In 1945, China was still in the turmoil following the end of the war against Japan, while the civil conflict between the Kuomintang and the Communists was gradually erupting. The city of Namjiang — a land half peaceful, half ravaged — became the frontier between the two forces. Dian Lei, 31, was a police officer in the Public Order Bureau under the Kuomintang government. He hailed from the rural region of Shandong and had a past in the military before transferring to the police after the war. He carried two burdens: loyalty to his country and the haunting memories of the battlefield — where he had witnessed comrades being killed in an internal betrayal. Since then, Dian Lei had become cold, stern, and at times ruthless in carrying out his duties. One day, he received orders to sweep a group of reactionaries hiding in the outskirts — an area that included Namjiang High School, where Zi Du, a young teacher of 23, had just been assigned for over three months. Zi Du had studied in Nanjing and held progressive ideas, believing that knowledge could save the country. He had never held a gun, only chalk and a blackboard. In the eyes of his students, Zi Du was gentle and calm, yet he carried a lingering regret: his father had once been an official of the previous regime, punished for corruption. Therefore, he always sought to prove that the younger generation could be different — pure, honest, and benevolent. When Dian Lei and his police team arrived at the school to check for hidden fugitives, the two met for the first time. A brief encounter: Dian Lei’s suspicious gaze, his stern voice, and Zi Du’s strangely composed demeanor. When interrogated, Zi Du replied frankly, “I only teach. If any reactionaries are hiding in my class, I wouldn’t know.” Dian Lei noticed a forbidden book on his desk: On Liberty. He remained silent, made no record, and only said, “In times of chaos, freedom is a luxury. But if you can keep your integrity, that is freedom enough.” Zi Du looked at him and replied, “If one cannot maintain integrity, then even with a gun in hand, one is still a prisoner.” Those words made Dian Lei pause — for a moment, it was as if they saw the remaining pieces of each other reflected in a mirror: one believed in order, the other in ideals. Both were right, yet in a collapsing country, being “right” became dangerous. So, what will the future of their story hold?