BURN Chapter 7

Translator: Abo Dammen

Did he hear it?

Or did he not?

Chi Zhao stood frozen in place, unsure of what to say.

He must have heard it.

Judging by his expression, he had been standing there for a while.

Fu Nan’an asked Chi Zhao with his usual calm demeanor, “Going out to buy something?”

“…Yeah.”

Chi Zhao nodded numbly, and Fu Nan’an said, “Let’s go together.”

They walked downstairs in silence, Chi Zhao trying to steady his breathing while his mind was a storm of emotions.

He didn’t know how to react. Apart from Zhi Zhi, he had never thought of voluntarily revealing his past to anyone.

When he was young, his records had been documented, so his teachers and classmates had treated him as a special case. Even his middle school homeroom teacher had organized a public donation for him. They meant well, he knew, but sometimes excessive concern could be hurtful. He didn’t like the way people looked at him differently.

When he first arrived at the orphanage, volunteers would often visit him. They would gently pat his head, their eyes filled with pity, as if he were some pitiful little animal. But what he wanted was never pity. He didn’t need sympathy. He just wanted to be treated like an ordinary person, without being singled out.

“Um, Professor Fu,” Chi Zhao forced a smile, “did you… hear what I said earlier?”

Before Fu Nan’an could respond, Chi Zhao continued, “Actually, that was a long time ago. It’s all in the past. I’m doing really well now. I get scholarships every year. I, I…”

Chi Zhao paused, his mind going blank. Fu Nan’an gave a soft hum, encouraging him to continue. Taking a deep breath, Chi Zhao exhaled slowly, “…What I mean is, you don’t have to pity me.”

I’ve been working so hard to live well.

So please don’t treat me like I’m different.

I don’t need pity or sympathy.

I just want to live openly and with dignity.

“Mm,” Fu Nan’an smiled gently, “I know.”

I know.

Fu Nan’an said he understood that feeling.

Of course, Professor Fu understood. Not just because he was a psychology professor, but because he had walked a similar path himself.

When the once-promising prodigy fell from grace, everyone had expressed regret. They lamented that he had become blind, that he had to give up his beloved medical career. But when the past becomes the past and the facts can’t be changed, all you can do is move forward.

That day, they talked about many things—past, present, future, and even some strange, random topics.

By the time they returned to the ward, Zhi Zhi was almost asleep. He struggled to sit up when he saw them and complained, “Why did you take so long?”

“Your ge and Uncle Fu had a little chat,” Chi Zhao said with an embarrassed smile, quickly handing Zhi Zhi the cotton candy he had bought. “Here, try this.”

“It wasn’t just a little chat. It must have been hundreds of sentences!” Zhi Zhi huffed but obediently took a piece. Before putting it in his mouth, he asked, “Is this candy sweet?”

“Very sweet,” Chi Zhao said. “Extra sweet.”

It was the sweetest candy he had ever tasted.

Zhi Zhi’s parents still left, without taking him with them. After Zhi Zhi’s suicide attempt, Fu Nan’an had provided psychological counseling, ensuring that Zhi Zhi wouldn’t easily resort to such actions again. His parents hired a high-end nanny for him, but Zhi Zhi refused. He said he wanted to go to school.

This wish was both simple and complicated. Given Zhi Zhi’s physical condition, it wasn’t easy, but after his persistent requests, his parents finally agreed to enroll him in a special boarding school. The school agreed to accept him once his condition stabilized.

On the day his parents left, Zhi Zhi didn’t go to see them off. Instead, he looked out the window, watching the birds chirp and a plane streak across the sky, leaving behind two long trails of white smoke.

Chi Zhao sat by his bedside, gently stroking his head. “Why didn’t you go see them off?”

“They were going to leave anyway,” Zhi Zhi said, his long eyelashes casting shadows over his eyes. “Watching them leave would have been harder.”

By now, Zhi Zhi had mostly recovered—his eyes, his emotions, everything. But the bond of family is hard to sever. Chi Zhao sighed softly, thinking, He’s still such a heartbreaking child—

“Don’t sigh,” Zhi Zhi suddenly looked up, his expression serious. “It makes you look ugly.”

Chi Zhao, “…”

Alright, never mind. Not so heartbreaking after all.

Still, Chi Zhao was worried about Zhi Zhi. Children recover quickly, and the wound on Zhi Zhi’s wrist had already healed, leaving only a faint scar. But the emotional scars were invisible. The pain of his visual impairment might stay with him for a long, long time.

So Chi Zhao sighed again, his fingers brushing through Zhi Zhi’s soft hair.

Zhi Zhi pouted in dissatisfaction. “I told you not to sigh.”

Chi Zhao teased him, “What, are you being mean to your gege now that you’re about to leave?”

“No,” Zhi Zhi said, puffing out his cheeks. “I just don’t like seeing you sad.”

Chi Zhao smiled and leaned in to comfort him, but to his surprise, Zhi Zhi suddenly stood up and imitated his gesture, placing his small hand on Chi Zhao’s head.

“There, there, gege. Don’t sigh,” Zhi Zhi said clumsily, stroking Chi Zhao’s hair with a look of disdain. “I just decided I want to be like you. Don’t ruin my impression of you, okay?”

It’s impossible not to feel sad. That’s true for anyone. Zhi Zhi had grown up with his parents, and it was hard for him to adjust to their sudden absence.

But they were gone, and life had to go on. In his own way, Zhi Zhi was telling Chi Zhao that he had come to terms with it. He would keep living, and he would do his best.

Seeing the child’s puffed-up expression, Chi Zhao couldn’t help but laugh. “So I’m that important to you? Am I your idol now?”

“…Maybe,” Zhi Zhi tilted his head, sizing Chi Zhao up. “But if you sigh again, you’re not!”

“Alright,” Chi Zhao chuckled, pulling a piece of candy from his white coat. “Then we’ll never sigh again.”

The small milk candy fit easily in his palm, its soft edges and wrapper resembling tiny wings.

No more sighing, Chi Zhao told Zhi Zhi. After eating the candy, you have to keep flying upward.

On the day Zhi Zhi was discharged, Chi Zhao also completed his rotation in ophthalmology and moved on to the psychology department.

Unlike some hospitals that grouped psychology under neurology, the Fifth Hospital had a separate psychology department. Clinical students rotating through psychology was a new addition this year. It hadn’t been part of the previous internship plans.

This change brought mixed reactions. Chi Zhao was very interested in psychology, especially after what had happened with Zhi Zhi. But on their way back from the meeting, Zhong Yangqiu’s face was gloomy as he complained, “Why do we have to do psychology?”

“What, you don’t want to?” Chi Zhao asked.

“Of course not. I’m planning to go into clinical work. Why should I rotate through psychology?” Zhong Yangqiu nodded vigorously, clearly unhappy. “I’d rather spend the time studying for my postgraduate entrance exams.”

Chi Zhao, on the other hand, was genuinely looking forward to it. “You can learn a lot, though. Like with Zhi Zhi—if it weren’t for Professor Fu’s warning, things could have ended badly.”

“Well, I guess that’s one way to look at it,” Zhong Yangqiu sighed reluctantly. “My only hope now is that I don’t get assigned to Professor Fu’s team.”

“Why?” Chi Zhao was puzzled. He would have loved to be assigned to Fu Nan’an’s team. In fact, he had to admit that his interest in psychology was partly due to Fu Nan’an. “Didn’t you always praise Professor Fu for being amazing? Why don’t you want to work with him now?”

“Admiring someone from afar and working under them are two completely different things!” Zhong Yangqiu rolled his eyes and whispered, “Professor Fu is indeed amazing, but he’s also incredibly strict. My friends in the psychology department are terrified of him. Some have even been brought to tears by his critiques!”

Fu Nan’an was that kind of person—gentle and kind, but also absolutely serious and responsible. He wouldn’t get angry over trivial matters, but when it came to work, he demanded precision. Mistakes were not tolerated.

“Please, please, don’t let me be assigned to Professor Fu’s team,” Zhong Yangqiu muttered under his breath, clasping his hands together. Just then, both of their phones buzzed simultaneously. It was a message in the internship group chat.

“The assignment list is out.”

Chi Zhao glanced at his phone, feeling a sudden wave of nervousness as he opened the list. “Actually, I really want to work with Professor Fu. I—!!!”

He suddenly fell silent.

Zhong Yangqiu asked, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s such a coincidence,” Chi Zhao stared at the list, unable to suppress a smile. Zhong Yangqiu, suspicious, opened the assignment list and gasped, “—Damn, you got assigned to Ward 1 with Professor Fu?!”

Chi Zhao chuckled, exhaling in relief. “A dream come true.”

“Are you serious?” Zhong Yangqiu looked at him in disbelief. “You actually want to work with Professor Fu?”

“Absolutely,” Chi Zhao smiled, bumping Zhong Yangqiu’s shoulder. “Come on, I’ll treat you to dinner tonight.”

The Fifth Hospital was the largest in the province, with each department divided into several wards. Being assigned to Fu Nan’an’s team was definitely something to celebrate. Zhong Yangqiu, assigned to Ward 3, wasn’t even on the same floor as Chi Zhao. True to his word, Chi Zhao treated Zhong Yangqiu to dinner that night. On their way back to the dorm, they passed a cotton candy vendor, and Chi Zhao bought two sticks.

“Why do you still like this stuff?” Zhong Yangqiu tore off a piece of cotton candy and popped it into his mouth, amused. “Isn’t this something only kids eat?”

“I just like it,” Chi Zhao didn’t explain further, simply saying, “It’s good. Sweet.”

The cotton candy was so sweet it melted into Chi Zhao’s heart. When they got back to the dorm, he washed the short stick and placed it in his drawer.

The drawer already held several sticks, neatly arranged at the back. Chi Zhao took them out one by one, wiped them clean, and carefully put them back, treating them like treasures.

He hadn’t told Zhong Yangqiu, nor anyone else, that on the day he bought cotton candy for Zhi Zhi, Fu Nan’an had also given him a stick.

“No, Professor, really, I don’t need it,” Chi Zhao had instinctively refused when Fu Nan’an handed it to him. “I’ve grown up. I don’t care about those things anymore.”

The child who had shivered in the cold wind, longing for a piece of candy, had grown up. He might have walked slowly and stumbled along the way, but he didn’t need anyone’s charity.

“I know,” Fu Nan’an had smiled. “That’s why I want to give you this cotton candy.”

It wasn’t charity. It was respect, understanding, and acceptance.

It was a preference for the resilience of life.

Fu Nan’an’s pale gray eyes gazed gently in Chi Zhao’s direction as he said, “You’ve worked hard.”

You’ve worked so hard to grow up.