BURN Chapter 1

“I don’t want the medicine! I want Chi Zhao-ge!”

It was seven in the morning when Chi Zhao walked into the ward in his white coat, just as Zhi Zhi from bed seven burst into tears.

“What’s going on?” Chi Zhao slid his name tag into place with one hand and walked over, gently patting Zhi Zhi’s head. His fingers brushed the soft fuzz of hair, and without warning, Zhi Zhi grabbed his hand.

“Chi Zhao-ge, I thought you weren’t coming!” Zhi Zhi whimpered, his nose reddened from crying.

“But I’m here now, aren’t I?” Chi Zhao chuckled softly, pinching Zhi Zhi’s cheek before wiping away the tears that had streaked down his face. “Alright, no more tears.”

The medical mask covered most of his face, leaving only his eyes visible—eyes that were impossibly gentle, warm with a tenderness that made anyone feel like they were in the safest place possible.

Without thinking, Zhi Zhi gripped the fabric of Chi Zhao’s white coat more tightly, his sobs gradually ceasing.

The nurse, who had been watching the scene with mild concern, breathed a sigh of relief and handed over the medicine. “Finally, you’re here, Xiao Chi.”

“Here, give this medicine to Zhi Zhi. I’ve been trying to get him to take it, but he won’t listen,” she said hurriedly. “I’ve got rounds to do, so I’ll check on the other patients.”

A bundle of medicine, along with its box, was placed into Chi Zhao’s hands. He nodded, his voice calm and assuring, “Alright, you go ahead. I’ll take care of it.”

Zhi Zhi, whose full name was Pei Zhicheng, was a six-year-old boy and a young patient in the ophthalmology ward of the Fifth City Hospital. He had been here for quite a while.

Such a lively and stubborn little rascal was the hardest to manage. Sometimes even the nurses had trouble with him, but Chi Zhao, the intern, always seemed to be able to calm him down. The moment Chi Zhao showed up, Zhi Zhi would settle down.

After the nurse left in a hurry, Chi Zhao skillfully opened the medicine box and took out the pills.

A handful of colorful pills filled the box, and Zhi Zhi’s face fell again. Chi Zhao went over to the water dispenser to fill a cup with warm water. “Here, open your mouth.”

He bent down, standing in front of Zhi Zhi, and with practiced ease, handed him the pills. “Good boy, Zhi Zhi, let’s take the medicine first.”

Chi Zhao had been interning in the ophthalmology department for a full week now. From his initial clumsy confusion to now moving through tasks smoothly, he had gradually adjusted to life here.

Internship life was tough—writing medical records, working night shifts, starting over in every department—but ophthalmology was one of the most liked departments among the interns.

One reason was that the department had a good atmosphere and enthusiastic teachers. The other reason was that, besides the supervising teachers, the department also had a highly famous patient, Professor Fu Nan’an. He was a friend of the department head and a renowned professor in the hospital’s psychiatry department.

Chi Zhao had learned about him from his roommate, Zhong Yangqiu. Before coming to ophthalmology, Zhong Yangqiu had already mentioned Fu Nan’an several times in the dorm, singing his praises and spoke of his incredible character and academic prowess, painting him as someone almost legendary. Even though Chi Zhao had never met Fu Nan’an, he had already heard numerous stories about him.

In addition, Zhong Yangqiu also made a point to describe how handsome and good-looking Professor Fu was, which piqued Chi Zhao’s interest.

“How handsome?” Chi Zhao asked him.

Zhong Yangqiu thought for a moment before suddenly coming up with an adjective, “The Star of the Fifth City Hospital’s doctors.”

That nickname was so amusing that Chi Zhao immediately remembered it.

“Is he really that handsome?” Chi Zhao raised an eyebrow, not fully believing Zhong Yangqiu’s words. “Now I’m really curious to see him.”

“You’ll see,” Zhong Yangqiu said, “and then you’ll believe everything I’ve told you.”

“I don’t want to!”

Zhi Zhi’s wailing snapped Chi Zhao out of his thoughts. “I don’t want to take the medicine!”

Chi Zhao refocused, gently rubbing his head. “Why?”

“How can you get better if you don’t take the medicine?” Chi Zhao bent down slightly, his gaze soft and warm as he looked into Zhi Zhi’s eyes. “Come on, let’s take it, okay?”

“But it makes me feel awful,” Zhi Zhi protested, his neck stiffening. After a moment, his eyes lowered.

Zhi Zhi was a patient with primary open-angle glaucoma, a condition with no identifiable cause, only treatable symptoms, mainly controlling intraocular pressure. Most medications for this condition had significant side effects, and as a child, Zhi Zhi’s sensitive body couldn’t tolerate even the smallest discomfort.

Chi Zhao sighed inwardly, his hand automatically reaching out to gently ruffle Zhi Zhi’s hair. He could clearly see the little one’s discomfort, but as a doctor, he knew he had a responsibility to care for his patients, no matter how stubborn they were.

“How about some candy?” Chi Zhao pulled out a small, brightly wrapped treat from the pocket of his white coat, flashing a warm smile. “Orange-flavored.”

The candy glowed faintly in his palm, the wrapper almost translucent, catching the light like a promise of something sweet.

At the sight of the candy, Zhi Zhi’s eyes lit up instantly, his craving for something sweet overpowering his earlier tears. He reached out eagerly. “I want it!”

“How about we take the medicine first?” Chi Zhao’s hand brushed gently over Zhi Zhi’s head again, his voice soft as he leaned in, lowering it to a conspiratorial whisper. “Gege has plenty more candy, but you’ve got to take your medicine first.”

Chi Zhao had a special talent when it came to handling kids. It was as if he had a natural gift that made them trust him, draw to him. And with the promise of more candy, Zhi Zhi obediently swallowed his medicine.

But Zhi Zhi, ever the little rascal, wasn’t about to let things end there. His mind worked quickly, and after swallowing the medicine, he crunched the candy, already plotting his next move.

He looked up, chin raised, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “One candy and all that medicine? That’s not fair!”

“What should we do then?” Chi Zhao chuckled, amused despite himself. He glanced at his watch as rounds loomed closer. Pulling out two more candies, he handed them over with a sigh. “This is all I’ve got left.”

“I don’t want it!” Zhi Zhi pouted, an impish glint in his eyes. Before Chi Zhao could react, the little troublemaker sprang out of bed and bolted toward the door. “Come chase me, Chi Zhao-gege! Let’s see who runs faster!”

In the blink of an eye, Zhi Zhi was out of the room, his tiny feet pounding down the hallway. Chi Zhao’s heart skipped a beat, his brows knitting in concern. “Zhi Zhi, slow down!”

With his vision already impaired by the later stages of his condition, Chi Zhao knew the little one’s dash could be dangerous. Anything could happen if he wasn’t careful.

“Zhi Zhi! Slow down!” Chi Zhao rushed after him, panic edging his voice as he chased the boy down the corridor.

The little rascal was getting smarter by the day, Chi Zhao thought.  When he caught up to him, he was definitely going to take his pants off and give him a good spanking!

“Catch me if you can, Chi Zhao-ge!” Zhi Zhi taunted, his voice ringing through the halls as his laughter bubbled up, leaving Chi Zhao scrambling behind him.

“You’ve got quite a lively place here.” Laughter echoed in the distance as Fu Nan’an stood at the end of the hallway, his gentle expression framed by a warm gaze.

“Must be that little rascal from bed seven—Zhi Zhi,” said Zou Anhe, the deputy director of the ophthalmology department. He didn’t even need to guess; he knew that mischievous voice all too well. “Always making a racket. I’ll have a word with him during rounds.”

His temper flared easily, but Fu Nan’an only smiled quietly, leaning casually against the windowsill. His tone was calm, measured. “He’s just a child, no need to let him get under your skin.”

“Wasn’t your son a handful at that age?” Fu Nan’an teased with a soft chuckle. “Give him a couple of years, and he’ll settle down.”

“That’s true…” The mention of his son softened Zou Anhe’s expression. The tightness in his face eased as nostalgia took over. “When he was little, my wife and I had to chase him all over the house. But now that he’s in primary school, things are much better. At least he can finish his homework on time without us having to nag him constantly.”

“That’s progress,” Fu Nan’an nodded, his voice warm, effortlessly reassuring.

Zou Anhe turned to glance at him, observing how Fu Nan’an stood alone by the window. His posture was upright, his demeanor serene, but the solitude around him felt unmistakable. Unable to hold back, Zou Anhe let out a sigh.

“What’s with the sigh?” Fu Nan’an chuckled knowingly. “Let me guess—you’re about to ask when I’m going to find someone, aren’t you?”

Zou Anhe shot him a resigned look, his tone dripping with helplessness. “You’ve read my mind.”

The two had been college classmates, their friendship steady through the years. While Zou Anhe had married his girlfriend shortly after graduation and now had a son in primary school, Fu Nan’an remained single. Not only single—he had never even been caught in the rumor of a fling.

Both had recently crossed the thirty-year mark and were now thirty-two. It was the age where family expectations started pressing in, and naturally, Zou Anhe felt obligated to fret on Fu Nan’an’s behalf.

“So, what kind of person do you like?” Zou Anhe asked, his curiosity genuine. “Want me to introduce you to someone?”

“No need.” Fu Nan’an smiled, his refusal as polite as it was firm. “I’m busy, and to be honest, not that interested.”

“Busy?” Zou Anhe raised a brow. “How busy can psychology really be? You should spend a day in ophthalmology and see—”

Mid-sentence, Zou Anhe froze, realization dawned on him. His words trailed off abruptly.

Fu Nan’an, ever composed, let out a faint chuckle and smoothly picked up the thread. “Well, there was a time I almost ended up in ophthalmology.”

Zou Anhe couldn’t help but glance at Fu Nan’an’s eyes. They were beautiful, truly. Yet, the pupils were dim and unfocused.

Fu Nan’an couldn’t see.

Life has a way of twisting fate into something cruelly ironic. Once, he was like Zou Anhe, set on studying ophthalmology. But in his senior year, he was diagnosed with a degenerative eye condition. The disease had surged through his life like a tidal wave. Fu Nan’an had been the top student in his year, the pride of the school. By the time graduation rolled around, his vision had diminished to the faintest traces of light. His dreams of becoming an ophthalmologist were no longer possible.

“I’m sorry, Nan’an. I didn’t mean to—” Zou Anhe trailed off, cursing himself silently for his thoughtlessness. Of all things to bring up, why this?

But Fu Nan’an’s reaction was calm, as if the subject no longer carried any weight. His expression remained composed, even soothing as he turned to reassure Zou Anhe instead. “It’s alright. It’s been a long time since then.”

His hand rested on the white cane by his side, his touch so natural it seemed like an extension of himself.

The fall of a prodigy is a tale soaked in sorrow. Anyone else might have collapsed under the weight of it, but Fu Nan’an had refused to give up. He learned Braille, shifted paths to psychology, and step by step rebuilt himself into the respected leader of his department.

“Psychology is great,” Fu Nan’an said with a faint smile. “No night shifts, no surgeries. Compared to clinical work, it’s much easier.”

His voice was warm, patient, devoid of sharp edges. Whether life had ground him smooth or if he’d been this way all along, it was hard to tell. Zou Anhe watched him in silence for a moment, sighing softly, his heart weighed down with a quiet ache.

“You’re the most accomplished one out of all of us,” Zou Anhe finally said. “Those of us in clinical work haven’t risen through the ranks as quickly as you. I’m not trying to nag you about finding someone. I just… worry about you.”

Fu Nan’an smiled, his tone light as he finished Zou Anhe’s thought. “You’re worried I’ll be lonely. I know.”

Zou Anhe exhaled deeply, his admission soft but genuine. “Yeah, I am.”

And he was.

Looking at Fu Nan’an, how could Zou Anhe not worry? There were times when he believed Fu Nan’an had truly moved on, but others when he suspected that beneath the composed facade, he was still caught in that mire.

Fu Nan’an wasn’t like others who resented fate or lashed out at the world. He faced life with resilience, achieving far more than many able-bodied people. Yet, he kept a quiet distance, his heart shielded by an invisible wall. His gentle smiles seemed to radiate warmth, but at their core, they were cold to the touch.

It hurts to see a dear friend like this. With little else he could do, Zou Anhe resorted to coaxing. “At least try, alright? Or if you’re being too rigid about gender, then forget girlfriends—find yourself a boyfriend instead! It’s the modern age, we’re not here to discriminate.”

The suggestion startled a laugh out of Fu Nan’an.

It wasn’t that Fu Nan’an held any bias—he simply lacked interest. Love, for him, was a peripheral concept, something he neither sought nor avoided. Knowing that Zou Anhe was half-joking, he played along. “Alright then, maybe I’ll loosen up a bit.”

The lively commotion down the hallway drew nearer, punctuated by hurried footsteps. Fu Nan’an tilted his head slightly, lifting his gaze toward the sound.

For those who lose their sight later in life, the brain’s memory of vision lingers, sometimes manifesting as vivid visual illusions. Now, in the dim blur of his world, Fu Nan’an thought he saw a small burst of light, glowing brightly in his darkness.

It shouldn’t have been there, but instinctively, he extended his arms slightly, as if to catch the elusive brightness.

With a playful lilt, he continued their earlier jest. “Hang on, maybe I’ll go find myself a little boyfrie—”

“Pei Zhicheng! You stop right—ow, that hurts!”

A sharp voice interrupted him, followed by a sudden impact.

Before Fu Nan’an could react, someone barreled into his arms with enough force to knock him back a step.

A young man in his early twenties now stood there, breathless, his clean, crisp scent lingering in the air. His figure was slim but firm, fitting snugly into the empty circle of Fu Nan’an’s embrace, as if he belonged there.