Golden Lakeside
The ceremony concluded amidst applause and the sound of the wind. The piano music shifted to a lighter melody, and the air by the lake softened instantly, as if someone had quietly dimmed the brightness of the entire world by half a notch.
The bride and groom posed for photos under a flower archway. The setting sun cast long, slender silhouettes of the couple onto the lake. Petals swirled gently in the breeze, falling around them as if the garden had prepared a blessing just for them.
The photographer kept pressing the shutter, taking pictures of the newlyweds, their parents, and the bridesmaids and groomsmen—each one as bright as a movie poster.
Pan Qiu held a light pink cocktail, standing a little distance away in the shadow of a birch tree. Music, laughter, and the soft clinking of glasses overlapped around her, yet it all seemed to pass through a thin veil.
She was somewhat intoxicated, yet also somewhat detached. She watched Claire and David laughing brightly under the flower arch, watched the lake surface shimmer with light as the wind rippled through it, watched the photographer walk around the crowd—for a moment, she felt as if she were standing outside of life, quiet, gentle, and yet subtly touched from somewhere.
Just as she took a small sip of her cocktail, a familiar voice came from behind her:
"Are you planning to stand here and watch the entire wedding from beginning to end?"
Pan Qiu paused slightly, then turned her head—it was Chase. There was a smile in the corner of her eye, as well as a hint of all-knowing tenderness.
Pan Qiu smiled and said, "This wedding is so beautiful."
Chase looked at her for a few seconds, as if scrutinizing her carefully, or perhaps confirming something. Then, she spoke casually:
"You know Ethan is qualified to be a wedding officiant, right?"
His tone was understated, yet it conveyed a sense of understanding.
Pan Qiu's heart skipped a beat: "Um... I know."
Chase lowered her eyelashes, as if casually picking up a fact:
"He is an exceptionally good person, much better than most people see or think."
Panqiu didn't know how to respond.
She could even tell that Chase's statement, "much better than most people see or think," wasn't referring to professional competence—but rather to the "unseen aspects."
Chase casually added, "He is a man of true virtue."
The moment those words landed, it was as if the wind by the lake had suddenly stopped for a second.
Panqiu's eyelashes trembled slightly. She wanted to know what Chase knew, and what he wanted to say to her.
But Chase had already turned to look at the flower archway, revealing a natural smile that blended seamlessly with the wedding atmosphere:
"Come on, you haven't taken a photo with the bride and groom yet."
Before Panqiu could refuse, Chase had already pulled her forward.
She raised her hand and called out, "Ethan, come over and take a picture together!"
Pan Qiu's heart skipped a beat.
Ethan turned around from the other side of the lawn not far away, the setting sun casting a thin layer of light on his profile, serene, gentle, and flawless. As he walked over, his steps were as steady as ever, without a moment's hesitation.
And so, one photo after another fell down—
In the first photo, the bride, groom, Chase, and Panqiu are standing together. Ethan is slightly to the side, not crossing the line, and is simply smiling gently at the camera.
In the second picture, Chase pulls Ethan over, and the five of them smile like a still from a movie under the lake.
In the third picture, Chase turned and glanced at Pan Qiu, as if speaking casually, yet with a hint that made it hard to tell whether it was accidental or deliberate:
"How about you two take a picture of yourselves together?"
No sooner had he finished speaking than the bride and groom were called away by another group of guests. Chase naturally stepped back half a step, as if deliberately creating just the right amount of space.
The photographer raised his camera.
At that very moment, light fell through the birch trees, casting a soft glow between Ethan and Panqiu's shoulders.
Ethan's gaze first gently fell on Panqiu's face. Panqiu's breath hitched, but she still took a small step closer to him.
In that one second in front of the camera, time stopped rushing forward, and the wind paused for a moment.
The two people in the photo stand quietly together: his dark gray suit is impeccably tailored with clean lines; her light pink satin dress gleams softly in the lakeside light.
The two stood at a distance, and at the last moment before the shutter clicked, they simultaneously turned their heads to look at each other—their eyes held tenderness, but also a deep-seated sadness, as if they had flashed briefly in each other's eyes before quietly receding with the wind.
The shutter is pressed.
—This silent photograph is like a bookmark quietly inserted into their story.
**
As the shutter clicked repeatedly, the lively atmosphere of the wedding began to subtly shift.
The bride and groom were surrounded by the next wave of relatives and friends, the photographer was called away, the children chased bubbles into the depths of the grass, and music and laughter spread again by the lake.
The once crowded area around the flower archway gradually emptied out.
The crowd seemed to be carried away little by little by the wind, leaving only Panqiu and Ethan standing in the golden shimmering water by the lake.
The setting sun was lower than before, and the lake was dyed a whole sheet of soft, bright gold—the wind blew by, carrying a bit of coolness and a hint of farewell.
A brief silence followed.
It wasn't awkwardness, but rather the kind of silence that comes after a long separation, a silence that allows one to slowly draw closer.
Pan Qiu spoke first: "How have you been this year...?"
Ethan paused slightly, then said, "I...I'm fine."
He paused, as if gathering his emotions, his voice lower than before, yet also more honest:
“I spent a lot of time… to see things more clearly.”
Pan Qiu looked up: "What are you looking at clearly?"
Ethan's fingertips tightened slightly, and the next second, he lowered his eyelashes, gently concealing all the heaviness in his voice:
"Look clearly... what kind of person I really want to become, and—how I want to leave a mark on my students' lives."
He spoke with restraint and professionalism, yet his words carried a hint of emotion that he couldn't completely conceal.
Panqiu sensitively heard that deep shadow—"How do you want to stay in my life?"
But she didn't press the matter further. Perhaps it was simply a mentor's reflection on their own role and boundaries.
She let out a soft breath: "Have you... thought it through now?"
Ethan looked at her, his gaze as calm as the dark light at the bottom of a lake—there was warmth, repression, a desire to get closer, but he held her back forcefully.
He simply nodded: "Clearer than before."
In that instant, he almost blurted out—
“I’m leaving because I know I like you, and I know you like me. But it would be unfair and immoral for me to get close to you when I was still your mentor. I have to leave so you can choose freely, instead of being forced to choose me.”
But he said nothing. All the truth was firmly locked in his throat.
Panqiu changed the subject: "I heard you... visited many places?"
A fleeting, subtle ripple crossed Ethan's gaze—a moment so brief it seemed to inadvertently reveal that those places were both her past and her future, places he had quietly passed through in a certain season.
"Yes, I went to a few schools." He spoke as lightly as if he were talking about the weather.
Panqiu didn't ask any further questions. With parting imminent, she suddenly felt that many questions no longer needed to be asked.
Ethan, however, took the initiative to ask her, "And you? Have you decided on your future?"
Panqiu truthfully told him about the three options she had.
Ethan listened quietly. After she finished speaking, he paused for two seconds, as if mentally placing each word in its proper place, before carefully beginning to speak:
"No matter where you end up... I hope you won't force yourself to please anyone."
Pan Qiu trembled slightly.
He continued, "No matter where you end up... I hope you don't have to shrink yourself to please anyone."
A gentle breeze blew by, as if deliberately leaving a longer trailing tone for that sentence.
That was such a gentle sentence, so gentle that it was as if it were rescuing her little by little from all the possible grievances she might face in the future.
Pan Qiu suddenly felt a lump in her throat: "Why did you say that?"
Ethan leaned against the birch tree not far away and whispered:
"Because you deserve to live in a place that allows you to move forward, not backward."
Panqiu opened her mouth slightly, but didn't know what else to say.
She didn't know—
Ethan's "shrinking back" actually includes:
If one day she stays for him, only to shrink her own world—that's not the future she deserves.
She simply whispered, "Thank you."
Ethan replied softly, "Thank you... for telling me your plans."
The two remained silent, gazing together at the lake shimmering in the evening breeze.
**
Panqiu lowered her head and gently placed the empty cocktail glass on the small table beside her.
“My flight is early tomorrow morning,” she looked up, a forced ease on her lips, “I have to get out of here.”
Ethan looked at her, his eyes narrowing for a moment.
Pan Qiu took a breath of the lakeside breeze, maintaining a dignified calm: "I'll say goodbye to Chase and the others in a bit, then I'll be leaving."
"I'll take you." His tone wasn't a question, but rather a polite statement of a decision already made.
Pan Qiu nodded silently: "Then... thank you."
The two walked together off the lawn. One by one, the lights in the wedding area came on, and soft piano music drifted from afar, making the whole scene seem even more gentle, as if polished by the evening breeze.
When Chase saw her, he opened his arms and hugged her. "Have a safe trip, darling. I'm so proud of you. This world is big, Qiu, don't be afraid to find your place in it."
Pan Qiu smiled and nodded: "Okay."
After saying goodbye, Panqiu followed Ethan to where he had parked. Ethan opened the passenger door, shielded her from the wind, and let her get in first.
The familiar scent of the car interior—a faint aroma of leather and a hint of pine—enveloped her the moment the car door closed.
The last time I sat in this seat... was when we went to a Korean supermarket to do field research.
At that time, she possessed the shyness and curiosity unique to students; he possessed the patience and composure unique to mentors.
At that time, she already liked him; he probably vaguely realized it too. But neither of them said it out loud.
Looking back, it was probably from that point on that Ethan began to deliberately distance himself from her, paving the way for his eventual departure.
All of this was quietly replayed by memory the moment she sat back in that seat—like a lifetime ago, yet like yesterday.
Ethan got in the car and fastened his seatbelt.
With a gentle jolt from the engine, the car slowly glided out of the botanical garden and into the city bathed in the glow of the setting sun.
The only sounds in the car were the music and the very soft breathing of the two people.
The car drove along the road in the night, as if being carried forward by some kind of silence.
As Panqiu watched the lights flash by outside the window, her heart sank deeper and deeper—not the kind of sadness that felt like she was about to collapse, but a kind of indescribable yet glaring pain.
She could sense that Ethan would occasionally glance at her, but each time he would look away before she turned her head away.
It was as if the two of them were carefully maintaining just the right distance.
The car slowly came to a stop in front of her apartment building.
The moment the engine shut off, the car became eerily quiet.
Panqiu's fingertips gently gripped the hem of her skirt. She could clearly feel her heartbeat—sometimes fast, sometimes slow, amplified in the small carriage.
Ethan looked up at her.
The dim streetlights shone in from the side, casting a shadow between the two of them that they dared not cross lightly.
He opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something—she also had a lot to say, but it was stuck in her throat.
There was an almost overwhelming sense of closeness in the air.
Like two stars that are too close, yet at the same moment realize that if they really take another step forward, neither of them can catch the lightning flash that follows.
He didn't reach out. She didn't lean in either.
They all knew that any actual approach at this moment would overturn all the restraint and self-control of the past few years and turn the future into an uncontrollable chaos.
In the end, it was Ethan who spoke first.
His voice fell softly, restrained and gentle, as if it were a line maintained with all his might:
"I will miss you... and I will also look forward to the day when our paths cross again."
Pan Qiu's throat tightened. She took a breath and tried to make her voice sound as steady as possible:
"……good."
It was as light as a sigh, yet it contained all her heartache, regret, restraint, and that little bit of desire to get closer.
The moment she opened the car door, the cool night breeze rushed in, like a hand reaching out to pull her back to reality from that moment when she was almost on the verge of breaking down.
As she walked towards the apartment building, she recalled their conversation by the lake at sunset, and suddenly a very clear thought arose in her mind—
It turns out that some people, even if you don't know what they've been through or what they've loved, you can still sense it:
He once protected you with all his might.
And this kind of protection is accomplished by leaving.
He turned around so that you could go to the distant place you truly wanted to go.
So all you can do is stride forward.
That was the only way to live up to this protection.
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