That field
On the long table at Coffee Break lay raisin snacks and a pot of freshly brewed drip coffee, the air filled with the aroma of roasted beans awakened by the heat. Panqiu picked up her paper cup, about to take a step to the side—
Someone gently patted her on the shoulder.
"Autumn?"
She turned around abruptly, and it felt as if her chest had been illuminated by a ray of light.
—Maggie.
She was gentler than he remembered, with a few strands of brighter hair, and the lines at the corners of her eyes curved beautifully with surprise. The next second, she opened her arms and hugged Panqiu tightly.
“Let me see you,” she said with a smile, her voice like that of a long-lost relative, “You really came here.”
The slight tension that Panqiu had been suppressing was relieved by that gentle sound. She hugged Maggie back, feeling a warm touch on the tip of her nose.
“It’s been so long.” Maggie let go of her, took a half step back, looked her up and down, her eyes full of relief. “You’ve changed… in a good way.”
Pan Qiu smiled: "Maybe it's because I'm getting old."
Maggie rolled her eyes, then laughed: "In my heart, you'll always be a kid."
The two, carrying their coffees, walked through the bustling hall to a corner by the window. The floor-to-ceiling windows there caught the afternoon sun perfectly. The November sunlight was a little chilly, but when it fell on the wooden floor, it was diffused into a quiet golden hue.
Maggie looked up and said, "This is a really good spot."
The two sat down side by side. The wind outside the window rustled the sycamore leaves, the branches swayed gently in the wind, and the sunlight danced on the table.
Panqiu held the warm paper cup. Maggie also gently blew on her coffee, as if she was organizing her thoughts.
Then, she looked up at Panqiu, her expression becoming both gentle and serious—
“Autumn,” she began slowly, “there are some things about Ethan that I think you have the right to know.”
The sunlight shone directly on Panqiu's knees, its warmth irresistible.
She waited quietly.
She knew—the story was about to begin.
Or rather... the truth is finally about to illuminate those places she thought had been extinguished.
Maggie glanced at Panqiu, her gaze gentle yet tinged with hesitation.
She took a soft breath, as if she had finally decided to speak:
Do you remember Bergamo? The one two years ago?
Panqiu's fingers paused on the paper cup.
Of course I remember.
How could she forget?
She raised her eyes and nodded gently: "I remember. Of course I remember. It's just... after Bergamo, everything about Ethan became a mysterious blank to me."
"blank."
She used that word.
It's not estrangement, not an end, not a contradiction.
Rather, it's like flipping through a book and suddenly someone tears out an entire chapter from the middle.
Upon hearing these words, Maggie's eyes softened noticeably for a moment.
She held the paper cup, watching the wisps of steam rising from the rim, and softly added:
“I know. That chapter… is anything but blank for him.”
Pan Qiu was stunned.
Maggie sighed, as if pulling herself back to that spring:
"One night, after the meeting, he knocked on my door."
"Around 10 p.m., he was carrying two cups of terribly bad conference coffee."
She chuckled. "I knew something was wrong immediately. Ethan never does anything without a plan, especially not at 10 p.m.
She mimicked his expression at the time, shrugging slightly: "He sat down and said to me—"
Maggie lowered her voice slightly, as if she were repeating her tone from back then:
“I think I made a mistake. Not in what I did, but in what I felt.”
Pan Qiu's heart sank with a "thud".
Maggie glanced at her, then considerately looked away, not forcing her to meet her gaze, and continued speaking:
He said he had a student.
"The kind that's exceptionally outstanding."
“He said she made him ‘hear’ his work again, and made him start to question many of his previously taken-for-granted assumptions. Then he found himself starting to care about things that were never written in the mentor’s manual.”
Maggie smiled slightly, then added softly:
"For example, whether she eats well, whether she gets enough sleep, and whether she feels lonely."
Pan Qiu's throat tightened, and her fingertips gripped the paper cup, almost crumpling the paper.
Maggie paused deliberately at this point:
“He never said your name—which is very typical of him.”
She looked up at Panqiu, her eyes filled with a playful yet gentle light, and blinked.
"But having taught so many students, I can tell at a glance that those 'case descriptions' are not discussing theory at all."
She didn't spell it out, but gently shifted the focus back to Ethan:
"That night he kept going around in circles between two points."
“The first one, he said—‘There’s a line. I’ve respected that line my entire career. That line wasn’t meant to punish me; it was meant to protect her.’”
"The second point is: 'In this relationship, I have no right to 'want' anything. My job is to help her become who she is, not to make her revolve around me.'"
As Maggie finished speaking, she lightly tapped the rim of her glass with her fingertip, as if mimicking Ethan's restrained, almost bitter tone from back then:
He told me, "If I take a step forward for my own sake, I might be pulling her away from the path that's best for her. The real 'mistake' will happen then."
Sunlight streamed through the window, falling onto the empty table between the two people.
Maggie looked at the ball of light, her voice slowing down:
"He didn't come to ask me for any permission."
"He was asking—when you care about someone so much, is it still possible to do the right thing?"
She paused for a moment, then a slightly distressed smile appeared on her lips:
I told him, "Sometimes, love isn't about what you 'get' from the other person, but about what you choose not to take away."
Pan Qiu didn't speak immediately after hearing this.
I just sat quietly, as if I were suddenly being gently lifted up by a tremendous tenderness.
It turns out that the "blank" she thought it was wasn't Ethan turning away, but rather him quietly standing where she couldn't see him, clarifying all the boundaries, ethics, and risks one by one, protecting her in the most restrained way a person can.
A strange, indescribable sour feeling slowly welled up inside me, as if I were being embraced deeply and gently by something.
Rumi's poem suddenly shone in her mind—
Beyond the concepts of right and wrong, there is a field where I will wait for you.
She suddenly understood: it wasn't a coincidence, nor was it a beautiful, impromptu metaphor. It was something Ethan had said, in the least disturbing way possible within his reach—
"I'm on your side, I've always been here."
It turns out that the protection didn't begin in Koblenz or Shanghai, but rather—it had already quietly settled in her life long before, in Bergamo, or even earlier.
Panqiu took a soft breath. She finally understood.
Maggie held the coffee cup, gently swirling the rim as if organizing her memories.
“When he first told me he was going to Shanghai for a visiting scholar position,” she said, “I asked him—'Why Shanghai?'”
She paused for a moment, then looked up at Panqiu.
He said, "If I love someone, I should at least try to understand what shaped her soul."
My longing for autumn felt like it was gently struck by the wind.
Maggie continued, her tone gentle and restrained:
“He said, ‘Where she comes from, the streets she walks, the rhythm of her voice, the soil in which she grew up… I want to see it with my own eyes. Not to change her, not to get closer to her. Just because—if I truly care about someone, I should understand everything that makes her who she is.’”
Maggie said these words without any emotional appeal.
She was simply returning, little by little, the feelings that Ethan had tried so hard to hide and restrain to Panqiu.
“People always misunderstand what ‘love’ is,” Maggie sighed softly. “They think love is about possession, getting close, confessing, and taking.”
She shook her head.
“But the Ethan who belongs to you—” she paused deliberately, a slight smile playing on her lips, “is someone who loves you through understanding, respect, and the choice not to drag you into any emotional framework that would limit your future.”
Pan Qiu's fingertips trembled slightly.
Maggie looked at her and gently added:
“You think he left without saying goodbye, disappeared for a year… but for Ethan, that wasn’t leaving. It was a kind of ‘If I can’t go to you, then at least let me go to your world.’”
At that moment, Panqiu's chest felt as if it had been illuminated by a soft light.
It is neither fiery nor dazzling.
It's the kind of feeling where you finally understand that those blank spaces in the past weren't blank spaces at all, but rather that he was taking the most gentle detour to reach you.
Panqiu stood in the sunlight that fell in the corner.
After Maggie finished speaking, she gently patted her shoulder, like an elder giving a child who had finally been enlightened by fate.
Then, Maggie turned and left, her steps light but resolute.
It was as if she knew that the story had already moved on to the next chapter and no longer needed her narration.
Panqiu stood there alone, as if she were quietly enveloped by light.
She didn't know how long she had been standing there—five minutes, fifteen minutes, or longer.
The sunlight moved slowly around her feet, and the air was filled with the aroma of coffee beans and the rustling sound of turning pages in a manual.
But she couldn't hear anything anymore.
Only one thought shone brightly, inch by inch, in my chest:
—So it wasn't a coincidence after all.
—It turns out that those silent blank spaces were all proof that he had come from a different direction.
—It turns out, he loved her deeply.
The noise of the crowd dispersing pulled her back to reality.
Pan Qiu suddenly glanced at her watch—
Su Miao's reporting time... had ended more than ten minutes ago.
Her heart tightened, and she almost ran to the adjacent branch venue.
As the door opened, the audience began to stand up and disperse.
Just as Su Miao put away the laser pointer, she looked up and saw Pan Qiu's hurried figure.
"teacher!"
Su Miao walked over quickly, her tone half reproachful and half unable to contain her excitement:
"Where did you go? Our report is finished! I was just thinking something had happened to you..."
Before Pan Qiu could apologize, Su Miao couldn't wait to continue:
"But—Teacher, do you know?! I just saw Mr. Ikemi!"
Pan Qiu's heart suddenly felt as if it had been gently locked with a "click".
Su Miao's eyes were shining with excitement:
"He... looks completely different! He cut his hair short, shaved his beard, and looks so much younger than last year—really, he's so handsome!"
Pan Qiu's breathing was slightly labored, but she tried her best to remain calm.
Su Miao was completely immersed in her passion:
"And what's more! He told me he knows you! He even asked me to say hello to you for him."
Panqiu's throat moved slightly.
Su Miao added:
"He said he had to rush back early tomorrow morning, so this afternoon... he was going to see that suspension bridge. The one the Chairman introduced at the beginning!"
The air became extremely light and thin in that instant.
It seems the entire meeting, the entire city, and all the clues converged on that one point—
A bridge.
A period of time.
one person.
Pan Qiu barely thought about it.
The body reacts before reason.
She turned around and rushed out of the branch venue.
Su Miao shouted from behind, "Teacher—where are you going—"
Pan Qiu ran across the hall, her chest filled with the sound of the wind and her own heartbeat.
She stopped at the door and flagged down the first taxi.
The car window slowly rolled down.
Pan Qiu, panting, only managed to say one sentence:
"Please take me to the Guerreley Bridge, as soon as possible."
The driver paused for two seconds, then nodded and stepped on the gas.
The car shot out of the venue like an arrow and disappeared into the chilly November air.
Panqiu leaned back in her seat, her fingers gripping the bag strap tightly.
Her heart trembled, felt light, yet was propelled by a tremendous force.
She whispered to herself in her heart:
—Ethan.
This time, it's my turn to walk towards you.
The city outside the car window rushed past. In November in Germany, evenings come early; a pale gray-blue hue already hung over the horizon, and the streetlights gradually lit up, casting soft rings of light into the damp, chilly air.
The car drove out of the city and turned onto a small road leading to the valley. On both sides of the road were faded woodlands, with fallen leaves carpeting the ground. Occasionally, a small patch of leaves stubbornly retained its golden hue, which was swept up by the wind and gently floated in front of the car headlights.
Panqiu's hand remained gripping the bag strap, her knuckles turning slightly white.
The driver glanced at her through the rearview mirror and asked, "Ma'am, is this your first time going to that suspension bridge?"
Pan Qiu paused for a moment before coming to her senses: "Yes, it's the first time."
The driver smiled and said, "It's a bit windy today, the bridge will sway. Don't worry too much, it's very safe."
"I'm not afraid," Panqiu said softly.
At least, at this moment she wasn't afraid of the bridge.
What she feared was that if she didn't go, the clue would be cut off on the other side of the valley, forever becoming a fate that could only be guessed at.
The car drove deeper into the mountains, the slope gradually increasing. The sky in the distance grew lower and lower, the clouds seeming to conceal a piece of unmelted lead. Occasionally, small villages could be seen at the foot of the mountains, their windows already lit up, the orange-yellow light like clusters of quietly burning fire.
The phone screen lit up briefly on my lap; it was a message from Su Miao:
[Teacher, where are you? A student just asked if you wanted to go out for dinner together.]
She glanced at it, her fingertips pausing for a moment, before finally replying with only one sentence:
I have something to take care of, but everything's fine. See you tomorrow morning.
The message was sent, and the screen went dark. Inside the car, only the low rumble of the engine and the soft patter of tires over the wet pavement remained.
She suddenly wondered what it would be like to sit in a car like this, going to meet someone who might be waiting for her on the other side of the bridge.
It's like being pushed by fate to the edge of a very high bridge—you don't know what you'll see once you step onto it, you only know that if you don't go, you'll probably never forgive yourself in this lifetime.
Finally, the car slowly came to a stop in front of the visitor center.
"We've arrived." The driver turned off the meter.
Panqiu paid the fare and got off the bus. A gust of cold wind carrying moisture hit her in the face, gently ruffling her hair.
Several cars were parked in front of the visitor center. The scenic area in November was not as crowded as in summer, with only a few scattered groups of people. In the distance, mist was slowly rising from the valley, like a thin veil.
Following the signs, there's still a short trail through the woods before you reach the suspension bridge entrance. The gravel path creaks softly underfoot, and on either side are trees that are almost bare, with only their branches gently brushing against each other in the wind.
She walked slowly, but dared not stop.
With each step I took, my heart rate increased a little.
Ahead, a gap began to appear at the edge of the forest. The wind picked up, as if surging from some unseen depths. She knew—it was a valley. It was a bridge.
A few meters further ahead, the view suddenly opened up.
Beneath a grey-blue sky, a slender suspension bridge stretches from one end of the valley to the other, like a silver-grey line suspended in the air. The bridge sways gently in the wind, and below lies a deep, dark valley floor, with occasional glimpses of rock surfaces polished by the evening light.
Tourists were taking photos at the entrance, some were hesitating about whether to go on the bridge, and some were already cautiously walking forward.
Pan Qiu stood at the entrance, her heart pounding so hard it was almost burning.
The moment she looked up—she saw him.
At the other end of the suspension bridge, a tall man was walking towards them. His long black trench coat billowed in the wind, its lines flowing smoothly. He didn't hold onto the handrail; his steps were unhurried yet remarkably steady. The bridge swayed gently, as if the whole world had made way for him on this narrow path, allowing a path of light to emerge.
The closer he got, the clearer his face became, and the cleaner all the sounds around him were stripped away.
—It was him.
"Your Ethan" as Maggie puts it.
After three years of silence, boundaries, misunderstandings, and scenery, he walked towards her steadily and truly across this bridge.
There was no time to be afraid of heights.
There was no time to think about what to say next.
Almost instinctively, Pan Qiu stepped onto the bridge.
The first slight creak of the wooden planks beneath her feet sent a jolt through her heart.
A breeze swept up from the depths of the valley, carrying moisture and the coolness of pine wood, brushing against her ankles, the hem of her dress, and her hair. The suspension bridge swayed gently in the wind, and the approaching winter sun shone from the other end, its golden light filtered through thin clouds, yet still spreading a circle of warmth around her.
What made her heart race was never the bridge—
It's the person on the other side of the bridge.
She walked forward step by step.
The distance between them was steadily measured by the wooden planks on the bridge. With each step, she could feel herself approaching a line she had avoided countless times before.
The sparse pedestrians on the suspension bridge gradually dispersed into the background, leaving only the sound of the wind, the soft creaking of the wooden planks, and my own rapid yet inexplicably determined heartbeat.
Ethan stopped in the middle of the bridge.
Autumn has also come to a halt.
They were only about nine steps apart—not far, but it felt like three whole years had passed.
She finally saw what he looked like at that moment.
Her hair was shorter than it had been at the botanical garden, her temples were slightly disheveled by the wind, and there were some fine lines around her eyes, but she didn't look old at all. Instead, she looked more like a psychologist who had stayed up many nights and seen many people—quiet, clear-headed, and deeply aware of the softness and fragility of the human heart.
Ethan's eyes widened slightly, as if a pebble had struck the lake.
The next second, all those ripples dissolved into a deep, gentle light.
The wind passed between them, stretching out the moment before he spoke.
He finally spoke, his voice low and steady, with a slight tremor as if the wind had passed through his chest:
"Longing for autumn."
Her heart skipped a beat when she heard the call.
A flood of memories rushed back in an instant—the night on campus, the moon over Bergamo, the rain in Amish town, the spring breeze in Shanghai, the succulent in the office… All those past events that she thought she had carefully put away were now awakened by those two words.
Ethan took two more steps closer to her.
The setting sun fell into his eyes from the side; the light was shattered by the wind, but it did not slip away from his gaze.
Then--
He opened his mouth and said something she hadn't expected.
Use Chinese.
"...Thank you for coming."
Simple and unpretentious, yet more moving than any sweet words.
Pan Qiu was stunned.
It felt like a gentle breeze had opened a gash in my chest.
For the first time, he spoke to her in her language, her mother tongue, the rhythm of her soul.
That "thank you for coming" was like an invisible thread, gently gathering all the destinies that had drifted apart and come back together over the past three years into this moment.
Panqiu slowly walked towards him.
Every step felt like stitching back into my heart, stitch by stitch, those heartbeats that had been paused in the past.
When she walked up to him, she looked up at him and said softly:
"I've come to keep my appointment."
A gust of wind swept across the suspension bridge, causing it to sway slightly.
Ethan lowered his head and looked at her, his eyes filled with a tenderness that showed complete surrender of his defenses.
"Panqiu... I'm so glad you came."
She looked at him too, her voice as soft as the last ray of light in the setting sun:
"I'm late."
After listening, Ethan first looked at her quietly, then chuckled softly—a chuckle that had been suppressed for too long and was finally released.
"It doesn't matter."
He spoke in Chinese, very softly:
"I will always be here."
A gust of wind parted a corner of the clouds, and the entire valley was bathed in a soft golden glow from the setting sun. The distant woods were blurred into varying shades of shadow, while only this small patch in the center of the bridge was firmly embraced by the light.
The suspension bridge continued to sway gently in the wind—as if quietly nodding in acknowledgment of this story that had finally come to fruition.
Panqiu reached out her hand.
Ethan also reached out his hand.
They stood in the middle of the suspension bridge, their fingers gently interlocked.
The wind whistled past my feet, as if carrying away all the unspoken words of the past few years.
The valley rises and falls beneath my feet, and the world sways gently beneath my feet.
The two held hands.
In the middle of the suspension bridge.
Facing the wind.
Facing the light that comes as fate spirals back.
The story has finally reached its proper turn.
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