The Cat and the Trapped Beast
Spring in City A always seems to be at odds with the city, arriving hesitantly and reservedly. It's already April, but a lingering chill still hangs in the air, and when the wind blows, it seeps into your neck, making you shiver involuntarily.
Lin Zhiyi pulled her beige trench coat tighter around her neck and squeezed out of the crowded subway car, where everyone could hear each other breathing, stepping into the slightly chilly air outside Xisi Station. She had just finished a tiring editorial meeting, and the editor-in-chief's booming voice about "market hotspots" and "traffic secrets" still echoed in her mind, completely out of place with the obscure manuscript about traditional crafts in her hands.
She needed some quiet, something tangible and real to dispel the feeling of emptiness that hung in the air. So, instead of going straight home as usual, she turned into a nearby alley called "Anping Lane".
It seemed as if an invisible barrier separated the alley from the modern city; it was another world entirely. The tall locust trees, not yet fully green, stretched their branches, slicing through the grey-blue sky. Bicycle bells jingled, an old man sat on a small stool chatting, and colorful clothes swayed gently in the breeze on a clothesline hanging from a window. A slow, steady vitality permeated the air, causing Lin Zhiyi's tense nerves to relax slightly.
It was here that she saw the roof cat.
It crouches on the old gray-tiled eaves of a shop, its shape simple and unadorned, its glaze a bluish-brown hue. With its mouth wide open, revealing fangs, it doesn't appear ferocious, but rather possesses a quiet, unassuming quality born of the passage of time. It sits there quietly, as if it has swallowed decades of time and weather, becoming a part of this old street.
Above the shop's entrance hangs a dark brown wooden signboard with two characters written in vigorous regular script: "Time and Order".
It is a watch shop.
Lin Zhiyi's heart skipped a beat. The manuscript she was working on was about an old craft that was on the verge of being lost. Perhaps she could find some inspiration here?
The shop door was ajar. She gently pushed it open, and the hinges made a long, soft creak, as if to remind the owner that a guest had arrived.
A unique, indescribable aroma, a blend of aged wood, machine oil, and old paper, wafts through the air. The shop is dimly lit and softly lit, where time seems to slow down. Floor-to-ceiling wooden shelves cover all four walls, displaying a variety of clocks—tables, pocket watches, wristwatches… brass, tortoiseshell, wood… They stand silently, like a group of sleeping spirits. Only a few are still ticking, emitting a soft, rhythmic "tick," echoing each other to create a tranquil background melody.
In the middle of this silent forest of time, behind a desk by the window, sat a person.
A man was lying face down on the table, seemingly asleep.
Lin Zhiyi subconsciously slowed her pace, feeling somewhat conflicted. It was always impolite to disturb someone's peaceful sleep, but she didn't want to just quietly slip away like that.
Using the soft, filtered light filtering through the carved wooden window, she discreetly observed him. He was slender, wearing a light gray cotton-linen shirt, the cuffs meticulously rolled up to his elbows, revealing a section of fair yet not frail arm. His profile was clean and sharp, with a high nose bridge and long, thick eyelashes that cast a faint shadow beneath his eyes. His breathing was very light, almost imperceptible.
The workbench was covered with a dark green velvet cloth, scattered with precision tools that Lin Zhiyi couldn't name. A desk lamp with a magnifying glass was turned off, its arm bent in a focused arc. Beside him, an open pocket watch lay exposed, its tiny gears and springs reflecting a faint metallic glint on the velvet.
He slept soundly, blending seamlessly with the tranquility of the room.
Lin Zhiyi's heart calmed down inexplicably. She was no longer in a hurry to leave, nor did she feel embarrassed. She simply stood there quietly, her gaze slowly sweeping over the sleeping clocks, savoring this unique tranquility. This tranquility was a stark contrast to the noisy world she had just fled.
Just then, the man behind the workbench moved.
He raised his head and opened his eyes. In that instant, Lin Zhiyi met a pair of extremely clear eyes. Not because of the grogginess of just waking up, but a clarity as if washed by a mountain spring, a clarity that saw through everything. But beneath that clarity, a deep weariness was undeniably entwined.
He didn't panic, nor did he immediately get up. He simply turned his head slightly, his gaze falling on Lin Zhiyi, and quietly looked at her for two seconds. Then, a very faint, slightly apologetic smile appeared on his lips.
“I’m sorry,” his voice was slightly hoarse from just waking up, but his tone was steady and gentle, “I sometimes have to slack off on my time.”
Sometimes I take my time off.
Lin Zhiyi was stunned. She had never heard anyone explain a casual nap in such a way. It wasn't "I accidentally fell asleep," nor "I was too tired," but rather attributing the cause to "time" itself. It was poetic, yet carried an indescribable sense of alienation.
“It’s alright,” Lin Zhiyi smiled back, trying to make her voice sound natural. “I apologize for disturbing you. The door was open, so I… came in.”
The man then slowly stood up. He was tall and slender, and when he stood up, his thinness became more pronounced, but he did not appear frail; instead, he possessed a resilience like that of a bamboo stalk.
“Welcome to ‘Time Series’,” he said simply, walking around the workbench and over. “Are you here to get your watch repaired, or just browsing?”
His approach brought a faint, cool scent, like a mixture of pine and metal. Lin Zhiyi noticed his fingers—long, slender, with distinct knuckles, and neatly trimmed nails—hands perfectly suited for delicate work.
"I...I'm just looking around." Lin Zhiyi replied casually, but her gaze unconsciously drifted back to the sleeping pocket watch. "That watch, it must be very complicated."
“Yes, it’s an old pocket watch, probably older than my grandfather.” He followed her gaze and spoke with a familiar tone, as if he were talking to an old friend. “It has a heart problem and isn’t running very happily. I’m trying to fix it.”
"You didn't leave very happily?" Lin Zhiyi smiled at this personified remark.
“Every watch has its own temperament,” he explained earnestly. “They have silently recorded so much time, and they have become sentient themselves. Repairing them is not just about correcting the mechanics, but more like a dialogue.”
Dialogue. Lin Zhiyi savored the word. In this era where everything pursues speed and efficiency, there are still people willing to stop and have a "dialogue" with an old time machine.
“That sounds interesting,” she said sincerely. “I’m a book editor, and I’ve recently been working on a manuscript about traditional crafts, so I’m very interested in this topic.”
“Editor?” He glanced at her, a hint of understanding in his eyes. “A remarkable profession, dealing with words and time.”
Just then, Lin Zhiyi's phone vibrated at an inopportune moment. She took it out and saw it was a call from her editor-in-chief. The pressure from the real world that had just been dispelled instantly returned.
She had no choice but to answer the phone, quickly replying in a low voice, "Okay, editor-in-chief, I understand... I'll check that data when I get back, and I'll definitely send the revisions to your email tonight..."
After hanging up the phone, a hint of weariness and helplessness was visible on her face.
"It seems you're very strict with your schedule," the man said softly, his tone devoid of sarcasm, but rather conveying understanding.
Lin Zhiyi nodded with a wry smile: "Yes, unlike you, you can't even slack off."
After she finished speaking, she realized that her words might have been offensive, and quickly added, "I didn't mean anything by it..."
“I understand.” He smiled faintly again, with a calm that seemed to see through everything. “The fast-paced world has its rules. Here,” he gestured to the numerous clocks in the room, “is just a small exception.”
Lin Zhiyi knew she had to leave; the pile of work awaited her. But her feet seemed unable to move. This space called "Time Sequence," this thin, silent watch repairman, and his words, "My time can be lazy," all seemed to be a magnet, drawing her in.
"I...can I come back again sometime?" she asked, mustering her courage. "Perhaps I can learn about the story of clock repair? Just to gather material for my manuscript."
The man looked at her, his clear eyes revealing little emotion—neither a warm welcome nor a direct rejection. He simply nodded slightly.
“The shop is usually open.” He paused, then added, “as long as I haven’t been ‘stolen’ by time.”
Was this a kind of humor? Lin Zhiyi wondered. She smiled again: "Okay, then I won't bother you any longer. Goodbye."
"goodbye."
Lin Zhiyi turned around, gently pushed open the creaking wooden door, and stepped back into the light of the alley. Behind her, the world, as the door closed, returned to a mysterious stillness.
She turned back and glanced again at the silent cat perched on the roof. Its mouth remained open, as if guarding some unchanging vow.
Inside the shop, Lu Shixu stood still, listening to the sound of the door hinges fading into the distance until it disappeared. He walked back to his workbench, but didn't sit down immediately. Instead, he raised his hand and stared at it quietly for a few seconds. Those long, steady fingers, capable of giving new life to ancient machinery, were trembling uncontrollably, almost imperceptibly, in a subtle way unseen by anyone.
He gently clenched his fingers, trying to suppress the physical tremor, his gaze fixed on the direction Lin Zhiyi had disappeared through the window. His brows furrowed almost imperceptibly, and he muttered to himself:
"An editor..."
"Unfortunately, my time not only slacks off, but sometimes... it goes on strike completely."
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