Lin Siyin's birthday cell phone fell into the whirlpool of blue light on the Bund. When she connected it again, the wind of 1926 floated in the receiver——
"Are you the owner of this 'silver machine'?" Under the old banyan tree at Changzhou Military Academy, seventeen-year-old Jiang Xianchi held up his mobile phone, his voice as clear as a mountain stream. He said that he would wait for the success of the Northern Expedition to go to Shanghai to eat sweets, and said that he was writing "The Journey of the Beacon Smoke", but little did he know that she choked up the warning when facing the words "surnamed Jiang, died at the age of eighteen" in the history book.
Later, she saw the yellowed manuscript in the museum, with the old banyan tree drawn on the edge of the paper. The phone suddenly vibrated, and the young man's blood-stained voice was as soft as a sigh: "Sister Siyin, Taiping... Is it here?"
Calling across time and space
He didn't go to the date in Shanghai, but he let her live in his dream. What she can do is to take his name out of the historical figures and carve it into the morning light of the prosperous age.
Intention: He also lived!