code word
The storm seems to have truly passed.
Pan Qiu's life quietly returned to normal. She still went to the department on time as usual, preparing for interviews and grading assignments.
Some things have changed.
Because of her "colleagues", she gained several close friends.
There wasn't a particularly warm atmosphere, but there was a more natural sense of companionship.
As if on a silver platter, they started having lunch together occasionally, and taking a walk downstairs while having coffee and a break.
She enjoys this casual and aimless friendship.
She also developed a new habit, which she couldn't quite explain how it started—it was probably because when she stayed out late, she couldn't help but glance into Ethan's office corridor, and he always happened to be there.
Several times she knocked lightly on the door, and he put down what he was doing, got up, and left together.
Later on, it seems that no one mentioned anything in particular, and the habit just continued.
When they were going back late, they would walk together from the psychology department through the path in front of the teaching building and walk to the entrance of Little Fox Cafe before parting ways.
They never walk too fast, nor do they talk much nonsense.
Most of the time, we would chat about the progress of the research in a casual way, such as how to handle a certain interview segment or whether a new paper is worth referring to.
We'll also occasionally talk about lighter things:
"The rain was so heavy yesterday, but luckily I didn't forget to bring an umbrella."
"We might need to keep an eye on the syllabus for that course next semester and make some changes."
More often than not, they say nothing.
We simply walked side by side in the November night, each breathing in the cold air quietly, letting the fatigue and trivialities of the day slowly settle down.
Finally, I said to the little fox at its door, "Goodnight, see you tomorrow."
Then they each turned away.
That night, they had just walked out of the department building.
Night fell like water over the campus roads, and the shadows of the trees swayed and flickered under the dim streetlights.
Panqiu heard her own and Ethan's footsteps echoing alternately on the empty sidewalk, like some invisible metronome gently patting her heart.
She suddenly realized—she was actually looking forward to this journey.
It takes about ten minutes to get from the entrance of the teaching building to the Little Fox Cafe.
Quiet and restrained, needing few words, yet the presence of the person beside you is palpable.
It's as if you can hear his breathing and feel the wind surrounding him.
Her heart was filled with a sense of peace.
She was startled by her own thought.
As if to prove herself, she repeatedly confirmed in her mind:
This is absolutely not one of those cliché "female student falls in love with professor" stories. No, it really isn't.
She doesn't have those emotional expectations, and she doesn't fantasize about them.
He never gave her any signals that could be misunderstood.
She enjoyed walking alongside him, but never considered entering his life.
She never even cared who was in his family, what kind of car he drove, which direction he lived in, what kind of coffee he drank, whether he had a cat, or what he did when he wasn't working.
She wasn't interested in any of these.
It wasn't that she was deliberately avoiding it; rather, deep down, she didn't want to touch his private world.
It's like facing a silent Buddha statue—you might light a lamp and worship, but you wouldn't go up to ask what he ate for dinner.
She knew very well that he was her absolute mentor.
However, he redefined her understanding of the word "mentor".
She used to think that her mentor was just someone who guided her studies and arranged projects.
Ethan did more for her, but never overstepped his bounds.
He was like a lamp, illuminating her thoughts and revealing her hesitation.
He was like some kind of stable structure, standing on the edge of her life, never reaching out, yet always there.
She feels calm and safe when she's with him.
Because of him, she gained a new understanding of "trust between people".
She had to admit that she did indeed have an inexplicable attachment to him.
It was a deep, quiet feeling—
"So there really are people like that in the world."
It's not "because he is Ethan," but "because it turns out that there can be people who live like this, teach like this, and walk together in the darkness like this."
She recalled the saying, "A person is like a rainbow; you only know they exist when you encounter them."
He is that rainbow.
But she didn't crave to be seen or responded to; she didn't yearn to get close, and even felt that getting too close would be a desecration. Just as no one would want to possess a rainbow.
And it just so happened that she encountered this ray of light during a dark and uncertain period in her life.
As she was lost in thought, Ethan suddenly spoke:
"It seems we can't take our usual route tonight."
She was taken aback—she had just realized that the road meant something different to her, and she couldn't walk it tonight?
She followed his gaze—and sure enough, at the end of that familiar main road, a cordon had been set up, obliquely blocking the sidewalk in the night.
A small yellow construction vehicle was parked on the side, and a few orange and white traffic cones stood alone.
“Maybe the tree fell?” Ethan said softly. “The wind was too strong that night.”
She nodded.
“We have to take a detour.” He said calmly and naturally, then stepped aside and led her to another path she had never taken before.
It was a small path that led out from behind the psychology department building.
The path was unusually quiet at night, lined with various shrubs and trees of different shapes and colors, like a neglected miniature botanical garden.
Pan Qiu had never been here before—she wasn't someone who liked to "explore," and usually always followed familiar paths, so this area was practically a blank slate for her.
The path was narrow, and it felt a bit cramped for two people to walk side by side.
She trailed him half a step, following him gently.
He walked slowly, the night was peaceful, and she followed at a leisurely pace.
As she walked, she looked around and noticed that there was a wooden sign in front of each plant along the path.
The signs are small, but exquisitely made—each wooden sign is equipped with a small spotlight that illuminates the wooden surface from below, making them look like small stages lit up by spotlights at night, delicate and quiet.
She glanced at some plant names, but couldn't name most of them, relying entirely on the descriptions on the wooden signs.
"American Holly," with its dark green leaves dotted with bright red berries, symbolizes resilience;
The Florida dogwood, which used to bloom with white flowers in spring, is now just bare branches and a few red berries.
There's also the "Arrow-leaved Tengu Tree," whose leaves have all fallen, with a few deep blue fruits hanging on its slender branches...
As for "fragrant alyssum," it had long since withered into a clump of small brown branches.
She walked and looked around, but her mind was wandering.
These plants must be incredibly beautiful in spring and summer, and they are all imbued with meaning.
She didn't try to remember anything, but she felt that the information boards, combined with the spotlights on the ground, gave off a staged feeling, which was kind of cute in a serious way.
The path before her was like an open-air, silent botanical museum, and the names of the plants, when pronounced one by one, sounded like words from a magic textbook.
She gently recalled a Buddhist verse: "One flower, one world; one leaf, one Bodhi."
Then, she suddenly stopped in her tracks.
It was a tree of medium height, standing at the corner of the path. Its branches spread out, appearing quiet and clear in the night.
The feathery leaves were somewhat dry and slightly curled, but they still clustered together in layers, their posture gentle and unassuming.
She immediately recognized the upward-reaching yet restrained silhouette, like the silhouette of the tree in her painting.
Beneath the outermost few leaves, a few inconspicuous fruits hang, their colors not bright in the dim light, but due to the angle and the light, they gleam with a quiet luster.
The location and shape were strikingly similar to that tree she had previously imagined in her paintings, one she had never seen in reality.
Her heart skipped a beat, and she stopped almost instinctively.
She slowly took two steps closer and looked down at the wooden sign.
The small lamp illuminated the words perfectly:
Rowan
Scientific name: Sorbus aucuparia
In Celtic tradition, it is regarded as the "guardian tree," symbolizing spiritual power and silent protection.
At that moment, she seemed to hear a certain emotion in her chest settle down with a "click"—like a key turning open some hidden door.
The tree before her suddenly resonated with several memories from her life—
That painting she bought for no reason;
The line of text in the middle of the book's signature;
And there's this real tree, standing quietly at the corner of the path, its branches outstretched and its fruit hanging low.
A word came to her mind: the secret language of fate.
She didn't know how to explain it all, but perhaps, there was no need to explain.
Just like some things are not chosen, but written down.
She felt as if she had walked to the back of the painting and seen his name.
At that moment, she suddenly understood why she had chosen that painting and why this path had been changed.
She stood in front of that tree for a long time, just gazing at it quietly, as if looking at a dream that had finally come to life.
The night breeze gently rustled through the branches and leaves, brushed against her cheek, and carried the whispers of the trees to her ears—a soft call of her name.
He stood quietly in the shadows of the trees not far away, watching her without disturbing her.
At that moment, she saw her own attachment to him with crystal clarity—
Gentle and silent, like this tree standing quietly in the night.
It didn't belong to her, yet it led her to look up;
It doesn't respond to her, but it always appears quietly at crucial moments.
This isn't a feeling I long for, but rather a scene preordained by fate—
She was destined to pass through, and to linger for a certain moment.
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