good evening
To accommodate students who need to work during the day, Pan Qiu and her group continued discussing their project in a corner of the classroom until 10:30 pm after the evening classes for graduate students ended at 9:30 pm.
The department building was eerily quiet. The motion-sensor lights in the empty corridors flickered on and off one by one with her footsteps, only to quickly turn off behind her. Her footsteps echoed repeatedly between the glass walls, like a heartbeat amplified by the night.
When she reached the end of the third-floor corridor, she suddenly stopped—a sliver of warm yellow light shone through the crack in Ethan's office door.
The stairwell at night is completely different from that during the day. During the day, outside the south-facing floor-to-ceiling window on the third floor is a lush maple tree, with sunlight filtering through the leaves; but now, only a few winding shadows cast by streetlights hang on the glass, quiet and distant.
She hadn't expected Ethan to be there at this hour. After a slight hesitation, she raised her hand and knocked twice on the door.
A deep voice came from inside: "Come in."
As I entered, Ethan was rubbing his temples, as if trying to shake off the fatigue that had accumulated between his brow bones throughout the day. He looked up, his expression taking a beat to focus, and his tone carried a hint of surprise:
"I didn't expect you to still be here so late."
Pan Qiu walked in and found that the familiar office was unusually quiet at night.
Ethan looked up, his eyes slightly red, the result of staring at the screen and documents for a long time. A thick stack of papers lay open on the table, a few open books casually scattered to the side. The ceramic mug seemed to still emit the aroma of coffee—somewhat incongruous with the time of night.
She suddenly realized that this person wasn't always like he was in the classroom and meetings—neatly dressed, composed, and seemingly always surrounded by a halo of light. At this moment, his shoulders were relaxed and slightly drooping, and his eyes held an unconcealable weariness, as if he had finally shed the unshakable shell he wore when facing the world.
For the first time, she truly realized that her mentor was also a mortal, capable of getting tired and developing fine wrinkles from the endless work.
"Do you often stay in the office this late?" she couldn't help but ask.
Ethan paused slightly, as if only then realizing the time. "Occasionally, I guess."
You look very tired.
Ethan smiled gently, as if hiding his weariness, "It's part of the job."
He composed himself, turned his attention back to her, and his tone regained its usual focus.
How's your preparation for the qualification exam going?
Pan Qiu paused at the door for a second before going in: "I'm not quite satisfied yet. I feel like... it's incomplete."
He smiled slightly, without rushing to comfort or asking for details, and simply said slowly, "Perfection is the enemy of good. What matters is the whole—and the ability to tell a story."
She looked up, somewhat puzzled.
Ethan leaned back slightly, his hands naturally folded on the table, as if he were turning all his attention to her.
“Practicing a PhD is never just about what you’re researching.” His voice was calm and unhurried, with the relaxed quality of the night. “It’s about learning to tell a story—tell it clearly enough so people are willing to care; tell it persuasively enough so people understand why it’s important; tell it in a structured way so people can follow your train of thought from beginning to end.”
He paused, his gaze fixed on her: "Your research topic may change over the years. But this ability—to get others to follow your thinking and stay there—will last longer than data or papers."
Panqiu leaned back in her chair, as if she had finally removed the stone from her shoulder a little.
“This…does make me feel a little better,” she said, with a wry smile, “but I’m still not quite sure what to do next.”
Ethan leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table, his tone gentle yet firm.
"Start with the big picture. If you were to explain your research to someone outside the field of psychology—like a neighbor or cousin—in two minutes, what would you want them to remember? What would be the 'why' that would stay in their mind?"
She was silent for a moment, then repeated in a low voice, "That question..." as if she were chewing on those words.
“Once you have it,” he continued, “everything else—methods, data, terminology—should serve the story, not the other way around. A good doctoral dissertation doesn’t just solve a problem; it makes people understand why the problem is worth solving.”
Pan Qiu remained silent for a few seconds, as if she were carefully considering every word he said.
"So...you mean I don't have to strive for perfection?" she asked, looking up at him.
Ethan nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips.
“That’s right. You’re good enough already. Now, all you have to do is tell the story well.”
He paused slightly and said, "It's getting late, let's go."
The two walked out of the department building one after the other. The night was like a soft curtain, enveloping the campus in quiet and relaxing conditions.
The night breeze at the end of spring is neither cool nor dry, carrying the fragrance of flowers and a damp scent, like a tickle on the heart, making people unconsciously let down their guard.
"Which way are you going?" Ethan asked, turning his head.
Panqiu pointed in the direction of the bean tree at the school gate. It was much quieter at night than during the day. The curled bean pods on the branches gently collided in the breeze, making a soft sound, as if it were exhaling a long breath, blowing away the hustle and bustle and fatigue of the day.
"there."
Ethan nodded and said casually, "Great, my car is parked in that block."
So he walked alongside her. They walked side by side, maintaining a polite distance. They didn't talk much more on the way—perhaps the day's fatigue made them both too lazy to speak, or perhaps they weren't yet adept at conversations outside the office.
But Panqiu was still very grateful, after all, it was already very late. She had originally thought about whether to ask her classmates in the group to find someone to accompany her, or to call the school's nighttime escort service.
The streets outside the campus were cut into sections of golden tranquility by the streetlights, and the shadows of the trees spread out in overlapping patterns on the ground. Occasionally, a night breeze would blow, rustling the leaves. Most of the shops along the street had already closed, with only a few 24-hour shops still lit up, but they were almost empty of customers.
When she arrived at her neighborhood, the sign for Little Fox Cafe was still lit, like a lonely nightlight.
Panqiu pointed ahead and said, "I live on this street."
Ethan stopped and nodded slightly: "My car is just around the corner."
Pan Qiu nodded and said with a smile, "Good night."
Ethan gently replied, "Goodnight."
A night breeze carrying the scent of flowers gently brushed between them. The streetlights at the intersection cast long shadows as he watched her walk into the building from afar, until her figure was swallowed by the light, before turning and walking back.
That seemingly insignificant "on the way" that night subtly altered certain details of his life. It wasn't until one unexpected day that he suddenly realized—life always leaves its mark.
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