FQ chapter 43

Although they’d decided to visit, it wasn’t until the next evening that Luan Ye had Fan Qing contact Li Hongkuo to ask for the studio’s address.

The following afternoon, the two set off for the studio.

Li Hongkuo’s studio wasn’t in Xuehu Village or the nearby town, but in a small ancient town a bit farther away. The town was modestly famous—not as commercialized as major tourist cities, but busier than Xuehu. A clear stream flowed alongside the street, with lush aquatic plants swaying in the water, winding its way through various alleys.

Guided by navigation, they entered a remote alley where the studio was tucked at the very end. Afraid they might get lost, Li Hongkuo waited at the alley entrance. Upon seeing Luan Ye and Fan Qing, he warmly greeted them and reached out to shake hands.

“Mr. Luan, Mr. Fan, thank you for coming.”

He reached toward Luan Ye first, but seeing that Luan Ye made no move to shake hands, Fan Qing stepped in and shook his hand first.

“No trouble,” Fan Qing said, not letting go just yet. “Your studio is inside?”

“Yes, yes.” Li Hongkuo looked at their empty hands, momentarily confused.

Luan Ye looked like he really was just here to check it out—he hadn’t even brought a camera.

“Even though I came, I might not shoot anything,” Luan Ye said flatly. “Let’s see first.”

“Sure, just a look is fine!” Li Hongkuo quickly composed himself and gestured for them to follow. “It’s just inside.”

Once he turned to lead the way and stopped trying to shake hands, Fan Qing let go. They followed him down the short alley. At the end was a courtyard with a sign above the entrance. The most eye-catching were two large, simple characters:

“Bu Ji” (No Hurry)

Below it in smaller text: Intangible Cultural Heritage Paper-Making Studio.

Fan Qing laughed and looked at Luan Ye. Luan Ye smiled. “Your studio’s name is No Hurry, huh?”

Li Hongkuo looked a little shy and chuckled. “A reminder to myself.”

The studio was essentially a rented traditional courtyard with two rooms and a yard. The paper-making process was all set up in the yard, with various materials and tools arranged neatly. Li Hongkuo began explaining everything in detail.

“This is rao flower bark, the raw material. First, we dry it in bamboo trays and remove impurities. Then soak it for three to five days before steaming it.”

He pointed at a large wooden mortar in the courtyard. “After that, it’s pounded here until it turns into pulp. Sometimes it takes three or four rounds of pounding—until it’s fully mashed and unrecognizable as bark. Then we put it here.”

He moved toward a stone trough and paper molds.

“In water, we slowly lift the paper screens out, one by one. Then we lay them on wooden boards to dry. Once dry, they’re clipped onto racks and left to set for several days. After they’ve fully taken shape, we trim the edges and bind them with linen thread and needles.”

Lines of clothesline-like ropes crisscrossed the courtyard, holding papers of various sizes clipped up and fluttering in the wind.

Luan Ye reached out to touch one—slightly rough, thick, with visible fiber textures.

“The bound notebooks are sold inside,” Li Hongkuo said.

He led them into one of the rooms, where books lined the shelves neatly. A woman in ethnic dress was dusting them. When she saw the visitors, she shyly smiled and quickly left, seeming a bit embarrassed to meet strangers.

“Yang Jie at the studio also makes paper,” Li Hongkuo explained. “Usually, it’s just the two of us managing the place.”

Luan Ye glanced down at the price tags—ranging from eighty or ninety to a couple hundred yuan—not exactly cheap.

“Do people buy them?” Fan Qing asked.

Li Hongkuo gave a bitter smile. “Buy? You two are the only ones who came to look this whole week.”

After touring the studio, the group sat down at a tea table in the courtyard.

The tea table was round, with three people seated around it. Luan Ye sat diagonally across from Fan Qing. He was sipping his tea, looking calm and thoughtful.

Li Hongkuo asked, “Mr. Luan, what do you think of my place?”

“You mean the business or the photography?” Luan Ye replied.

Li Hongkuo was caught off guard. “Well… maybe both?”

Luan Ye put down his cup. “Both are average.”

Fan Qing immediately shot him a look—granted, it was average, but that was too blunt.

Thankfully, Luan Ye was just straightforward. Li Hongkuo looked even more stunned but wasn’t offended. He sincerely asked, “Mr. Luan, please tell me.”

“The products and the setting are too simple. The photos lack a clear subject. The papermaking process is interesting, but if you’re going to photograph each step individually, then the subjects, background, lighting, and props all need to be redone. Otherwise, the composition is too fragmented—people will just scroll past it online without a second thought.”

Fan Qing looked at Luan Ye. It was the first time he’d heard him speak so much about his profession.

Li Hongkuo scratched his head. “Then what about photographing the finished products?”

“That would be even worse,” Luan Ye continued. “The lighting inside is poor, and you only have notebooks and letter paper—too few subjects, nothing novel. Forget storytelling; even creating atmosphere with light and shadow is hard.”

Luan Ye’s tone was calm and focused. He didn’t look at Fan Qing, but Fan Qing couldn’t take his eyes off him.

Luan Ye speaking passionately about his profession, and the usually reserved version of him—both were equally captivating to Fan Qing, each in a different way.

This cool and rational version of Luan Ye gave Fan Qing a glimpse of someone he hadn’t fully seen before—a man who had worked abroad, someone nine years older, who had truly seen the world.

Li Hongkuo suddenly understood, “No wonder when I took the photos myself or hired others, no one really paid attention. Mr. Luan, let me tell you about some photos I took before…”

Fan Qing looked at Luan Ye a moment longer before picking up his tea again.

Just as the warm tea touched his lips, he felt someone lightly kick his shoe.

He stopped mid-sip and looked down.

Luan Ye was wearing the blue jeans they’d bought last time in the city—his legs long and stretched out. His upper body and gaze remained still, focused on Li Hongkuo, but his foot nudged Fan Qing’s again.

…Mr. Luan, I just called you a mature adult! Can you be serious for a moment?

Fan Qing resumed sipping his tea. When Luan Ye kicked him a third time, he gently stepped on the tip of Luan Ye’s shoe.

Luan Ye shot him a quick glance and pretended to sip his tea. Fan Qing caught the slight curve at the corner of his lips behind the cup.

Fan Qing smiled, lifted his foot, and took another sip of tea.

Li Hongkuo seemed tired from talking. Seeing them both drinking tea, he joined in, then immediately asked, “Mr. Luan, how do you think I should improve things?”

Luan Ye put down his cup. “You could film a video of the papermaking process—not too long—but focus on smooth transitions and lighting. That would make it more engaging. Photos are possible too, but you’d need to adjust many elements, especially the background and props. And just having these few products won’t work. Can you make anything else?”

“…What?”

Li Hongkuo looked confused. “What else can I make from paper? I’ve been making notebooks and letter paper my whole life. Oh, and bookmarks and postcards—but those didn’t sell well.”

Luan Ye turned to Fan Qing. “What do you think?”

Fan Qing glanced at the gently swaying papers in the courtyard and spoke:

“Fans, or paper umbrellas, lanterns, paper sculptures, small ornaments… things like that.”

There was a hint of a smile in Luan Ye’s eyes as he looked at him.

Li Hongkuo was stunned. “I’ve never made any of that…”

“Then try making a few,” Luan Ye said. “Besides finished products, you can also enhance the process. Add in flowers or leaves—don’t crush them completely, leave a shadowy impression for a more natural feel.”

“But wouldn’t that make it hard for customers to write on?” Li Hongkuo asked.

“Who buys a notebook on vacation to write in? For journaling?” Luan Ye sighed.

“It needs to look good and be meaningful—ideally with a unique touch. You said the notebook was originally meant for painting local spirits and folklore—can you draw?”

“I can a bit,” Li Hongkuo replied instinctively, a bit dazed. “My grandfather could. Yang Jie can too.”

“Then draw some. The photos might need them,” Luan Ye said. “You can even sell them.”

Li Hongkuo looked like he was about to object again—probably thinking how customers would write in them. Fan Qing interrupted him: “If you’re selling, let customers choose and draw for them on the spot.”

“Also, you can include some calligraphy,” Luan Ye added. “When they buy a notebook, write a few auspicious phrases: ‘Family harmony,’ ‘Lifelong love,’ ‘Success in exams,’ ‘Smooth sailing’—that sort of thing.”

Fan Qing glanced at Luan Ye at the last two phrases.

“I… I’d better find a notebook to write all this down.” Li Hongkuo stood up, paced a bit, then sat back down—clearly torn.

“I’ve never done anything like this before. When my grandfather passed it on to me, this paper was just used for copying scriptures and painting. Even when his father—my great-grandfather—taught him, it was the same…”

“You need people to see it and be willing to buy it, or there’ll be no one left to pass it on to,” Fan Qing cut him off. “Otherwise, once we leave today, it’ll go back to no one visiting.”

Luan Ye smiled slightly.

“I… I’ll try.” Li Hongkuo scratched his head again, “I’ll give it a try. But if I manage to make something… Mr. Luan, would you help me shoot it?”

Luan Ye paused for a few seconds, then said, “Try first, then we’ll talk.”

As they left the studio, Li Hongkuo repeatedly asked them to stay for a meal. When he realized he couldn’t convince them, he walked them all the way to the parking lot.

“Thank you, thank you Mr. Luan, thank you Mr. Fan.”

“No need to thank us yet,” Luan Ye smiled. “We haven’t even agreed to shoot anything.”

“That’s okay, Mr. Luan.” Li Hongkuo, now fully recovered from his earlier daze, spoke sincerely. “The fact that you came and offered so many ideas—I’m already really grateful.”

….

On the way back, Fan Qing asked, “Are you going to help him shoot?”

Even though Luan Ye had said “maybe,” Fan Qing could tell from all the advice he gave that he’d basically made up his mind.

“If I do, it’ll still be a few days away,” Luan Ye said, eyes closed to rest. “I only have a general idea right now—still need to see if his work is usable. And I’m not very good at video. If it comes to that, I’ll need to consult someone more professional.”

Fan Qing responded, “So what now—?”

“Let’s find a place to eat. Then you come back with me.”

Fan Qing blinked and looked at him.

“To clean my shoes,” Luan Ye added.

“…Sure.” Fan Qing chuckled and nodded.