The glitz and glamor of a city cannot hide the undercurrents of ebb and flow. In 1926, Lin Yansheng, a young journalist born in a small town in the south of the Yangtze River, carried an old suitcase into the depths of an alley in Shanghai. Using his pen as a knife, he tried to carve out the pain of the times on paper. Female teacher Shen Zhiqin walked between the factory gate and the classroom, watching her companions fall in front of the gun, but she still used her weak but firm voice to organize the workers and lighten people's hearts. Yu Zonghai, a bank comprador, was up and down in the financial wave, smiling but hiding his edge, while Qin Baosheng, who was born in the military, held the shadow of interrogation and wanted hands, walking between loyalty and betrayal. Lin Yansheng's sister Lin Zhaodi broke into the film studio, and dreams and reality swallowed each other under the light and shadow. The Japanese army's iron fist, the party's purges, and the island's fall have left people's hearts torn apart by hunger and fear. In the past ten years, they met, separated, and met again, yearned for, compromised, struggled, and fell. They wrote a record of the world that is not grand, but enough to make people turn the pages. There is no myth, only the human heart, which recognizes its own shape bit by bit in the wind and rain.
