#ji can

As the project was drawing to a close, I pulled the script out again from the very back of the closet.

The pages were crumpled and their edges curled up, covered in notes written with markers of every color, along with little doodles of foxes, dragons, and berries-strawberries, raspberries, one by one-that I'd sketched when I was bored. Of course, the most eye-catching scene was the wrap party, decked out with confetti, smiling faces, and crying faces. I finally realized that my "a wu" is actually my "a wu."

Just a few days before the series wrapped, I took Abebe Ahou-my little figurine that had been perched on my nightstand-and moved it out onto the balcony. The sun was shining beautifully that day, so l let it bask in the warmth. As I watched it there, I was struck by a memory from the show: now, all those years ago, it had sat alone on the windowsill, waiting for me for decades.

On the final day, however, the sky outside the window was no longer bright; it was gray and overcast, much like the backdrop of a certain scene in "The Chronicles of Lunar Scales." Yet I couldn't quite pinpoint which one. Perhaps it's like the water's surface as seen from that pile of puppets lying at the bottom of the lake-therein lies their sky

The wind of Nandang Mountain, the waters of Yumian Lake, the red candles in the Wei Manor-along with the little lambs grazing by the Aodeng River, the candlelight that has flickered endlessly within the Scaled Cave, and the snowflakes drifting in through the window like sparks of fire...

The six "him" s who have been with me for nearly two years have finally come to stand before me, accompanying me day after day in tears and laughter. And now, they are about to leave. The footprints of your arrival, the fading silhouette of your departure-each step seems to weigh on my breath, leaving my chest tight and heavy. Maybe it's just that I don't have many dramas airing. Every time a show wraps up, l'm overcome by an indescribable sense of loss. I wonder if things will get any better in the future. Alas.

I still remember how, the first time I finished reading the script, I was both thrilled and flustered-like having stumbled into a vast labyrinth. I knew that dazzling, precious treasures lay ahead, waiting for me, yet I had no idea how to reach them. To transform into six utterly distinct characters-what incredible luck for me as an actor! It's a challenge that could almost be called "luxurious."

First, I am to become that nameless, blind little earth fox.

It is the starting point of every journey - joyful and simple. His world is made up of the wind whistling at the cave entrance, wildflowers by the lake, and raspberries that alternate between tart and sweet. Its joys and sorrows are so simple that the greatest sadness is simply not being able to enjoy fresh raspberries in winter. For a time, I was lost in that pure joy-until I saw the gears of fate grind its innocence to dust. Clutching the kindness he was born with, he stepped into a fate that even the gods could only sigh over. I've always loved the place where the little fox was born-"Jade Sleep Lake." What beautiful three characters. But I don't know why it's called that. Later, I found the answer in the lyrics of "Chizi Ru Hu," which the director wrote for me, and "Yu Mian," which he wrote for Teacher Liu Yuning: "Within circle after circle of ripples, jade lies in deep slumber," and "Gentleness is repaid—like jade in deep slumber."

A noble person embodies perfect goodness, gentle and serene like jade, repaying kindness with tenderness. Ai, little fox.

Then, the world grew dark, and I became the blind Jiling.

I have begun to experience human senses and emotions. Without sight, he relies on his ears and fingertips to feel the wind's contours, to trace the scratches on the walls and the tears in the rag doll. To hear the muffled sobs from across the room, as well as the New Year's Eve fireworks and the falling snow outside the window. When I was portraying him, my heart was utterly calm. He made me believe that as long as there's light within us, it truly can pierce through darkness and chaos.

But the one who seemed most elated was probably that puppet into which a spirit had been infused. A lot of people like him, and I like him too.

He was like a joyful note leaping from the very pinnacle of Jiling's soul, retaining innocence yet stripped of every cruel scar time had left behind.

Playing him is my rare moment of respite amid all the heavy, oppressive scenes. Every day when I see "Jiling scenes" listed on the call sheet, I can't help but smile, humming a tune as I hop into the car and head off to makeup. If there really were a magic scissor that could cut out a slice of time, I think everyone would want to preserve the most precious moment of their lives.

But where there is lightness, there is also heaviness. Soon, I will become the Dragon God.

The Dragon God's name is a solitary, snow-capped peak. He holds the supreme divine rank, yet he also bears a heavy yoke. When I'm playing him, my body feels heavy, and my voice grows weak as I deliver the lines-like something is clutching my heart. Sometimes I joke and say, "I know-it's Jican." It will ultimately consume me, yet it also loves me and does everything in its power to save me.

The coldness of Jican is like the very pinnacle of utter stillness-no echoing sighs to be heard, a hollow valley devoid of flowers and hue. To embody him, one must empty oneself completely, stripping away all outwardly expressed emotions, so that the performance becomes a state of near-emptiness. Not sadness, not pain, but nothingness. There's nothing—no desires, no wants. All I long for is to return to the past, to those carefree days of my youth: to wake up to the scorching summer sun and the incessant chirping of cicadas, with blizzards and the cruel hand of fate far, far away.

Finally, there's Yuan Xizai. It was as if everything had returned to the starting point. Like the little fox, he, too, had been born blind. Yet compared with the fox's innocent, ardent spirit, he was but a timid flicker of flame-so faint that it scarcely dared to pierce the darkness, let alone illuminate it. He was timid and always wanted to hide, hiding behind his parents and behind his brother. The only brave thing he ever did was to tell his older brother, "Brother, just let me die. I've already brought this family to ruin."

One person, six sides-moving back and forth among them. Over the hundred-odd days on set, today I am a lively puppet infused with spirit; tomorrow, I must sink into the ageless solitude of the Dragon God. Just now I was still drifting in the desolate void of emptiness, and the next moment I must rekindle that tiny, almost-extinguished flame in the eyes of the Xizai.

My emotions feel as though they've been divided into six rooms, and every day I have to carefully open a different door.

On the day we wrapped up, as I removed my headdress for the very last time and gazed into the mirror at someone who was finally just Tian Jiarui, a profound sense of exhaustion mingled with an overwhelming feeling of fulfillment. I know that each of them has a tiny fragment of their soul, forever dwelling within my body. Jiling.

A few days ago, I happened to be filming and returned to that very set of the Aodeng Tribe. I retraced every step of the scene as it was etched in my memory. During a break from filming, I sat by the water, lost in thought, and skipped a few stones across the surface. But here there was no more Lu Wuyi, no snow-covered thatched cottage, no bonfire, and no bleating little lambs.

Only I am left. But I'm also not really ManMan anymore.

Thank you to "Veil of Shadows" and Youku for allowing me to embark on such a luxurious journey of performance and self-cultivation.

Thank you to the director and my fellow cast and crew for walking with me through six distinct roles, helping me navigate their challenges and bringing this dazzling yet believable world to life for everyone. I would also like to thank all the audience who walked into this story. Thank you for seeing the pain and happiness of the spirit, understanding the greatness and sorrow of the dragon god, and loving the innocence and weakness of the puppet and Yuan Xizai. Perhaps, you also stopped quietly for a moment and sighed a little in front of the lonely snow plain named Jican.

The road ahead is still long. Like a fox with a pure heart, I will carry forward the untainted sincerity I found by Yu Mian Lake and keep on walking. "I will make wildflowers bloom throughout the heavens and earth."

I believe that on some night, when you look up at the moon and the evening breeze carries the briny scent of a distant lake, a melody will surely stir in your heart-reminding you of them, of her, of it. I will surely remember that little fox, too—how, in its brief life, it taught me just how great an ordinary, kind-hearted person can be.

Don't be sad, don't cry. I'll always be by your side.

I'll be with you.

Goodbye.