Step into the music box
The captain's voice came over the cabin intercom, his tone gentle and confident, with a distinct Southern American accent, informing the passengers that the plane would be landing in a few minutes.
Pan Qiu glanced down at her watch—it was 2:30 a.m. She sighed softly; it had indeed been a long and tiring journey.
It has been a full 24 hours since she departed from Shanghai. After a layover somewhere, she is finally about to arrive at her destination—the city where she is about to begin a new life.
The flight was delayed by three hours during the layover due to a shortage of crew members.
When the last flight attendants arrived, they seemed like a heroic team straight out of an American blockbuster, each of them moving in slow motion.
Just a minute ago, the rebellious passenger who was yelling at the ground staff, shouting "I want to go home," is now clapping and cheering with other passengers to pay tribute to the hero.
Pan Qiu chuckled to herself: It really is like a movie; life truly is like a play!
Pan Qiu's trip is to pursue a doctoral degree in psychology at Lingnan University, which is ranked among the top three in the United States for psychology. She has also received a full scholarship.
For her parents, this was an unexpected joy. They were typical "self-reliant" parents, focused on their careers and never putting too much effort into their child's education. Although they had never expected Panqiu to be outstanding, this achievement certainly made them proud among their relatives and friends.
Over the past month, they seemed to want to make up for the emotional neglect they had caused her over the past eighteen years, and suddenly became exceptionally affectionate.
As the captain continued to announce the plane's altitude, Pan Qiu gazed out the window at the gradually clearing cityscape at night.
The first thing that catches the eye is a network of crisscrossing roads, like an illuminated map, with car headlights flowing slowly through them like blood.
As the altitude decreased, the tiny car lights transformed from "ants" into "toy cars"; the buildings gradually became clearer, resembling model-like structures.
The entire city resembles a miniature landscape sculpted by skillful hands, with twinkling lights creating a dreamlike and enchanting scene.
Several rivers, whose names she didn't know, flowed through the city, adding a touch of lively light to the tranquil night.
This was where she would be living and studying for the next few years. A strange sense of familiarity washed over her, giving her goosebumps.
Li Zhiwei accompanied Pan Qiu.
They first met in a coffee shop. It was a post by Zhiwei, who said she was preparing for the GRE and wanted to find someone she could get up early to do practice questions with and ask each other questions.
Pan Qiu returned quickly, saying that she also needed someone to supervise her vocabulary practice. At first, the two met at the library every day, spending the morning doing exercises and revising essays, having lunch together in the cafeteria, and then returning to the library in the afternoon to continue their "battle," usually studying until late at night before returning to their respective dormitories to rest.
They didn't talk much, but they were very efficient, like two puzzle pieces that fit together but don't stick together. Then, as application season approached, the tasks they needed to share increased: researching schools, revising personal statements, drafting recommendation letters, filling out online application forms…
They participated in mock interviews together, helped each other revise their writing samples, and occasionally shared a cup of hot water late at night, receiving a "thank you" in return. Their relationship grew closer without them even realizing it.
In March of this year, they both received full scholarships from Lingnan University.
Zhiwei, a seasoned test-taker from a small town, studied computer science, a major with strong job prospects.
Zhiwei suggested, "Should we share an apartment?"
Pan Qiu hesitated for a moment, then said, "Okay, let's find a place that's easy to walk to the school."
Later, they rented a small red brick house with a small yard, less than a ten-minute walk from the campus.
Two students, a boy and a girl, stood at the airport exit holding signs. They had genuine smiles and were dressed casually.
The boy's name is Leo, and he is a second-year master's student in the School of Education; the girl's name is June, and she is a fourth-year doctoral student in the Department of Mathematics.
June waved to them: "You must be Panqiu and Zhiwei, right? Welcome to Gransburg! If nothing unexpected happens, this will be the coldest and hottest city you've ever been to."
Leo laughed as he took the luggage: "Yes, it's freezing cold in winter and scorching hot in summer. I suggest you pack down jackets and cooling herbal tea in advance."
As June helped them stuff their luggage into the trunk, she said, "But then again, although this city is cold, the people are really warm. Especially to the freshmen—we were all picked up like this, and now it's our turn to pick you up, it's a tradition."
Pan Qiu smiled a little embarrassedly, "Thank you for picking me up and waiting so late."
June waved her hand, “Don’t mention it. Once you’re settled, I’ll hand out a ‘Freshman Survival Guide,’ which contains tips and tricks we’ve compiled from our hard-won experience: where to buy Lao Gan Ma chili sauce, how to overcome the Indian professor’s accent, and how to find free lunch on campus.”
Zhiwei asked softly, "Are you also from China?"
Leo nodded: "Yes, I'm from Hebei, and she's from Chongqing. When we first arrived, we were almost driven crazy by the time difference and the course selection system."
The car slowly drove away from the airport, and the highway stretched out like a quiet ribbon into the depths of the city.
Zhiwei and June chatted casually.
Leo started driving seriously. At night, when visibility was poor, he remained silent and focused on driving.
Pan Qiu rested her head against the car window and looked out.
Unlike the grand perspective from an airplane, everything felt closer and more real.
Those streets, buildings, and lights that looked like miniature models in the air are now right in front of you—shimmering and colorful outside the glass windows, so close you feel you could touch them.
They drove into the heart of the town, the car winding its way along the roads and terrain. The night didn't deepen; instead, it grew brighter.
She saw rows of clean and tidy shops, warm lights shining from their windows, but not a single person was in sight, either inside or on the street. Cafes, vintage clothing stores, ice cream parlors, and countless small bookstores were quietly lit up, as if welcoming some belated holiday.
Unlike the bustling city she was familiar with, there was no smell of oil from barbecue stalls, no food delivery riders honking their horns at intersections, and no sounds of children chasing and playing downstairs.
Everything was as clean as freshly glazed ceramic, smooth, delicate, even a little too neat. For some reason, the word "music box" suddenly popped into Panqiu's mind.
She wasn't listening to music, but there was indeed an unfamiliar English song playing in the car, with a light and restrained melody.
Perhaps it's because everything outside the window is so much like a Christmas Eve version of a dream—no noise, only light and glass, streets and shadows, and everything slowly turning as the car moves left and right.
She suddenly remembered her music box that could play "Canon," which was just like that, with light, rotation, and a sense of rhythm in silence.
The music box seemed to have just been wound up, and the first melody was just about to begin.
The car slowly came to a stop in front of a red brick building, the tires making a soft rustling sound as they rolled over the gravel road.
As soon as she opened the car door, Panqiu was enveloped by a wave of moist air—the coolness unique to a late summer night, mixed with the scent of earth and grass. Panqiu took a deep breath; the smell carried the vitality of long-untrimmed bushes, or perhaps the wooden floor of an old house just awakened by the summer night's dampness.
At the same time, the chirping of insects came rushing in from all directions—from the grass, treetops, and under the eaves—so dense it was like a stirring symphony, endless and continuous, as if the night itself was vibrating.
She paused, almost bursting into laughter—she'd never imagined insects could make such a loud sound, like a lively opening act. Ah! It was the first hidden melody played by this "music box"—a summer night.
She looked around. There were no lights downstairs, but the yellow streetlight on the corner illuminated the brick steps in front of the door with a gentle glow.
The campus-style buildings, the slightly damp asphalt roads, and the faint scent of books or coffee create a texture that lies between reality and dreams.
The air seemed thin and light, like a freshly dried veil, enveloping the quiet night. Pan Qiu stood in front of the apartment door and took a deep breath.
This was her first impression of the place. Not the coordinates on the map, not the name in the offer letter, but the texture of the air, the temperature of the brick walls, the rhythm of the insects chirping—a sense of belonging or bewilderment that her body perceived before her reason.
She knew that her new life had begun from this moment on.
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