BURN Chapter 10

Translator: Abo Dammen

Hearing that from Fu Nan’an made Chi Zhao incredibly happy. How could he possibly find it troublesome? When packing his things, he made sure to place the medicated oil in the most accessible spot on the side of his backpack, so he could grab it whenever needed.

Every department had to send people for the rural outreach, and when everyone gathered, it turned into a large team. Early the next morning, the entire medical team assembled at the hospital entrance, with leaders there to see them off.

Naturally, this called for a group photo.

“Tall guy, move a bit to the side. Yes, yes, next to Professor Fu,” the photographer directed Chi Zhao to shift toward where he was pointing. Chi Zhao, being tall, ended up standing right next to Fu Nan’an, right in the center of the group. He was even tasked with holding the sign, which bore the Fifth Hospital’s emblem and the slogan for their grassroots outreach.¹

Taking a group photo wasn’t easy, especially with such a large team. Any small movement meant starting over. The photographer spent a long time adjusting, and everyone’s smiles were starting to stiffen. Chi Zhao, standing in the center holding the sign, was most struck by the faint scent of sandalwood emanating from Fu Nan’an. He couldn’t help but sneak a breath, and the subtle fragrance lingered in his senses.

“Last one, one more… Got it!”

The photographer gave them a thumbs-up, and Chi Zhao realized his arm was sore from holding the sign. He rubbed his wrist and handed the sign back to the organizer. The photographer winked at him. “Not bad, kid. You’re pretty photogenic.”

Chi Zhao, who took compliments well, smiled and replied, “It’s mostly thanks to your skills.”

The photographer showed Chi Zhao the photos on the camera, flipping through them one by one. In most of them, Chi Zhao stood properly beside Fu Nan’an, but in one shot, Chi Zhao glanced sideways at Fu Nan’an, who happened to look in his direction at the same time. The camera captured a moment that gave the illusion of mutual eye contact.

For a moment, the surrounding noise seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in each other’s gaze.

Chi Zhao’s heart softened, and he genuinely praised, “You really take great photos.”

Of course, this was a detail only Chi Zhao noticed. The photographer didn’t think much of it and quickly flipped to the next photo. Chi Zhao hurriedly asked, “Could you send me the raw files?”

“Of course,” the photographer nodded. “I’ll send all the photos to the group later.”

Chi Zhao added, “All of them?”

The photographer gave him a slightly puzzled look but assured him, “Don’t worry, I’ll send everything.”

Looking at the photos took a while, and by the time Chi Zhao got on the bus, most of the seats were already taken. The front seats were reserved for the leaders and professors, so he found a spot in the back. Shortly after, Chen Kaiji walked over and sat next to him.

Chi Zhao asked, “Is this your seat?”

Chen Kaiji glanced at him. “Yeah, I just went to the restroom.”

Chi Zhao noticed a bag on the seat next to him and realized it was Chen Kaiji’s. Their relationship wasn’t exactly smooth, so Chi Zhao considered moving, but before he could say anything, several senior professors boarded the bus.

“Everyone in the back, take your seats,” the team leader called out. “We’re about to leave. Make sure to fasten your seatbelts.”

With no other choice, Chi Zhao ended up sitting next to Chen Kaiji.

It wasn’t as awkward as he’d imagined. Chen Kaiji kept his head down, chatting on his phone, while Chi Zhao looked out the window. They didn’t bother each other. The scenery outside shifted from skyscrapers to low-rise houses, and the bus eventually stopped at a rest area.

The team leader announced, “Everyone, take a break. We’ll be getting off the highway soon, and there won’t be many places to stop after that.”

“It’s that far?”

“This trip is really something!”

Everyone sighed and got off the bus to stretch their legs.

The county they were heading to was indeed remote—no wonder it was classified as a provincial-level poverty-stricken area. There wasn’t even a highway. Chi Zhao got off to get some fresh air, and when he returned, the photographer waved at him.

“I’ve sent the photos to the group,” the photographer said with a smile. “I left out a few where the poses weren’t great. If you want them, I can send them to you separately.”

Chi Zhao naturally agreed. “Thanks. Let me add you on WeChat.”

After some back-and-forth, the photos were finally transferred. They chatted and joked a bit, and when Chi Zhao returned to his seat, Chen Kaiji was there, giving him a strange look. “You’re pretty close with Zhao-ge?”

Zhao-ge was the photographer. Chi Zhao, still immersed in the joy of getting the photo with Fu Nannan, really liked the one where they were making eye contact. He kept looking at it over and over again and said, “It’s nothing, I just asked him to send me a copy of the photo we just took.”

“You’re quite the social butterfly,” Chen Kaiji’s brow furrowed slightly, clearly dissatisfied with his evasive attitude. “Instead of wasting time on networking, you should focus more on studying.”

Chen Kaiji was the proud type—top of his class in psychology, from a well-off family, with a bit of a young master attitude. Naturally, he looked down on someone like Chi Zhao, an “outsider” who seemed to be thriving in the psychology department. Chi Zhao didn’t want to argue, it wasn’t worth it. He brushed it off with a casual remark.

The bus soon got back on the road, and the endless journey continued. Sitting on the bus was boring, with little room to stretch. Someone in the front row pulled out a bottle of Lao Shan Bai Hua Snake Water², notorious for its terrible taste, and they started playing Truth or Dare.

“Here’s the deal,” the girl who suggested the game said with a grin. “Whoever loses has to take a big sip of this.”

The game was more fun with more people, and since they had nothing better to do, Chi Zhao and Chen Kaiji reluctantly joined. Chi Zhao had intended to just go along with it, but luck wasn’t on his side—he lost to Chen Kaiji on the first round.

Chi Zhao accepted his fate. “Truth.”

Chen Kaiji, clearly trying to trip him up, asked a psychology-related question, “Can you explain the Rosenthal Effect?”³

The game had barely started, and the tone had already shifted. A guy in the front row couldn’t help but comment, “What’s with the serious questions? This is supposed to be fun.”

The girl next to him agreed. “Yeah, don’t make it so intense.”

Despite the protests, Chen Kaiji dug in his heels. “Can’t handle it? This is the question I’m asking.”

“It’s fine,” Chi Zhao wasn’t upset. “I know this one. It refers to the phenomenon where a teacher’s high expectations of a student can lead to improved performance.”

This was a psychology term Chi Zhao had come across while studying recently, so he managed to answer correctly. The game went on for a couple more rounds, and Chi Zhao lost to Chen Kaiji again. This time, Chen Kaiji repeated his tactic.

“What does field dependence⁴ mean?”

“And the visual cliff experiment?”⁵

These were more theoretical concepts, and Chi Zhao, not having studied them, was stumped. After a moment of hesitation, he admitted, “I don’t know.” Chen Kaiji’s goal was achieved. He brushed his hair back, looking smug. “Clinical students are all the same. With this level of knowledge, why bother coming to the psychology department?”

This was crossing a line. The girl in the front row quickly tried to smooth things over. “Let’s change the question. Chi Zhao hasn’t studied this stuff. You’re just making it hard for him.”

“Yeah,” someone else chimed in. “Which department we rotate through is decided by the school. Don’t give Chi Zhao a hard time.”

“It’s fine,” Chi Zhao didn’t want to ruin the mood. He grabbed the bottle of lao shan bai and took a big swig. “I’ll take the loss. Let’s keep playing.”

The drink did have a strange taste—not quite salty, not quite sweet, with a faint fizziness. Some people online had described it as tasting like sweat from a bamboo mat, and Chi Zhao had to agree. He didn’t play anymore after that, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes. The bus rocked back and forth, making him drowsy. Just as he was about to fall asleep, he heard Chen Kaiji mutter to himself, “Clinical students should know their place in the psychology department. Haven’t you noticed Professor Fu never quizzes them?”

For the next two days, Chi Zhao wasn’t quite himself. It wasn’t a drastic change—he just spoke less, often retreating to his room and borrowing psychology textbooks from the senior students.

They arrived at the county town that evening. After settling in, Chi Zhao skipped dinner and went straight to his room. The next day, they were scheduled to train medical staff at the county hospital. Before they left, Chi Zhao helped Fu Nan’an apply medicine, his movements still careful but noticeably quieter.

“What’s wrong?” Fu Nan’an asked. “Not used to staying here?”

“I’m fine,” Chi Zhao wasn’t lying. He’d grown up in places like this and was used to it. “Did you sleep well?”

“I’ve lived in the countryside before too,” Fu Nan’an smiled. “I just thought you seemed a bit down.”

Chi Zhao paused but then said, “It’s nothing.”

Their conversation was stilted. Normally, Chi Zhao loved sharing little anecdotes from his life, but this time, Fu Nan’an had to steer the conversation. Chi Zhao answered when asked but otherwise stayed quiet. Eventually, Chi Zhao asked Fu Nan’an about some psychology terms, and after explaining, Fu Nan’an said, “These terms are more theoretical. I suggest you focus on things more closely related to clinical practice.”

Chi Zhao nodded. “Got it.” Once he finished applying the medicine, he said, “Professor, I’ll head back now.”

His footsteps quickly disappeared around the corner, a hint of urgency in his pace. Fu Nan’an chuckled softly. “This kid.” Clearly, something was on his mind.

Chi Zhao was indeed the type to keep things to himself. Over the next two days, while they trained medical staff at the county hospital, Fu Nan’an tried to subtly probe, but Chi Zhao remained tight-lipped. It wasn’t until the third day, when they went down to the villages, that Fu Nan’an finally figured out what was going on.

In addition to training at the county hospital, their mission was to promote medical services at the grassroots level, which meant going deep into the villages. The county was divided into many villages, so the team split into smaller groups by department, rotating through different villages.

The psychology team’s first stop was a village called Xiaozhai.

Compared to the county town, the village was like another world. While the county had buildings and paved roads, the village was all dirt paths and tiled houses. The medical van could only go so far before the road became too narrow, so they had to continue on foot.

They had set out in the afternoon, and by now, the sky was darkening. The dirt road was full of potholes and protruding bricks. Chi Zhao wanted to help Fu Nan’an. “Professor Fu, let me walk with you.”

But Fu Nan’an wasn’t the type to accept help. He followed the beeping of his cane, each step steady. “No need. I can manage.”

“Alright, be careful.”

Chi Zhao knew his personality and didn’t push. He walked at the back of the group, carrying his backpack. After splitting from the other departments, their group consisted only of the psychology team, so Chen Kaiji naturally ended up next to Chi Zhao.

“Finished reading the book?” Chen Kaiji asked.

After that day on the bus, Chen Kaiji had provoked Chi Zhao a few more times. In a moment of impulsiveness, Chi Zhao had made a bet with him. By the time Chi Zhao finished his rotation in psychology, could he finish reading the psychology textbooks? Chen Kaiji had taunted, “You’re always sticking close to Professor Fu. Aren’t you afraid he’ll find out you don’t know anything?”

Chi Zhao lowered his eyes and didn’t respond, kicking a small stone on the ground. The stone rolled away into the distance.

The other comments hadn’t bothered him much, but bringing up Fu Nan’an had struck a nerve.

It had been over a week in the psychology department, and Fu Nan’an had never quizzed him. In fact, he rarely quizzed any of the clinical interns.

At first, Chi Zhao had felt relieved, but that relief soon turned into discomfort. He didn’t want to be treated differently.

Did Fu Nan’an think they weren’t professional enough and was going easy on them? That wasn’t necessary, and Chi Zhao didn’t like it.

By the time they arrived at the village health clinic, it was completely dark. The clinic was newly built, with a spacious courtyard. The village head came to greet them personally. They started a fire and brought over sweet potatoes and peanuts grown by the villagers.

The fire was roaring, and the sweet potatoes were soon roasted, filling the air with a rich, smoky aroma. Someone called out, “Freshly roasted sweet potatoes! Come and get them!”

Countryside produce was undeniably better than city-bought stuff—it was full of flavor. Everyone eagerly grabbed the roasted sweet potatoes, but Chi Zhao wasn’t hungry. He found a quiet corner, using his phone as a flashlight to read the borrowed social psychology textbook.

“Role conflict refers to the psychological state of a role player in a role-playing situation… Role conflict refers to…”

The gap between fields was vast, especially in a specialized field like medicine. Psychology terms were obscure and hard to understand, but Chi Zhao was determined. He read and reread, trying to grasp the concepts. Just as he was feeling more and more frustrated, he heard footsteps behind him.

“Why are you hiding here? I’ve been looking for you,” the footsteps grew closer. Fu Nan’an walked over naturally, holding a steaming roasted sweet potato in one hand and his cane in the other. “Want to talk?”

The night was clear and quiet, with only the occasional chirping of insects. Fu Nan’an couldn’t see where Chi Zhao was, so he stood closer than usual.

Too close. Chi Zhao instinctively held his breath. Fu Nan’an’s warm breath brushed against his ear, tickling and burning at the same time.