Future scale
The autumn warmth brought by Grandpa seemed to infuse the "times" with a more serene and enduring energy. The golden sycamore leaves eventually fell quietly in a night breeze, the gnarled branches pointing towards the winter sky, but time inside the shop continued to flow warmly and steadily, thanks to the collaboration of countless gears and hands.
On an ordinary weekend afternoon, Lin Zhiyi was tidying up her bookshelf when she accidentally knocked over a thick, leather-bound old diary. The notebook fell to the ground, and a yellowed, folded sheet of paper slipped out from its open pages.
She bent down to pick it up, unfolded it, and found it to be a meticulously hand-drawn sketch of a clock tower design. The lines were fluid, the structure clear, and it even included some material ideas. The handwriting was consistent with that of Grandpa Lu Qingming's manuscripts, yet it seemed to possess an added boldness, a youthful imagination. In one corner of the drawing, two words were written in even finer strokes: "Future."
Lin Zhiyi held the blueprint, somewhat lost in thought. It was like a dream her grandfather had had in his youth, a dream about construction, about leaving a grander mark on time.
"What are you looking at?" Lu Shixu's voice came from behind.
Lin Zhiyi handed him the drawing: "It accidentally fell out of Grandpa's old notebook."
Lu Shixu took the blueprints, his gaze falling on them. He remained silent for a moment, a complex look of reminiscence flashing in his eyes.
“This was drawn by my grandfather when he was young,” he explained softly, his fingertips brushing over the somewhat blurred lines. “He once thought of building a small clock tower at the entrance of the old street, so that everyone on the street could hear the unified and reassuring chimes.”
"And then?" Lin Zhiyi asked curiously.
"Later..." A faint, understanding smile appeared on Lu Shixu's lips, "Later, my father came along, and then I came along. The focus of my life changed. This little shop, 'Shixu,' needed someone to look after it, so this idea... remained just a blueprint."
His tone didn't carry much regret; it was more like an understanding of the choices he had made in life. Dreams may be grand, but protecting the concrete things in front of us is also a weighty responsibility and a legacy to be passed down.
Looking at the hopeful word "future" on the blueprint, and then at the man in front of her who quietly guarded this small shop and the specific, tiny moments in the room, Lin Zhiyi felt a warm current surge in her heart.
She suddenly spoke, her voice soft yet clear: "Shixu, what do you think... our 'future' will be like?"
This is a grand question, yet also a very specific one. It concerns the two of them, this old street, this "chronology," and also those unwritten moments of time.
Lu Shixu did not answer immediately. He put down the blueprints, raised his eyes, and his gaze slowly swept across the shop—the clocks that were being repaired, those waiting to be repaired, and those that remained forever silent. They carried the past of others and recorded his and her present.
His gaze finally settled on Lin Zhiyi's face; her clear eyes appeared exceptionally deep and serene in the afternoon light.
“Our future,” he began, his voice steady and resolute, as if stating a fact that had already been calibrated, “does not need a clock tower.”
He paused slightly, pointing to the clocks filling the room, then to her, and then to himself.
"Right here."
"There is 'time sequence,' there is you, there is me."
"There is time that needs to be listened to, healed, and protected."
“And…” His gaze locked onto hers, filled with an undeniable tenderness and promise, “all the ordinary, precious, and unique moments we are about to experience together.”
His words, devoid of any flowery language, were like a precise key, instantly unlocking all the tenderness and certainty in Lin Zhiyi's heart. He didn't depict a distant, abstract blueprint, but rather anchored the future on the concrete coordinates of this everyday life they had jointly built.
This is their clock tower. They are each other's most accurate timekeeper. And the future is made up of countless such moments of mutual companionship and shared protection.
Lin Zhiyi stepped forward, reached out her hand, and intertwined her fingers with his. Her palm was warm, while his fingertips were slightly cool; their temperatures blended quietly as they held hands.
“Okay.” She looked at him, her eyes shining with a bright and peaceful light. “Right here.”
The sunlight shifted, casting the two figures onto the yellowed blueprint of the "future," as if outlining a warmer and more grounded silhouette for that young dream.
The future is no longer a distant blueprint.
It lies in their clasped hands at this very moment, in this shop filled with love and time, in every breath they share, quietly, firmly, unfolding itself.
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