BURN Chapter 3

Losing a name badge wasn’t a big deal in itself, but Chi Zhao had just solemnly declared at noon that such a thing wouldn’t happen to him again, only to be proven wrong in the afternoon. No matter how you looked at it, it was a bit awkward and embarrassing.

Zhong Yangqiu quickly caught on and looked at him with a teasing expression. Chi Zhao coughed unnaturally and said, “I’ll go look for it.”

It was indeed a little awkward, but Chi Zhao hadn’t considered the possibility that the badge might actually have been picked up by Fu Nan’an. The badge from the Fifth Hospital wasn’t large, only about two fingers wide, and it wouldn’t even make a sound if it fell to the ground. Chi Zhao thought about it and decided to check near the ward again. Before he could get there, he received a message from Zhong Yangqiu.

 [Check the group chat.]

The interns at the Fifth Hospital had a large group chat where announcements were posted, and occasionally, it was used for lost-and-found purposes. Chi Zhao sent a question mark back to Zhong Yangqiu and casually opened the pinned group chat. At a glance, he saw something familiar.

—It was his name badge!

A kind soul had found his badge and even posted a photo of it in the group.

While the badge might seem like a small thing, replacing it was quite a hassle. Chi Zhao breathed a sigh of relief and was about to privately message the person who found it when he noticed the person had added a line under the photo.

[Whose badge is this? Please come to the Psychology Department, Ward 1, after work to claim it from Professor Fu Nan’an.]

Chi Zhao, “…”

No way, Zhong Yangqiu’s prediction actually came true.

Recalling the nonsense Zhong Yangqiu had spouted earlier, Chi Zhao’s face flushed with heat. Zhong Yangqiu’s message followed almost immediately.

[Tsk tsk, what did I tell you?]

[I’m a prophet!]

[Hurry up and go get your badge from Professor Fu!]

Chi Zhao… What could Chi Zhao even say?

Zhong Yangqiu’s words seemed to have some kind of prophetic power.

Chi Zhao replied with an ellipsis, and the “prophet” Zhong Yangqiu sent back:

-[If you don’t get married, this won’t end well.]

Although being teased by Zhong Yangqiu was mortifying, Chi Zhao couldn’t just ignore the fact that Fu Nan’an had found his badge. He wasn’t the type to deliberately create situations to get close to Fu Nan’an, but now that this accident had happened, it could only mean they had some kind of fate. After work, Chi Zhao went to the Psychology Department to retrieve his badge, but unfortunately, luck wasn’t on his side—Fu Nan’an wasn’t in his office.

Chi Zhao asked at the nurse’s station, “Excuse me, where is Professor Fu?”

A young nurse replied, “I think he went to a meeting.”

“A meeting?” Chi Zhao felt a pang of disappointment. “When will he be back?”

“Hard to say,” the nurse shook her head. “Professor Fu is very busy. There’s always something going on. We never know when he’ll be back.”

Fu Nan’an was well-known, and many patients traveled from afar to see him. When he was busy, it was indeed hard to track him down. Successful people were always busy and fulfilled, and Chi Zhao understood that. He sighed and said, “I’ll come back tomorrow to see him.” But just as he was about to leave, the nurse suddenly looked up at him and said, “Wait, are you… Chi Zhao?”

Chi Zhao was startled. “You know my name?”

“Ah,” the nurse rummaged through a box in front of her and handed him a badge. “Here, this is your badge, right? I thought you looked familiar.”

The small badge was handed to Chi Zhao. The nurse casually added, “Professor Fu is very thoughtful. He said you’d come to get the badge, but in case he wasn’t here, he asked us to keep an eye out for you so you wouldn’t make a wasted trip.”

Fu Nan’an had always been a gentle and considerate person. Even with an important meeting, he remembered his commitments, no matter how small. Chi Zhao took the badge, thanked the nurse, and pinned it to his chest. As he did, he felt a soft warmth in his heart. Before leaving, he unpinned the badge again, held it in his hand, and returned to his dorm.

With the badge found, Chi Zhao couldn’t escape another round of teasing from Zhong Yangqiu back in the dorm. Zhong Yangqiu asked if Chi Zhao had seen Fu Nan’an in person, and when Chi Zhao said no, Zhong Yangqiu shook his head with regret. “What a shame.”

Chi Zhao clicked his tongue. “What’s so shameful about it?”

“You missed a perfect opportunity for sparks to fly!” Zhong Yangqiu was in the middle of watching a drama on his tablet. He lifted his head and said seriously, “Listen to my analysis. According to the plot of this drama, your second meeting should have been—”

“…No, thanks,” Chi Zhao had no interest in hearing about cliché drama plots. He turned and headed to the balcony bathroom. “I’m not interested!”

Despite his firm words, after washing up and lying in bed, Chi Zhao couldn’t help but take out the badge and look at it again.

The small badge rested in his palm, its weight almost negligible. Chi Zhao fiddled with it, but his mind kept drifting to Fu Nan’an’s gentle eyes and calm voice. Perhaps it was Zhong Yangqiu’s teasing that got to him, but in a moment of impulsiveness, Chi Zhao found Fu Nan’an’s WeChat in the group chat and sent him a friend request.

[Professor Fu, this is Chi Zhao. I’ve got my badge. Thank you.]

It was only after getting to know Fu Nan’an that Chi Zhao learned that visually impaired people could also use smartphones. With the popularity of smartphones, many manufacturers had developed screen-reading software, allowing visually impaired individuals to use phones for entertainment and communication just like anyone else, after some learning.

[You’re welcome.]

At 11:40 PM, Fu Nan’an accepted Chi Zhao’s friend request and sent this message.

The message was just three short words, but Chi Zhao, who had been half-asleep, suddenly sat up in bed when he saw it.

He carefully typed: [Thank you so much. I’ll thank you in person next time I see you… Can I buy you a drink?]

After sending the message, Chi Zhao buried his face in his blanket.

Chi Zhao wasn’t usually the shy type, but after sending the message to Professor Fu, his heart raced. He pursed his lips and reread the message several times. Fu Nan’an’s reply came soon after.

[No need to be so polite. It was just a small favor.]

Chi Zhao quickly typed: [How about tea? Or something else? I really want to thank you properly.]

[You’re very thoughtful, kid.]

Given their age and status differences, Chi Zhao had expected Fu Nan’an to be difficult to approach in private, but the reality was quite the opposite. Despite the awkwardness from Zhong Yangqiu’s teasing, chatting with Fu Nan’an turned out to be more pleasant than Chi Zhao had imagined.

Professor Fu was knowledgeable yet gentle, never putting on airs. Chi Zhao’s tense heart quickly relaxed. He tried his best to keep the conversation going, and Fu Nan’an patiently chatted with him. Perhaps because of his visual impairment, Fu Nan’an initially sent text messages but soon switched to voice messages.

Late at night, in the quiet dorm room with only the soft breathing of his roommates, Fu Nan’an’s voice messages played through Chi Zhao’s headphones. The conversations were brief, but Chi Zhao couldn’t help but listen to them over and over.

Fu Nan’an seemed to still be working overtime. The background noise was chaotic, but his gentle, low voice cut through it, slightly hoarse from speaking too much, yet filled with a sense of life.

It was… incredibly soothing.

Chi Zhao spent the entire night in a daze. It wasn’t until the background noise in Fu Nan’an’s messages quieted down that he realized he had been bothering him for a long time. Professor Fu hadn’t reminded him, making him lose track of time.

This was unacceptable. Chi Zhao quickly typed:

[Professor, are you done with work?]

[It’s getting late. You should go home and rest.]

Chi Zhao typed quickly, and the screen-reading software’s mechanical voice echoed in his ears, one sentence after another. Fu Nan’an’s lips curved into a smile. “Alright, you should rest too.”

With a sense of solemnity, Chi Zhao typed two words: [Good night.]

“Good night.”

Zou Anhe happened to walk in just as Fu Nan’an spoke these two words into his phone. His deep voice seemed to ripple through the air, creating a small wave.

“Who are you talking to so gently?” Zou Anhe walked over to Fu Nan’an and teasingly patted his shoulder. “You needed me?”

“Yes, just as I finished work,” Fu Nan’an didn’t answer the first question. He exited the WeChat interface and got straight to the point. “I wanted to talk to you about that child, Zhi Zhi.”

“Oh? What about Zhi Zhi?” Hearing that it was work-related, Zou Anhe immediately dropped his playful demeanor and got into work mode. “Is there a problem?”

Fu Nan’an said, “I think his mental state isn’t quite right.”

Fu Nan’an had always been sensitive to emotions. Despite his visual impairment, he could perceive people’s feelings better than most. He had sensed something off when he met Zhi Zhi in the morning, and it clicked when he ran into Chi Zhao in the evening.

“He’s too dependent on Chi Zhao. It’s not the usual kind of dependence a patient has on a doctor,” Fu Nan’an sighed. He asked Zou Anhe, “Do his parents rarely visit?”

Zou Anhe thought for a moment and nodded. “Yes, they’re very busy with work. Sometimes they only visit once a week.”

“I could tell. When I first met him this morning, he asked me a lot of questions about eyes. I think he’s been struggling with these questions for a while,” Fu Nan’an said. “Eyes are so important. Without proper guidance from his parents, it’s easy for a child to fall into despair.”

Eyes were indeed crucial. They were our primary way of interacting with the world. Sometimes we took them for granted, but without them, life became incredibly difficult. Many blind people, once their world turned dark, retreated into their homes, too afraid to step outside. Some even resorted to extreme measures to end their lives. It was truly tragic.

“I understand. I’ll talk to his parents the next time they visit and encourage them to guide him more,” Zou Anhe said, rubbing his temples wearily. Then he suddenly remembered something. “Oh, Zhi Zhi does seem quite dependent on Chi Zhao. Should I talk to Chi Zhao about this and ask him to be more mindful?”

But then he hesitated. “But Chi Zhao is still a kid himself. I’m not sure if he can handle this…”

“I was actually thinking the same thing,” Fu Nan’an affirmed his thoughts. “I just chatted with Chi Zhao for a bit, and he seems like a good kid—responsible and sincere.”

“That’s great,” Zou Anhe nodded, then suddenly laughed as if he had realized something. “So the person you were chatting with earlier was Chi Zhao… Wait, since when did you two get so close? Hugging and saying good night to each other? This isn’t normal!”

“You know that what happened this morning was just an accident,” Fu Nan’an chuckled, his expression slightly helpless. “As for just now… I found his badge, and he added me to chat for a bit.”

Zou Anhe raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

He deliberately spoke in a suggestive tone, his voice teasing and playful, making it easy to guess what kind of thoughts were running through his mind.

“Don’t joke around,” Fu Nan’an’s eyes lowered, his expression calm. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t go after a kid.”