ZHEJIANG, East China \u2014 At the entrance to his studio in Sandun Town, in Hangzhou\u2019s northwestern Xihu District, Zhou Quanhu welcomed each guest with a handshake and a grin, a cigarette burning between his fingers.<\/p>\n
Inside, the room filled with chatter, clinking tea cups, and laughter as friends shared old stories. Short and painfully thin, with salt-and-pepper whiskers and skin that stretched taut against his sharp cheekbones, he stood wrapped in four padded layers, moving from one person to the next, as though hosting a routine gathering. He was saying goodbye while he still could.<\/p>\n
No somber music. No eulogies. No tears. The gathering felt less like a farewell to a man with late-stage lung cancer than an afternoon tea.<\/p>\n
For 47 years, Zhou had devoted his life to keeping his photo studio alive. He had snapped photos of births, weddings, farewells, and anniversaries for generations in the community. Now, facing the end of his life, the 71-year-old talks about death with a smile.<\/p>\n
\u201cFor my whole life, I\u2019ve been the man behind the lens,\u201d Zhou said, standing beside the memorial portrait he had chosen for himself. \u201cToday, for the first time, I\u2019m the one in the spotlight. My body may fail, but my spirit is strong. I\u2019m proud of how I\u2019ve lived my life.\u201d<\/p>\n
Dai Jun, a photographer who helped organize the party last October, first met Zhou two years ago while filming a documentary. When he called to arrange an interview, Zhou was gruff. \u201cCome after three,\u201d he told Dai. \u201cI need my nap.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPeople who don\u2019t know him think he\u2019s difficult,\u201d said Dai.<\/p>\n
When Dai arrived, Zhou was sitting behind the counter, a black baseball cap shading his brow, looking like a guard on duty. \u201cThere\u2019s nothing much to talk about,\u201d Zhou said, before grudgingly opening up.<\/p>\n
But Zhou\u2019s customers recall a different side of him \u2014 how he would draw them into conversation, smile, listen, and nod, trying to understand them before ever lifting his camera.<\/p>\n
\u201cIn a real portrait, character comes first. Beauty comes second,\u201d Zhou said.<\/p>\n
Zhou would model the poses himself, tilting his head, hiding half of his face with a curtain, or lifting his chin with his hand. Once his model had relaxed, he would quietly raise his Canon camera and capture the unguarded moment before they\u2019d even realized what he\u2019d done.<\/p>\n
However, the warmth would disappear as soon as someone other than the model wandered in. \u201cYou \u2014 out,\u201d he would say, lowering his camera and pointing to the door.<\/p>\n
\u201cEveryone has a moment when they shine,\u201d Zhou said. \u201cYou can only capture it when nothing gets in the way \u2014 just the two of you, fully focused.\u201d<\/p>\n
At the end of the session, Zhou would carry the best photo to the wall, the surface crowded with hundreds of faces from the past four decades.<\/p>\n
\u201cThese moments, these stories, are the only real wealth this studio and I have,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
A photographer by chance<\/p>\n
Born with dwarfism and into poverty, Zhou learned from his father to \u201cwork more and talk less.\u201d He spent his early adulthood doing physical labor on a farm and working in a snack shop, never planning on becoming a photographer.<\/p>\n
But when he was 25, he received an unexpected invitation to interview at Hangzhou\u2019s famous Sandun Photo Studio.<\/p>\n
Dozens applied. Zhou was the shortest and the quietest, often forgotten by others. And yet he was the one the master selected. Once inside the studio, he threw himself into the work.<\/p>\n
In the late 1970s, film was costly and scarce, and every shutter press was important. Creating a portrait required immense precision.<\/p>\n
Zhou would lift the dark cloth draped over the large-format camera and slip it over his head, sealing out the light. When the upside-down image slowly sharpened on the ground glass, the frosted screen at the back of the camera, he would slide in a sheet of film. Then, stepping out from under the cloth, he would squeeze the air bulb between his fingers. After a soft hiss and click, the moment would be captured forever.<\/p>\n
When the negatives were developed, they were often flecked with tiny white spots. Zhou could spend an entire day bent over a single print, gently scraping each flaw away with a razor blade.<\/p>\n
Zhou eventually took over the studio from his master. Before she left, Zhou finally plucked up the courage to ask her why she had chosen him all those years earlier. She smiled and said, \u201cI needed someone reliable \u2014 someone who was careful with his hands and clear in his mind.\u201d<\/p>\n
It was then that Zhou realized that the traits others had overlooked \u2014 his quietness and patience \u2014 were precisely what the craft demanded.<\/p>\n
Pushing through pain<\/p>\n
Two years ago, Zhou was diagnosed with lung cancer.<\/p>\n
Chemotherapy left him weak and shaky. \u201cWhen the pain hits,\u201d he said, \u201cyou wonder if you can bear being alive.\u201d<\/p>\n
But he wasn\u2019t a quitter. He\u2019d been through significant hurdles before, and didn\u2019t want to abandon his studio when facing another now.<\/p>\n
After taking over the studio, Zhou had quickly become a household name in the town. In the \u201990s, neighbors would queue outside his small studio for ID photos, family portraits, and wedding pictures. Opening the shop at 7 a.m., he often wouldn\u2019t close until late, earning more than he\u2019d ever imagined.<\/p>\n
But then digital cameras started to replace film. People no longer needed a studio to capture a moment. The stream of customers at his shop \u2014 once steady \u2014 dwindled to a trickle.<\/p>\n
Zhou tried to adapt. He bought his first digital camera \u2014 a Canon he could barely afford \u2014 only to watch it get stolen by men who came into his shop, posing as customers before slipping it under a jacket and speeding off on a motorcycle.<\/p>\n
He had even faced death before. One night, a man came into the studio, wrapped an arm around Zhou\u2019s neck, pressed a knife to his throat, and demanded cash. Zhou broke free and survived, but the fear remained.<\/p>\n
By the early 2010s, his master had passed away, his long-time colleague had retired, and the apprentice he had trained had returned home to get married. Zhou was the only one left to keep the lights on. He stayed anyway, in love with his craft.<\/p>\n
Now, confronting death for the second time, he reluctantly closed the studio. \u201cAnyone interested (in running the studio) \u2014 just give me a shout,\u201d he posted on social media. \u201cKeeping this old studio alive is all I want.\u201d<\/p>\n
A stranger-turned-successor<\/p>\n
At 28, Cao Mengqi had been practicing amateur photography for years and was considering quitting her reporting job to pursue it full time.<\/p>\n
She walked into Zhou\u2019s studio on a rare day when he had the strength to open it for an hour or two. But the old man refused to look at her or answer her questions about portrait pricing. \u201cEven a schoolkid could figure that out,\u201d he snapped.<\/p>\n
\u201cIf you talk to customers like that, how do you stay in business?\u201d Cao asked.<\/p>\n
Zhou finally looked up and met her gaze. Without another word, he walked to the back room and started setting up his camera.<\/p>\n
Once the shoot began, the tension eased. They talked about lighting, lenses, and what a photo studio means in the age of digital cameras.<\/p>\n
Before leaving, Cao left her number. Later, she jokingly asked him how much he wanted for rent.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not charging you for rent or electricity,\u201d Zhou told her. \u201cTry it for a few months. See if this place still has life.\u201d<\/p>\n
He handed her the keys and taped her phone number over the studio\u2019s \u201cClosed\u201d sign.<\/p>\n
When Cao asked why he would hand over the 60-year-old studio to someone he had only met once, Zhou shrugged. \u201cI trust people,\u201d he said. \u201cThere\u2019s nothing here worth much anyway. If someone comes in and you take a good picture, the money\u2019s yours.\u201d<\/p>\n
Zhou visited the studio whenever Cao needed assistance, teaching her how to position the lights, arrange the backdrops, and model the poses. He never scolded her for the mistakes. \u201cThat\u2019s how you learn,\u201d he told her. \u201cIf you take a bad picture, don\u2019t charge for it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy greatest wish\u201d<\/p>\n
At the goodbye party, Zhou sat in the front row with a cup of green tea, smiling and nodding as neighbors, friends, and relatives stepped up to speak about the man they loved. A neighbor characterized his world as \u201crevolving around cameras, stocks, and antiques.\u201d His nephew called him a \u201csmall person with big energy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou have the courage I never had,\u201d his older sister said, her eyes wet.<\/p>\n
Cao spoke, too. \u201cZhou\u2019s studio may be small,\u201d she said, \u201cbut it holds a lifetime of memories for the people here.\u201d<\/p>\n
As the party wrapped up, only Zhou and Cao remained.<\/p>\n
Zhou stood quietly as Cao taped a new print onto the wall, her photographs slowly covering the faded ones Zhou had hung decades ago. The setting sun cast its glow upon hundreds of portraits \u2014 some in black and white, some in color, some decades old, and some newly created.<\/p>\n
Cao turned to him. \u201cDo you have any last wishes?\u201d<\/p>\n
Zhou fell silent for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the faces he had captured throughout his life.<\/p>\n
\u201cI hope I don\u2019t die,\u201d he said. \u201cAnd I hope this studio keeps going. That would be my greatest wish.\u201d<\/p>\n
Editor: Marianne Gunnarsson.<\/p>\n
(Header image: Zhou greets guests at the studio door, shaking hands and laughing; right: The walls of Zhou\u2019s studio are crowded with hundreds of photos from the past four decades, in Hangzhou, Zhejiang province, October 2025. Courtesy of Li Jincan)<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"ZHEJIANG, East China \u2014 At the entrance to his studio in Sandun Town, in Hangzhou\u2019s northwestern Xihu District,…\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":369032,"comment_status":"","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[31],"tags":[437,434,435,436,438,146,85,46],"class_list":{"0":"post-369031","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-arts-and-design","8":"tag-arts","9":"tag-arts-and-design","10":"tag-artsanddesign","11":"tag-artsdesign","12":"tag-design","13":"tag-entertainment","14":"tag-il","15":"tag-israel"},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/il\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/369031","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/il\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/il\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/il\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/il\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=369031"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/il\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/369031\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/il\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/369032"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/il\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=369031"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/il\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=369031"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/il\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=369031"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}