The water vapor of a city nourishes the dreams of many people and soaks in the silent struggles of even more people. Gu Xingzhou, a typesetting apprentice who came to Shanghai from a small town in the south of the Yangtze River, groped for his way between printing ink and news rumors; Shen Wei, a female student who came from Suzhou to study, taught people how to read and how to love in the gap between new learning trends and vulgar customs. Zhao Muting, the heir to the old business name, was caught between foreign cloth and silk, capital and workshop; Meng Xiaonian, an officer from the north, rose and fell with the changes of factions, hiding his rust in his polished military boots. From the early years of the Republic of China to the eve of liberation, the tide came and went, and streets, newspapers, docks, and factories were all vents of wind. Some people stand and talk, some kneel to earn money, some lie down and pretend to be dead, and more people just live their lives until the next meal of rice soup. The story begins with a newspaper and a piece of type, and passes through parades, gunfire, door closings, and migration, and ends at a riverside. There is no legend, no divine power, just those unwilling eyes and a heart that is covered by dust but occasionally shines. After the tide goes out, what is left on the beach? Is it a footprint, a broken tile, or a truth that no one subscribes to. Ten chapters describe more than thirty years in Shanghai and Jiangnan, and describe the efforts of several people in trying not to be erased in the era.
