In the autumn of 1938, the Japanese army approached Chaoshan. The change of hands of the last land deed in the casino completely shattered the peaceful world of scholar Chen Jia'an. He was forced to lead his people on the road to escape. The red dress of his fiancée Axiu stung his eyes on the chaotic dock, and his cousin Chaosheng's cry of "Go to Yan'an" planted another wave of waves in his heart.
This is not a simple migration. From Shantou to Ganzhou, they lost not only their home, but also the cultural soil on which they had relied for generations. In a foreign land, Chen Jia'an took off his long gown and started working as a porter on the dock, learning the laws of reality in the cracks of life. Axiu followed silently, weaving the tenacity of Chaoshan women into every patch and every failed taro cake attempt. When the fire for boiling salt was first lit beside the Gan River, a new possibility—not just to survive, but to reestablish roots in one's own way—began to flicker faintly.
However, war has always followed, and separation and sacrifice have become the norm. Chao Sheng's letters after he went north were distant echoes, eventually turning into a silent tablet in the ancestral hall. At the same time, Chaoshan dialect has become an encrypted trading language in foreign markets, Mazu parades and local festivals conflict and reconcile, and sweet cakes and sweet potatoes complete an unexpected fusion in the kitchen. Chen Jia'an and A Xiu stayed together in adversity. Their love had no vows, only a pot of wine shared, a pair of knee pads mended late at night, and a child named "Huai Chao".
