In Shanghai in the 1930s, life and wealth were intertwined with hatred of the country and the family. Jazz music plays all night long in the concession, but the smoke of war is already drifting from the Huangpu River. In this precarious era, the fate of countless people has been swept up in the torrent of history. The artillery fire of the Battle of Songhu turned the ten-mile ocean field into scorched earth, and what followed was eight years of displacement. From Shanghai to Chongqing, from Kunming to Hong Kong, every passing night hides broken promises. In the sound of the ferry whistle in 1949, a strait separated half a century. Years have passed, but the bell on the Bund still rings on time, but we can no longer wait for the promised reunion. Those unsent letters turned yellow on the bottom of the camphor box, becoming the most silent witness of the turbulent times.
