The Song dynasty is nearing its end. Northern horses drink from the river, and beacon fires stretch across the old lands of the southeast. The court teeters in the storm, while each prefecture and county defends itself. No divine army descends from the heavens, no brilliant stratagem turns the tide. There are only ordinary officers and common folk, relying on the terrain and wielding spears as they struggle to delay the enemy among river channels and reed marshes. As the great edifice begins to fall, they know they cannot turn the tide, yet still refuse to bow their heads. In Jiangnan, the first beacon fire rises from a tiny patch of land, awaiting the day when the Central Plains can be reclaimed.
