I have been covering the novel coronavirus for nearly two years: from the latest epidemic situation and development of vaccines, to the research into the virus' origins and the debunking of conspiracy theories.

Nearly every day, I hunch over my laptop, checking the latest number of new cases, the vaccine doses administered, or new papers or speeches by virus or drug researchers. I also frequently attend briefings held by the State Council's Joint Prevention and Control Mechanism, the most authoritative platform to explain China's virus control policies.

I often make phone calls, asking experts to clarify common questions from the public and predict the trajectory of a new outbreak.

A couple of months ago, I felt as though "pandemic fatigue"－a term coined by health experts to describe the feeling of exhaustion prompted by taking endless precautions against the virus－had set in. For me, the weariness came from an overload of related information, the majority being transmitted via my laptop or cellphone screen.

I told one of my colleagues, half-jokingly, that I had forgotten how to chat with normal people as a journalist, how to try my best to walk in their shoes and comprehend their feelings.

Then came the chance to visit Ruili, Yunnan province. The city, which borders Myanmar, has been at the forefront of the battle to stave off imported infections and local flare-ups.

I have to admit that there were some selfish reasons for me to take the assignment. I wanted to have a break from cold statistics and charts for a while, to find conversations and stories with a human touch.

It turned out that such stories abound in the city.

Behind the impressive jump in Ruili's nucleic acid testing capacity－the local disease prevention and control center is now capable of processing 21,000 vials of samples daily, jumping from 720 vials early last year－are stories of sacrifice and dedication.

For example, that of a disease control worker who slept on the couch in his office for nearly three months, and couldn't help tearing up whenever he spoke about his children.

As Ruili has stepped up its ability to track and trace close contacts, a health official said he felt sorry for sometimes losing his temper when fellow workers failed to meet his standards.

While driving us through the quiet streets, the local guide reminisced about the pre-epidemic crowds teeming at roadside stalls. "They will be back, right?" he said.

I understand that not all these moments can fit into the limited space of a newspaper, and that it is vital to keep a rational mind when reporting an outbreak, to dive into rigorous data and science-based analysis.

But these personal stories and emotions are also essential, empowering us to overcome fatigue and carry on the fight.

Many Ruili locals have thanked me for listening to them and writing about their battle against the virus. However, I think I owe them a hug and a thank-you because their stories are also a source of strength to me whenever I feel drained.