HYAT - 45

From the adjacent room came the sizzling sound of oil popping as it hit a hot pan, and a rich aroma wafted from one end of the courtyard to the other. The high-class Chinese-style main courtyard suddenly felt grounded in the everyday, instantly erasing all sense of distance.

Old Master Ji’s nostalgia for the past was real, as was his passion for clocks and his expectations for craftsmanship.

Never before had Shen Qianzhan understood this elder so completely.

She put her heart and soul into her projects, giving her all. But often, a project was just a commodity. To fit market demands, cater to audience preferences, and satisfy investors’ aesthetics, she had to make compromises.

Perhaps Shen Qianzhan’s only advantage was that she now had a voice, people listened to her, and she had the right to choose what she liked, wanted, and was passionate about from among a sea of commercial projects.

Clock restoration was different.

It carried the weight of history. Whether it was the jade and gems on the surface or the gears and mainsprings inside, each piece was inscribed with the journey of a lifetime. Restoring these journeys and reviving this history was a complex and enormous task.

If not for passion, who could endure the tedious and lonely work of restoration?

Even though the documentary on the restoration of the Wooden Fantasia Clock had long faded from people’s minds, Shen Qianzhan still remembered the scene where Ji Qingzhen, carrying an iron thermos, walked to a breakfast shop in the alley to get soy milk, then rode his bike all the way to the restoration studio.

In the early morning, with frost and dew still on the tiled walls, he would move a chair to the porch, drink his soy milk, and in the warmth of the rising sun, change into his work clothes and go inside to restore the clock.

The national treasure, covered in dust, was slowly cleaned with a brush. Every joint was carefully disassembled, numbered, and sealed. The process of cleaning and restoring the clock face was a long, endless task that took day after day, year after year.

Every morning, in every season and in every weather, he would pass through the alley on time, cleaning the clock’s heart-like movement from a rusty state to a pristine one, constantly repairing damaged parts and restoring the gears to bring it back to life.

Clock restoration had only one goal from beginning to end—to return to the track of time.

It was pure and straightforward.

“I remember the first time I came to you, you asked me how much I knew about clock restoration. A TV show has a conflict in every episode, and an event every three episodes. The problems in clock restoration often take a long time to solve. At your pace, my project would probably turn into another documentary about clock restoration, and you told me to quickly find a different topic and be more realistic.” Shen Qianzhan still remembered the look in Old Master Ji’s eyes as he held the temple of his glasses and sized her up, as if she were a charlatan seeking to attract an audience with a sensationalist gimmick.

Ji Qingzhen clearly remembered it, too. He smiled with his lips pursed, an attitude identical to Ji Qinghe’s when he wanted to ignore something he didn’t want to admit.

“I didn’t mean anything by it.” Shen Qianzhan smiled very humbly: “This conversation with you has made me realize how shallow my understanding is in a field I’m not an expert in. I should take more time to learn from CEO Ji. To be honest, before I came, I was thinking about how to answer your questions in a way that sounded professional and profound, so you would be impressed.”

She pursed her lips and chuckled softly, her eyes sparkling like a starry river: “Now it seems my level of thinking is still not up to par. Some questions don’t need to be answered with words; actions are the best answer. One of the difficulties in writing the script is the contradiction between real-world problems and the show’s fixed conflicts, which you questioned. I won’t choose to avoid this issue.”

“Coming here today was also to make a statement. I will do my best to make Time a success, not to betray the heart of the old artisans, not to pander to ratings, not to mythologize the real meaning of clock restoration, but to make a good, down-to-earth show.”

Old Master Ji’s initial impression of Shen Qianzhan was not very good.

Although she was polite and knew the rules, she was too goal-oriented and very aggressive.

The first time Ji Qinghe mentioned Shen Qianzhan was during a video conference with Meng Qiongzhi and several other senior executives. Ji Qingzhen, as an observer, listened to his grandson use a matter-of-fact tone to push his personal agenda. The conference ended with a special approval for the investment.

The second time he heard Ji Qinghe mention Shen Qianzhan was on the night he returned from abroad. As Ms. Meng was delicately enjoying some barbecue, Ji Qinghe mentioned that Dr. Fei was in Beijing and subtly hinted that he should have a check-up. As their conversation deepened, he casually mentioned that the reason Dr. Fei was in Beijing was to perform a bypass surgery on Shen Qianzhan’s grandfather.

The flaw in Ji Qinghe’s roundabout strategy was too obvious. Ms. Meng’s curiosity was piqued, and she immediately showed great interest in Shen Qianzhan, suggesting they meet sometime.

Ji Qingzhen felt something in that moment.

Didn’t he used to play these very same games of subtle hints and creating presence?

So that night, Old Master Ji used the excuse of old-age insomnia to send Meng Wangzhou to warm a pot of osmanthus wine, and he and Ji Qinghe drank together under the window.

In his mind, Shen Qianzhan was a commercial person. She was very clear about her interests and goals, which was why he hadn’t paid much attention to the concept proposal after Ji Lin hid it.

But when Ji Qinghe handed him the proposal, he became a little more interested in the Time project.

Once he set aside his subjective prejudices, Old Master Ji grew to like both the proposal and the person who created it. He played with a tea pet, his eyes glowing with a warm, yellowish light from the room’s lamps: “It’s good that you care. My biggest hope for you young people is that you take care of your health and actively realize your potential in life. You and Qinghe don’t need to feel pressured; just do your best.” With that, the old man’s thoughts shifted to something else: “I heard from Wangzhou that he owes you a favor?”

On the night Ji Qingzhen and Meng Qiongzhi arrived in Beijing, that scamp Meng Wangzhou had a face that looked like he had suffered a great injustice and complained to Meng Qiongzhi. He said Ji Qinghe had kicked him out of the courtyard, and he had been wandering under a bridge for half a month with no money.

Ji Qinghe and Meng Wangzhou grew up together and were the same age. One was calm, the other was mischievous and playful, and they had their share of conflicts. Every time they had a cold war or a fight, Ms. Meng would mediate.

She was experienced and first asked the complaining Meng Wangzhou what had happened.

Meng Wangzhou stammered, saying: “I just invited a friend to a networking event, and there were a lot of excellent young men there... My friend is also quite popular. When he came, he had a long face. How was I supposed to save face?” The big, burly man had a pitiful expression: “He’s just her business partner, not her boyfriend. Every time they meet, they’re at odds, and he’s even trying to control her friendships...”

When Meng Qiongzhi asked for more details and heard it was Shen Qianzhan, she first hit Meng Wangzhou on the back of the neck and laughed, scolding him: “Aren’t you a fool?”

Naturally, the matter ended there.

Not only did Meng Wangzhou not get any justice after his complaint, but he also got a slap, so he had been constantly finding ways to annoy Ji Qinghe these past few days.

“I have a lot of clocks. It’s no problem to lend some of them to you as props,” Old Master Ji poured the cold tea over his tea pet, making a final decision: “When you have some free time, come with Qinghe to Xi’an.”

Lending the clocks as props... It seemed a bit presumptuous to ask face-to-face.

She felt a little ashamed and cleared her throat, about to say something, but looked up to see Old Master Ji standing up with his hands behind his back. She followed suit.

From the kitchen, just a wall away, the rich aroma grew stronger.

When Shen Qianzhan looked out, the lights outside the window were bright, and night had fallen.

As the room grew quiet, Meng Wangzhou’s exclamations from next door became clearer.

Old Master Ji’s eyes were kind, and he smiled: “Let’s go. It’s time to taste Qinghe’s grandmother’s cooking.” He walked ahead of Shen Qianzhan with his hands behind his back: “I heard from Qinghe that your family hosted him on New Year’s Eve?” Although it was a question, Old Master Ji’s tone was clearly a statement of fact.

“The auntie at home said that after he came back, he couldn’t stop talking about the papaya stew with hasma. Is your family from Guangzhou?”

“No,” Shen Qianzhan answered seriously: “My family is from Jiangsu, but my aunt is married in Guangzhou and knows a lot of Cantonese dishes.”

Old Master Ji nodded, then asked: “An only child?”

“Yes.”

Old Master Ji stroked his beard: “Making a living in Beijing all by yourself?”

“Yes,” Shen Qianzhan smiled: “But after working for a long time, my friends and professional circle are all settled in Beijing, so I’m not fighting alone.”

Old Master Ji lifted a curtain and led her into the house.

The kitchen was large. Unlike the big stoves Shen Qianzhan had imagined, the kitchen’s interior was very modern, like a meticulously designed show home with a focus on minimalist luxury.

The woman busy at the stove looked up at the sound, her expression gentle: “Is that Qianzhan? It’s almost ready here. We’ll eat soon.” With that, she chided Ji Qingzhen: “Why did you bring the girl into the kitchen? It’s smoky in here; don’t let it bother her.”

Amid the sound of the range hood, Ji Qinghe, who was leaning against the counter supervising Meng Wangzhou washing vegetables, turned to look. Separated by a sliding door, his eyes held a hint of surprise.

Quickly, he picked up a cup and walked out.

When his eyes met hers, Ji Qinghe naturally took her wrist and led her to the dining room: “Are you done talking?”

Before Shen Qianzhan could answer, she saw a four-panel screen in the dining room, clearly from the same series as the Time Hall, perfectly separating the dining area from the sideboard.

Ji Qinghe handed her the coffee cup he was holding: “Hold this for me.”

Shen Qianzhan, unsuspecting, took the cup by its handle. Ji Qinghe led her around the screen and cornered her against the counter.

The counter was just at Shen Qianzhan’s waist height. There was nowhere to retreat, nowhere to escape.

After a moment of bewilderment, Shen Qianzhan slightly raised her eyebrows and looked at the distance between them: “Do we really need to be this close to talk?”

Ji Qinghe leaned in and took a light sniff: “Just checking if you’ve been corrupted by the old man’s pedantry.”

He was close, his long legs slightly bent. As he stood next to her, he turned his head and sniffed her hair and neck.

The main house had incense burning.

The old man liked sandalwood and agarwood, and after being there for a while, she also carried some of the woody scent on her. Unlike the aggressiveness of perfume, the incense she picked up was cool and faint, like smoke, barely noticeable unless you took a good sniff.

Ji Qinghe had always been sensitive to scents, especially her subtle aroma, which was unlike any other.

He found his own addict-like behavior amusing. Just as he was about to let go of her to get the wine, she raised an eyebrow, slightly tilting her chin to expose half of her long neck: “I haven’t been corrupted. Why don’t you check if you’ve corrupted me, CEO Ji?”

She moved closer, her calf brushing against his, and she slightly lifted the tip of her shoe to touch his ankle.

She was wearing a pair of dark green high heels today, with a fluffy little ball at the tip of each shoe. When they rubbed against him, it was incredibly tantalizing.

Behind the screen, there were busy figures moving about. Shen Qianzhan smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck: “I think I’ve gone bad.”

She put the coffee cup down on the sideboard and, seeing him squinting with a calculating look, she made the first move and gave his firm, lean butt a hard pinch: “If you take advantage of me again, I won’t just stop here.”

Shen Qianzhan tried to maintain an innocent, pure expression while letting a bit of mischievousness show through. But unlike the script she imagined, where the scumbag would be shocked and see her as a monster, Ji Qinghe’s expression didn’t change at all. Instead, he gave her a half-smile and asked: “Is that all?”

Annoyed at being mocked, Shen Qianzhan’s brow twitched. She glanced down with malicious intent: “Well, what about pinching the front?”