At center stage hangs a semi-transparent, flowing water-textured curtain, splitting the space into two starkly lit zones.

Left zone: Cold, bluish dim light

Right zone: Warm, smoky ambient glow

Dressed in loose, plain white linen, the Little Prince stands alone along the mirror’s central axis. His fingertips gently press against the cool, rippling surface. The reflection shows only his solitary figure—no overlapping shadows, no other selves.

The Little Prince (voice tinged with long-held solitude, fingers tracing the mirror)

“This still-water mirror holds only wind, water, and streets emptied of people. The porcelain Trace seals all my unspoken inner secrets. The time-lapse images freeze cities stripped of human warmth. For over a decade—between Fuzhou, Saint Petersburg, Beijing—I’ve been like the crowned deity in The Door-Insect’s Pilgrimage: Growing Pains, my body wrapped in layers of social roles. Deep down, I only wish to retreat into this silent sanctuary and protect my purest self.”

Elder Performer (fingertip brushing the libretto line: “Let flowers bloom as they will; let life and death follow desire,” voice heavy with decades of sorrow)

“You hide in silent waters, avoiding the world—just like Du Liniang confined in her inner chambers. Only in dreams could she break free from ritual constraints and find her true self. But dreams end. No one survives in total isolation. You think purity comes from withdrawal? You’ve merely built another invisible cage.”

Little Prince (stepping back, eyes clouded with resistance and confusion)

“Du Liniang’s dream was liberation. My retreat is escape—from endless judgment, labels, expectations. The world defines me as ‘overseas returnee,’ ‘young artist,’ ‘junior heir.’ Must I step onto this noisy stage and let strangers assemble my identity for me?”

Elder Performer (striding forward, offering the faded floral crown; red robe enveloping them both in shadow)

“Liu Mengmei crossed worldly divides to meet his dream-lover’s soul. If you shut out all gazes, you’ll only see a fractured self. For sixty years I’ve performed—each spectator sees a different me. Those conflicting, overlapping reflections aren’t prisons—they’re essential fragments of wholeness. This Fujian festival crown? On a deity, it’s folklore. On a wandering son, it’s decades of homesickness. Every stranger’s gaze is another mirror.”

Little Prince (touching the crown, hand trembling, torn within)

“I fear that once I enter the world, my youthful fire—the part untouched by convention—will erode under countless eyes.”

The Maiden stands before a niche, her candle slicing their shadows apart. She weaves tales of trans-Eurasian exchange before revealing the tragedy of the Library Cave.

LI XINLONG

Maiden with Candle in the Cave, 2025

Oil on canvas, 240 × 135 cm

Little Prince (gripping the crown tightly, voice shaking with existential doubt)

“If entire civilizations can shatter, what hope is there for my fragile inner truth? Will my guarded self disintegrate completely in this vast, multicultural tide?”

Candle-Bearing Maiden (stepping closer; candlelight bridging them; stories layering with empathy)

“Chinese painters in Europe wove Eastern landscapes into cathedral frescoes. Persian monks fused foreign scriptures with Confucian ethics. Civilizations thrive not through unity, but through dispersion. Those scattered Dunhuang texts now spark cross-cultural dialogues worldwide. So too with people—you need not cling to a singular self.”

“Your journey—Fuzhou to Saint Petersburg to Beijing—is a modern Silk Road. You carry Fujian’s folk roots while absorbing foreign art and thought. True ‘spiritual wandering’ means embracing every self shaped by different cultures and encounters. Wholeness isn’t sameness—it’s multiplicity.”

Shelves overflow with bottled water, yellowed letters, handwritten worry notes, and vintage sundries—a homage to Letters from a Stranger’s Convenience Store. River ripples reflect through the window. Warm amber light bathes the space. The Keeper quietly sorts letters behind the counter.

LI XINLONG

Snack Shop of Solace, 2024

Oil on canvas, 150 × 210 cm

Snack Shop Keeper (tapping stacked letters; tone gentle yet incisive)

“Everyone who writes to this shop runs from their true self. You chase grand spiritual realms—but dismiss the daily grind of ordinary suffering. Academic struggles, homesickness, shattered dreams… these letters are mirrors too, reflecting your avoidance.”

Little Prince (emotional dam breaking after two ruins; voice strained)

“I just want to flee this endless sea of petty sorrows! Ordinary life drains my pure essence!”

Snack Shop Keeper (pushing forward a bottle filled with clear water)

“Mr. Namiya never turned away a troubled soul. Only by embracing the world’s joys and pains can you know yourself fully. Rivers connect homeland and foreign shores. Loneliness and human noise share the same source. To reject the mundane is to discard half your truth. Your real struggle? You’ve never seen yourself in the eyes of ordinary people.”

CHEN JIAXIN

Urban Illusion, 2025

Video installation, dimensions variable

(The Little Prince touches the interface. Data flows. The screen shifts to Life Mechanism: Fuzhou ferry docks, childhood You Shen processions, post-rain mudflats, coastal forests. His anxiety softens.）

HAN RUNZHE

Flux Matrix, 2025

Interactive installation, dimensions variable

AI Mechanical Narrator (sterile electronic tone)

“AIGC Emotional Spectrum Analysis active: Solitude 79, Social Resistance 71, Civilizational Confusion 84, Childhood Longing 92. External form: replicable. Virtual city: constructible. But authentic life memory: non-generatable. Initiating AIGC reconstruction of primary emotional anchor: childhood waterscape.”

Little Prince (staring at mutating digital clones, voice thick with accumulated rupture)

“Opera’s constraints, Dunhuang’s losses, urban sorrows—all crowd my mind. Now AI replicates and alters my face at will. These digital ghosts multiply, but none hold my contradictions. AIGC can fabricate a million exteriors—but never grasp the tangled, plural self within.”

Little Prince (setting down the candle, gazing at the painted child; voice calm, resolved)

“AI can build cities, avatars, illusions—but never my real childhood, my homesickness, my inner conflicts. These digital phantoms are rootless. My true self—fiery, fragile, lost, stubborn—is the only irreplaceable core.”

The dual water-mirror curtain fully merges. Left-side water ripples and right-side urban glows interweave. Vintage experimental telephones encircle the stage. Their receivers simultaneously broadcast: Kunqu melodies, Silk Road camel bells, street murmurs, and AI static—forming Phonetic Geography.

ZHAO YITONG

Phonetic Geography, 2025

Mixed-media installation, 28 × 20 × 10 cm

Little Prince (voice clear, resonant—blending tenderness and avant-garde conviction)

“After this journey through twin mirrors, I affirm three truths for my generation—summed in one phrase: Accept every version of yourself.

First: Solitude and engagement need not oppose. Both are valid. Don’t hide in silence, nor lose yourself in crowds. My quiet introspection and passionate encounters are equally me.

Second: Every mirror is a puzzle piece. Contradictions and fractures need not be severed. Du Liniang’s constraints, the Silk Road’s losses, urban anxieties—every joy, grief, shadow shapes me. Reject none.

Third: Technology fabricates illusions, but only lived multiplicity is real. AIGC spawns infinite standardized avatars—but my confusion, passion, fragility, stubbornness? That’s the uncopyable nucleus of my life.”