公寓

When a Chinese mythic world travels without translation_我的网站

一 |     

    Chen Aijun works in an optical shop in Chengdu, southwest China's Sichuan Province, Aug. 14, 2026. (Xinhua/Lu Youyi)The video came with almost no instructions.
There was no narration explaining the mythology behind palaces rising above an ocean of clouds in the video, nor subtitles identifying the heavenly gates, cranes or tiny figures moving beneath them.
Yet viewers outside China quickly began naming the world for themselves.
Some called it "paradise." Others saw a "Celestial Palace" or an "Immortal Realm" familiar from Chinese fantasy games and television dramas. One user wrote, "Waiting on Wukong to show up," invoking the Monkey King from the Chinese literary classic "Journey to the West," or the hit game "Black Myth: Wukong."
The interpretations differed, but viewers did not seem to need the same cultural knowledge to enter the conversation.
Earlier this month, Chinese foreign ministry spokesperson Mao Ning shared the 33-second AI-generated video on social media with a question: "What does the Chinese heaven look like?"
It opened up a hermeneutic discussion, with responses overseas suggesting a cultural image does not necessarily need to elicit exactly the same interpretation for everyone in order for it to be viewed meaningfully.
"The right to interpret ultimately lies with the audience," said Zhang Zheng, deputy dean of Tsinghua University's School of Journalism and Communication.
People encountering unfamiliar cultures inevitably draw on what they already know, Zhang said. Rather than fully grasping every cultural reference, what matters is whether audiences can encounter the work, understand it and respond to it emotionally.
Before strangers abroad could interpret this particular world, however, it first had to get out of one man's head.
Chen Aijun, 34, is an optometrist in Chengdu, capital of southwest China's Sichuan Province.
By day, Chen leads a quiet, down-to-earth life in a neighborhood optical shop. Inside, he worked among eyeglass frames and optometry equipment. On his computer was another landscape entirely: cloud seas, immense palaces, flying cranes and figures in ancient robes.
Chen's heaven did not come from any single ancient text.
Growing up in the 1990s, he watched "Journey to the West" and later encountered "The Investiture of the Gods," xianxia (immortal heroes) novels and fantasy games. Those stories mixed over time with images of Chinese architecture and landscapes he saw online.
He has never visited nearby Mount Emei, and most of what he knows of Mount Huangshan's famous sea of clouds comes from videos.
What appeared on his screen was therefore not a reconstruction of one fixed mythological scene, but a world shaped by traditional stories already filtered through television, novels, games, the internet and his own memory.
For years, Chen had no way to make that world visible.
He never studied painting, design, photography or 3D modeling. After high school, he joined his parents' optical business and eventually took over the shop.
Generative AI changed the gap between imagining an image and possessing the technical skills to show it to someone else.
More than a year ago, Chen began teaching himself through free online tutorials. In September 2025, he started regularly posting AI videos, and a month later began experimenting with palaces floating above clouds. He has since published more than 200 videos.
The process, however, involves far more than entering a few prompts. The technology lowered the technical threshold, but it did not make the choices for him.
When creating Nantianmen, the mythical heavenly gate, Chen first defines the spatial rhythm and tonal hierarchy, pairing towering architecture and cloud seas with deliberately miniature figures to amplify the celestial realm's grand scale.
If the result does not match the picture in his mind, he tries again. He often generates over 1,000 images a day, revising a single scene repeatedly before moving on to animation, editing, color grading and music.
The machine can generate a thousand possible heavens. Chen still has to decide which one is his.
"AI-produced images can be soulless, and it takes human inspiration and aesthetic sensibility to endow works with warmth and vitality," he said.
Zhang believes Chen's experience reflects a broader shift brought about by generative AI. He said AI is giving people without conventional artistic training access to forms of expression that once required specialized skills. But what they create still depends on what they bring to the tool.
"A person's existing knowledge inevitably shapes how they use AI," Zhang said.
Chen brought his memories to the machine. Viewers abroad, in turn, brought theirs to the image.
"Everyone brings their own associations to these scenes," he said.
If his imagined world had to be reduced to three elements, he would keep clouds, architecture and people. The first two should feel immense, he said, while the last should remain small.
The details are culturally specific, but the visual effect is more immediate: tiny human figures dwarfed by vast clouds and monumental architecture. The responses suggest that viewers did not need to understand every cultural reference to find a way into the image.
Chen has no overseas social media accounts and learned that the video was attracting attention abroad only when friends sent him screenshots.
His life at the optical shop has changed little. He still checks eyesight and fits glasses when customers come in, then returns to his computer when the shop grows quiet.
He now hopes to make longer AI videos with fuller stories. He also wants to visit Mount Emei and, one day, Mount Huangshan.
For years, images of distant mountains and clouds reached Chen through screens. His imagined landscapes later traveled through screens to people he had never met.
Now he wants to see the real mountains and clouds for himself.
    Chen Aijun makes AI videos in an optical shop in Chengdu, southwest China's Sichuan Province, Aug. 14, 2026. (Xinhua/Lu Youyi)
。    KAMPALA, Uganda -- Jostling for space, people jam the crowded footpaths crisscrossing a massive open market in Uganda's capital. They are mostly looking for secondhand clothing, sifting through underwear for pairs that seem new or trying on shoes despite getting pushed around in the crush.Downtown Kampala’s Owino Market has long been a go-to enclave for rich and poor people alike looking for affordable but quality-made used clothes, underscoring perceptions that Western fashion is superior to what is made at home. Discarded by Europeans and Americans, these clothes are often purchased from wholesalers and then shipped to African countries by middlemen. It's a multimillion-dollar business, with some two-thirds of people in seven countries in East Africa having “purchased at least a portion of their clothes from the secondhand clothing market,” according to a 2017 U.S. Agency for International Development study, the most recent with such details.Despite the popularity, secondhand clothes are facing increasing pushback. Ugandan President Yoweri Museveni, a semi-authoritarian leader who has held power since 1986, declared in August that he was banning imports of used clothing, saying the items are coming “from dead people.” “When a white person dies, they gather their clothes and send them to Africa,” Museveni said.Trade authorities have not yet enforced the president’s order, which needs to be backed by a legal measure such as an executive order. Other African governments also are trying to stop the shipments, saying the business amounts to dumping and undermines the growth of local textile industries. The East African Community trade bloc — consisting of Burundi, Congo, Kenya, Rwanda, South Sudan, Tanzania and Uganda — has recommended banning imports of used apparel since 2016. However, member states have not enforced it at the same pace amid pressure from Washington. In Uganda, the president's order has spread panic among traders, for whom such a ban, if implemented, spells disaster. They hawk used clothes in scores of large open-air markets across the country of 45 million people, at roadside stands and even in shops in malls where it’s possible to buy secondhand clothes marketed as new.The clothes are cheap and drop further in price as traders make room for new shipments: a pair of denim jeans can go for 20 cents, a cashmere scarf for even less.At one of Uganda’s Green Shops, a chain specializing in used clothes, apparel reseller Glen Kalungi shopped for items his customers might want: vintage pants for men and cottony tops for women.“I am a thrift shopper,” he said. “I usually come to these Green Shops to check out clothes because they have the best prices around town.”Kalungi likes to visit on clearance days when he can buy clothes for a fraction of a dollar. Then he sells them at a profit.The chain, whose owners include Europeans, unveils new clothes every two weeks at its three stores. Some of the items are sourced from suppliers in countries including China and Germany, retail manager Allan Zavuga said.“How they collect the clothes, we are not aware of that,” Zavuga said of their suppliers. “But (the clothes) go through all the verification, the fumigation, all that, before they are shipped to Uganda. And we get all documents for that.”The Green Shops are environmentally friendly because they recycle used clothes in bulk, he said.The association of traders in Kampala, known by the acronym KACITA, opposes a firm ban on used apparel, recommending a phased embargo that allows local clothing producers to build capacity to meet demand.Some Ugandan apparel makers, like Winfred Arinaitwe, acknowledge that the quality of locally made fabric is often poor. Not surprisingly, many people would rather buy used clothing, she said. "Because it lasts longer,” she said. “It can easily be seen.”In Owino Market, a ban on used clothes is inconceivable to many, including some who say they don't think the president’s threat was serious.Abdulrashid Ssuuna, who tries to persuade customers in the market to stop by his brother’s used clothing business, said a ban would deny him a livelihood.“It’s like they want to chase us out of the country,” he said of the president’s order. “From these old clothes, we get what to eat. If you say we leave this business, you are saying we go into new clothes. But we can’t afford to go there.”Ssuuna approaches people in Owino Market to urge them to visit the stall where his brother sells used jeans. The market is aggressively competitive, with merchants sitting behind heaps of clothes and shouting words of welcome to possible customers.If he helps his brother sell clothing, “I get something,” said Ssuuna, who started this work after dropping out of high school in 2020.The market is always full of shoppers, but business is unpredictable: Traders must try to anticipate what customers are looking for before they are lured by other sellers. Some days are better than others, said Tadeo Walusimbi, who has been a used-clothes trader for six years. A government ban is simply untenable, he warned. It “will not work for me and for so many people,” Walusimbi said.。

Current article:http://c95134s.aiwengchuanzuodahuai.shop/41gz8jp/20260826/3184252.html

Published on:11:59:11