白蛇記
An umbrella lent in the rain on West Lake — and the oldest love story in China, retold as a wuxia romance. She will not regret; he will not fear.

光走了两千年才到
The light took two thousand years to arrive.
An aurora is not a source. It is the visible residue of a collision that already happened — particles that left long ago, striking an atmosphere tonight, watched by someone who was not there when they left.
项羽在垓下唱了八个字,三十一岁死去。岳飞写下《满江红》时,十二道金牌已经在路上。李白被请出长安,仍然举起了杯子。嫦娥在月亮上守了几千年,等一首可以一起唱的歌;白娘子在断桥边,接过一把借来的伞。这些人、这些诗、这些传说,都像很久以前出发的光——至今还在抵达。
极光艺廊是一个人的独立工作室。用 AI 电影短片与原创音乐,重述流传千年的故事——有历史与诗词,也有神话与民间传说;有悲壮,也有温情与欢笑。每一部都附中英对照,译文力求配得上原文。
这些故事从中国出发,却早已走得很远:在日本,三国英雄被一遍遍重新讲述;在韩国,儒家的礼与义融进了日常;在越南,唐诗被代代吟诵;在南洋,先辈把它们带过大海,在异乡生根。每一处,都把它读成了自己的样子——同一道光,在不同的天空下被看见。文化不靠血缘传承,而靠有人愿意读下去。不问来处,只问共鸣。
我是阿峰,在马来西亚长大,隔着南海回望这些故事。离长安很远,却从未觉得它不属于我。没有团队,都在深夜里完成;慢,是因为每一帧都想做对。
Aurora Artscape is a one-person independent studio. Its films and original songs retell stories that have travelled for a thousand years — history and poetry, myth and folklore, tragedy and laughter — always with Chinese and English side by side. Born in China, they journeyed far: Japan keeps retelling the Three Kingdoms, Korea lives by Confucian courtesy, Vietnam recites Tang poetry, and our ancestors carried them across the sea to Southeast Asia. Each place made them its own — one light, seen from many skies. Culture isn’t inherited by blood, but by those who keep reading.
I’m Ah Feng. I grew up in Malaysia, far from Chang’an, and have never felt these stories weren’t mine. Made late at night, without a team — slow, because every frame should be right.
This is not a portfolio. It is an observatory. Every frame is AI-generated, then shaped by hand — the craft is in the direction, not the disguise.
An umbrella lent in the rain on West Lake — and the oldest love story in China, retold as a wuxia romance. She will not regret; he will not fear.
Three thousand years on the moon, pounding out a medicine that would let her go home just once. Tonight she stops, looks down — and finds the whole earth covered in lanterns.
The Banished Immortal, shown the door at Chang’an, raises a cup and says two opposite things in one breath — heaven made me, there must be a use for me, and let me stay drunk and never sober up.
Twelve gold tablets in a single day called him home from the closest the Southern Song ever came to reclaiming the north. He obeyed. He was thirty-nine.
On the night his empire ended, the Conqueror of Western Chu sang the only poem he ever left behind — and then asked the question it has never answered.
中秋的歌都在讲距离,这一首让大家一起唱。
Every Mid-Autumn song is about distance. This one is for singing together.
从狂到静,三分半钟走完了一个人生。
From wild to still — a whole life in three and a half minutes.
为一个知道自己来不及了的人而写。
Written for a man who already knew he had run out of time.
雪夜、寒原、余音不散。
Snow, the cold plain, and a sound that will not settle.
每有新片,寄信一封。
不常写,写则长。
A letter when there is a new film. Rarely, and never short.