When repairing watches late at night, I never violate the three rules.
Until I discovered that my grandfather's disappearance, the dark shadow outside the door, and those pocket watches that leaked blood stains were all related to my ancestral craftsmanship.
On the first day when I inherited the century-old shop, I discovered the wooden iron rules left by my grandfather:
① Do not repair blood-stained pocket watches after 9 p. M.
② When the hand of the antique watch reaches twelve o'clock, it must stop for ten minutes.
③ The third compartment on the left side of the counter should never contain guests' watches.
I wanted to abide by it honestly and pay off the debt. After rejecting the first customer, all the old watches in the store turned around crazily at the same time late at night. And on my wrist, blood-red lines began to appear, like the movement of a watch hand.
Only then did I realize that what I cultivated was never watch.
It is the unfulfilled obsession of the dead, the time stolen from the living, and the rules of time that are gradually collapsing deep in this old alley.
What's even more frightening is that my grandfather's last message came from the school clock: He has become a "time anchor", and I am the only one who can repair the cracks in time.
When the time hunter crushes the store door, when the balancer shows a hypocritical smile, when all the rules begin to reverse——
This time, I will use the screwdriver and gears in my hands to conduct a thorough calibration for this chaotic world.
