PROLOGUE
"Carving wood & carving stone are one & the same. Hit stone differently.
Confucianism & Christianity are one & the same. Christians pray differently."
~Wei Han
-Banbishan Forest, Beijing, China, September 14th 1772-
Translated Excerpt from the Journal of Jiang Zhongbiao
“Oh, that I should dream to be so fortunate as to have an audience with The Lord of 10,000 Nobles on the auspicious day of his birth! Yea though, the God of heaven above deemed it not to be so.
Tightly clutching my anno opera, my year’s work, my finely crafted golden treasure, I ran, tripped, hobbled and bounded for dear life through the thick, scratching, tearing, scraggly, primordial, forest underbrush. Thorns and brambles sliced my flesh and shredded my newly purchased black cloth shoes. My indigo oil jerkin clung to my shoulders in tatters.
I only looked at the watch once. But that was all it took. They must have seen its sparkle, for that was when they sprung the trap. The ambush, like clockwork, was masterful in its execution. It was close enough to the capital to ensnare pious, tribute paying citizens, and yet far enough afield to defy the authority of the palace guards.
A fallen log jam forced a detour from the main road. When a carriage or sedan would pass, a trip cable was pulled, causing men and beast alike to stumble. A volley of lethal crossbow bolts quickly dispatched drivers and oxen, leaving the other wealthy passengers begging, and trembling. In such a state they were more than willing to exchange luxury for life. Most submitted quite readily, but not I. I had worked too long and too hard crafting my golden gift to see it fall to anyone other than the Holy Emperor himself.
I gasped, taken aback and feeling nauseous, as I felt the hot, inky, metallic spray from the dart penetrating the neck of Niu. I watched aghast in helpless horror as I saw her go down with a sad and sullen low. If I had time, I would have cried as I saw her life draining from her body, but I knew that, unless I acted fast, I would be next. A trio of well armed bandits emerged from the woods. I immediately recognized what was transpiring. I knew what they would want, and I was not about to give it to them, nor would I give up without a fight. Enacting a perfect surface dive, mastered during my youth swimming in the Pearl River, I launched myself into the undergrowth. Brambles are not nearly as forgiving as water.
Bruised and bloodied I rolled liked a toothed pinion, being sure to protect my valuable cargo. Without taking time to dust myself off, I sprinted. I ran as fast and as far as I could. I could not tell you which direction I was heading. All I knew was that I had to get away from my cart. I had to get away from these robbers. I had to get off of this back road. I had to hide. And most importantly, I had to make it to His Majesty’s celebration of the Water Dragon birth.
Long and hard I worked, twenty hours a day, six days a week for forty weeks on end, nearly 5,000 hours spent carefully, exactly, painstakingly crafting my masterpiece, the watch of the golden dragon turtle. Proud parents are likely to praise their precocious children--This was my child, and I worked hard to ensure that it deserved all the praise that would soon be lavished upon it. This watch was meant for the emperor and no one else.
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The chronometer was the same general size and heft of a palm-sized river stone. Skeptics would say it was too heavy for a watch. The fact that it was for the Emperor himself, intricate, and made almost entirely of purest gold meant that it was highly precise and yet extremely durable, and also extremely heavy. It was a convertible pocket watch able to shift from pendant to fob via an ingenious clasp design. The overall shape was that of a golden dragon turtle made with gem-encrusted filigreed shell. The chain, extending from the coronet of the mighty dragon, forged from golden interlocking links; the Jesuit Order would have called the chain pattern breil Millano maile. Even they admired the artistry of my hidden catch. I secretly call it my Honglilian chain, christened on behalf of the Emperor himself. Of course, if I ever said this aloud, he would have my head. His holy name is supposed to be kept sacred and never uttered.
Returning to the watch, the dragon’s head is a fierce gilded beast, strong, but not evil. The solitary eye radiates the scintillating fire of a multi-faceted ruby. Its gaze is baleful and potent. The dragon, like the ideal emperor it represents, knows its inner power, and knows its proper place. This dragon destroys with ease, but is not a tyrant. Across its face, lines of diamonds shimmer from the pronounced brow and fangsome maw. The beast’s parietal corna sweep upward like flashing swords of a kung fu master preparatory to a rain of deathly blows. The snout, nares and rostrum are all paragons paved with lordly brilliance. The regal wyrmy visage flickers with tongues of glorious, saffron flames. Not reptilian scales, but dazzling, hypnotizing gems sparkle from the basilisk’s dermis. The body is carved from a stone of magic, a great, green, fire opal shaped into a staunch terrapin. Like bejeweled trunks from a miniature tree, four, stout, golden, elephantine limbs ensconce the laced and studded shell.
Hidden within the reptilian peds was the emperor’s seal embossed on the foot of the turtle. It was this seal that had given me the purchasing power to buy such gems necessary for the creation of an imperial watch. What’s more, a firm grip of the tortugan shanks parts the enchanting and enthralling carapace, revealing it to be the elytra of two Western dragon wings. In the dim, candle lit corners of my workshop, the shadows of the sublime etchings of the scales, cut into the membranous gold pennons, danced like sprites in the night.
The caudata serpentine, the snake’s tail, spins a maelstrom of curls. It is only fitting that the tail should be coiled, for it is the turning of this that winds the clockwork’s inner coils. Clocks and watches made for laowai, foreign scum, tell time. Watches made for Manchu emperors of the Qing court are creations of geared wizardry. They are artifacts of magic at work. The palace watches are toys for the first born children of God, and Lord Jesus’ younger brethren. An emperor’s only unsatiated need is the lust for entertainment and whimsy. With this in mind, I crafted my watch to amuse and delight a true connoisseur of kinetic art and beauty. My watch is so designed that even a bored mansion dweller is unlikely to find the Alpha and Omega of its hidden features.
Even as I am fleeing for my life, being harried by these bandit hounds, the watch calls to me. I must once more revel in the lavish chronometer’s secrets. The face of the time piece itself is a truly complicated affair in its own right, a nest of concentric dials mirroring the spheres of heaven. About the periphery is a pointer indicating the date of the Chinese lunar month. Orbiting interior to this spins a roving needle pointing out the day of the week. The clock hands eternally ratchet off life’s hours and minutes, solemnly reminding us that our lives pass, lost into thin slices of oblivion, never again to be re-birthed.
The heartbeat of a clock expresses its personality. Some neurotically tick away the seconds ever whining like the whelp of an underfed Shi Tzu. Others chime with stately grace, extolling the hour for all to hear like one of the emperor’s pompous court eunuchs. The springs and barrels of some lesser watches whiz like obnoxious flies pestering your soup on a sweltering summer day. Some clocksmen design their tickers to be as silent as thieves in the night.
I have transcended them all and synchronized the life of my metronome to my very own heartbeat. TICK-TOCK, LUBB-DUBB. The thud of the ratchets knocking against pinions sliding through the escapes sound in perfect time with the coursing of blood whooshing through cardiac valves. LUBB-DUBB, TICK-TOCK. And so they beat one and the same. Stoic, confident, full of life, my clock ticks eternally. TICK-TOCK, LUBB-DUBB…”