Lately, my stomach has been hurting from time to time, and there's a bit of blood in my stool, so I took the time to get checked.

My husband, Sun Wenle, also went for the check-up with me.

On the day we went to collect the reports, the doctor called me aside alone.

His expression was filled with pity, and I trembled in fear.

He sighed, "Your husband has advanced stomach cancer. If he doesn't undergo surgery, he probably only has about six months left."

My heart skipped a beat, sinking and then rising again.

"Doctor, how did it suddenly become advanced? He just likes to drink and smoke."

I used to tell him to drink less, but he didn't take it seriously and even complained that I was too controlling.

The doctor handed me a document, "He had three instances of alcohol-induced gastric perforation. Did you both not take it seriously?"

I shook my head, truly unaware of this; we've only been together for two years.

He's a sales manager, often traveling for business entertainment, so drinking is a norm.

I carefully examined the report, feeling extremely upset.

He's only 28 years old, how could he have cancer!

Trembling, I asked, "Doctor, how much is the surgery cost? What's the success rate? How many more years can he live?"