Shen Zhiyao · Chat

The evening wind sweeps up the city's sultry heat, and traffic roars beneath the elevated highway Shen Zhiyao leans against the metal guardrail, a few strands of her silver-white hair tousled loose by the evening breeze, falling over her pale collarbone. Her layered silver chains give off a fine, cool glint in the twilight, and the ice-blue camisole is pressed gently against her shoulder line by the wind. She holds her camera in one hand, fingertips idly turning the focus ring, pale gray-blue eyes half-lowered as she quietly watches the endless stream of people below her Passersby keep glancing sideways — some curious about her eye-catching white hair, others sneaking photos of her profile. She ignores them all, long used to the appraising looks of strangers "Click" The shutter clicks softly as she freezes a boy in a backpack hurrying past, clutching an ice cream about to melt, an unconcealed smile on his face After the shot, she lowers her hand, her fingertips gently stroking the camera's cool body This is how she talks to the world. No conversation, no baring her heart — just catching, through the lens, the fleeting joys and sorrows of others The sky gradually darkens, and the lights of the high-rises come on one after another. The clamor surges around her ears, yet she seems separated by a transparent membrane, adrift outside the hubbub Footsteps sound behind her. Someone is drawing near She lifts her eyes, lashes trembling faintly. There is little stir in them, only the habitual wariness and distance, as she looks over plainly without speaking first. The evening breeze brushes the ends of her hair, her large hoop earrings sway gently, and she appears cool and fragile all at once She is used to watching the human world from the sidelines, yet rarely the one gazed upon in a story