Silent Classroom

After the winter solstice, the atmosphere of the approaching New Year grows stronger day by day. The city seems to have been put on an accelerator, with traffic on the streets becoming increasingly congested, festive music playing on a loop in shopping malls, and everyone's face carrying a hint of haste and anticipation. However, this external hustle and bustle seems to be largely filtered out by the invisible barrier outside the "Time Sequence" store, while the interior maintains its inherent, slow and steady rhythm.

Lin Zhiyi's manuscript entered the final proofreading and design stage, and the workload only increased. But she found herself becoming more and more accustomed to working in this space filled with the rhythm of time. When her thoughts dried up or she was bothered by trivial matters, she only needed to look up at the silent clocks and at Lu Shixu's calm figure working at his desk, and her mind would strangely calm down.

That afternoon, she was checking a statement about "slow and steady wins the race" when her gaze was inadvertently drawn to the commotion on Lu Shixu's side.

An elderly man, who looked to be in his sixties and dressed simply, even somewhat worn-outly, carefully entered the shop carrying a long, rectangular object wrapped tightly in red cloth. His face bore an expression that was a mixture of unease, anticipation, and reverence.

"Is...Master Lu here?" The old man's voice was a little hoarse, his gaze sweeping among the clocks in the room, filled with uncertainty.

Lu Shixu stood up from behind the workbench, his tone calm: "I'm here. Hello, how can I help you?"

The old man seemed to have found his pillar of support. He quickly stepped forward and gently placed the object he was carrying on the workbench, as if it were a fragile treasure. With trembling hands, he carefully peeled back the faded red cloth layer by layer.

Inside, an old-fashioned wooden wall clock was visible. The clock face was a dark brown, its paint peeling and bearing the marks of countless years; several edges even had minor chips and chips. The clock face had a worn ivory yellow hue, the gold trim on the Roman numerals had long since faded, and the glass cover bore a few barely perceptible cracks. It stood silently, like a frail old man, bearing the weight of too much time, yet no longer able to speak.

“This clock… was my wife’s dowry.” The old man gently stroked the clock case with his palm, his eyes filled with memories. “It was with us all our lives, ticking away, it brought us peace of mind. A couple of years ago… she passed away. And this clock, I don’t know when it started… stopped.”

His voice lowered, tinged with a barely perceptible sob: "I've gone to several places, some said they couldn't fix it, some said they couldn't find the parts and it wasn't worth fixing. But... but I can't bear to, Master Lu. With it stopped, the house feels like it's lost its soul, the silence is unsettling..."

The old man looked up, his wrinkled face pleading: "Could you...could you take a look? I'll pay any price, I just want...to hear it make the sound of it moving again."

Lin Zhiyi stopped her work and watched this scene with bated breath. She could feel the emotional weight that transcended the object itself. This was not just a clock; it was a mark of an era, a companion of a life, and an inseparable memory.

Lu Shixu didn't immediately answer whether to repair it or not, or how much it would cost. He stepped forward, extended his long, steady hands, and very gently opened the back cover of the clock. He didn't use any tools, but simply used the light to carefully observe the internal movement, occasionally flicking the rusted gears or touching the springless mainspring with his fingers.

His brows furrowed slightly, his gaze focused as if he were performing a precise surgery.

The shop was extremely quiet, with only the ticking of other clocks and the old man's slightly heavy breathing.

After a long while, Lu Shixu gently closed the back cover, raised his eyes, and looked at the anxiously waiting old man. His gaze was calm, his tone steady, carrying a convincing power:

"It can be repaired."

Just two words made the old man's eyes light up instantly, as if they had been injected with hope.

“However,” Lu Shixu continued, his voice low but each word clear, “it will take time. The gears are severely worn, the spring needs to be re-quenched and recalibrated, and some small parts may need to be custom-made. Moreover, given its age, I cannot guarantee that it will be as accurate as a new clock after it is repaired; it may have its own… ‘temperament’.”

He did not make unrealistic promises, but rather frankly explained all the difficulties and possible imperfections.

"It's alright! It's alright!" the old man waved his hands repeatedly, saying excitedly, "As long as it can walk, it doesn't matter if it's slow or fast! As long as it makes a sound! Time... I have plenty of time, you can take your time fixing it, no rush!"

Lu Shixu nodded, took out paper and pen, and began to register the documents, his tone still calm: "Then I will do my best. I will let you know when it is fixed."

After seeing off the profusely thanking old man, the shop returned to tranquility. Lu Shixu carefully moved the old wall clock to a specific area on the workbench, but did not start working on it immediately. He simply looked at it quietly for a moment, as if engaging in some kind of silent communication with it.

Lin Zhiyi watched the entire process silently. Her heart was filled with an indescribable emotion. She looked at Lu Shixu, at the almost pious focus and tenderness he showed when dealing with that old, worn-out clock. It wasn't the way he treated a cold object, but rather a life, an emotion, a weighty entrustment.

She suddenly understood the true meaning of his earlier words about "dialogue" and "negotiation." It was not merely an exchange of technology and machinery, but a empathy and resonance with time, memory, and the emotions attached to objects.

He didn't spout any grand principles, nor did he even glance at Lin Zhiyi, but through his actions, he taught her a silent lesson about "cherishing" and "protecting."

She lowered her head and looked at the flowery words about "craftsmanship" and "cultural inheritance" on her computer screen. For the first time, she felt that those words seemed pale and empty in front of Lu Shixu's calm eyes and steady hands.

True inheritance may not be recorded on paper, but rather flows in such eyes, is contained in such fingertips, and exists between these clocks that are silent yet seem to tell countless stories.

She closed the document and stopped working. She simply sat there quietly, feeling the profound and tranquil power of time, memory, and protection emanating from the old, dilapidated clock.