Title IX: Heartbeats on the Bridge
The morning seemed to pass both quickly and slowly. Panqiu felt like her brain was a pot of soup that had just been simmering; the surface hadn't even started bubbling yet, but the bottom was already churning and bubbling.
One speaker after another, and she wanted to understand and remember every word, but there was just too much information. Before she could sort out one topic, another "knowledge point" would come along.
Lunch was served in the department's common area downstairs. Each tall round table had a stack of sandwiches, salad boxes, and fruit, and the drinks were bottled water, Coke, and Sprite.
As they ate, they chatted in small groups. Panqiu stood by the window, listening to the group next door talk about renting apartments and kitchen equipment, occasionally chiming in with a few words.
At 1:00 PM sharp, everyone returned to the original classroom, and the next part was the policy explanation session.
Standing on the podium this time was Ms. Raymond, the college's head of diversity, equity, and inclusion. She didn't joke or use fancy animations; instead, she opened a single slide with black and white text that read: power structure, voluntariness, and a no-whistleblower and grievance mechanism.
She began by saying, “Section 9 is a federal law that prohibits gender discrimination in any federally funded education program. But for you—starting today and from now on—it means: no harassment, no coercion, no abuse of power. Whether it’s a teacher, a classmate, or someone you’re dating.”
She briefly reviewed the law's original intent—to provide a gender-equal learning environment for every student—and outlined how schools handle discrimination, harassment, and abuse of power, including appeals processes, confidentiality principles, and support resources.
Pan Qiu was slightly taken aback. She knew that the United States emphasized individual rights and had a general understanding of these provisions. But she didn't expect that on the first day of freshman registration, all the teachers and students would sit together and discuss the power structure in close relationships in public.
Raymond continued, “Power is everywhere in academia—in grading, letters of recommendation, and authorship. So even if two people say ‘yes,’ we still ask: do they have the same right to refuse?”
Panqiu noticed someone taking notes. Her fingers twitched, but she didn't write anything down. She recalled how domestic education emphasizes "respect for teachers and the way of the world," while here it frankly reminds you: the more you admire someone, the more likely they are to overstep their boundaries; seemingly close relationships must also be built on an equal footing of power.
This straightforward and institutionalized approach made her feel somewhat uncomfortable at first.
When Raymond mentioned "faculty-student relationships," his tone remained calm: "It's not explicitly prohibited under federal law, but in university policy, we strongly discourage it—especially where there is a power imbalance. If such a relationship exists, it must be reported and managed."
She never expected that such a topic would be brought up so openly.
Panqiu felt a little unreal. Her brain seemed to be jolted by something, and an image uncontrollably surfaced: she and a teacher—say, someone as young and easygoing as Ethan—sat in an office, talking in an ambiguous tone…
She glanced in his direction reflexively.
He was sitting in the front row, on the side, with his hands folded on his knees, his back straight, but his expression was relaxed, as if he had just thought of something else, or as if he was waiting for a clue that was not his to quietly pass by.
She suddenly shivered.
"That's a fantasy," she thought.
Who would let something like this happen to them? Teacher-student relationship—there are so many beautiful men in the world, why would you choose to fall for your teacher? Doesn't that feel disgusting? It's not a taboo, it's just being unable to see things clearly.
Life is so beautiful, with so many interesting things to do, why make yourself troubled and unhappy? She looked away, took a sip of her now lukewarm coffee, and forcefully suppressed the inappropriate image in her mind.
The afternoon's activities proceeded smoothly within the framework of established systems and regulations. The explanation of Article 9, the code of academic integrity, and the introduction to psychological support mechanisms are almost always present in the American education system.
Each link is like a bridge that is just right—not too deep, not too shallow, leading people from one end to the other without making them get lost, but also without making them feel completely immersed.
In the evening, a welcome party was held on the rooftop terrace of the Psychology Department building.
The night breeze was gentle, and the starlight was sparse; it was the time of year when September hadn't completely withdrawn its tenderness. The terrace was surrounded by several rings of warm yellow string lights, and in the center were a few small round tables on tall legs, on which were placed some colorful little snacks, which looked as if they had been placed there one by one with tweezers.
The baguette slices were topped with smoked salmon, the mini tarts were slicked with strawberry mousse, and there were a few savory snacks that looked like they were made of cheese. Each bite was pitifully small. Pan Qiu took a plate, and after two bites, she was still unsure whether she had eaten a meal or had just watched a plating competition.
At a makeshift bar not far away, a bartender in a white shirt was skillfully pouring drinks for the students. Pan Qiu noticed that almost everyone who passed by was asked to show their identification.
She initially thought it was just a formality, but when she saw even Ethan take out his ID from his wallet and hand it over, she felt a chill run down her spine—it seemed the department head's joke that morning wasn't a joke after all.
She picked up her wine glass, her gaze sweeping across the terrace before finally settling on Ethan.
He stood near the railing, alone, holding a glass of pale gold liquor, like white wine. His shoulders looked a little more relaxed than when he was on the podium during the day, and slightly tired, but his posture remained upright.
Pan Qiu hesitated for a moment, then walked over, stood beside him, and asked softly, "This... is this dinner?"
Ethan glanced at her sideways, a smile playing on his lips. "This is an appetizer, a small bite, to pretend it's the main course." He said this in a relaxed tone, as if understanding her as a freshman just getting used to the pace of campus life.
Pan Qiu frowned slightly: "I don't even know how to spell this word."
Ethan chuckled, as if reflexively switching to explanation mode: "It's a French word that literally means 'besides the main course'—a snack before the main course."
Panqiu took a bite of the salad roll in her hand and muttered, "It sounds like a fancy way of saying it, but it still means I'm not full."
Ethan paused, his gaze sweeping lightly over the plate before glancing at her again, as if a thought had suddenly struck him: "Actually, it's quite like a doctoral program. Courses are like these delicate little portions of knowledge, just enough to spark a little bit of your thinking. But the main course—the most substantial part—is your research, your own questions. Nobody will serve it to you; you have to cook it yourself."
Pan Qiu listened attentively, a smile gradually spreading across her face. "That makes a lot of sense," she said softly.
She turned her glass around and asked softly, "So you said emotions are 'constructed,' what's the difference between that and 'regulating emotions'?"
Ethan leaned his cup against the railing, as if organizing his thoughts: “Good question. The gist of the constructivist theory of emotion is that emotions are not a unified response that we are born with; they are ‘built’, pieced together from bodily sensations and past experiences. You don’t suddenly feel sad, fearful, or happy; rather, you interpret and give meaning to the various signals your body sends out.”
He added, "This is why we emphasize 'don't suppress, but listen.' If you're not aware of your body's reactions, you won't know how you initially constructed that emotion."
Pan Qiu nodded, but a layer of doubt still lingered in her eyes.
She tried to find an example from her own experience to anchor her thoughts, and then, as if suddenly remembering something, looked at him and said, "Like that suspension bridge experiment? People think they've fallen in love, but it's just fear causing their hearts to race."
Ethan chuckled, a hint of surprise in his eyes: "Yes, the perfect example. The study Dutton and Allen did in 1974. Male participants walked across a swaying suspension bridge, met a female researcher at the end of the bridge, and were more likely to contact her later—mistaking adrenaline for romantic feelings."
He raised his glass and swirled it gently: "Think of it this way: your heart is racing, your palms are sweating. If it's a first date, you might think of it as excitement; but if you're standing on a swaying suspension bridge? The same physical reaction, but a completely different label."
Pan Qiu couldn't help but laugh, and took a sip of her drink: "So I guess I should never make decisions on a suspension bridge?"
Ethan laughed, "That's definitely good advice—don't make important decisions when your adrenaline is pumping."
She paused for a moment, then asked softly, "Do you use this theory to analyze your own emotions?"
His lips twitched slightly, and his expression became more serious: "Yes. Sometimes. It's not always easy, but I try my best."
“If you were my doctoral student, I would first have you read a book called ‘How Emotions Arise’.”
Panqiu recalled the thick cover of the book she had flipped through in the bookstore and said softly, "I will read it."
Ethan didn't say anything more, just nodded, smiled slightly, greeted her, and walked away.
The air was crystal clear that night, as if it had been washed clean by alcohol and the darkness. All the talk about systems and boundaries during the day seemed to have sunk to the bottom of a glass.
At that moment, Panqiu suddenly felt that perhaps she was not only here to study, but also to rediscover people, emotions, and herself.
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