BURN Chapter 9

Translator: Abo Dammen

“Alright, that should do it.” Chi Zhao carefully finished applying the last bit of ointment. “Try not to get it wet for the next couple of days. I’ll come back tomorrow to reapply it.”

“I’m not that delicate,” Fu Nan’an chuckled, amused. At his age, he hadn’t been treated like this in a long time, and it felt a bit unfamiliar. “No need to trouble yourself. Just leave it be. It’ll heal on its own.”

“It’s better to keep treating it. It’ll heal faster,” Chi Zhao insisted, packing away the cotton swabs and iodine into the first aid kit. “It’s uncomfortable to leave it like this, and it doesn’t look good either.”

“A blind man doesn’t need to worry about looks,” Fu Nan’an said with a low laugh, flipping open a book on his desk and running his fingers over the lines of text. “I can’t see it anyway.”

“That’s not the point,” Chi Zhao said stubbornly. “You should still look your best.”

In Chi Zhao’s eyes, Fu Nan’an deserved to be at his best. He didn’t want him to feel even the slightest discomfort.

It was a strange feeling, having someone care about things you no longer paid attention to. Fu Nan’an hadn’t experienced this in a long time. At his age, he was past the stage of worrying about appearances or hiding his flaws. But being treated like this still brought a sense of warmth from deep within. The small office was filled with an unusual tenderness, but it was abruptly interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Are you done in there?” Zou Anhe’s voice floated in from outside, muffled by the door. “Can I come in now?”

The intimate atmosphere dissipated instantly.

“Come in. The door’s unlocked,” Fu Nan’an said, turning his head toward the sound of the door creaking open. “I thought I sensed someone outside earlier.”

Since losing his sight, Fu Nan’an’s other senses had sharpened considerably, and his hearing had always been keen.

Zou Anhe walked up to Fu Nan’an, noticing the faint brown stain of iodine on his forehead and the first aid kit in Chi Zhao’s hands. He understood what had been happening but couldn’t resist teasing. “Well, I heard all that ‘be gentle’ and ‘it hurts’ talk. I didn’t want to walk in on something I shouldn’t see.”

Chi Zhao’s face flushed. “No, we were just—”

It was an adult joke, and Chi Zhao wasn’t used to it. He stumbled over his words, clearly embarrassed. Zou Anhe smirked, but Fu Nan’an came to his rescue. “Anhe, don’t corrupt the kid.”

“Just a joke,” Zou Anhe said, finally dropping the teasing tone. “I need to talk to you about something.”

Since they had business to discuss, Chi Zhao naturally excused himself. His face still slightly red, he hurried out with the first aid kit, calling back as he left, “Professor, I’ll come by tomorrow to change the dressing.”

Once the door closed, the office fell quiet again. Fu Nan’an tilted his head slightly. “What is it, Anhe?”

Zou Anhe leaned casually against the back of Fu Nan’an’s chair, his playful expression fading. “It’s that time of year again. We’re heading down to the rural areas for the annual outreach program, and your department needs to come along.”

The annual outreach program was a staple at Fifth Hospital, but this was the first time the psychology department had been included. Fu Nan’an smiled faintly. “What brought this on?”

“New policies,” Zou Anhe shrugged. “With rising living standards and broader horizons, mental health is becoming more important. It was bound to happen.”

Fu Nan’an nodded in agreement. “True. It’s a good thing.”

Medical resources in the country were still scarce, and their distribution was uneven. Rural areas were particularly underserved. Psychology, being a relatively new field, was often misunderstood. Mental health issues were as common as colds or fevers, and they shouldn’t be stigmatized.

“When are we going?” Fu Nan’an asked.

“Next week,” Zou Anhe replied. “We’re heading to a provincial-level poverty-stricken county. Coordinate your team accordingly.”

The composition of the outreach team was crucial. It needed a mix of experienced hands and newcomers who could learn on the job, all while ensuring the hospital’s regular operations weren’t disrupted. Fu Nan’an tapped his pen against the desk, adding Chi Zhao’s name to the list. Zou Anhe glanced at it and chuckled.

“I kept saying you two were close, but you kept denying it. Now there’s no escaping it, huh?”

“The kid’s got a good heart,” Fu Nan’an said with a faint smile, avoiding the implication. “He’s diligent and attentive. It’s good for him to learn more.”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Zou Anhe clicked his tongue. “I know Chi Zhao’s steady, so I’m not surprised you want him on the team. But earlier—I’ve never seen anyone get that close to you to tend to your wounds. What, has Professor Fu’s germaphobia been cured?”

Fu Nan’an had always been particular about cleanliness, disliking unnecessary physical contact. After losing his sight, this tendency had only intensified.

“I didn’t have much of a choice,” Fu Nan’an said lightly. “Young people are just eager to help.”

As a mentor, Fu Nan’an had to maintain a certain distance from his students. He was always polite but kept them at arm’s length. This was the first time Zou Anhe had seen him allow someone to get so close, which had raised his suspicions. Seeing Fu Nan’an’s calm demeanor now, however, eased his concerns. “Right, I figured you wouldn’t go falling for an intern.”

Fu Nan’an smiled. “I’ll tell him not to come next time. He should spend his time learning something more useful.”

The next morning, during the department meeting, Fu Nan’an brought up the outreach program. Chi Zhao, unsurprisingly, volunteered. Participation was mostly voluntary, with some adjustments made as needed. After some discussion, the psychology department finalized a team of about ten people.

There was a gap between submitting the list and receiving the final confirmation. The official notice came a week later.

In that week, Chi Zhao gradually got to know the psychology department better. It was different from ophthalmology—this department was newer, with a team primarily made up of young medical staff. Aside from an occasional visit from an older professor, the rest were around Fu Nan’an’s age.

A young team meant a lively atmosphere, and Chi Zhao enjoyed the vibe. The only person he didn’t quite click with was another intern named Chen Kaiji. Even after some time, Chen Kaiji seemed to harbor an inexplicable hostility toward him.

Chi Zhao didn’t think he’d done anything wrong, and he wasn’t one to chase after someone who clearly disliked him. It was impossible to please everyone, and he was content with doing his job well.

Chi Zhao received the notice just as he was returning to his dorm after a long day of work. His hand ached from writing medical records all day. As he reached the dormitory entrance, a group message popped up on his phone.

[@Everyone, here’s the list and location for our department’s outreach program. Please review and prepare accordingly.]

The list had already been finalized, so everyone knew who was going. The message was just a reminder. Chi Zhao glanced at it, confirmed his name was there, and closed it, turning his attention to the precautions sent by the coordinator.

The place they were heading to was far from ideal—a well-known poverty-stricken county in the province. Chi Zhao had grown up in a similar environment, so he wasn’t fazed. But for city folks, it might be a shock.

After a moment’s hesitation, Chi Zhao turned away from the dormitory and headed to a nearby pharmacy. While the outreach program was a hospital-wide effort, each department would be operating independently. It was better to be prepared.

Insect repellent was a must—rural areas were teeming with bugs, and their bites could be nasty. Even though it was almost winter, it was better to be safe.

Anti-allergy medication was also necessary. The damp air could easily cause discomfort, and someone on the team was bound to need it.

Other common medications went without saying. As medical professionals, they knew what to bring. Chi Zhao browsed the pharmacy and eventually picked up a bottle of medicated oil.

After noticing the bruise on Fu Nan’an’s temple, Chi Zhao had started paying closer attention. He soon realized that the professor often had minor injuries. While they weren’t serious, they were still uncomfortable. Chi Zhao had tried to help Fu Nan’an with them several times, but the professor always refused.

“These small injuries aren’t worth the trouble,” Fu Nan’an would say dismissively. “Just focus on your own work.”

But Chi Zhao couldn’t help worrying.

The rural roads were rough, full of potholes and half-buried bricks. When it rained, they turned into a muddy mess. The forecast predicted rain during their trip, and with Fu Nan’an’s visual impairment, Chi Zhao decided to bring the medicated oil just in case.

Whether Fu Nan’an wanted his help or not, Chi Zhao’s concern wouldn’t waver. It was an instinctive care he couldn’t suppress. He didn’t want the professor to suffer even a little.

After picking up some other essentials, Chi Zhao returned to his dorm an hour later. Most of that time had been spent carefully selecting the medicated oil and asking about its proper use.

[Professor, how’s your injury? I bought some medicated oil. Can I help you apply it?]

Fu Nan’an saw the message a few hours later. He smiled faintly and replied, “That’s thoughtful of you, but I don’t need it right now.”

[You do need it. I noticed bruises on your arm and the back of your hand. That’s why I bought it.]

[The roads we’ll be traveling on during the outreach trip are rough. If you get hurt, please let me know. I spent a long time picking out this oil. Everyone says it works really well.]

The text-to-speech software read the messages in a flat, mechanical tone, but Fu Nan’an could hear Chi Zhao’s voice in his mind—earnest, sincere, and bright. Even without sight, he could feel the young man’s genuine concern.

Fu Nan’an’s fingers paused for a moment.

Even if Zou Anhe hadn’t brought it up, he hadn’t planned to let Chi Zhao continue tending to his wounds. They were just minor injuries, not worth the trouble. But Chi Zhao was like an enthusiastic puppy, wagging his tail and eagerly running to his side. His sincerity made it hard to refuse.

—Fine, let him come.

Fu Nan’an thought to himself. He’s just a kid.

Enthusiastic students weren’t new to him. Once the novelty wore off, they’d settle down. It wouldn’t last long.

Two more messages from Chi Zhao popped up, as if he were afraid of being rejected. Fu Nan’an pressed the voice message button and replied, “Alright, then. I’ll trouble you with it.”