[Center][img]https://i.imgur.com/AswUTpZ.jpg[/img][/center] [H3][B]1902...[/b][/h3] [color=firebrick][b]"[u]Orson![/u]"[/b][/color] The boy kept swinging. [color=olive][b]"HAAAAAIII!"[/b][/color] He focused on form, smooth angles, no wasted movement, all energy condensed and focused through the strikes. The Thunderer preached form until form came without thought. [color=firebrick][b]"Boy! Listen to me!"[/b][/color] The old man called out again in a barking tone. However it wasn't the ageless immortal of K'un L'un who had been calling him, but the boy's father. He'd long been growing resentful of the Martial Arts master, but the boy had never picked up on it. After all, how could he when so many adults in his life communicated like that? Perhaps they felt it resonated better in the growing minds of young boys? Perhaps that resonance was why he was called 'The Thunderer' in the first pl-- [color=firebrick][b]"[u]ORSON![/u] Boy, come here!"[/b][/color] The young boy trudged over to the old man's workbench. Phineas Randall sat working away with a small pair of tweezers at a pocketwatch, that shined of gold. [color=firebrick][b]"You spend all day learning that celestial barberism, for a night at least you can look here and learn from me."[/b][/color] [color=olive]"Why? What's there to learn from you..?"[/color] Orson asked, not intending the sass that the question seemed to be loaded with. The old machinist turned and glared at him through a telescopic monocle. [color=firebrick][b]"Do not try me, boy, or we'll see how much he's taught you..."[/b][/color] The older man cleared a place for the boy to sit. [color=firebrick][b]"Now sit there and learn."[/b][/color] He forcefully demanded, as if the words would now be imprinted just through blunt force trauma. [color=firebrick][b]"Now, do you see what I'm holding, Orson?"[/b][/color] [color=olive]"Yes. It's a watch."[/color] [color=firebrick][b]"Good."[/b][/color] The father seemed to calm, as if relieved that this place hadn't driven that Western knowledge out of his son. [color=firebrick][b]"Now do you know how it works?"[/b][/color] The boy thought for a few moments. [color=olive]"Well, the astronomical clock outside of the Central Hall of Ancestors, Lei Kung told me is worked by Shaolin monks who collect water from the ceremonial fountains and carry them to the top of the clock tower, where..."[/color] Phineas Randall clipped his son around the ears, more due to the name who he cited for information than the incorrect answer. [color=firebrick][b]"No! You don't operate a fine pocket watch like this with water. This is a mechanical watch. Now, do you know what makes it work?"[/b][/color] Orson thought for a few seconds before he dropped his head glumly and shook it from side to side, awaiting chastisement. [color=firebrick][b]"Good!"[/b][/color] His father answered with a cheerfully smug grin. [color=firebrick][b]"That's a perfectly fine answer. If you're aware of what you don't know, then you know enough to find out, yes?"[/b][/color] Orson thought about the confusing string of reasoning that had just been said to him, and replied with a quiet, [color=olive]"I guess so."[/color] [color=firebrick][b]"Alright, every mechanical watch has to have five things."[/b][/color] Phineas proclaimed, putting the watch on the bench and digging into it with his tools. [color=firebrick][b]"First, the Mainspring. The mainspring is the source of the watch's mechanical power. Keep it well wound and it'll run. Understand?"[/b][/color] Orson looked down at the watch and nodded. [color=firebrick][b]"Next you have the balance wheel. The balance wheel maintains steady pace. Like a pendulum or metronome, understand. That's what keeps the watch true."[/b][/color] The boy had never heard of a metronome, never having been musically inclined, but nodded his head. He seemed to understand from the swinging arm gesture his father made. [color=firebrick][b]"Next, you have the gear train. Now the gear train sends power from the mainspring to the balance wheel and adds up all the swings of the balance wheel, getting you your seconds, minutes, hours... days depending on the watch. Understand?"[/b][/color] Orson looked down at the string of complicated looking cogs with a furrowed brow. But quietly nodded. [color=firebrick][b]"Then you have your escapement mechanism. Now the escapement is what allows the gears to progress by a set amount with each swing of the balance wheel. It's called the escapement because... well, look, see how the gears seem to 'escape' by a single jump? Before it seems to rest, waiting for the next swing?"[/b][/color] Phineas picked the watch up and held it to the young child's ear. [color=firebrick][b]"The escapement process is also what leads to the ticking. You hear that?"[/b][/color] Orson said [color=olive]"Yes, father."[/color] With a growing sense of confidence. This much was clear for the young boy, even if he'd struggled with following some of the rest. [color=firebrick][b]"The escapement also gives the balance wheel a very slight push with every swing."[/b][/color] [color=olive]"The escapement mechanism seems very important. Like it does a lot."[/color] [color=firebrick][b]"They're all important. All vital. Like I said at the start, you don't have a watch without any one of them. And they all allow the other parts of the watch to do their job. To play their part."[/b][/color] Phineas Randall closed up the back of the watch, with a few precision screws. [color=firebrick][b]"I suppose it's not too dissiilar from what mystical, Eastern dance-fight carry-on you were just pursuing there. Show me again."[/b][/color] The boy beamed with joy. His father NEVER took any interest in Lei Kung's teachings and the fighting techniques which were so starting to captivate the young boy. And he never would again. But for now, the boy got to his feet and started to progress through the forms. He focused on form, smooth angles, until it came time for strikes, and eager to show off for his father he thre strikes beyond his weight and balance. Looking to give extra to make his father proud. But as he so often did when it came to his father, his intentions missed the mark. [color=firebrick][b]"Much like the watch. It's about efficiency of movement, precision, constant smooth mechanical response. See when you threw that left there, you overcommitted, the intention behind this form I suspect is for that left strike to then lead to your weight shifting..."[/b][/color] He grabbed Orson's arm and pivoted his hip. [color=firebrick][b]"THUS-ly so that you could then flow into the right you were supposed to throw after. But your balance was off. Because you overthrew the left."[/b][/color] He readjusted the telescopic monocle, and his jacket. As if trying to restore his own dignity after playing in such uncivilised things. [color=firebrick][b]"Ah*Hem... Well, the escapement mechanism is there to prevent that. As we just said, the gear only moves so much, it then gives the balance a slift push. Keeps the works moving. Efficiency in movement."[/b][/color] The young boy looked up in awe at his father, his mouth agape for quite a few seconds before a question finally occurred to him. [color=olive]"Father, you said every watch has five things. But, mainspring, balance wheel, gear chain, escapement... that's only four?"[/color] The father grinned wryly with pride. [color=firebrick][b]"So you [u]HAD[/u] been paying attention."[/b][/color] He stepped back and plucked the watch back up from the workbench and walked over to the son. [color=firebrick][b]"And the fifth. The face. The side we all see. The dials which take all of those seconds, minutes and hours and display them on an interpretable dial. So [u]YOU[/u] can tell the time on [u]YOUR[/u] new watch."[/b][/color] He put the pocketwatch in the young boy's hands and clasped them with his own for a moment with a widening smile. [color=olive]"Mine?!? My new watch? I'll-- I'll wind it every day and--!"[/color] [color=firebrick][b]"And much as I appreciate the sentiment, [u]THIS[/u] watch happens to be self-winding."[/b][/color] The older man said with a sense of pride, realigning the jacket he'd just readjusted less than a minute ago. [color=olive]"Self-winding?"[/color] [color=firebrick][b]"Yes, there's another mechanism within. Regular daily movement 'pon the chain, as it swings by gravity's steady hand, shifts a subtle weight within the watch. That shifting of the weight winds up the mainspring. No hand-winding required. So long as you don't oversleep and miss a while."[/b][/color] [color=olive]"Wow..."[/color] [hr] [H3][b]1915...[/b][/h3] A trenchwatch hangs on a rung about shoulder height off of a ladder with feet set in the horrendous mud, muck and mire of the region. [color=olive]"[b]CHORES![/b] You got here! When did you get in?"[/color] Orson called out to his old friend from the days of the Confederates of the Curious. Seamus MacGillicuddy looked up from his transactional business. He was talking with another young soldier who was pointing to a watch wrapped around his wrist. Seamus nodded excitedly and the younger man unwravelled the watch and gave it to the Irishman. "Oi! Carry!" Some other soldiers down the trench called out towards the young salesman, who waved them off and gestured for them to wait, whilst he wrapped up his sale here first. Seamus pulled out the small packet of biscuits he'd just agreed to trade from his pocket, but quickly grabbed the soldier by the shirt to prevent him going anywhere. He held the watch up to his ear to check he could hear the trenchwatch ticking before releasing the other soldier's shirt and handing him the biscuits. [color=lawngreen]"Pleasure doin' business with you too! Eh! Lemme know when you get them boots in too."[/color] The soldier quickly ran down the trench to get to the others who were calling him for his next point of sale. 'Chores' instead joined Orson and the pair went for a walk down the trenches. [color=lawngreen]"And Orson, mate. It's great to see you too![/color] The Irishman said with a big grin. [color=lawngreen]"Just got in Four Ack-Emma on the latest Omms-N-Chevoos."[/color] He said, referring to the trains delivering soldiers to the French front. [color=lawngreen]"Pretty feckin' tired truth be told. But seems my luck might be turnin' around. I'm situated 'round the corner from my old mucker Orson Randall. And less than five minutes inta my time here I run into that bloke - whadid you say his name was again? Harry?"[/color] [color=olive]"They said Carry, but that--"[/color] [color=lawngreen]"Aye, Carry. and with a spot a luck, he's got some friend called Bill who offloaded a watch onto him, and he's lookin' to do a deal on it. He even said he was able to get a pair of pristine boots offa this boy Bill as well. So how bout that, eh?"[/color] Orson winced, unsure how to tell his old friend the truth as the pair progressed through the trenches, some in various levels of disrepair or flooding. [color=olive]"Well they said 'Carry' but it used to be 'Carrion', bunch of Australians in - I think it was their fifth - started calling him that and then shortened it to Carry because they thought i was funny..."[/color] [color=lawngreen]"Aye, presumably because he's always carryin' somethin' on him like those watches, lookin' to sell, eh?"[/color] [color=olive]"Well, not exactly..."[/color] [color=lawngreen]"Must meet this boy-o Bill as well. Scored meself a watch and a new pair of boots because of this bloke and it only cost me a half eaten pack of biscuits. Food 'round here must be a bit rough, eh? You know which one Bill is?"[/color] [color=olive]"Well... Not exactly..."[/color] Came the sombre reply. [color=lawngreen]"Well, what's got your goat anyhow? You've seemed pretty morbid since I got in. Haven't lifted that chin a yours once. I'd ask if someone put your dog down, but I know for a fact Barko was fine when I left him. What's happened?"[/color] The pair walked past a collapsed segment of trench. Stray limbs and assorted arms and legs were protruding from the mud. Chores and Orson stepped to the side as they saw walking soldiers coming from the other direction so both lots could pass by. Assorted soldiers called out to the pile in gallows humour. "Mornin' Bill." "Holding that salute a tad long, aren'cha Bill?" "A bitter Bit-a Bill this morning, eh?" Orson and Seamus stood by the mud pile in solemn silnece. Chores looked down at the leather strap around his wrist. [color=lawngreen]"Well, Feck..."[/color] [hr] [H3][b]Present Day 2 Twelfth Month 1967 (ding-wei), year of the Goat[/b][/h3] Orson's pocketwatch sat, long since stopped from lack of movement, on a small crate by his bedding. Orson stared into nothingness. He felt an effervescence in his core not unlike a pregnant woman sensing the new life within, and in a strange way it wasn't far from the course. He also felt something else that he hadn't in a long time. Something that he was trying to kill with the poppy, just like the bubbling within. He felt fear. For he knew what this must surely mean. In the country which discovered fireworks, none were exploding, despite the world around it believing this was the dawn of a new year. Another rotation. Orson didn't even know what year it was, let alone day. But he knew any failure to observe the celestial mechanics would just be ignorance. The lifeforce of the dragon writhing within him told him that much. Far away, on the other side of China. Beyond Tibet, beyond the K'un L'un Mountains worlds were realigning. New life was bursting forth from it's sacred egg. Heavenly cities were reuniting in a way none on earth would have ever lived long enough to see. Those who wished him dead - believed him dead. Believed to AND wished him dead might soon find the contrary to be true. He needed Feng. He needed the poppy now more than ever. Maybe he could drown out the chi enough to further mask himself. He had doubts, with the closer proximity to a new incarnation of Shou-Lao permeating the celestial walls, the well of chi now seemed to flow like a torrent. He quickly put on pants and staggered to the door without care of a shirt. He burst onto the street with more cognitive grip than he'd had in years. His mind was clearing so rapidly. His hiding place dissipating like the wisps of a cloud. He pushed through crowds of people and had almost broken out into a complete sprint at this point. [color=olive][b]"FENG!"[/b][/color] He called out, as if it could have ever possibly even helped. Memories flooded back, things he long forgot even played a part in his running to begin with. Names and places. And wisdom. Lei Kung the Thunderer's words. The culture of a people he had foresaken. The death of a peer. He pushed through another throng of people and crashed into the wall they had been looking at, he fell to the floor and looked up. He saw what the people had been looking at. [center][Img]https://ichef.bbci.co.uk/news/976/media/images/71144000/jpg/_71144621_smashtheold.jpg[/img][/center] He looked further down the wall. More posters. Onlookers. [center][Img]https://ichef.bbci.co.uk/news/976/media/images/71146000/jpg/_71146756_3362424.jpg[/img][/center] [Color=olive]"破四旧"[/color] Orson read. [Color=olive]"'Smash the Four Olds'. You wouldn't be the first to try..."[/color] Orson got back up and continued to Feng's. But it would be his final visit. He needed provisions to head west. Whether the old world would've wanted him to or not.