In Memory of A Xing: Like a Meteor Across the Night Sky, Illuminating Countless Dark Nights

————— Author | Lili Lilili

Editor | Xianning

I first met A Xing at the end of 2020. At that time, my father had just been diagnosed with Stage III colon cancer and was undergoing first-line chemotherapy after surgery. I signed up for Director Han’s volunteer recruitment to record an oral history, and my interviewee was A Xing.

The director mentioned that A Xing was very active as a group administrator and had made many contributions, so he wanted an article written to document his story. I added him on WeChat, explained my purpose, and began the interview.

I still vividly remember how difficult that interview felt. As a social science student trained in quantitative methods and an introvert, my interview experience was minimal. Facing a patient with a severe illness, I was extremely cautious, terrified of saying the wrong thing and causing him pain. Meanwhile, A Xing’s conversational style was playful and joking. After several days, I still felt I hadn’t gathered any substantial information, didn’t understand his situation, and didn’t know how to start writing. I was so anxious that I even scoured research papers to study and learn. Eventually, I gradually found my rhythm and managed to draft an article. Even today, I remain somewhat dissatisfied with what I wrote, but at the time, he told me he had read it and cried. I thought to myself then, at least the interviewee was satisfied, and that was enough.

Looking back, because my father’s cancer had not yet metastasized, I optimistically believed he would recover once chemotherapy ended. Therefore, toward advanced-stage patients like A Xing, who had a complex treatment journey and a rough experience, I actually held a kind of "fortunate person’s sympathy for the unfortunate." Moreover, because it was a type of "misfortune" I didn’t fully understand, I even felt a slight curiosity. It wasn’t until I later accompanied my father through relapse, metastasis, difficult decisions, and seeking medical help across different places that I began to understand the complex emotions behind A Xing’s casual remark of "crying while reading." Only then did I realize how bitter and helpless his lightly described experiences of "stepping into pitfalls" truly were.

For a long time, we remained just "online friends." Although we greeted and chatted in the group daily, we hadn’t met in person. It wasn’t until half a year after the interview that we first met at Hangzhou Railway Station. We just exchanged greetings and shook hands before he hurried off. I thought to myself, how is someone so active online so shy in person? Later, he suddenly went to the First Hospital of Jilin University to participate in a Phase I CAR-T clinical trial. He narrowly survived a life-threatening ordeal in the ICU, and miraculously, his tumors completely disappeared afterward. Overnight, he became widely known and an enviable lucky star. Inspired by him, more patients in the "Panda Group" gradually joined CAR-T clinical trials, and many benefited from it.

But at the exact same time, after completing eight cycles of chemotherapy, my father relapsed rapidly. We discovered implantation metastasis at the drainage site, liver metastasis, and peritoneal metastasis. In an instant, he went from an ordinary Stage III patient to an advanced-stage cancer patient with specific genetic mutations. After several consultations, we decided to start treatment in Hangzhou first. By then, A Xing had recovered from the CAR-T side effects. Knowing we were in Hangzhou, he visited us at the hospital to cheer my father on and brought him nutritional powder and vitamin supplements.

After that, our interactions gradually increased. While undergoing second-line treatment, we were also consulting about CAR-T. A Xing enthusiastically helped us make connections and always advised me to figure things out myself rather than relying entirely on others. I remained extremely cautious about participating in CAR-T. For months, I debated the risks with him almost daily, going in circles, and he always answered me patiently, encouraging us to join.

It was the summer of 2021. I completely paused my work to accompany my father through his treatment full-time, which gave me more opportunities to interact with A Xing and other patients.

In late August, we confirmed the second-line chemotherapy was ineffective and finally prepared to join the CAR-T clinical trial. He continued to enthusiastically help me connect with the CAR-T company’s CRC and the clinical doctors, teaching me how to communicate with them. He proudly mentioned how familiar he had become with the doctors and nurses at the First Hospital of Jilin University, often recalling their kindness and saying he wanted to treat them to a big meal when he returned. Meanwhile, we also attended a Hangzhou patient gathering organized by the Panda Group. For a while, it seemed we were eating with A Xing almost every day. He introduced my dad to many foods he would normally never try, leaving me watching in amazement.

In September, A Xing was preparing for a divorce. He joked daily in the group about being a "middle-aged divorced man with advanced cancer." In real life, my dad and I happened to be with him. He said he couldn’t find a place to take divorce photos, so I found a photo studio for him and accompanied him. When we arrived, I smiled and told the staff we were there for divorce photos. Seeing the three of us together, they paused for a moment before saying, "Please don’t joke about that." In today’s terms, I was full of "naive innocence" back then. Seeing he was satisfied with the photos, I naively felt I had done a "good deed." In the following days, he kept mentioning to me that he didn’t know how to book rides or buy train and plane tickets online. He said, "My wife used to do all these things for me." Then he added, "Now I have to do them all myself."

Before I knew it, it was November. A Xing invited a few patients to my house to hang out with my dad, saying it would help him relax. When we parted, my dad was heading to Wenzhou to catch a flight to Beijing, and A Xing was going home, so he drove my dad to Wenzhou Airport. At that time, A Xing’s CEA levels were continuously rising. Although imaging didn’t show anything yet, the shadow of potential cancer recurrence loomed over all of us like a dark cloud. According to my dad, they talked the whole way, discussing illness and even death. My dad later told me that A Xing said, "Sometimes I really wish I hadn’t woken up in the ICU."

Later, he was found to have a suspected new liver metastasis, but preoperative checks at Zhongshan Hospital in Shanghai confirmed it was nothing serious. After a false alarm, he returned home. I genuinely felt envious, thinking he was like a protagonist in a drama or novel: no matter how many hardships he faced, they only served to advance the plot, and he always managed to turn danger into safety. Back home, he busied himself with renovating his new house in Wenzhou. He occasionally discussed interior design styles with me, saying he wanted to design it himself rather than use the developer’s standard templates, and neighbors even came to visit and learn from him.

In early 2022, I became pregnant, and my life entered a new phase. When A Xing found out, he specially collected pigeon eggs from relatives and mailed them to me, saying they would make the baby’s skin fair and white. He joked they were racing-pigeon grade, only available to him, and ordinary people couldn’t get them. During this period, my father’s tumor was also under control, and we rarely entered a phase of relative psychological stability.

A Xing’s Wenzhou house renovation was also completed. Because his treatment was stable, we discussed his illness less and instead talked about buying flowers, makeup, skincare, beauty, and soft furnishings. He always had high standards for his appearance, which seemed to extend to his home life. Besides dressing well, he constantly worked on making his new home look better. He also seemed to always cook when guests came over for meals. He truly was someone who loved life deeply.

When summer arrived, A Xing knew our fruit was ripe and came to buy some, saying it was for gifts. But I always felt he was specifically looking out for us. This was his consistent style: he always helped others whenever he could, doing his utmost. Due to the pandemic that year, we couldn’t gather often, but we did meet once in June. As usual, he came with other patients to visit us. It might have been our most relaxed and joyful gathering. Everyone’s condition was well-controlled, and we could stroll around without any burden.

A Xing loved drinking tea, which happened to align perfectly with my father’s expertise. They had plenty of common topics. His way of addressing my dad had changed from "old gentleman" to "brother," and my dad’s WeChat contact name for him included "good brother." My dad shared his best Pu'er and black tea with him, which he deeply appreciated.

In early 2023, the DS8201 my father had used for nearly a year and a half stopped working, and the tumor progressed again. By then, we had exhausted first- and second-line chemotherapy drugs with poor results, and there were no suitable clinical trials available. At a loss, we decided to try a four-drug combination chemotherapy as a last resort.

Initially, he received chemotherapy in Guangzhou. Each time, we had to travel from home to Wenzhou to catch a flight there. Every time, A Xing waited for my dad, took him to lunch, drank tea with him, and then drove him to the airport when it was time. Sometimes a day in advance, he would message me asking, "What time is my brother arriving tomorrow?" I said it was too much trouble for him, but he simply replied, "I also enjoy hanging out with him."

In fact, he was also undergoing regular chemotherapy at that time. Sometimes, if his chemo day coincided, he would specifically message my dad to explain that he couldn’t have lunch with him the next day. Later, we felt the travel was too exhausting. A Xing suggested connecting us with a doctor in Hangzhou, so we transferred our treatment there under his recommendation. He still visited my dad occasionally and helped him contact doctors to manage lesions.

But unlike my dad, who always had someone with him wherever he went, A Xing seemed to always come and go alone. He contacted doctors alone, underwent treatment alone, and was discharged alone. This is likely a challenge all young patients face: their children are still small, their parents are aging, and they can rely almost entirely on themselves. Although he always showed a strong and optimistic side in front of us, I could imagine the bitterness and loneliness of undergoing treatment alone. While managing his own condition, he was also busy helping patients in the Panda Group. He jokingly called answering questions "holding clinic." Once, when I complained that my dad was busy with business calls, he joked, "I’ve already finished my 'clinic' in the group, and he’s still on the phone."

When the grapes ripened in summer, A Xing brought his daughter to my house for a few days, and she met my daughter. The moment they met, he handed her a red envelope. I always felt that in real life, A Xing wasn’t as playful as he was online; rather, he was serious, upright, meticulous, and polite. A Xing loved his daughter deeply. After having a child myself, I could better understand a parent’s love for their child, and we occasionally chatted about kids.

Everything A Xing said revealed his deep affection for his daughter. He talked about how he cared for his little girl, how he searched all over the market to fulfill one of her requests, and how sensible she was. His words were full of warmth. When visiting my house, he said his daughter wanted to pick grapes, so he brought her along. Later, he invited a few other Wenzhou patients, and we all ate and drank together.

A Xing said my father also loved a lively atmosphere, which was true. When they were together, it felt as natural as if they had been old friends for many years. Watching them interact, I could feel the joy of "having friends come from afar." In fact, over the years, A Xing and my father grew closer, developing a friendship more like that of a mentor and student across generations, while I somewhat became the "friend’s daughter."

When we parted this time, I felt a bit melancholy. My father likely felt the same. At a certain stage of treatment, he might have wondered if this farewell meant we would ever meet again. Their chats also revealed a hint of sadness, but A Xing smiled and said, "Brother, don’t talk like that." There are many things in cancer treatment we don’t want to face: drug failure, tumor progression, pain, fatigue, loneliness, and confusion. These pains cannot be shared with everyone. Perhaps patients understand each other better than family members do, which is why they feel like old friends at first sight, and why they often change the subject.

By autumn, the four-drug regimen had failed, and my father’s tumor began to progress rapidly, causing abdominal pain. Another attempt to join a CAR-T trial also failed. I had no good options left. After several consultations, we began trying a third-line regimen.

During this period, A Xing was confirmed to have bone metastasis and underwent surgery to remove a rib. I said, "That’s too intense." He replied, "Only the bold find a way; the timid face narrow paths." After discharge, instead of going home to rest, his first stop was to deliver human serum albumin to my dad, who was undergoing chemotherapy in Hangzhou. He simply said he hadn’t used it during his hospital stay.

By the end of the year, my father’s condition worsened significantly, and we were admitted to the Second Affiliated Hospital of Zhejiang University. I sent A Xing a photo of my dad. He said he had lost a lot of weight and it was hard to look at. Yet, he still went to the hospital to visit my dad, encouraging him by saying, "What’s this? Look, I even had a rib removed!" When he couldn’t visit, he would video call my dad just to "see him." Later, I looked through their chat history and saw him telling my dad, "Brother, you must stay strong," and "No matter how hard it gets, keep fighting." I couldn’t help but feel a lump in my throat.

After my father passed away, I thought it over and decided to tell him. He said the news of my father’s passing hit him hard, but added that I should be happy for him. I said it felt unreal. He replied, "You’ll gradually get used to it."

In the year after my father’s passing, we still kept in touch occasionally. He often mailed me seafood and thoughtfully included Wenzhou rice vinegar with instructions on how to cook it. But we almost never mentioned treatment again.

Until this April, when he told me his body was in too much pain. I had a bad feeling, but deep down I thought, "But this is A Xing! He’s the protagonist. He’ll always turn danger into safety. He’ll always survive."

Yet I still didn’t realize that farewells always come so quickly. His many narrow escapes, his relentless efforts to fight back, his casual remarks about illness, and his wholehearted help for others all made me forget that he, too, was an advanced-stage cancer patient.

And advanced cancer will mercilessly and silently encroach upon once-vibrant lives. I regret not being able to visit him in time, yet I feel a sliver of comfort that he finally found peace.

For a long time after my father’s passing, I didn’t want to recall the details of his treatment. But reflecting on it these past two days, I was startled to realize how long we had known each other, how many paths we had walked together, and how many stories we had shared. To me, he was like a steady older brother who accompanied me through my father’s severe illness, patiently tolerating my ignorance, timidity, and hesitation, walking with me through the long night. Yet I never knew how to repay him.

When I told my mom that A Xing had passed, she couldn’t hold back her tears. My mom had also met A Xing while accompanying my dad through treatment and witnessed their friendship. She said, "He was sick for so many years, yet he helped so many people." Yes, just like his name, he was like a meteor streaking across the night sky, his light so brilliant that it illuminated countless dark nights.

The first time I wrote about A Xing, I was fascinated by a concept that life should be free and flowing. That’s exactly how he felt to me. So, I said he was like a stream of water: when faced with a massive obstacle, even if he couldn’t move his predetermined fate, he could still change direction and keep moving forward.

Whenever I feel life is meaningless, I always think of A Xing. I think of how actively he treated his illness, how bravely he faced a cruel reality, and how fearlessly he fought an unknown destiny. Then I feel ashamed for clinging to my own trivial pains. It seems we must accept whatever fate gives us. But A Xing taught me: Is it possible that what fate gives us can be defined by ourselves? Is it possible that if fate gives us bitter fruit, we can still brew it into wine? If fate gives us an imperfect story, can we still sing it into a song?

Once, an elder sang a song called "Spring Water Ding Dong" to my daughter: "Spring water, oh spring water, where are you going, where are you going, singing songs and playing strings, flowing to the distance." I think his life is now like that clear spring, flowing through each of our lives with a gentle ding-dong, and continuing to sing as it flows into the distance.

Patient Stories | Notes from a Middle-Aged Man in Beijing Fighting Advanced Colon Cancer | The Anti-Cancer Black Magic of the Panda Star | A Ming: Colon Cancer with Liver and Lung Metastasis, Two Years Accompanying My Mom's Treatment | Qingcao: Sharing Treatment for Colon Cancer with Liver Metastasis | Deep Sibling Bond: 4 Years of Treatment for Colon Cancer with Liver Metastasis | Xiao Li: A Patient's Self-Account of Fighting Cancer | Sister Xiuxiu: Treatment Journey for Colon Cancer with Liver and Ovarian Metastasis | Brother Guo: Tenacious Treatment Journey for Colon Cancer with Peritoneal Metastasis | Nao Nao: Self-Rescue Journey After Recurrence of Colon Cancer at 27 | Sister Tudou: 7-Year Anti-Cancer Journey for Colon Cancer with Lung and Brain Metastasis | Anti-Cancer Beauty Yuanyuan: Living On with a Smile | Jin Xia: 4-Year Treatment Journey for HER2-Positive Gastric Cancer | Grumpy Grandpa's Battle Against Gastric Cancer | Mickey: Treatment Journey for Advanced Gastric Cancer at 31 | Summary from an Advancing Colon Cancer Patient's Family (Including Care Guide) | Alison: Treatment for HER2-Positive Advanced Colon Cancer | From Stage IV Gastric Cancer to Complete Remission | 78 Liver Metastasis Lesions Are Not a Death Sentence | The Advanced Cancer Patient Who Entered the ICU Due to Infection Is Now Tumor-Free | Panda Group Friend Story: Weihua 1 | From Diagnosis to Relapse | Panda Group Friend Story Yang Yong | As Heaven Maintains Vigor, the Gentleman Strives Unceasingly | The Cruel Truth Behind Treatment Value: Why Some Patients Are Not Advised to Seek Treatment in Beijing, Shanghai, or Guangzhou | Anti-Cancer Blogger Fengzi Passes Away: Who Will Care for Young Patients Fighting Cancer Alone? | Lao Chen: What It's Like to Join a CAR-T Clinical Trial, Over Three Years with Colon Cancer Liver and Lung Metastasis | Sister Yangguang: Life Should Not Lose Its Color Because of Illness | Yang Yong | As Heaven Maintains Vigor, the Gentleman Strives Unceasingly | Weihua 1 | From Diagnosis to Relapse | Diagnosed with Colon Cancer at 16 Weeks Pregnant: Her Struggle and Rebirth | What Kind of Life Do You Want to Live? Running the Best Marathon Time After Colon Cancer Surgery | True Record of Treatment for Colon Cancer with Peritoneal Metastasis

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