It had been many years since Shen Qianzhan last went to the Forbidden City to walk in the snow.

Although Wuxi’s winters also brought snow, the snowy days of the north and south were completely different landscapes.

In her first two years after arriving in Beijing, whenever it snowed and the museum opened, she would always visit the Forbidden City, seeking the spirited delight of ancient poets who walked in snow searching for plum blossoms. Later, when work became turbulent and she worked to pay off debts, she spent 366 out of 365 days a year working hard.

The changing seasons meant nothing to her except adding clothes when cold and seeking coolness when hot.

Gradually, with filming and business trips, she spent less and less time in Beijing. Even when she had a rare day or two of rest, she only wanted to sleep at home, unwilling to take a single step outside.

The youthful enthusiasm for entering the palace in snow to admire plum blossoms had long been worn away by life’s hardships.

In the photograph, Shen Qianzhan’s hair reached her collarbones, blown gracefully by the wind.

She sat on a long bench for tourists’ rest within the palace grounds, apparently lost in thought, her eyes fixed on some distant point, showing only most of her profile.

The photograph’s background showed vermillion palace walls with proud snow-white plum blossoms confined behind iron railings in the corner, blooming abundantly across the entire wall.

Her appearance then still held some youthful tenderness, but her delicate features made her stunningly beautiful even without makeup.

Shen Qianzhan examined every inch carefully, not missing even the smallest details.

After a long while, she finally looked up at Ji Qinghe: “This is a very old photograph. Did you take it during those two years you were in Beijing?”

She remembered from her last visit to the courtyard house when chatting with Old Master Ji, he had mentioned that Ji Qinghe had worked as a restoration master at the Clock Museum in Beijing for two years in his early days.

Calculating the timeline, his two years in Beijing coincided perfectly with the time when she enjoyed visiting the Forbidden City to admire snow.

Ji Qinghe’s gaze lingered on her face for several seconds.

Though the storage room’s lighting was dim, her emotions were clearly visible at this moment.

From initial disbelief to gradual acceptance, Shen Qianzhan’s psychological adaptability was much faster than he had imagined. He had originally thought she would either be greatly shocked or overwhelmed with joy, but it was neither.

Contrary to all his predicted reactions, for Shen Qianzhan, accepting “that his treasured camera would contain a photograph of herself from nearly seven or eight years ago” didn’t seem too difficult.

Even her surprise and delight were perfectly controlled, appearing only briefly before quickly disappearing.

“Don’t you find it surprising?” Ji Qinghe asked.

“Surprising.” But compared to surprise, after accepting this fact, Shen Qianzhan felt a psychological sense of security.

As a weather-beaten adult, Shen Qianzhan viewed love from a realistic and cold perspective. She didn’t believe in love at first sight without origin, nor in favoritism without reason.

Before this, Shen Qianzhan had always wondered about Ji Qinghe’s initial intentions.

What did he like about her?

Beauty? That seemed too forced.

Compatibility? Just sleeping together once and being so unforgettable seemed implausible.

Ability? His net worth was many times hers, and he was surrounded by capable people, so he had no need to covet her modest abilities.

It wasn’t that she lacked confidence in herself. Her experience, appearance, and abilities were all her assets. In the dating market of the same social stratum, she was undoubtedly the dark horse leading the pack—outstanding and dazzling.

But Ji Qinghe didn’t belong to her prairie. They seemed separated by two different worlds. His sudden arrival was both abrupt and overwhelming.

But with this photograph as context, this matter couldn’t be viewed through Shen Qianzhan’s original lens.

She wasn’t narcissistic enough to think Ji Qinghe had fallen for her at first sight seven or eight years ago and couldn’t forget her—that didn’t seem like something a mentally sound adult man would do. This encounter she was involved in but knew nothing about seemed more like an opportunity for them to meet and get to know each other.

Simply fated to meet him.

“During those two years in Beijing, I lived in the courtyard house.” He took a dry cloth and carefully wiped the camera clean. “During the day I restored clocks at the Clock Museum, at night I returned to Time Hall to restore watches, nine to five.”

Ji Qinghe’s upbringing seemed somewhat at odds with the world’s predetermined trajectory. Unlike children from prominent families who studied abroad or attended prestigious schools, and unlike children from ordinary families who followed the typical life path of studying, taking exams, graduating, and working.

His life resume contained rich colors that ordinary people couldn’t possess.

It was the glory and craftsmanship that had been passed down through hundreds of years of Chinese heritage, never entering public view but hidden within the flowing world.

What he loved was clock and watch restoration, keeping company with time.

Movements and gears, case backs and hands, crowns and clasps, large and small movement components, clock parts—tedious and complex. Yet he immersed himself in them day and night, completely absorbed.

“During the early preparation period of ‘Time,’ when you had such difficulty finding consultants, I put considerable effort into it.” Ji Qinghe removed the camera battery, added a protective case, and placed it back on the display shelf.

Turning to see Shen Qianzhan raise her eyebrows slightly, waiting leisurely for him to confess, he leaned against the table and drank some red date tea from her cup to moisten his throat.

“The museum has a Cultural Heritage Protection Technology Department. The selection of clock restoration masters is especially rigorous. Besides necessary diplomas and education, personnel selection adopts a ‘master-apprentice system.'”

“Most of the clocks in the Forbidden City are tributes presented by various countries to the Qing imperial family over the years, clocks produced by the Qing palace workshops themselves, or purchased by ambassadors overseas. Each piece has survived wars and been passed down for a century—all are unique cultural treasures.”

He paused briefly before continuing: “Clock restoration masters entering the museum work on this batch of national treasures. Ancient craftsmen’s techniques were precise and ingenious. Without sufficient patience, one cannot do ancient clock restoration, so the selection criteria for clock restoration personnel are harsh. Without true love for it, it’s difficult to deal with clocks day after day, year after year in the museum.”

“The old master restored wooden Sanskrit bells and became world-renowned. As his apprentice, I was admitted through special exception.”

He seemed to remember some past event and smiled. Gripping her hand, he took the cup from her and casually set it aside on the desk.

He leaned down, encircling Shen Qianzhan in his arms: “Don’t look at how the museum is now crowded with visitors. During my two years in Beijing, I truly experienced the feeling of ‘once entering the palace gates, it’s as deep as the sea.’ Two other industrial university automation graduates were recruited at the same time as me and apprenticed to masters. One left after three months, the other remains there now.”

During the preparation period of “Time,” Shen Qianzhan had used several connections. She hadn’t overlooked ancient clock restoration masters either. Qiao Xin had made contact several times, but it either fell on deaf ears or met with polite refusal.

The clock restoration masters in service were all steadfast as mountains, unflappable even if the sky fell—true scholars.

After one or two attempts at contact, Shen Qianzhan feared truly disturbing their work and gave up, seeking other paths instead.

But throughout the world, except for the cultural heritage protection institutions of the Forbidden City Museum, all other clock technicians without exception followed commercial routes, trained by large enterprises to make and repair clocks—completely different schools from imperial clock restoration.

Thinking of this, Shen Qianzhan suddenly had an epiphany.

She turned to look at him, staring for a full half minute before asking through gritted teeth: “When Qiao Xin tried to contact the museum before and hit walls everywhere, did you give them advance warning?”

Ji Qinghe neither denied nor admitted: “Good connections—former colleagues were relatively willing to help fulfill others’ wishes.”

Shen Qianzhan’s feelings became complicated for a moment.

She felt no anger or fury, just mixed emotions in her heart.

“Time” had been remarkably smooth from preparation, investment, casting to filming. Even when encountering difficulties, they hadn’t cost her much energy. Securing Ji Qinghe had involved some twists and turns, but she knew in her heart it was just a matter of time.

Little did she know, she had stepped into Ji Qinghe’s trap from the very beginning. Just what she knew was countless, let alone what she didn’t know. If he hadn’t taken the initiative to confess tonight, Shen Qianzhan would never have known there had been so many artificial obstacles and hardships in her life.

She stared at Ji Qinghe for a long time.

Wanting to say some harsh words, yet considering this was his territory and being too presumptuous would only hurt her, she simply lowered her head in silence as protest.

Ji Qinghe studied her expression, guessing she wasn’t truly angry, but still coaxed her: “I was wrong, hmm?”

“Though the process cost you some effort, your original intention was still hoping the old master could serve as consultant for ‘Time.’ It benefited me, but for you, there was no loss. My former colleagues lack my sentiment and patience—boring and tedious, you wouldn’t like them.”

His phrase “it benefited me, but for you, there was no loss” was barely acceptable to hear. Shen Qianzhan had been indifferent about this matter from the start, so putting on a show would naturally pass.

“What about the photograph?”

“I had a colleague named Zong Liao who came in a year after I entered the museum. Young and restless, he often used bathroom breaks as excuses to go out and get fresh air. That day was coincidental—he’d been scolded by his master and was punished by being sent to help me clean ancient clocks. He took over my work, giving me rare leisure time, so I brought my camera to photograph scenery. As soon as I stepped out, I saw you.”

That scene remained vivid in memory. Even now as Ji Qinghe recalled it, every detail was clear.

Her face was slightly rounder then, with moth-like eyebrows and a beautiful forehead, bright eyes and white teeth. Set against the plum tree behind her, her skin appeared white as snow. Standing against the wind like a fairy in a painting, bringing light to his mundane world, instantly filling it with firefly-like brilliance, glowing brightly.

Shen Qianzhan asked again: “Were you smitten?”

Ji Qinghe chuckled softly, flicking her forehead with his curved finger: “A chance meeting—how could I be smitten so easily?”

He said half the sentence while hiding the other half. The hidden half was—though it was a chance meeting, she was like a bright splash of color that amazed his long, bland years.

Ji Qinghe spent two years in Beijing. In the spring of his third year, Ms. Meng didn’t want him spending all his time on ancient clock restoration. She sent him to study at a watch school in Switzerland, starting from basic tool usage. After a long two years, he graduated successfully and entered Bu Zhong Sui’s watch division to repair and make watches.

Watches differed from ancient clocks. The former involved learning everything from using lathes to create internal watch components to making entire balance wheel and hairspring systems. Complex procedures included cleaning, oiling balance axes and gears. Besides learning watchmaking and watch repair, it also encompassed various professional theoretical examinations.

The latter focused on cultural artifacts. Even with Ji Qinghe’s master-apprentice lineage and exceptional admission, he couldn’t touch artifacts within half a year. When he first entered the field, like all students, he started with using tweezers, disassembling and assembling watches, practicing basic skills like wheel loading and tip repair. After half a year, he exceptionally could repair ancient clocks. Every procedure required photographic documentation, formulating restoration plans, dismantling clocks to examine problems—step by arduous step.

Both were clock restoration, from the same tradition but not entirely identical.

Ancient clock restoration often involved polishing one component for half a day, requiring extreme patience and complete mental calm. Ji Qinghe’s work was busy, so for a very long period afterward, he rarely had time to immerse himself in the ancient clock restoration he loved.

During those two years in Beijing, all photographs and handwritten maintenance records from the Clock Museum’s ancient clock restoration were filed and archived. Only this photograph could record his purest time.

Love couldn’t withstand the passage of long years.

Over the following years, Shen Qianzhan’s face gradually faded and blurred in his memory, as if life wanted him to bid farewell to the past. Her traces of existence grew fainter and fainter. Until last year, when he unexpectedly encountered her again at Xi’an’s Clock Museum storage.

She stood before the glass display case, looking left and right, neither like an expert nor with much passion, casually observing.

Seven years had passed. Her features had long shed their youthful innocence, becoming more refined. Those eyes, bright and moving as they glanced around, still had moth-like eyebrows and a beautiful forehead, bright eyes and white teeth, radiating charm with every glance.

From the moment she stepped into the museum, Ji Qinghe’s gaze never left her.

Shen Qianzhan asked no more questions.

A couple days ago, Ji Qinghe had said if she wanted to know his cards, she should show sincerity. She knew that even if she asked now, Ji Qinghe wouldn’t tell her. Since that was the case, why embarrass herself?

Only in her heart, she was still completely outmaneuvered by his step-by-step calculations. Knowing he had used every open and hidden method, she not only didn’t find him sinister and cunning, but instead felt tenderness and emotion from the bottom of her heart, feeling his deep affection couldn’t be let down.

This was truly killing her.

How could there be a man whose every charming point hit exactly the right spot in her heart?

If she, Shen Qianzhan, weren’t quite King Zhou of Shang, he, Ji Qinghe, would surely be the kingdom-destroying Su Daji.

She suddenly felt parched.

Her fingertip tapped below his collarbone, sliding through the fabric to his chest: “Let me test you.”

He obediently lowered his head, his nose brushing her ear, kissing her neck: “Ask your question.”

“If I had completely captivated you then, making you feel unable to breathe or survive without seeing me for even a moment, would you have come to ask for my contact information?”

The Ji Qinghe that Shen Qianzhan knew was calm and restrained, only losing control when desire arose, passionate as fire. Actively asking a girl for contact information wasn’t something he would do.

Including their re-encounter in Xi’an, she had always thought it was a chance romantic encounter, with her taking the initiative to seduce. Who knew Ji Qinghe was full of scheming thoughts, never showing the joy and excitement of reuniting with an old acquaintance, staying pitifully calm like an innocent man she had tricked into bed…

“Unable to breathe, unable to survive?” Ji Qinghe kissed her intermittently, lingering from her neck to behind her ear. When his gaze fell and glimpsed the large patch of kiss marks at her slightly exposed neckline, his eyes deepened, and when he spoke again, his voice was several degrees huskier: “Still wouldn’t dare.”

He wrapped his arms around Shen Qianzhan’s waist and lifted her onto the table.

The table’s height was perfectly convenient. He gradually loosened her collar inch by inch without trace, supporting the back of her neck while kissing her collarbone.

Shen Qianzhan, not hearing an answer, reached to undo his belt: “If you don’t speak, I’ll tie you here tonight.”

Hearing this, he laughed lowly: “If you stay here with me, being tied here is fine.”

He covered her lips, kissing her mouth that was about to chatter endlessly again, passionately entwining with her, arousing her excitement before lifting her hips and taking her completely.

Shen Qianzhan moaned softly, in ecstasy. With eyes half-open and half-lidded, seeing his Adam’s apple move, she mischievously went to tease it with her tongue.

He suddenly gripped her wrist, stopping in place for a while.

Shen Qianzhan watched his jaw gradually tighten and, from these days of intimate experience, knew that continuing to fool around would only end badly for her tonight.

She moved closer to him, one thigh grasped in his palm and supported in his hand, making movement quite inconvenient. After great difficulty getting closer to him, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and neck, tilting her head slightly to kiss the corner of his lips.

Ji Qinghe gazed at her for several seconds, his eyes dark and bright, like an unfathomably deep ancient well.

Shen Qianzhan most feared when he looked at her with such eyes during lovemaking. The calmer he was, the more endless tonight would be. Before he could speak, she softened first, pleading coquettishly: “Don’t, don’t look at me like that.”

His back was already wet. Being held by her, he became even more unable to control his emotions: “Won’t you ask why I didn’t dare actively ask for contact information?”

After that session of bold moves and subtle teasing, Shen Qianzhan had long since melted and cast this question to the back of her mind. Seeing him bring it up, she asked along: “Why?”

His voice hoarse and low, he whispered in her ear: “I was young then, couldn’t properly nurture your little peony.”

Speaking of nurturing while doing exactly that, Shen Qianzhan’s nerves were stimulated as she pounded his shoulder hard: “You’re not allowed to talk anymore.”

Ji Qinghe chuckled under his breath, biting her ear: “Can’t speak, then I’ll just have to do more.”

As soon as he finished speaking, Shen Qianzhan heard a door closing sound.

Startled, she looked alertly toward the door.

Ji Qinghe also stopped slightly. He slowed his movements, listening intently to footsteps outside, confirming someone had arrived. Displeased, he frowned slightly and lifted Shen Qianzhan from the table, closing the secret door to the storage room.

The moment the door crack closed, a clear, pleasant child’s voice rang out along with the sound of the study door opening: “Little Uncle?”

“Are you in the storage room? I’m opening the door and coming in!”