The haze that did not belong to this age made the ten-year-old Xin Muyan mature prematurely and close himself prematurely. The golden powder of the Six Dynasties, the old shadow of Qinhuai, this city may have originally belonged to him, or it may have never belonged to him. Youth is like a flask to him, mixing all the greed, hesitation, expectations, inferiority, and envy together to evaporate a bitter taste. When the wall of faith collapses and uneasiness and panic overwhelm him, will the warm and bright boy chasing the wind, like before, hold his hand tightly and say in an irrefutable tone: "Mu Yan, you are not allowed to leave."