The bluestone pavement of the old alleyway had been burnished somewhat radiant by time, and a few tufts of withered, yellowing weeds squeezed out from the crevices of the brick walls on either side. Silas Shen walked through it alone, the cool late-autumn wind stirring the hem of his trench coat, bringing out a sliver of unbuttoned looseness rarely seen inside the laboratory.
He had occasionally heard a familiar professor mention this shop. Hidden away at the absolute terminus of the old alleyway, the store didn't even possess a decent sign, its storefront so minute that one would miss it completely if one didn't pay sharp attention. Pushing open the slightly heavy wooden door, the hinge emitted a light creak, accompanied by a faint, bitter fragrance woven from metal and polishing paste.
The owner was an aged veteran craftsman with hoary hair, wearing a pair of thick, black-rimmed glasses, currently bending his head beneath a desk lamp to adjust a gold ornament using tweezers. Having manufactured jewelry for an entire lifetime, the joints on his hands were thick, yet they remained as steady as a precise laboratory instrument.
Silas did not emit a sound to disturb him, merely standing quietly before the counter.
All sorts of finished products were displayed within the glass casing—complex engravings and resplendent gemstones alike. Silas's gaze cruised across those flowing lights and vibrant colors, ultimately locking onto the most inconspicuous pair of platinum bands situated in a corner.
It was an ultra-minimalist design, devoid of any flamboyant engravings, even its curvature restrained near to the point of coldness. Yet beneath the cool illumination of the desk lamp, that silver-white texture appeared exceptionally pure and clean, stripped of any impurities.
It looked exactly like a strain of affection that had settled amidst ice and snow.
"Want this pair?" The owner had stopped the work in his hands at an unknown millisecond, lifting his head as he pushed his glasses up.
"Yes." Silas retracted his gaze, his voice clear and refreshing. "Trouble you to extract them for me."
Following a measurement of his knuckle dimensions, the owner cradled the two cool bands within his palm, lifting his eyes to look at this young scholar who was handsome to an exceptional extreme: "Do you require any text engraved on the inside? It's free of charge."
Silas stood before the counter, the glass reflecting his slightly lowered eyelashes. He pondered for a single fraction of a second.
In that exact fraction of a second, his nose appeared to re-scent that overbearing yet excessively burning fragrance of oranges. Across countless deep nights, it had barbarically squeezed into his private territory that was saturated with fir, subsequently taking root and sprouting.
"Oranges and Fir," Silas spoke in a light voice.
The hand the owner was using to pinch the engraving chisel paused marginally. Pushing his glasses up, his sharp gaze swept across Silas's person through his lenses, the corner of his mouth hooking into an understanding smile: "For your lover?"
Silas's fingertips curled covertly by a fraction against the edge of the counter. Historically, he was an inward-looking individual who despised laying his private life bare before others; inside the Life Sciences Department, he was an eminently cold-system professor.
Yet currently, facing the veteran craftsman's blunt inquiry, he merely shifted his head slightly to evade the other's teasing line of sight, his adam's apple rolling up and down as he spilled a very light syllable:
"...Yes."
"Excellent, 'Oranges and Fir,' I've recorded it." The owner scrawled across the receipt slip with a shasha sound, sighing as he wrote, "It will take approximately one week. But young man, you've selected this pair of rings exceptionally well. Platinum stands up to time best, remaining unchanged in color even if worn for decades. As long as it isn't lost, it can accompany the two of you for a lifetime. Living one's days requires being exactly like this platinum—regardless of what wind blows or rain strikes, the base color cannot alter."
A lifetime.
These two characters had historically been an exceptionally vague probability term devoid of scientific foundation to Silas, who perennially emphasized data and logic. Yet currently, it genuinely and tangibly landed across two tiny finger rings.
Paying the deposit, Silas accepted the blue collection receipt delivered by the owner.
Stepping out of the shop, the late-autumn sun pierced through the interlaced withered branches above the alley, falling across his frame in mottled patches. The sunshine wasn't scorching, yet it carried the dry, melting warmth characteristic of this season.
Silas stood at the mouth of the alleyway, the streets not far off crowded with heavy traffic, yet he felt an unprecedented peace of mind at this exact moment. Extracting that blue folder from the briefcase he carried with him, his long fingers folded that thin collection receipt perfectly square, subsequently placing it inside with exceptional care.
The exact millisecond the folder was opened, the items inside flashed slightly under the sun.
Resting at the absolute apex was Lin's wedding invitation, the red double-happiness character somewhat glaring; further down lay a yellow sticky note whose edges were a bit frayed, bearing a cartoon puppy sticking its tongue out hand-drawn with a childish yet flamboyant touch—that was Hunter's masterpiece from a certain instance where he had grown bored waiting inside the laboratory; there were also letters bearing delicate handwriting sent from a distant senior school sister.
And in the deeper recesses lay a project application report. Silas's gaze anchored across it for half a second. Across the blank margin of the report was a line of crooked text clearly written under an extremely tense or guilty psychological state—"A lifetime." That was a "non-compliant graffiti" someone had covertly left behind while he had stepped away to fetch water.
And at the absolute bedrock of all these items rested a duplicate of that Feasibility Study. The handwriting across it was as arrogant as always, yet every single clause was listed with perfect clarity, the intervals between the characters entirely filled with the headlong-charging yet exhaustive sincerity of a twenty-year-old youth.
Silas looked at these paper sheets that held zero correlation in the eyes of outsiders and appeared somewhat chaotic, a stroke of tenderness rippling across the corners of his eyes that he himself hadn't detected.
He fished out an unused, blank white label from the side pocket of the folder, peeling away the adhesive backing.
He affixed the label perfectly straight and upright across the spine of the blue folder, lifting his pen to write out a line of text using his exceptionally beautiful, structurally proud running script:
To Be Archived: Ring Collection Receipt
The black ink bloomed across the white label. Silas looked at that word "Ring," his fingertips lightly brushing across the label's surface, his thumb pad touching the firm edge of the folder.
His cognitive process was perennially rigorous. The term archiving, within secretarial or archival science, indicated the phased termination and permanent sealing of a certain matter.
He pondered for a moment, appearing to feel that this wasn't airtight enough. Consequently, he lifted his pen once more, appending a line of small characters right beneath that label, flush against the edge, using a smaller yet more certain handwriting:
Upon archiving, to be transferred to Hunter Huo for safekeeping. Permanent.
Writing the final period, Silas returned the pen to his pocket, closing the folder shut with a clack.
The autumn wind swept through the old alley, carrying away a fallen leaf. Silas cradled the folder as he walked in the direction of the Life Sciences Department. The setting sun stretched his silhouette exceptionally long.
That shop hidden in the deep recesses of the alleyway, that pair of platinum bands that had yet to be fully forged, and that word "Permanent" written across the label were all currently resting quietly inside the blue folder.