LIGHT THEN WIND
When his plane landed in Milan, Zhan Xuan felt a sudden sense of wonder, as though he had “stepped into an oil painting.” It was his first time in Milan, while Paris was already his second visit. The two cities left him with very different impressions: Milan had the freshness of a first encounter, while Paris carried the familiarity of a reunion.
He wandered the streets outside the fashion shows, sat on benches by the river, and spent an entire afternoon immersed in an art museum. He carefully gathered these little fragments of the journey, like collecting scattered rays of light.
Zhan Xuan says that, to him, traveling is about more than simply seeing the sights. It is a way of rediscovering and understanding himself in different places.
“ACTOR” IS A VERB
Zhan Xuan approaches the word “actor” with an almost obsessive seriousness.
“‘Actor’ isn’t just a noun. Sometimes, it feels more like a verb. It means being able to slip beneath another person’s skin and live there for a while, allowing that person to keep breathing through you.”
“I truly want to become an actor,” he says calmly, without the slightest hesitation. “I hope that when people talk about actors, they’ll think of me.”
This conviction comes from somewhere. From a young age, Zhan Xuan had a desire to “be chosen.” Later, when he truly began acting, he started with very small roles and worked his way forward step by step.
Having never received formal acting training, he treasures every opportunity to learn and gain experience all the more. He says that he repeatedly studies and refines each role. Even if it is only a very brief appearance, he still thinks about the character’s backstory, their state of mind in that particular moment, and even the things the character never says out loud.
He carries this habit into his other work as well. During fashion week, he pays attention not only to whether an outfit looks good, but also imagines who might wear it, where that person might be going, and what they might be feeling at that moment.
He believes that fashion and acting are interconnected, they are both ways of telling stories, simply through different mediums.
“Every experience feeds back into my acting,” he says. “Everything you’ve seen, heard, and felt will quietly find its way into a character someday.”
THE MISUNDERSTOOD ODD ONE
Zhan Xuan has one quality that seems rather unusual for someone in the entertainment industry: he cares too much.
He cares about how others see him and whether every word he says is appropriate. He admits that he is “a little too concerned with other people’s opinions.” If he says something wrong, he immediately starts replaying it in his mind.
That kind of personality may not be particularly advantageous for a celebrity in the age of traffic and popularity calls for a certain degree of emotional detachment, while what he seeks is thoughtfulness and consideration in everything he does.
He describes himself as “an optimistic pessimist.” Pessimistic at his core, yet determined to maintain a bright, positive energy outwardly. This inner conflict reveals itself in many small ways. For instance, he actually “wants to be the odd one in other people’s eyes,” wanting to express himself more freely, yet at the same time he “overthinks things and can never be completely free.”
When it comes to being seen, the real test lies in whether what you express is truly received by the other person, “When you put something out there, did the other person catch it? How much did they catch? And can they respond to it?”
He cares about this kind of “response,” not out of vanity, but because he believes that much of what has brought him this far is the fact that there are people willing to see him, listen to him, and believe in him.
He says that sometimes he feels a quiet sense of “not deserving it.”
“It feels like I’m not yet capable enough to deserve this much attention and love from so many people. Some things came so suddenly, and they could disappear just as suddenly.”
This sense of unease doesn’t overwhelm him. Instead, it becomes a driving force, pushing him to give his all whenever an opportunity comes his way.
Zhan Xuan admits that he often gets caught up in his own thoughts, but he also realizes that there is another side to this tendency: being conscientious. Because he cares, he doesn’t simply go through the motions. Because he’s afraid of not doing well enough, he keeps reflecting, refining, and improving.
SLOWLY FERMENTING IN AN OAK BARREL
Zhan Xuan doesn’t have many friends. “It’s the same both inside and outside the industry, I have very few friends.”
He takes time to warm up to people, values deep connections, and cares about being on the same wavelength. He says he isn’t someone who actively maintains a large number of relationships, but once he considers someone a friend, he takes that relationship very seriously.
“I’d go through fire and water for my friends.”
He admits that he is the kind of person who is willing to give without expecting the same in return.
This same way of thinking extends to his relationship with his fans. He never sees them as people who simply support and pursue him from one side, deep down, he sees the relationship as something closer to friends moving toward each other from both directions.
“Being willing to understand is more valuable than simply understanding,” he says. “Understanding is the result; the willingness to understand is where it begins.”
Zhan Xuan sees this stage of his life as a period of building strength. He uses wine as a metaphor, it is left to rest quietly in an oak barrel, with no rush to bottle and sell it. Only with enough time can its flavor truly deepen. Another image he associates with this is a tree, its roots reaching downward matter more than how high it grows.
“Building strength doesn’t mean standing still,” he says. “It’s about making sure that everything I put out is more solid and grounded.”
His new song, “发光” (Shining), was written during this period. He says the lyrics came together very quickly because he had already envisioned so many scenes in his mind that once he poured them out, the song naturally took shape.
The song is for young people who, like him, are still finding their way through uncertainty. One lyric reads: “No matter how cold the world becomes, I’ll still believe, the fire burns within me.”
He has explained what that line means to him, don’t wait for someone else to shine a light on you, become that light yourself.
As the interview was drawing to a close, Zhan Xuan brought up that afternoon in Paris. He had set aside time to visit the Musée d’Orsay. Instead of rushing to see the museum’s most famous masterpieces, he followed a guide and listened to many of the lesser-known stories behind the paintings.
He said that when he talks about moments like these, there is a liveliness in his voice. It isn’t the calm, measured tone he usually speaks with, but rather the excitement of a child leaning over a display case to discover something new.
After returning to Beijing, he found himself missing that feeling. He often wants to find a café, spend an entire afternoon there, and do absolutely nothing. His schedule is packed, but he still makes sure to leave himself a little time to “zone out,” giving space to emotions he hasn’t quite figured out yet, and allowing those occasional flashes of inspiration to come: “Wait, until the stars at night become a river of silver.”
He knows where he wants to go, and he knows he hasn’t arrived there yet. But that’s okay, the road is slowly unfolding beneath his feet. Light then wind.
