《故宮修錶人》 The Clock Restorer in the Forbidden City

I open the Xisansuo workshop's wooden door, leaving the traffic beyond the red walls.

I have watched the old crabapple tree in this courtyard for forty autumns.

A thousand brass gears lie on my bench; the smallest is finer than a grain of rice.

This Qianlong-era gilt-bronze writing clock has slept in storage for over a century.

I put on my magnifier and dip a hair-fine brush into kerosene.

Wiping away two centuries of dust, I shake hands with a craftsman long gone.

Beyond the red walls, the world gives a video only three seconds of patience.

One slow load, one swipe, and a different scene appears.

But at this small wooden bench, smoothing a half-millimetre burr on a gear

can mean sitting on a hard stool through three quiet winters.

My apprentice asks, 'Master, is a lifetime spent on one thing lonely?'

I point to the falling ginkgo leaves. 'Look more closely, my child.'

Slow your heart, and every screw thread holds an immense universe.

Outside these walls, they chase time. Inside, I mend it.

Half a lifetime of grey hair, for the moment an ancient clock wakes again.

The final spring is wound; a brass crane stirs its wings after a century.

A clear chime crosses the palace walls, sending white doves into the blue.

Then I hear time turn around and whisper, 'Thank you.'

Life is like a finely made clock: sometimes it jams, sometimes it rusts.

If you feel unable to go on, do not force yourself to run while wounded.

Find yourself a quiet courtyard within the noisy world.

Slow down. Wipe the dust from your heart and mend its worn gears.

Outside these walls, they chase time. Inside, I mend it.

Half a lifetime of grey hair, for the moment an ancient clock wakes again.

Do not fear a slow pace, if your work is alive and your heart is steady.

The years you polish in silence will one day ring out, clear and bright.

Slow down. Time will wait for you.