For decades, the elderly couple ate the very same way. One modest takeaway meal, split carefully between the two of them, then divided again to stretch across lunch and dinner. The whole thing cost about seventeen yuan — a little over two and a half dollars.
Everyone who knew them assumed they were poor, or perhaps just terribly careful with money.
Nobody had the faintest idea what they were really doing with it...
Their names were Du Yingrong and Lu Suying, and they lived in Shanghai, China.
He had been a teacher of foreign languages. She had been a doctor, the physician at the clinic of the very same college where he taught. They had married, they had never had children, and by the time this story takes place, they were both long retired and quite elderly.
To everyone around them, they were a puzzle. They lived in the same small apartment — barely fifty square metres — that they'd had for decades, and never once renovated it. When something broke, they repaired it rather than replacing it. Du's eyeglasses were so old that the lenses were held into the frame with tape. They even wrote their notes on the backs of already-used scraps of paper, unwilling to waste a fresh notebook. Colleagues described a couple who never seemed to want for anything — and who never seemed to spend a yuan on themselves, either.
People assumed it was simple frugality, the thrift of a generation that had lived through hard times.
They were wrong. Because behind that worn little apartment and that two-dollar lunch, Du and Lu were holding on to a small fortune — and they had a plan for it.
This, it turned out, was a couple who had been giving in secret for years. Over the decades they had sent money, again and again, to families struck by China's earthquakes and disasters — never seeking a word of credit for any of it. Their frugality was never really about the money at all. It was about saving it up for something, and someone, they believed mattered far more than their own comfort.
In early 2018, Du was walking past the Shanghai Yoda Cardiothoracic Hospital when something stopped him in his tracks. It was a poster — an appeal to the public. It told of children born with congenital heart defects, little ones who needed surgery to survive, and of families who could not possibly afford to pay for it.
Du went home and talked it over with his wife.
And then this couple, who split a single lunch to save a few coins, walked in and donated five hundred thousand yuan — enough to pay for heart operations for ten children.
But they didn't stop there. They waited, and they watched, and once they had seen with their own eyes that the money really was saving these children's lives, they made a decision. They gave again — another four and a half million yuan.
All told, this frugal, childless couple gave away five million yuan of their life savings, roughly seven hundred and thirty-five thousand dollars. And that money has, to date, paid for lifesaving heart surgery for four hundred and fifty-five children.
Four hundred and fifty-five little hearts, mended. By two people who denied themselves nearly everything.
And here is the detail that says everything about who they were. At one point, a social worker from the hospital's charity came to visit the couple at home. And when this person saw how they really lived — the tiny flat, the taped-together glasses, the mended belongings — they were troubled. Please, the social worker urged them, keep some of this money for yourselves. Set something aside for your old age. You've given so much already.
Du's gentle reply has stayed with everyone who heard it. "Neither of us has much time left," he said. "We receive our pensions, and we still have some savings. We don't need much money."
And to make certain their wish would outlive them both, they arranged their affairs carefully and legally, entrusting their gift to a charitable foundation, so that not a single yuan could ever be diverted from the children it was meant for.
They didn't want thanks. They didn't want recognition, or their names in the paper, or a plaque on a wall. In fact, they told almost no one at all what they had done. For years, the hundreds of families whose children they had saved had no idea who their guardian angels even were.
Du Yingrong died in 2018, at the age of eighty-one, the same year their great gift began. His wife, Lu Suying, lived on in that same little apartment, in that same simple way, for seven more years, until she passed away in 2025 at the age of ninety-two. And even in death, the two of them were not finished giving: they left their remaining savings, and even their modest apartment itself, to the cause as well — so that still more children might one day be helped.
Du's old eyeglasses, the lenses still taped to the frame, reportedly remained on the bedroom desk right where he'd left them, untouched, through all seven years his widow lived on without him.
The whole story only came to light a short time ago, at a charity exhibition held in Shanghai in the couple's memory. For most people, it was the very first time they had ever heard the names Du Yingrong and Lu Suying — the first time anyone learned who had been behind all those mended hearts.
Somewhere out there today, four hundred and fifty-five children are living, laughing, growing up, with hearts that beat strong and steady. Some of them may never know the names of the two people who gave them that chance.
Two people who, so that those children could live, went without — and shared, between them, a lunch that cost about two dollars and fifty cents.
What do you think of Du and Lu's extraordinary gift? Tell us below. And here's one for today: what is the most selfless act of generosity you have ever personally witnessed?
