When Jiang Heng, an antique restorer, was sorting out his great-grandfather's belongings, he accidentally triggered the mechanism of a gilt pocket watch and opened his eyes to become the youngest son of the Jiang family of Wei Silk House in Tianjin in 1902. In the light and shadow of the swaying bamboo strip lantern, the widowed sister-in-law with jasmine hairpins on her temples is guarding the half-old shop. The ink marks on the cashier's sleeves are stained with the new school lesson plan. What's even weirder is the comprador from a foreign trade company who always hangs around the alley. The scar hidden by his sleeve is exactly the same as the tooth-shaped totem in my great-grandfather's diary. When the gunshots in the concession shattered the rain of locust flowers in the alley, Jiang Heng realized that the time that ran counterclockwise on the dial had already tied the fate of three generations into a series of hidden knots.
