In a corner of the south of the Yangtze River, the county town is surrounded by water nets. Under the white walls and blue tiles, old etiquette and new trends collide quietly. Gu Jianan came from a scholarly family, and in the year when the imperial examination was abolished, his official career collapsed quietly from the cicadas chirping outside the window; Cheng Suqiu was the daughter of a medicine shop, learned new medical science, and wanted to extend her hands to the pain farther away; Su Jiangbei escaped from famine and developed a strong body, rolling in a ball on the wild road to practice as a gunner; Newspaper offices, cotton mills, chambers of commerce, courtyards, wharves, gunshots and radio calls pull the breath of a generation into the wind. The winds of Xinhai rose and fell, warlords separated their regimes, railways entered the city, streets and lanes were renamed, old houses were demolished, and laughter and cries in teahouses were mixed together. Love is not an independent seed, it is often blown away by the wind of the times. And the choice is never easy to escape completely. It has been like a night for ten years, and it is the coldest before dawn. Only those hands wet with sweat and the eyes that are still willing to face each other can barely illuminate each other. The story depicts the weight of human beings between collapse and emergence: finding an inch of clarity in darkness, maintaining a period of silence in the hustle and bustle, and loving with all your strength in the midst of impermanence.
