Chapter 17: Living Time Itself Is Imperfect!

At the end of his gaze is a Desk Calendar that has already been flipped through more than half.

This was a gift taken home from the company many years ago, when his father was still alive.

He never could bring himself to throw it away.

Su Ming walked over and took the Desk Calendar in his hand.

It was light.

Yet it was incredibly heavy.

He used his sleeve to carefully wipe the dust off the plastic base.

Then, he began to leaf through it.

The first few pages of the Desk Calendar were brand‑new, with no marks at all.

But starting from a certain page, various markings appeared on it.

He saw a heavily drawn circle made with a black felt‑tip pen.

The date was June 7.

Next to it were two crooked little characters—

【Anniversary of death】.

That was the day his parents died in a car accident.

Every year on that day, he would go to the cemetery to look.

He would sit there for half a day, talking to them.

He would tell them that he was doing fine and they need not worry.

Su Ming's fingers lightly brushed over those two characters.

He flipped back several pages.

September 15.

On it, a tiny heart was drawn with a red pen.

That was the day he was with Xia Weiwei.

He kept turning.

December 24.

Xia Weiwei's birthday.

He bought her a full set of expensive cosmetics, earning a reply—

"You're so nice."

The Desk Calendar also had many other markings.

【Payday】.

【Pay credit card】.

【Classmate's wedding】.

【Watch opera performance】.

They were dense and numerous, some good, some bad.

Some happy, some troubling.

These markings were like incised lines, deeply etched onto this Desk Calendar.

The cheap trinket, yet it was a map of his own life trajectory.

It recorded every step he had taken, every footprint left behind.

Su Ming turned to today.

There was nothing.

In the past two days, because of a sudden anomaly, he hadn't even had time to leave a mark on it.

"Snap—"

Su Ming closed the Desk Calendar and remained silent for a long while.

In his mind, the thought about Altar No. 1955 grew ever clearer.

Why did that clocksmith god feel bored and empty?

Because the time he created was perfect.

Absolutely precise, with no deviation whatsoever.

In such a world, time is a straight line.

Extending from past to future, unchanging forever.

No surprises, no accidents.

No pain, nor joy.

Such a world is dead.

And what does this Desk Calendar in his hand represent?

It represents the trace of an ordinary person who has lived and struggled in an imperfect world.

The time inside it is twisted, chaotic, full of uncertainty.

It is… alive!

Su Ming's heart began to race uncontrollably.

He seemed… to have grasped something.

"Perfect time is dead time."

"The time we live is itself… imperfect."

A bold idea took shape in his mind.

"So... that clocksmith god, the change he needs isn't a watch that isn't that precise."

"It's not some more advanced timing device either."

"But... another kind of experience of time!"

Su Ming's hands trembled slightly.

The Eternal Clock that that guy created was unchanging, lacking any sense of life.

It was an emotionless tool.

And the Desk Calendar in his own hand?

It wasn't precise.

It was cheap.

It was even terribly worn.

But!

On it, it bears all the joys, anger, sorrow, and happiness that a living person has left in the long river of time.

This is the truest, most moving aspect of time!

It is not an unchanging straight line.

It is a curve full of firewood, rice, oil, and salt, full of love, hatred, affection, and grudges!

It is what that clocksmith god forgot in his pursuit of perfection!

"That's it!"

Su Ming's heart raced, with no hesitation left.

He placed the Desk Calendar into his backpack and set out again.

Target: that abandoned building!

Night Color Bar grew ever deeper.

The abandoned suburb was like a giant beast whose skeleton had been gnawed clean, revealing a ferocious outline in the darkness.

Su Ming's figure weaved through the ruined complex of buildings.

Now his abundant qi, combined with the speed boost from the Lightweight Binding Leg, made him like a black cat gliding through Night Color Bar.

An hour ago, he faced that altar, helpless.

He could only retreat strategically, his head hung low.

But now.

He returned, holding his trump card!

"Huh…"

Cold wind rushed into his throat, yet Su Ming felt no chill at all.

His blood was scorching.

Along the way, his thoughts drifted.

He recalled many things.

His father's unsmiling, stern face.

His mother's gentle nagging, and that bowl of egg noodles he could never tire of.

After they left, he curled up in the cold room, watching the myriad lights of countless homes outside the window.

He felt like a speck of dust in this bustling metropolis, tiny and unnoticed.

These had once been a mountain pressing on his heart, the source of his restless turning in the dead of night.

But now…

They are his trump card!

"Farewell…"

Today, he will personally sacrifice all of this.

Using that humble, painful, yet living first half of his life.

To gamble for a future radiant with golden light!

"I! Want to live!"

Soon.

The familiar abandoned skyscraper appeared at the far end of his sight.

Tap tap tap.

Su Ming ascended to the second floor.

That altar appeared before him once more.

"Huh…"

Su Ming did not hesitate, taking the Desk Calendar out.

He placed it solemnly.

The Desk Calendar, among the piles of precise gears, seemed out of place.

"Heh—"

He smiled.

"Perfect time is dead; a life full of regrets and imperfections is alive."

"Do you like this change?"

The moment the words fell.

An anomaly, sudden!

All around, suddenly a hush.

Those Micro Gear that had been turning slowly at a constant speed.

Suddenly…

It got jammed there!