A touch of green wind
In March, the campus air began to feel loose and fresh. The last traces of melting snow seemed to linger in the air, and the damp grass was strewn with fallen leaves from last winter.
The morning air was still a bit chilly, but the evening seemed to linger longer before it got dark—the daylight saving time that had just been adjusted a few days ago seemed to have quietly shifted an hour away, giving way to a longer stretch of light.
The magnolia trees lining both sides of the street were budding, some as white as snow, others tinged with purplish-pink, like low-burning flames against the grey-blue sky. Occasionally, a gentle breeze would blow, carrying the faint scent of earth in the air.
The past two months have seemed to pass both quickly and slowly for Panqiu.
The pace was slow because she still chose three courses this semester, and the coursework came one wave after another like a tide, making her feel that her days were filled with assignments and reading lists.
She was moving quickly, again because she was following up on the research under Ethan's guidance. Time seemed to be sucked into an invisible black hole—her main task at present was to review papers on "inner language" and, based on these, try to propose a problem she wanted to solve, even if it was just a small hypothesis. But the more she did, the more she felt that she was digging this black hole deeper and bigger, as if no amount of time would be enough to fill it.
Fortunately, I met with Ethan every week to discuss the progress of the research. That face-to-face communication was like being gently pulled back a little from the edge of a time black hole, allowing me to see the ground beneath my feet and the light ahead again.
Several times, Ethan seemed to notice the weariness in her eyes and the unconscious tension in her shoulders and neck. After discussing the topic, he would switch to a lighter topic, telling interesting stories unrelated to academics, and even half-jokingly saying, "Don't overwork yourself." His tone was restrained and gentle, and his eyes were encouraging, which gave her a brief moment of relief.
During their meeting this week, Ethan looked at her as if he had noticed something: "You look... a little tired." He said it casually, not wanting to put any more pressure on Panqiu.
Pan Qiu pursed her lips: "A little."
“Then I’ll give you an academic suggestion—go watch the St. Patrick’s Day parade next week.”
She paused for a moment, then asked, "What parade?"
Ethan picked up a notepad from the table, casually drew a pretty four-leaf clover, and chuckled, "Everyone was wearing green that day. If you weren't, someone might pinch you."
"Pinch someone?" she asked, somewhat surprised.
"Yes, it's a tradition. It's a bit silly, but it's quite interesting. You should go see it—it's lively, vibrant, and not academic at all. Consider it a break for yourself."
Pan Qiu couldn't help but laugh out loud. She suddenly felt that this kind of care for life that was squeezed into her academic breaks was more reassuring than she had imagined.
“By the way,” Ethan added, “I’m going on a business trip next week, so our regular meeting will be canceled.”
That evening during dinner, Zhiwei suddenly looked up and said, "By the way, there's a parade next week for St. Patrick's Day. Lin Yue and I are planning to go. Do you want to come with us?"
Lin Yue's name made Pan Qiu pause, her chopsticks still. Since the start of the semester, he had asked her out several times—to see a movie, to have dinner—but she had declined each time because she was too busy. Each time she refused, she felt a little guilty. This time was perfect; she also wanted to get some fresh air and experience the festive atmosphere.
Zhiwei continued, "I heard that the scene was very lively, with floats and bands, and everyone was wearing green clothes. It was like the whole city was having a party."
Pan Qiu smiled and said, "Okay, let's go take a look."
After dinner, Panqiu still turned on her computer and searched for "St. Patrick's Day".
A sea of green quickly appeared on the screen—four-leaf clovers, green hats, photos of the river dyed emerald green, and crowds of people in outlandish costumes. She then realized that this festival, originally commemorating Ireland's patron saint, had long since become a city-wide carnival. Parades, music, beer, floats, and even the river was dyed green.
Looking at the pictures, Panqiu suddenly felt a sense of anticipation. She remembered Zhiwei's words, "The whole city is like it's having a party," and it seemed to be true.
Saturday morning, the city center was more crowded than usual. Barrier tape had been set up along the streets, and green flags and wreaths hung outside cafes and bars. The air was filled with the faint aroma of beer and fried food, carried on the cool spring breeze.
The parade began quickly. First to appear was a contingent of bagpipers in neat uniforms, carrying Scottish-style bagpipes on their shoulders. They marched in unison, their drumbeats deep and powerful, their bagpipes playing a long, drawn-out tune, carrying an ancient yet festive charm that seemed to instantly transport the audience into Celtic legend. Following closely behind was a brass band, their bright horn sounds echoing through the streets, their rhythm lively, and the audience naturally clapped and tapped their feet to the beat.
As the floats slowly passed by, people on board scattered handfuls of candy, tossed glittering fake gold coins, and tossed strings of green, silver, and gold plastic beads high into the crowd. The beads shimmered in the sunlight, like scattered stardust. Children chased after them excitedly—toddlers toddled along, supported by their parents, while older children weaved through the crowd on their own, laughter and screams echoing throughout the air.
In the still chilly weather of March, vibrant young women couldn't wait to don green skirts and short-sleeved shirts, showcasing their graceful figures in the crowd with their leather boots; many young men also wore only short sleeves and shorts, their enthusiasm seemingly self-generating, warding off the chill in the air.
Pan Qiu glanced down at the green scarf around her neck, then at Zhiwei and Lin Yue; the three of them were still dressed for autumn and winter. They smiled knowingly at each other—as if tacitly admitting their ignorance—but were quickly swept up in the surrounding merriment, their smiles gradually tinged with the brightness of the festival.
As the parade passed by, Lin Yue suddenly raised his hand and deftly caught a string of beads thrown down from a float. He turned around, wrapped the beads around Pan Qiu's scarf, and said with a smile, "When in Rome, do as the Romans do."
Panqiu paused for a moment, then couldn't help but smile. Her fingertips lightly touched the cool beads, seemingly absorbing some of the festive warmth. Zhiwei stood to the side, her eyes crinkling at the corners, as if she had caught something amusing. She didn't speak, but simply lowered her head and snapped a quick photo with her phone. Panqiu caught a glimpse of Zhiwei's action out of the corner of her eye, a hint of embarrassment in her eyes, before casually adjusting her scarf.
As the parade dispersed, crowds surged toward the surrounding street stalls. Food carts lined the streets, filling the air with the rich aromas of coffee, fried food, and sweet, hot cocoa. One stall a few steps away was particularly bustling, with a long queue of customers holding cups of vibrant green drinks, as if the festive colors of March had been poured directly into their cups.
"Want to give it a try?" Zhiwei squinted and stood on tiptoe to watch the person in front of her stick a small clover card into the rim of the cup.
"It looks so sweet." Pan Qiu smiled and shook her head, but was still drawn into the queue by the crowd's enthusiasm.
Just as they were about to reach the front of the line, the crowd suddenly erupted in cheers. Before they could even react, they realized that an elderly couple with silver hair in front of them had paid for the next ten customers. It was then their turn.
"Thank you!" People around him expressed their gratitude, but the old gentleman waved his hand, like a Santa Claus on an incognito visit, and said with a smile, "You're welcome!"
The three men were taken aback by the Chinese words. The old man explained that he had traveled to China many times for business before retiring and had experienced the drinking culture firsthand. "I learned that when toasting, your glass should be lower than the other person's to show respect."
The three of them exchanged a smile, exclaiming "That's right, that's right!" as they raised their green drinks and, mimicking him, said, "Cheers!"
That festive drink, with its low alcohol content, felt like a cross-border token, warming her heart. Pan Qiu took a sip; the slightly sweet effervescence exploded on her tongue, as if sealing away the joy of that moment—the festive cheer, the kindness of strangers, and that unspoken warmth.
As they walked back to the main street, a young couple dressed as elves waved to them from the crowd—green pointed hats, long ears, and jingling bells at their waists. Zhi smiled and said, "Come on, let's take a picture together!"
So the three of them stood together with the pair of elves, all smiles. Panqiu was even given a pair of fake ears temporarily. In the photo, she is smiling with her eyes narrowed, holding a clover balloon in her hand.
When she got home that evening, Panqiu collapsed onto the bed, feeling like a kite after the wind had died down, her back and waist aching. Her phone lay beside her pillow, and she casually scrolled through the photos everyone had taken during the day in the WeChat group—the excitement of the parade, the green drinks on the street, the photos with the elves—each one seemed to still hold a lingering warmth. Halfway through, she suddenly saw the one Zhiwei had posted—the picture showed only her, a string of green beads hanging from her scarf, her fingertips gently touching them, as if confirming their warmth. At that moment, she looked down, her expression quiet and slightly lost in thought, as if oblivious to the camera. She knew that beyond the lens was the person who had just wrapped the beads around her neck.
A notification sound interrupted her thoughts. It was an email from Ethan. It contained only one short line of text:
"I think you might be interested in this."
The signature remains the same: EE
The attachment was a photo of a conference slide, the title of which was related to research on "inner language." She recognized several of the authors' names from her literature. She stared at the email for a few seconds, a thought forming in her mind—so he was in a conference today.
The email was like a gentle breeze, lifting the fallen kite. Pan Qiu clicked on the photo she had taken with the elf that afternoon and sent it. The moment she pressed send, she realized—sending such a photo to her tutor seemed a bit inappropriate. But then she remembered that he had mentioned going to the parade the last time they met, and it seemed reasonable nonetheless.
Panqiu was still hesitating when a new email popped up. Ethan replied quickly:
"Looks like you had a fruitful day too."
His simple words made her burst into laughter. The awkwardness was effortlessly resolved, accompanied by his usual gentle encouragement.
She suddenly realized that in this unfamiliar country, it was something to be grateful for to have met a group of friends who were willing to watch the excitement together, and a mentor who cared about her growth.
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