our company. Two old donkey friends said that the girl is an adult and should be responsible for her behavior. She should go back by herself without affecting others. Two Guangzhou tourists said it didn't matter. The Tibetan guide agreed to return to Diqing, saying there was a hospital there. We argued for a long time and didn't reach an agreement, but the girl seemed to have a cold again and began to have some difficulty breathing. So my guide Zaxi and I decided to take the patient away by ourselves. We took turns carrying the girls down the mountain and rushed back to Deqin. It was already dusk. Finally, we found a hospital. The girl couldn't stand up. The situation looked very serious. I shouted at my throat for a long time before a middle-aged man dressed as a migrant worker came out. He was holding his trouser legs and a screwdriver in his hand. It seemed that he was repairing something just now. "Where's the doctor?" I asked. He said, "I am." I was worried: "this girl has anemia and may need oxygen now." He replied, "we don't have oxygen here." I picked up the girl and turned away. It seems that I have to go back to Shangri La. We set foot on our way home overnight and rushed all the way to the largest Diqing Autonomous Prefecture hospital. The man on duty is a male doctor of my age. "Doctor, I'm also a doctor. This girl has aplastic anemia. She may need oxygen." The doctor said nothing, took out the square paper and brushed a few strokes. I took it over and saw that it said how much oxygen inhalation, how much oxygen inhalation tube, and how much it was altogether - where is the prescription? It was clearly a bill. "Comrade, can you check her blood routine?" I asked cautiously. The doctor said calmly, "blood routine can be checked tomorrow morning and a report can be issued around 5 pm." I felt dizzy again. In developed areas, hospitals usually report in 10 minutes. It was a long night. I was really worried that the girl student could no longer see the sunrise on the plateau. Fortunately, the girl was in stable condition that night. The next day, we sent her to the bus back to Lijiang, and there was no contact from then on. For many years after that, I have been obsessed with the irrelevant attitude of those colleagues. Life is at stake. How can you be so indifferent? It was not until I walked through the no man's land, climbed the snow mountain, took outdoor sports courses and met professional athletes that I realized the respect for my own life, that is, the responsibility for the whole team and the respect for the lives of others. Beside the road leading to Mount Everest, the remains of many dead people are scattered, and the latecomers are in awe when they pass by. But many years have passed, but no one can bring them back to their hometown, because it will take great risks and even pay the price of life. Saving lives in extreme circumstances is so difficult, but if it is a person who doesn't even cherish himself, why do others take risks to protect her?

In Lijiang in 2005, I formed a temporary team with some strangers to plan to enter Tibet along the Yunnan Tibet line. Passing through Meili Snow Mountain, we stopped at Feilai temple to turn the mountain. A female college student in Beijing inadvertently said that her leg was swollen. Out of professional habits, I asked her past medical history. The girl said she had aplastic anemia and had to go for blood transfusion almost every month when she was in Beijing. I was stunned: "then why did you go to Gaoyuan?" Patients with aplastic anemia have poor blood oxygen carrying function, not to mention at high altitude. The girl said, "it's my life dream to go to Tibet. I'm very happy all the way. Even if I die here, it's worth it." Having nothing to say, I immediately proposed to return, otherwise the patient's life would be in danger. There are 6 people in our company. Two old donkey friends said that the girl is an adult and should be responsible for her behavior. She should go back by herself without affecting others. Two Guangzhou tourists said it didn't matter. The Tibetan guide agreed to return to Diqing, saying there was a hospital there. We argued for a long time and didn't reach an agreement, but the girl seemed to have a cold again and began to have some difficulty breathing. So my guide Zaxi and I decided to take the patient away by ourselves. We took turns carrying the girls down the mountain and rushed back to Deqin. It was already dusk. Finally, we found a hospital. The girl couldn't stand up. The situation looked very serious. I shouted at my throat for a long time before a middle-aged man dressed as a migrant worker came out. He was holding his trouser legs and a screwdriver in his hand. It seemed that he was repairing something just now. "Where's the doctor?" I asked. He said, "I am." I was worried: "this girl has anemia and may need oxygen now." He replied, "we don't have oxygen here." I picked up the girl and turned away. It seems that I have to go back to Shangri La. We set foot on our way home overnight and rushed all the way to the largest Diqing Autonomous Prefecture hospital. The man on duty is a male doctor of my age. "Doctor, I'm also a doctor. This girl has aplastic anemia. She may need oxygen." The doctor said nothing, took out the square paper and brushed a few strokes. I took it over and saw that it said how much oxygen inhalation, how much oxygen inhalation tube, and how much it was altogether - where is the prescription? It was clearly a bill. "Comrade, can you check her blood routine?" I asked cautiously. The doctor said calmly, "blood routine can be checked tomorrow morning and a report can be issued around 5 pm." I felt dizzy again. In developed areas, hospitals usually report in 10 minutes. It was a long night. I was really worried that the girl student could no longer see the sunrise on the plateau. Fortunately, the girl was in stable condition that night. The next day, we sent her to the bus back to Lijiang, and there was no contact from then on. For many years after that, I have been obsessed with the irrelevant attitude of those colleagues. Life is at stake. How can you be so indifferent? It was not until I walked through the no man's land, climbed the snow mountain, took outdoor sports courses and met professional athletes that I realized the respect for my own life, that is, the responsibility for the whole team and the respect for the lives of others. Beside the road leading to Mount Everest, the remains of many dead people are scattered, and the latecomers are in awe when they pass by. But many years have passed, but no one can bring them back to their hometown, because it will take great risks and even pay the price of life. Saving lives in extreme circumstances is so difficult, but if it is a person who doesn't even cherish himself, why do others take risks to protect her?