Old bells, new sounds

On a late spring afternoon, the air was filled with the fresh scent of growing plants. Inside the "Time Sequence" shop, Lu Shixu finally began to repair the old wall clock that held half a lifetime of memories for the old man.

Lin Zhiyi sat to the side, neither reading nor working, simply watching quietly. She watched as he carefully disassembled the weathered clock case, revealing the movement inside, covered in verdigris and the dust of time. In his hands, the tiny gears, mainsprings, and escapement wheels seemed to come alive, being removed, cleaned, inspected, repaired, or replaced one by one.

His movements maintained a unique, unhurried rhythm. Even when faced with rusted screws that were difficult to tighten, or when he discovered that a gear was worn beyond expectations and needed to be hand-polished, there was no trace of impatience in his brow, only a deeper level of focus. Sweat occasionally dampened the stray hairs on his forehead, which he would casually wipe away with the back of his hand, his gaze always fixed on the area between his fingertips.

Looking at his profile as he immersed himself in his work, Lin Zhiyi suddenly recalled a line she had written in her manuscript: "A true craftsman is one who, in the dialogue with his objects, sees his own nature reflected in them." Lu Shixu at this moment was the most vivid embodiment of this statement. His composure, his patience, and his tolerance for "imperfection" (just as he had told the old man before, even a repaired object may have its own "temperament") were all revealed in the process of restoration.

Time slipped away quietly amidst the steady ticking and the occasional soft clatter of tools. When the last carefully calibrated gear was reinstalled, Lu Shixu used a special oil can to inject clear lubricant into each bearing point. Then, he picked up the long key, inserted it into the hole on the clock face, and began to wind it.

"Click...click..." The sound of winding the wind-up mechanism was exceptionally clear in the quiet shop, as if preparing for an important ceremony.

After winding the clock to its full length, he took a deep breath, extended his fingers, and gently pushed the long-silent pendulum.

"Thump—"

With a hint of awkward hesitation, the pendulum began to swing slowly. One swing, two swings... At first it wobbled a little, but soon, under its own weight and the pull of the movement, it found its long-lost rhythm.

"Tick-tock...tick-tock...thump..."

A steady, deep, and resonant chime, tinged with age yet still powerful, echoed once more in the space. Unlike the crisp, vibrant sound of a new bell, this chime possessed a unique, weathered charm, like the calm, serene breath of an old man, peaceful and resolute.

Lu Shixu took a step back, quietly gazing at the old clock that had come back to life. His clear eyes reflected the ticking pendulum, and a faint yet incredibly genuine smile appeared on his lips. In that smile, there was the satisfaction of completing a work, and even more so, the peace of fulfilling someone else's wish.

Lin Zhiyi walked to his side and stood beside him, listening to the unfamiliar yet long-awaited chimes.

"It walked... very steadily," she said softly, afraid of disturbing the rhythm of this regained joy.

“Yes,” Lu Shixu’s gaze remained fixed on the clock, “It’s old, but its spirit is still there. It doesn’t move fast, but every step it takes is solid and steady.”

His words seemed to be about a clock, but also about something else entirely.

After a while, he turned around, looked at Lin Zhiyi, and said gently, "Tomorrow, notify that old man to come and pick it up."

Lin Zhiyi nodded, a warm feeling welling up inside her. She could almost see the old man's excited and gratified expression as he heard the bell ringing again. This was not just the restoration of a bell, but the continuation of a memory, and the placement of an emotion.

Looking at Lu Shixu, at his exceptionally soft profile under the warm yellow light, she suddenly realized that what she had fallen in love with was not only this slender and calm man, but also the gentle yet powerful force flowing from his fingertips that could make stagnant time flow again.

He restored not only clocks, but also the human touch and deep emotions attached to them, which had been washed away by time but never faded.

The clocks in the room still chimed in different tunes, some new, some old, and some fast and slow.

But now, with the addition of this steady and powerful new voice, this symphony of time seems to become more complete, richer, and full of the warmth of humanity.