pearl

She waited to hear Ethan analyze and dissect these criticisms point by point, even pointing out more flaws. She was also mentally prepared to accept the calm analysis that the research was "unstable and required thorough reflection."

She even had a ridiculous thought: why not let the storm rage even harder? Since she already felt like she was being pushed to the bottom, she might as well just keep sinking—rather than struggle in vain, she might as well sink to the deepest point and let the darkness swallow her up.

“The first one is, ‘The topic is too niche,’” Ethan said. “I’ve seen this comment hundreds of times. Any new research field will be labeled ‘too small and unimportant.’ But if everyone only works on popular topics, psychology will never move forward.”

Pan Qiu listened, stunned. She had been prepared to sink completely to the bottom, but the first sentence was like an unexpected hand, pulling her sharply. The pressure in her chest eased slightly. It wasn't suffocation, nor deeper darkness, but rather the sudden intrusion of air and light. She had no time to feel happy; instead, she felt a wave of disorientation: this wasn't the script she had envisioned.

Ethan turned to the next page and said, "'The sample size is too small.' This is also a classic criticism. When Piaget established the psychology of child development, he relied entirely on observing his own children—the sample size was two. This did not prevent him from laying the foundation for the entire discipline."

He glanced at her for a moment as he spoke. Pan Qiu was focused on the printed document in his fingers, her brows furrowed slightly, her eyelashes trembling, and a hint of surprise flashed in her eyes. The sentence that had been firmly anchored in her heart suddenly seemed to be pried open. Her breathing became disordered, as if the hand that had pulled her up from the water had lifted her up by half an inch.

He continued, tapping his fingertip on a marginal note: "'Lack of a control group.' That's almost the safest criticism. Even the original paper on the Stroop effect didn't have a rigorous control group, yet it ended up being one of the most cited studies in the history of psychology. No one can be perfect in a single paper."

Pan Qiu's fingers gripped the pen tightly, her knuckles turning white, but her eyes gradually brightened. She felt herself no longer being held underwater, but being lifted up little by little by him.

Ethan paused, his gaze falling on her, and said, “'The definition is unclear.' To be honest, that means you’ve hit a nerve in academia. The concept of 'working memory' was also criticized for being vague and confusing back then, but now it appears in every psychology textbook.”

Pan Qiu froze, her lips parting slightly as if to breathe. A glint flashed in her eyes, and she abruptly averted her gaze, no longer daring to look at him.

He closed the manuscript, his voice still steady: "'Lack of practical application.' That's always the last point. Every reviewer adds this sentence when they run out of things to say. The truth is—applications often don't appear until many years after the theory is proposed. But that doesn't mean the value of the theory is diminished."

Pan Qiu stared intently at the manuscript spread out on the table. The suffocating feeling in her heart had subsided, replaced by a sense of relief, as if she could breathe freely again.

She thought he was bringing a storm, but he was actually a lifeguard—in her most panicked moment, he lifted her inch by inch from the bottom of the water back to the world of breathing.

Ethan closed the manuscript, his gaze fixed intently on her, his voice softening but carrying greater weight:

"These problems don't just appear in your paper. They are common 'arsenals' in academic peer review: too small a sample size, too vague a concept, insufficient application. I've seen them used on countless excellent studies, time and time again. The problem isn't with you, but with the system. Peer review isn't perfect; it's as human as the science it tries to judge. There are no flawless mechanisms in the world."

He paused, tapping his fingertips lightly on the table, his tone becoming more composed:

"What really matters is not eliminating all criticism—that's impossible. What matters is clarifying the value we see, the parts that reviewers didn't see, and continuing to move the research forward. Everything else is just academic noise."

She stared blankly at the manuscript on the table, the word "noise" echoing in her mind. In that instant, she suddenly felt as if she had truly been rescued from the storm—not because the storm had stopped, but because Ethan said: it was just noise.

The noisy world seemed to fall silent instantly upon hearing his words.

Pan Qiu's gaze shifted to Ethan. In that instant, she seemed to see the light behind him again. That Christmas, he wasn't her mentor yet, and when people gossiped about him, they half-jokingly said, "He has a light about him."

She had thought it was an exaggeration at the time, but now she saw it clearly. The light was not illusory, but steadfast and calm, illuminating her way in her most confused moments.

She took a deep breath, forcing her voice to sound calm: "Okay, I'll revise it."

But she knew in her heart that what truly struck her was never the methodology, but Ethan's words—"Everything else is just noise."

That certainty, like a clear stream, purified the noise in her heart, leaving only calmness and clarity.

That night, she fell into a deep sleep early.

In my dream, there was an endless expanse of deep blue.

She is sinking.

Her body relaxed, like a feather or a pebble, slowly and silently sinking downwards. Waves surged over her, but there was no sound, only that cold blue water enveloping her completely.

There was no struggle, no shouting.

She couldn't open her mouth or raise her hand; it was as if even the slightest movement was imprisoned.

My chest felt heavier and heavier, as if pressed down by an invisible hand. My heartbeat was initially rapid, then gradually slowed and became heavy, as if even my consciousness was dissipating.

She just sank down there all alone.

The water had no end; the dark blue world was vast and empty, without light, and no one could hear anything.

There was only oppression, only suffocation, and an indescribable loneliness, as if I had been abandoned by the whole world.

She sank into the water until she reached the end of her field of vision, when suddenly a point of light appeared.

Like the tail of a shooting star, trailing a thin streak of light, it slowly fell from the distance, approaching her.

She seemed to see a hazy figure emerge—graceful lines, a mysterious posture, like a mermaid from the deep sea.

He came with light, his aura holy and incredible, drawing ever closer until a powerful halo obscured his face.

She instinctively closed her eyes. The pressure in her chest remained, but her breathing seemed to have taken on a different rhythm.

When she opened her eyes again, he was right in front of her. His face was Ethan's, so white it almost glowed.

Beneath him was a tail that shimmered with a mysterious luster, its scales layered upon each other, like the night sky reflected in the sea.

She saw him reach out a hand, his fingertips gently brushing across her forehead, the movement as light as a ripple across the surface of water.

The next second, the mermaid leaned closer, spat out a bright pearl, and gently placed it to her lips.

The pearl slid slowly in and landed on her heart.

She seemed to become transparent, and could even clearly see the luminous pearl passing through her body and quietly settling in her heart.

At that very moment, all the suffocation, oppression, and loneliness receded like the tide.

She was lifted up by an incredible lightness, as if her whole being had been purified by seawater and she had regained her breath.

She woke up with a start. The warmth of that light still lingered in her heart.

The dream was bizarre, yet breathtakingly beautiful. She lingered on it, reluctant to completely banish it from her mind.

The struggles and frustrations of the past week are now quietly left behind.

The pearl seemed to still be on my chest, like a ray of light quietly falling there, dispelling all the noise and gloom.

She just wanted to linger a little longer in the halo woven by this dream.