The World's Invitation: The First Stop
She stood in front of that familiar door once again.
The third-floor corridor was eerily quiet, with only the constant hum of airflow coming from the vents. The door was ajar, letting in a sliver of soft light. Pan Qiu took a deep breath and knocked twice.
"Come in."
The voice was low and steady, carrying a touch of its usual calm.
She pushed the door open and went in.
The air was filled with a faint aroma of coffee and paper—the distinctive scent of his office. Sunlight streamed in through the gaps in the blinds, and the succulent in the pot, with the inscription "Please don't die," was still alive, its leaves shimmering a pale green in the light.
Ethan sat behind his desk, focused on processing emails. He wore a dark gray shirt with the cuffs slightly rolled up, revealing the clean, sharp lines of his wrists. He looked up, his gaze meeting hers. His eyes remained cool and aloof.
"Hi, Qiu, have a seat. Wait a moment."
She responded and went over. Her footsteps were almost inaudible on the carpet. She sat down in her usual spot at the round table—the side she had sat on countless times, near the window, where the light was soft.
This scene is so familiar it almost creates the illusion that time has never moved forward, and all the unease, silence, and misunderstanding are just a long pause.
Ethan was rapidly typing on his keyboard at his desk.
Her gaze had been lingering there unconsciously until that moment—
He turned his face to the side, and the sunlight shone perfectly on his silhouette.
His nose bridge was clean-cut, his lips had a distinct curve, and his eyes were focused to the point of being calm.
She suddenly had a strange feeling: the face that was now clearly illuminated overlapped with the outline in her dream.
In that night's dream, he transformed into a mermaid swimming towards her in the deep sea, light scattering from between his scales, his lips almost touching hers.
The pearl was hot and bright, and his breath carried it to her lips.
— Utterly absurd, yet so clear it makes one blush.
Pan Qiu could almost feel the tips of her ears burning.
She mentally reminded herself sharply: What are you thinking? Are you crazy? Calm down, calm down…
But at that very moment—
Ethan looked up, his gaze fixed directly on her.
She felt the blood rush to her brain, certain that her ears must be as red as a rabbit's. How embarrassing!
Ethan seemed oblivious to the intense emotional shift, simply asking, "Did you bring the notes from last time?"
The tone was so ordinary it couldn't be more so.
Pan Qiu subconsciously hummed in agreement and pulled up a document she had prepared beforehand—the previous review comments were archived by her, with bold titles, indented periods, her response points, and links to cited references next to them.
My fingers were typing on the keyboard, trying to appear calm, but my heart was still pounding.
In fact, on the very night the paper was accepted, Ethan added a short email after those two lines of congratulations:
“We’ll go through the initial peer review comments again. Not to revise the paper—but to plan for the subsequent work so that it’s ‘flawless.’ Bring a well-organized summary.”
The next day, he sent a schedule invitation, setting the meeting for today.
So she went through all the old opinions again and rearranged them into four themes: "too niche/small sample size/no control group/vague concept", with "short-term fixes" and "long-term solutions" listed under each one.
Now, she pushed the list to the center of the screen, looked up at him, and tried to keep her breathing in sync.
Ethan leaned over and glanced at her screen, his gaze sweeping over the well-organized headings and indentations.
“Well done,” he said softly, his tone steady but with genuine approval. “Very organized. You’ve covered everything that needed to be covered.”
Pan Qiu responded softly, "Thank you."
She had been worried that she had prepared too much, but upon hearing this, her shoulders relaxed slightly.
Ethan leaned back in his chair, his fingertips lightly tapping the table, his tone calm and restrained:
“Last time, I said it was just noise—because you were submerged and you had to stick your head out of the water to get some air.”
He raised his eyes, his gaze briefly meeting hers, his expression calm yet resolute.
“But this time,” he said, emphasizing each word, “we’re not going to ignore the noise. We’re going to decode it.”
Pan Qiu was slightly taken aback.
Ethan continued, “Last time it was about revising that paper—teaching you how to swim out of a storm. Now it’s different. Now it’s about learning to understand the waves before they hit.”
He gestured a small circle above her screen: "'Too niche, small sample size, unclear concepts, no control group'—it sounds repetitive, but each point actually points to a structural weakness. You addressed that in that paper. The next question is: how to prevent them from coming back in the first place?"
His tone lacked the gentle reassurance of the last time, and the composure of a lifeguard; instead, it was a calm focus—the voice of a mentor entering "planning mode."
As Panqiu listened, she subconsciously straightened her back. She suddenly understood—last time it was "giving a man a fish," this time it was "teaching a man to fish."
Ethan paused in front of her screen for a few seconds, tapping his fingers lightly on the table.
“Okay,” he said, “start with the first one. The first one—'too niche.' What do you think that really means?”
Pan Qiu was taken aback. She thought he would give her an answer directly, just like last time.
"Perhaps...they feel that 'bilingual inner language' is too rare?"
His tone was calm, yet carried a thoughtful weight:
“‘Too niche’ usually means that reviewers can’t see how many people this issue really touches. So the only solution is to make them see the scale.”
Ethan nodded slightly: "Rare, or rather, invisible. So how would you make it 'visible'?"
She hesitated for a moment, her brows furrowing slightly:
"Get more people involved? Go to places with bilingual people? Don't just find participants on campus?"
“That’s right.” His voice was low and steady, like the wind guiding the way. “This semester, we’re going to ‘places where bilinguals live,’ not ‘places where we study them.’ Where will you go?”
She continued, following his train of thought, her speech gradually quickening: "Immigrant communities? Weekend supermarkets, language schools, community centers, ESL (English as a Second Language) gatherings..."
She paused, then looked up at him: "We can talk about how they switch languages 'in their heads'—not just when they speak."
Ethan smiled slightly: "You're starting to look like a field researcher now."
He looked up at her:
“Within an hour’s drive, there are several groups – Chinese, Spanish, Korean, Arabic. Each has a Saturday class location or community activity location. You start there. Observe, record, and interview 'switching in mind,' not just 'switching in spoken language.'”
Pan Qiu blinked: "Every Saturday?"
Ethan chuckled softly: “Every Saturday. Treat it like the fields, not a punishment.”
He paused, then added casually, "I would go with them a few times. It also made it easier to finalize the procedures and ethics review (IRB) documents."
The air paused for a brief second.
He sat up straight again, his professional tone returning: "With these initial samples—what can they solve?"
She realized: "We can directly counter the 'too niche' argument."
“Very good.” He continued, “Next?”
"The sample size is too small."
He drew another line on the paper: "First, draw up the distribution map—how many people, how many languages, how many situations. If even minor differences appear, this line will naturally not hold true."
Pan Qiu kept remembering, then looked up at him.
Ethan continued: "Then we'll expand on that. Next semester, we'll create a structured dataset: multilingual, age-based, and second-language-based."
His expression was focused, his tone calm, yet it revealed a long-lost certainty. That rhythm was no longer about "soothing," but about "solving problems side by side."
"Next semester, we'll shift from observation to structure. We'll use this fall's data to plan along three dimensions: language background, age group, and second language proficiency. Ideally, we'll create a matrix: for example, four languages, three age groups, and three proficiency levels."
He raised his hand and made a "matrix" shape in the air, the lines simple and powerful.
Pan Qiu nodded and wrote down the keywords in her notebook:
“Language diversity, age diversity, ability diversity. First, there is the ‘scope’, not just the ‘quantity’.”
He looked up, his tone even softer: "And the third semester?"
She blurted out: “Control group. Monolingual.”
Ethan followed up: “Very good. In the spring or early summer, add the control group. Monolingual samples will provide the necessary comparisons for theoretical claims. In this way, a ‘small and vague’ topic can grow into a ‘scalable research line’.”
As Panqiu watched him write down the progressively detailed plan on the paper, her heart began to race.
A line, a page, a plan—from this calm and organized approach, she felt a new kind of strength.
She suddenly realized that the rhythm of this conversation was completely different from the last one.
At that time, she was underwater, and he lifted her up with each word he spoke;
And now, she sits beside him as if in front of an open navigation chart.
What he gave her was no longer a lifebuoy, but a compass.
And she finally learned to paddle towards the light on her own. She thought of the light that fell on her heart in her dream—it wasn't "redemption," but "direction."
A sense of peace she had never experienced before rose within her.
Within that tranquility lies warmth, hope, and a subtle sense of freedom.
The initial excitement of liking someone may fade, but the feeling of "drawing up a blueprint together with others" will remain.
At that moment, she suddenly realized: there are things far more expansive in life—
More stable than liking, longer than romance.
Perhaps, this is what growing up is all about.
Ethan closed his notebook, his tone regaining its usual calm and composure.
"Alright. Now that the research plan is set, let's start preparing for the Bergamo meeting."
He leaned forward slightly and tapped his finger lightly on the table.
"First, the final version. The organizer will send out the layout guidelines in about one or two weeks. We will have about four weeks to make final revisions."
He stopped to see if she was taking notes.
Pan Qiu typed quickly, noting down the key points. She looked up and whispered to confirm, "Just the layout, charts, acknowledgments—no changes to the content?"
"Yes, no new data. As long as the expression is clear enough that no one will question the already established parts."
He waited for her to finish writing before continuing:
"Second, the report. You'll be the one to give the presentation at this meeting."
His tone was calm, yet his words left no room for argument.
"Submit the first version of the slides by mid-March. Write the presentation script. You'll thank yourself for it when you get to the Q&A session."
He paused, his gaze falling on the edge of her screen, looking at the newly written words.
Her hands were still typing nonstop.
He spoke again, his tone even softer: "Before we set off, we had two full rehearsals. Full length, all spoken, without looking at the script. The goal wasn't to 'finish reading,' but to 'explain clearly, so that people understand why your work is important.'"
After he finished speaking, he paused for a few seconds and asked her to write.
Pan Qiu looked up at him and said softly, "I understand."
Ethan nodded slightly and continued:
"Third, the itinerary. Apply for the visa first. Submit the application materials as soon as you receive the invitation letter. Then book the hotel and flights. Don't wait until the last minute—the consulate loves to test your patience."
His tone carried a slight smile.
She couldn't help but laugh: "It sounds like you've been through a lot."
He smiled slightly: "It's all learned through lessons."
She lowered her head to take notes again, and he waited quietly for a few seconds. The only sound in the room was the soft rustling of the pen tip across the paper.
“Okay.” His tone returned to a mentor-like rhythm. “There will be another one after this one. Annual meetings, workshops, symposia… You will see how vast this world is. Every trip is a new landmark.”
He looked at her, his gaze firm yet gentle:
"This is just the first stop."
Her pen stopped. As he spoke, she seemed to mark the first point of light on her own map.
Ethan leaned back in his chair, his voice so soft it was almost carried away by the wind:
"Make it worth the price of admission."
She looked up, met his gaze for a moment, and softly replied, "Yes."
At that moment, she saw her future path—
It is an extended chart, no longer limited to ripples of emotion, but filled with countless possibilities.
The world is really big, and she is ready.
That night, she had a strange and bright dream.
In her dream, she was sitting on a speeding train.
The carriage was bright and airy, with ever-changing scenery outside the windows—cities, coastlines, snowfields, deserts—like speeding across a world map.
The wind blew in, carrying the fragrance of exotic flowers and the distant sound of ship horns.
She looked down and saw a group of penguins on both sides of the tracks—a group of penguins dressed in little black suits, clumsily but determinedly running alongside the train.
Someone chuckled softly in the carriage, and she laughed out loud too.
The laughter wasn't because the penguin was funny, but because it came from genuine joy.
Just as she understands, the meaning of a journey is not the destination, but the impulse to "move forward".
She leaned against the car window, the wind brushing against her cheek, and the light of day instantly turned from dawn to dusk.
As the train emerged from the tunnel, the sky was ablaze with aurora borealis.
She reached out to touch it, but only encountered a gentle light.
When I woke up, it was just dawn.
The clouds outside the window had a rare pinkish-blue hue.
As she lay in bed, she could still feel the lingering sensation of being "surrounded by the world."
At that moment, she suddenly remembered what Ethan had said—
"This is just the first stop."
She chuckled softly.
Maybe, she thought.
The train in my dream has already departed, heading towards the world.
And those penguins—comical yet pure—were like herself: clumsily but persistently running towards the light.
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