BURN Chapter 8

Translator: Abo Dammen

If Chi Zhao’s previous admiration for Fu Nan’an was more superficial, tinged with playful curiosity, then the moment he accepted the cotton candy, he truly felt something shift. The sweet candy melted in his mouth, and his heart seemed to soften, dissolve, and melt along with it. A subtle emotion had taken root, ready to sprout.

The next day, when reporting to the psychology department, Chi Zhao made sure to style his hair in a particularly handsome way. He knew Fu Nan’an couldn’t see it, but the sense of ceremony was still important.

Chi Zhao was naturally good-looking, the kind of sunny, youthful type. Dressed sharply, he exuded confidence. As soon as he stepped into the psychology department’s office, someone called out to him.

A doctor sitting near the entrance asked, “Are you the new intern?”

Chi Zhao smiled warmly, a small dimple appearing at the corner of his mouth. “Good morning, everyone. I’m the new intern, Chi Zhao, from the clinical program.”

A polite and earnest junior is always well-received. The office wasn’t crowded, and Fu Nan’an hadn’t arrived yet. Chi Zhao quickly got along with the other doctors. Two graduate student interns, both female, took a particular liking to him and eagerly pulled him into their conversation.

“Are you from the clinical program?” a round-faced senior sister asked. “You guys are doing psychology rotations now?”

“Yeah, it’s a recent addition,” Chi Zhao replied, choosing not to mention Zhizhi directly. “It wasn’t in the original plan, but the school thought it was necessary, so they added it.”

“That’s good,” another senior sister with a ponytail said, her tone tinged with envy. “I always wanted to study clinical medicine, but my grades weren’t quite enough.”

“Every department has its own strengths,” Chi Zhao quickly reassured her. “The psychology department doesn’t have night shifts. We’re all jealous of that.”

“True,” the senior sister laughed, though it was clear she was just making small talk. “I didn’t like it much at first, but the more I learned, the more interesting I found it.”

As they chatted happily, a sudden thud interrupted them. Chi Zhao looked up and saw a guy about his age knocking over a stack of documents, scattering papers everywhere.

Chi Zhao walked over to help pick them up. “Are you okay?”

The guy kept his head down, organizing the papers without a word.

Chi Zhao handed him the collected documents. “Are you here for an internship too?”

“Chen Kaiji,” the guy said coldly after a moment, his eyes fixed on Chi Zhao. “Fourth-year clinical psychology.”

He was a proud young man, wearing hip-hop pants under his white coat and bright purple high-top sneakers. Clearly, he was a pampered young master. His cold tone carried a hint of hostility, and Chi Zhao could sense his animosity.

“Kaiji’s here! Let’s go, we’re about to do rounds,” the ponytailed senior sister greeted him warmly. Chen Kaiji stiffened, his earlier arrogance replaced by a stutter. “G-good morning, Senior Sister.”

Ah, so that’s where the hostility was coming from. Chi Zhao smiled wryly.

The more you explain, the messier it gets. It’s better not to explain at all. Chi Zhao wasn’t the type to fawn over someone who clearly disliked him. He introduced himself politely and then returned to his spot.

As the ponytailed senior sister and Chen Kaiji left, Chi Zhao remembered something important. “By the way, has Professor Fu arrived yet?”

“Professor Fu Nan’an?” the round-faced senior sister explained. “Professor Fu has his own office. He usually comes over during morning rounds.”

“What about the rest of the time?” Chi Zhao asked. “Does he usually stay in his office or here in the main office?”

“He spends most of his time seeing patients,” the senior sister said with a hint of helplessness. “There’s no helping it. Professor Fu is too busy. Many patients come from out of town specifically to see him.”

Chi Zhao nodded. “Makes sense.”

Since they were in the same department, Chi Zhao casually gathered a lot of information about Fu Nan’an as they chatted. For example, Fu Nan’an didn’t eat sweets, he liked oolong tea, he lived in the residential area behind the hospital, and… he was single.

Zhong Yangqiu had mentioned that Fu Nan’an was probably single, and Chi Zhao had gotten the same impression from his WeChat moments. But “probably” and “confirmed” were two different things. When the department staff confirmed that Fu Nan’an was indeed single, Chi Zhao couldn’t help but feel a secret thrill.

On the surface, he remained calm, feigning disbelief. “Really? I heard a lot of people like Professor Fu.”

“Professor Fu has high standards,” the round-faced senior sister said with a smirk. “Plenty of people chase him, sending flowers and gifts all the time. But very few have his private WeChat.”

So it was true—many people were pursuing him!

Chi Zhao had only asked casually, but now alarm bells were ringing in his head. He felt a sudden sense of urgency. But then he remembered their occasional chats, Fu Nan’an’s gentle tone, and a sweet feeling bubbled up in his chest.

At least he had Fu Nan’an’s WeChat and chatted with him regularly!

Fu Nan’an rarely initiated conversations on WeChat, but whenever Chi Zhao reached out, he always responded promptly. When Chi Zhao reminded him to dress warmly, Fu Nan’an would politely thank him. When Chi Zhao updated him on Zhizhi’s condition, Fu Nan’an would gently say, “You’ve worked hard.” Occasionally, when Chi Zhao asked professional questions, Fu Nan’an would even send voice messages to explain. The conversations might not be long, but they never felt rushed or dismissive.

“What are you talking about?” The familiar sound of a cane interrupted Chi Zhao’s thoughts as Fu Nan’an walked in.

Chi Zhao quickly stood up. “Good morning, Professor Fu.”

The other doctors and nurses also greeted him. “Good morning, Professor.” “Morning.”

Fu Nan’an, never one to put on airs, greeted everyone in turn. Knowing it was Chi Zhao’s first day, he walked over and asked, “How are you finding the psychology department?”

Chi Zhao had already informed Fu Nan’an on WeChat the night before, so Fu Nan’an wasn’t surprised by his arrival. Chi Zhao smiled and said, “It’s great.” Fu Nan’an chuckled teasingly, “You seem to be doing well. You’ve already charmed the ladies in our department.”

“Just chatting,” Chi Zhao said, his face heating up. He felt unusually awkward. When Fu Nan’an wasn’t around, he could ask questions freely, but now that Fu Nan’an was right in front of him, he didn’t know what to say. It was that special kind of shyness reserved for someone you like.

Fu Nan’an smiled gently and didn’t press further. However, the senior sister beside them chimed in with a grin, “We’ve been chatting a lot. We even talked about you, Professor.”

“Oh?” Fu Nan’an raised an eyebrow. “What about me?”

“Your love life,” the senior sister said without hesitation. Clearly, this wasn’t the first time the topic had come up. “Professor, tell us about your romantic history. We’re all dying to hear it.”

Chi Zhao’s face turned even redder, but he couldn’t help but perk up his ears. Fu Nan’an’s lips curved into a smile, but he didn’t answer directly. Instead, he asked, “Did you figure out the questions I asked you yesterday?”

“Professor, you always do this,” the senior sister pouted. “It’s not just me who’s curious… Chi Zhao wants to know too, right?”

Suddenly put on the spot, Chi Zhao had no choice but to admit, “I… am a little curious.”

He really was curious. Denying it would be a lie.

Professor Fu was so gentle, like a distant mountain that seemed unattainable. Chi Zhao sometimes wondered if someone like him could ever burn passionately for someone.

He gazed at Fu Nan’an’s face, thinking, He must have, right? He’s in his thirties, and so many people like him…

“…No,” Fu Nan’an pressed his fingers to his temple, seemingly surprised by their interest. He said helplessly, “I’ve never been in a relationship.”

“Wow,” the senior sister’s eyes widened in shock. A barrage of questions followed. “Never? Why? Don’t a lot of people like you?”

“That’s enough, don’t you think?” Fu Nan’an didn’t answer further. He tapped his cane lightly, and the senior sister immediately clammed up. “Sorry, Professor. I’ll stop asking. I’ll get back to work!”

“Good,” Fu Nan’an said calmly. “Review the material again. I’ll quiz you during rounds.”

The rounds began soon after, and other interns trickled in. Chi Zhao stopped overthinking and followed the group, diligently taking notes.

But in the quiet moments, when he caught a glimpse of Fu Nan’an’s profile, that question still lingered in his mind—Why?

He was thrilled that Fu Nan’an had never been in a relationship, but he couldn’t help but wonder why someone so outstanding had chosen to remain single.

In daily life, Fu Nan’an was gentle, but at work, he was rigorous and demanding. Perhaps because Chi Zhao was new, Fu Nan’an didn’t quiz him in the following days, nor did he quiz the other clinical students. However, he regularly questioned the psychology interns and junior doctors. Those who couldn’t answer were required to copy the relevant textbook sections three times.

After several days of this, one intern couldn’t help but complain, “The things you’re quizzing us on aren’t even important!”

Fu Nan’an looked at him calmly and delivered the classic line every teacher uses: “Patients don’t get sick according to your textbook’s key points.”

While it was strict, Chi Zhao learned a lot. As a clinical student, his understanding of psychology had been superficial. After a few days of rounds, he gained a more comprehensive view: psychology was an emerging discipline, a science. Psychological illnesses were no different from physical ones like colds or fevers—they had patterns and didn’t deserve stigma or sensationalism.

Fu Nan’an treated his patients with respect, and in return, they respected him deeply. The patients in the ward adored him. Even when their emotions overwhelmed them, causing them to scream or cry, once they calmed down, they would sincerely hold his hand and thank him.

Fu Nan’an’s office was filled with banners of gratitude, each one representing a new hope. This was the charm of the medical profession and the charm of Fu Nan’an himself.

The Fifth Hospital was a general hospital, but the psychology department was always busy. Under the guidance of the senior doctors, daily rounds proceeded smoothly. After rounds, everyone went about their tasks, leaving Chi Zhao, the new intern, with some free time.

“Go read in the consultation room next door,” Fu Nan’an instructed after rounds one day. “If needed, the other doctors will call you.”

Chi Zhao asked, “What about you?”

Fu Nan’an replied, “I have a meeting.”

The meeting lasted from morning until evening. During that time, Chi Zhao ran errands for a senior colleague twice and spent the rest of his time reading in the consultation room. As a clinical student with no formal psychology training, the department didn’t fully trust him with tasks.

But this had its advantages. Chi Zhao borrowed a psychology textbook and carefully studied a few chapters, learning quite a bit.

At 8 p.m., Fu Nan’an finally returned from the meeting.

Hearing the familiar sound of the cane, Chi Zhao eagerly went to greet him, ready to proudly share what he’d learned that day. But as he approached Fu Nan’an, he noticed a large bruise on Fu Nan’an’s temple, with some areas even broken and bleeding.

Chi Zhao was alarmed. “Professor Fu, what happened? How did you get such a big bruise?”

“A bruise?” Fu Nan’an frowned slightly, his fingers gently pressing the area. He winced. “No wonder it hurts so much.”

Chi Zhao was frantic. “Did you bump into something?”

“Yes, I hit the door,” Fu Nan’an nodded, seemingly unfazed. “It happens often. It’ll heal in a couple of days.”

Since losing his sight, bumps and bruises had become routine for Fu Nan’an. Even with his cane, he couldn’t react as quickly as a sighted person.

Fu Nan’an was used to it and smiled gently, saying it was nothing. But Chi Zhao couldn’t stand it. He rushed to the nurse’s station to borrow iodine and cotton swabs, insisting, “Let me clean it for you. The skin’s broken.”

“No need—”

Fu Nan’an instinctively refused, but Chi Zhao was already leaning in. The fresh, clean scent of youth filled Fu Nan’an’s senses, and Chi Zhao’s hands were incredibly gentle.

“It’ll be quick,” Chi Zhao said nervously, his hands trembling slightly as he dabbed at the wound. “Does this hurt?”

The touch was so light, like a puppy’s cautious paw. Fu Nan’an’s throat moved as he swallowed his refusal and said, “It’s fine.”

Chi Zhao slowed his movements even more, cradling Fu Nan’an’s face as if it were something fragile. “I’ll be gentle. Don’t worry.”

Fu Nan’an smiled softly. “Thank you.”

“This might sting a little. Bear with it.”

…

“Almost done. Just a bit more.”

…

Outside the door, Zou Anhe, who had been about to enter, stood frozen with a strange expression on his face. His hand, resting on the doorknob, clenched and unclenched.

It hurts, be gentle, bear with it… What on earth was going on in there?!