In 1645, the echoes of the Chongzhen Emperor’s suicide had yet to fade, while the lights of the Ming palaces in Nanjing still shimmered amid drunken revelry. The Hongguang Emperor was absorbed in selecting concubines, while the likes of Ma Shiying and Qian Qianyi schemed for personal gain, treating the Four Garrisons north of the Yangtze and the people’s safety as bargaining chips. Only the courage on Yangzhou’s walls and the steadfast resistance in Jiangyin’s alleys preserved a shred of dignity in those chaotic times.
Chen Wang, a minor official in the Ministry of Rites, discovers a bloodstained plea for help from Yangzhou buried among the archives. The suffering of the refugees reveals to him the decay of the dynasty. With his pen as a blade, and under pressure from a court rife with surrender and the Qing army’s advancing hooves, he secretly writes Records of What I Saw in the Southern Capital, documenting the absurdity of the court, the horrors of the massacre, and the people’s defiance. Shen Qingyuan stands by him with steadfast resolve, while Elder Clerk Zhou protects him with what remains of his life. As Nanjing falls and all seems lost, the three take turns safeguarding this “testimony of the soul,” giving their lives to resist the oppression of shaved heads and Manchu dress, and answering the question, “Where has our integrity gone?”
When the waters of the Qinhuai River swallow the figures of the martyrs and Nanjing’s palaces become ruins, the manuscript hidden in the wall quietly passes from hand to hand, like the faint glow of a dying candle in the darkness of forced tonsures and imposed dress. Dynasties may perish, but memory endures; lands may be lost, but integrity lives on. This is the final song that ordinary people, swept along by the current of their age, left behind for the Great Ming and for civilization.
