Fleeing in panic
Pan Qiu pushed open the door to the walk-in closet. A mirror was embedded behind the door, reflecting her entire body. She suddenly remembered last year's St. Patrick's Day—the parade was lively, the crowds were noisy, but the March wind was still biting. Many young people on the street had already changed into spring clothes, even short sleeves and skirts, but she, Zhiwei, and Lin Yue were all bundled up, smiling knowingly at each other: enthusiasm is one thing, but keeping warm is another.
So she was well-prepared for this year.
A white undershirt paired with light blue jeans created a clean and crisp look; over it, she wore a gray-green plaid wool shirt jacket, mixed with a few alpaca hairs, its soft, plush texture providing wind protection without adding bulk, giving her a soft-focus effect. She'd stumbled upon that jacket while shopping, and immediately thought: this is probably for St. Patrick's Day. On her feet were navy blue Converse sneakers, exuding youthful energy.
She and Zhiwei also bought two golden elf-shaped hair clips on Amazon. She let her long hair down and put on the clips. Tiny springs supported the shimmering golden antennae, which trembled gently with her movements, accompanied by soft, rustling sounds, like invisible radio waves being emitted in the air. The person in the mirror looked like an elf who had just flown out of the forest, carrying the lightness and playfulness unique to the festival. A small rabbit-shaped phone case was slung across her shoulder, with an exaggerated white pom-pom on the tail, adding a touch of whimsy to the whole outfit.
Looking at herself in the mirror, she seemed much more composed than last year. Even more coincidentally, the weather cooperated perfectly—the March temperature unusually soared to twenty degrees Celsius. The forecast showed that the highs for the days before and after would only be in the low teens, but it was as if the heavens had specially reassigned a day from May to March for the parade. It wasn't just her who was well-prepared; even the weather seemed to have done its homework.
The three of them had learned their lesson and arrived early this year, choosing a spot on the street corner with a panoramic view of the entire avenue. The March wind was still cool, but the sunlight was perfect, making the uniforms of the Scottish bagpipe band across the street appear exceptionally bright, the instruments gleaming dazzlingly in the light. The band was lined up, waiting for their performance to lead the way; the neat formation, bathed in light and shadow, resembled a piece of green and white brocade being slowly unfurled.
Zhiwei's eyes lit up: "Shall we take this opportunity to take a picture?"
Zhiwei stood in the middle, and Panqiu raised her phone. The three of them leaned closer, capturing the bagpipe band in the background. Panqiu silently recalled a similar three-person photo from last year, only this year Lin Yue was replaced by Zhiwei's boyfriend, a heavy gesture. She looked down at the photo; his heavy hand rested naturally on Zhiwei's shoulder, his posture gentle and unassuming. Sunlight brushed against his profile, making his features appear even more serene and pleasing. He wasn't the kind of person who was strikingly beautiful at first glance, but he possessed a calming quality that made people feel at peace. Panqiu couldn't help but smile inwardly: the lineup was still three people, but the script had changed.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the low, resonant drumbeats coming from the street corner. At first, it was just a soft sound, like someone tentatively striking a military drum in the distance, simple yet rhythmic. The crowd held their breath, as if waiting for something. The sound seemed to summon dormant memories, reminding people of the festival's original purpose—to commemorate a saint, to honor faith and resilience. That moment of solemnity made Pan Qiu almost feel as if she had stumbled into a religious ceremony.
Suddenly, the drumbeats shifted, becoming powerful and rhythmic. A neat procession surged onto the main street to the beat of the drums, accompanied by the rising and layering of bagpipes, instantly igniting the air. The previously leisurely wait transformed into a vibrant festive symphony. The streets erupted in a frenzy, green hats, beer mugs, shouts, and laughter all mingling, gently pushing aside any semblance of solemnity. Pan Qiu suddenly realized that this was precisely the duality of the festival itself: its origins lay in religion, but now it resembled a secular carnival. The halo of saints had likely long since given way to the foam of beer.
Zhiwei chattered incessantly, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she pointed at the parade. Heshen, standing beside her, listened quietly, not in a hurry to respond, but his fingers tightened slightly with her movements, his palm firmly holding hers. In the sunlight, a faint smile played at the corners of his eyes, his gaze fixed on his girlfriend beside him, his expression serene and tender.
Panqiu watched from the side, and couldn't help but joking in her heart: This is no ordinary dog food, it's more like cream and sugar, it's smeared all over her mouth.
Her gaze had been wandering aimlessly among the parade and the crowd until it was suddenly drawn to a burst of laughter. Several children were excitedly chasing after the gold coins and beads thrown from the floats, their movements so eager they almost tried to squeeze into the procession. Their parents quickly reached out to pull them back, some crouching down to comfort them, others half-scolding and half-worried.
Pan Qiu's gaze fell on a father and son—the man bent down and scooped up the little boy, who was still struggling, flailing his arms and legs to reach for the shimmering beads in the air. The man, however, lowered his head and deliberately brushed his stubble lightly against the child's neck. The little boy immediately burst into giggles, his eyes crinkling with laughter.
For a moment, she froze. That profile, that resolute yet gentle gesture—it was so familiar. She held her breath, and when she looked again, her heart clenched—it was Ethan.
The child nestled in his arms, laughing without any guard, and his eyes held a kind of almost instinctive doting she had never seen before.
Beside them stood a young woman. She didn't intervene, only crossed her arms, a helpless smile playing on her lips, her gaze so gentle it seemed it might melt at any moment. She looked at the man and child as if they were her own world, a world she took for granted.
Pan Qiu suddenly froze on the spot, as if nailed to the spot. Her mind went blank for a moment; she didn't even have time to process the scene before her—in such an atypical setting, surrounded by the drumbeats and noise, she saw a familiar person, but in a completely unfamiliar identity. At that moment, she felt a disorienting sense of unreality: Who am I? Where am I?
Just then, the father looked up. His gaze met hers amidst the noise and crowd. For a brief moment, his expression seemed to pause slightly, a complex hesitation flashing across his eyes. But the next second, the child in his arms reached for the colorful beads thrown down from the float, and he had to lower his head, tighten his arms, and hold the child securely.
The child squirmed and played, his face full of excited joy. He bent down and hugged the child, talking to him, his expression becoming focused and patient. The child's mother also bent down, patting the child's back and speaking softly. She and the child's father squatted on either side of the child, intimately close. The scene, framed by the light amidst the noisy crowd, appeared remarkably quiet and complete. The happiness of the family of three seemed to have a warmth that touched one's eyes.
Pan Qiu felt as if she had been suddenly struck in the chest, and her breath hitched. She couldn't explain her motives, but the next second, her hand reached out and grabbed Zhiwei's wrist.
Let's go.
She spoke in a low voice, her tone inappropriately hurried.
Zhiwei was taken aback and almost didn't keep up, being half-dragged out of the crowd. Zhongchenzhong was also stunned for a moment, but quickly caught up, glancing at her with a puzzled look as they walked, but didn't ask any questions, simply standing protectively on the outside of the two of them.
Turning back, Zhiwei glanced over again, only to see a surging crowd, floats passing by, and the deafening drumbeats and cheers. She frowned, somewhat puzzled, and asked, "Why are you in such a hurry?"
Pan Qiu didn't answer. Confetti and drumbeats exploded behind her, but she only felt as if she were hastily escaping a silent encirclement. No matter how fast her steps were, her heart couldn't escape—that image was still firmly stuck in her mind, impossible to shake off.
She suddenly realized that she actually had nowhere to escape.
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