Unexpected help
For the next few days, Lin Zhiyi felt like she was racing against time in despair. She buried herself back in a vast database, trying to dig out "highlights" from the old documents that could impress the judging committee; she went through interview notes again and again, hoping to find overlooked details that could prove the "commercial potential" of these crafts. She even tried to write more impactful promotional copy, but the words she wrote couldn't even convince herself, only increasing her frustration.
Anxiety clung to her like vines, making her sleep light and filled with dreams. Even in the "Time Sequence" shop, the tranquility seemed to have temporarily lost its power. She would stare blankly at her laptop screen, her brows furrowed, and she would only accept the hot tea that Lu Shixu offered after he gently reminded her twice.
Lu Shixu saw her exhaustion and struggle. He didn't ask too many questions, but silently turned the heat in the shop up a bit more, and while she was working at her desk, he kept refilling her cups of warm water. His companionship was silent yet concrete, like a soft net, providing small but real support when she was about to be swallowed by the pressure.
He would occasionally ask about the progress, and Lin Zhiyi would always shake her head and give a forced smile: "Still looking, don't worry."
He would nod and say nothing more, but the phrase "there will always be a way" seemed to be his only and stubborn belief.
That afternoon, Lin Zhiyi had just finished a frustrating conference call—a folklore expert she had tried to contact had declined her request to recommend her manuscript. She slumped in her chair, feeling as if all her strength had been drained away, and the dense text before her eyes became blurry and tiresome.
Just then, her phone rang. It was the deliveryman, saying that a cash-on-delivery package had been left at the company's front desk, and it was quite bulky.
Lin Zhiyi was a little puzzled, as she hadn't ordered any large items online recently. With a hint of tired curiosity, she walked to the front desk and saw the package—a flat, thick, rectangular cardboard box, carefully packaged with layers of tape wrapped around the opening.
The sender information section simply printed the character "Lu" and an address near Anping Lane.
Her heart skipped a beat.
After signing for the package, she practically carried the rather heavy box back to her workstation. Amidst the curious gazes of her colleagues, she carefully used a knife to cut through the tape and open the cardboard box.
There was no extra stuffing inside, just a book... or rather, a book that looked extremely old and heavy, carefully wrapped in kraft paper.
She held her breath and gently peeled back the yellowed, frayed kraft paper.
What comes into view is a hand-bound book with a dark blue cardboard cover. The cover has no text, only the extremely simple and expressive outlines of clock towers and pocket watches drawn with a brush.
With trembling hands, she opened the cover.
The inner pages are not printed, but entirely handwritten in meticulous, bold strokes of small regular script with a brush. The characters are vigorous and orderly, carrying the character of age. The opening section, "A Study on the Evolution of Antique Clock Repair Techniques," elucidates the historical origins and distinctions between different schools of thought, as well as the core philosophy of "restoring the old as it was, following its inherent nature," in a clear and accessible manner.
She quickly flipped through the pages. It not only contained information on clock repair, but also covered several other traditional crafts related to recording time, such as sundial making and incense burning for timekeeping. Each craft had a detailed breakdown of the process, tool diagrams, and even unique commentary on the wisdom and aesthetics of life embodied in the ancients behind the techniques.
This is not just a document; it is a condensed encyclopedia of folk crafts, brimming with practical wisdom!
What impressed Lin Zhiyi even more were the illustrations interspersed among the text. They weren't photographs, but incredibly detailed structural diagrams and tool usage illustrations drawn with pen. Every line was precise and fluid, every cross-section clear and distinct, visually presenting complex mechanical principles and manual techniques. She recognized the style of the drawings; it belonged to Lu Shixu.
The illustrations and text complement each other perfectly, as if an experienced master is imparting knowledge step by step, and a skilled painter is meticulously depicting the subject.
Tucked into the last page of the booklet was an ordinary sticky note. It bore a different handwriting, bold and unrestrained, carrying an undeniable domineering air and… a hint of awkward concern:
"Girl, take this and show it to those who don't know anything about this!"
"Old objects speak for themselves; there's no need for all that fancy hype!"
The signature was blank, with only a simple sketch of a baring, toothy cat's head.
It's Grandpa Lu Qingming.
Lin Zhiyi understood instantly. It was Lu Shixu. He hadn't said anything, but in her most helpless moment, he had brought her the strongest "reinforcements" in his own way. His words, "There will always be a way," weren't just empty words of comfort; he had already taken action silently.
He earnestly requested his seemingly difficult but actually insightful grandfather to produce his most treasured manuscript, a culmination of a lifetime's work and knowledge. He himself, with his hands that were skilled at repairing clocks, created these intricate illustrations that would impress any professional.
This "supporting material" carries immense weight. It embodies not only knowledge and skills, but also the reverence and love for craftsmanship and time held by two generations of the Lu family—no, perhaps even longer. It is a profound trust and entrustment that cannot be measured in monetary terms.
Tears welled up unexpectedly, blurring her vision. She clutched the thick manuscript tightly, as if embracing a warm, powerful sun. The anxiety, grievances, and self-doubt of the past few days were washed away in this silent yet overwhelming support.
She lowered her head, gently pressing her forehead against the cool cover of the manuscript, letting her scalding tears slide down and soak the dark blue cardstock.
Only one voice echoed clearly in my mind:
She cannot let him down.
Absolutely not.
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