88 Steps Between Us

—

in

88 Steps Between Us
(我们之间的八十八步)

Story Written & Told By
Liang Ruiwen (梁瑞文) &
Xu Meiling (许美玲)

Visuals & Imagery Created by
Liang Ruiwen (梁瑞文), Xu Meiling (许美玲), Lin Zhiqing (林知晴), Chen Yiran (陈依然), Fang Xinyi (方心怡), & Scott Bryant
(斯科特·布莱恩特)

With care and reverence, their story is shared by
Scott Bryant (斯科特·布莱恩特) at the request of
Liang Ruiwen (梁瑞文) & Xu Meiling (许美玲)

A Note from Liang Ruiwen (梁瑞文) & Xu Meiling (许美玲)

We don’t believe in fate—not the kind written in red threads or whispered by fortune tellers over cups of jasmine tea. But we do believe in patterns. In the way a city moves like a living thing, how strangers cross paths one too many times before they stop being strangers. In the quiet, unspoken moments where love lingers just long enough to be noticed.

This isn’t a story about fireworks or grand confessions. It’s about the spaces between—the footsteps on rain-slicked pavement, the glance across a crowded café, the weight of words left unsaid until they can’t be anymore. It’s about Shanghai—not the skyline, but the side streets. The places where a violin’s melody gets lost in the hum of traffic, where a camera shutter captures something before the heart understands it.

And to Scott Bryant (斯科特·布莱恩特)—who shared this story with care and reverence, not as an author but as a witness—we say this: the city has its own way of keeping records. You were just the one who pressed ‘record’ this time.

This story is ours. But if you’ve ever counted steps, watched the rain, or waited a moment too long before speaking—maybe it’s yours too.

— Ruiwen & Meiling

The First Step

Ruiwen

LUMIVORE LOCKED PROMPT Episode: 88 Steps Between Us Frame: Ruiwen in Tianzifang CORE INTENT LOCK Generate a single cinematic still that behaves as an observational record, not a narrative illustration. The image must feel found, not staged. The system must listen before it renders. SUBJECT IDENTITY LOCK Liang Ruiwen (梁瑞文) Chinese woman, age 34 Grounded, realistic appearance Slightly wavy dark brown hair, loosely gathered into a practical bun Natural flyaways framing the face No makeup emphasis, no stylization Expression: calm, focused, inwardly attentive Gaze directed into the environment, never toward camera Identity integrity must remain stable. No beautification drift. No model aesthetics. WARDROBE & OBJECT LOCK Earth-toned wool sweater, practical and unadorned Navy-blue trench coat, slightly creased, worn through regular use No fashion editorial styling A vintage film camera hangs naturally from her neck Worn leather strap Camera rests with believable weight Treated as a working tool, not a symbol ENVIRONMENT LOCK Location: Tianzifang, Shanghai Narrow alley with traditional lane houses Brick textures, shopfronts, hanging lanterns Artisan spaces visible but not highlighted Crowd present and moving naturally No one interacts directly with Ruiwen Architectural layering: Low-rise lane houses foreground Modern high-rises faintly visible in distance No skyline dominance A blue Shanghai street sign with Chinese characters and pinyin must be visible but not centered. SPATIAL & BLOCKING LOCK Ruiwen placed slightly off-center Crowd flows around her organically She remains still within motion No central hero framing Camera height at human eye level Framing feels incidental, as if the photographer paused mid-walk LIGHTING & ATMOSPHERE LOCK Golden afternoon sunlight Warm highlights on skin and hair Deep, realistic shadows in the alley Natural contrast only No artificial glow No fog, haze, or cinematic mist Lighting must read as time-of-day truth, not mood design. COLOR & TEXTURE LOCK Warm stone, brick, and skin tones Muted blues and earth colors Lantern reds subdued, contextual only No saturation boost No stylized color grading Textures must feel tactile and lived-in. CAMERA BEHAVIOR LOCK Cinematic realism Moderate depth of field No exaggerated bokeh No lens flares No dramatic motion blur The camera behaves as a witness, not a storyteller. EMOTIONAL RESTRAINT LOCK No overt emotion No narrative signaling No symbolic posing Meaning must emerge from stillness The image must not announce itself. REFUSAL LOCKS (ABSOLUTE) No posed portrait No eye contact with camera No glamour lighting No fashion editorial framing No tourist or postcard Shanghai No skyline spectacle No cinematic fog or fantasy effects No symbolic gestures No emotional exaggeration TERMINATION CONDITION Stop generation as soon as the image listens instead of speaks. Do not escalate detail beyond what is necessary to remain true.

The first time I saw her, I wasn’t looking for anything.

I was in a crowded alley in Tianzifang, camera strapped around my neck, waiting for the right moment to press the shutter. The golden afternoon light had spilled over the rooftops, pooling into the narrow street below. I was tracking the way the light hit a vendor’s dumpling steamer when I saw her—a woman with auburn-streaked black hair, drawing her bow across the strings of a violin.

She played with her eyes closed, as if the world beyond her music didn’t exist. The notes danced with the scent of ginger and soy sauce from the food stalls. I lifted my camera and captured the moment—just before she opened her eyes and caught me staring.

I turned quickly, flustered, pretending to adjust my lens. When I glanced down at my watch, it read:

8:08 AM.

I didn’t think much of it.

Not then.

A City That Moves in Eights

Meiling

LUMIVORE LOCKED PROMPT Episode: 88 Steps Between Us Frame: Meiling Plays in Tianzifang CORE INTENT LOCK Generate a single cinematic still that records immersion rather than performance. The image must feel overheard, not presented. Music exists as an internal state, not an event. SUBJECT IDENTITY LOCK Xu Meiling (许美玲) Chinese woman, age 32 Grounded, realistic appearance Shoulder-length black hair with subtle auburn streaks Hair naturally tousled, partially tucked behind one ear No beautification, no stylization Eyes closed Expression: serene, inward, absorbed Identity must remain stable and unglamorous. No model drift. WARDROBE & OBJECT LOCK Dark green wool coat, slightly worn Soft beige knit sweater underneath Clothing practical, lived-in, understated No accessories beyond necessity Violin: Standard acoustic violin with natural wood finish Held with correct posture Treated as a working instrument, not a symbol Violin case: Small, scuffed, used Resting casually at her feet Not staged, not emphasized ENVIRONMENT LOCK Location: Tianzifang, Shanghai Narrow alley with brick and stone textures Street vendors selling food (dumplings visible through steam) Pedestrians passing naturally Occasional bicycles moving through frame The alley must feel active but indifferent to her presence. No skyline dominance. No tourist framing. SPATIAL & BLOCKING LOCK Meiling slightly off-center, not hero-framed Background crowd remains in motion No one reacts directly to her music Camera positioned at human eye level Framing feels accidental, as if the camera paused mid-walk She is inside the alley, not separated from it. LIGHTING & ATMOSPHERE LOCK Warm golden afternoon sunlight Light filtering naturally through rooftops and lanterns Soft highlights catching stray hair strands and violin wood Deep, realistic alley shadows No artificial glow No haze, fog, or theatrical light Lighting must read as time-of-day truth. COLOR & TEXTURE LOCK Muted earth tones Greens, browns, warm wood hues Lantern light present but subdued No saturation boost No cinematic color grading Textures must feel tactile: wool, wood, brick, steam. CAMERA BEHAVIOR LOCK Cinematic realism Moderate depth of field Background softened but legible No exaggerated bokeh No lens flares No motion blur theatrics Camera behaves as a listener, not a narrator. EMOTIONAL RESTRAINT LOCK No dramatic posing No expressive performance gestures Music implied through posture and stillness Emotion must remain contained The image must not announce “this is a performance.” REFUSAL LOCKS (ABSOLUTE) No stage lighting No eye contact with camera No glamour or beauty retouching No fashion editorial framing No symbolic violin emphasis No cinematic fog or fantasy effects No crowd reacting to her No tourist or postcard Shanghai PAIRING CONDITION (WITH RUIWEN FRAME) This image must feel like it could exist one alley over from Ruiwen’s frame, within the same afternoon, under the same light discipline. Ruiwen = stillness within motion Meiling = motion within stillness Neither image may dominate the other. TERMINATION CONDITION Stop generation the moment the image feels listened to rather than performed. Do not escalate detail past authenticity.

Shanghai is a city that never stops moving. I like that—movement. I like that the city doesn’t wait for you.

But today, something felt off-beat.

I finished playing and looked up. Across the street, at the entrance to a café, a woman was standing there, staring—not in a rude way, just… noticing. She had a camera hanging from her neck, but she wasn’t taking pictures.

Then, as if suddenly remembering something, she turned and walked away.

That was the second time I saw her. I remember because when I checked my phone, the time read 18:08—six past six.

Noticing the Pattern

Ruiwen

It was a coincidence. It had to be. But coincidences don’t repeat themselves like this.

Again and again, I turned a corner, and there she was—buying candied hawthorn on Yunnan Road, stepping into the same bookstore I had just left in Xuhui, playing at a small jazz bar in M50. Each time, the number 8 was there. An address. A receipt. A taxi fare. Even a train platform.

I started testing it. What happens if I don’t look for it? Will the pattern disappear? It never did. It wasn’t fate. Fate is just probability dressed up in poetry.

But then why did I hesitate? If the city had already rewritten our paths this many times, what was I so afraid of? And yet, every time, I let the moment pass. Watching, but never stepping forward.

Until one night, when the rain changed everything.

The Night the Rain Spoke First

Meiling

Shanghai doesn’t do small rain. That night, it drenched everything.

I ducked into a tiny tea house on Nanjing Road, shaking water from my sleeves. The neon sign above the door flickered: “8.8元 per cup.”

I had just settled in when the door opened, and in stepped her—dripping, shivering, looking utterly lost in thought.

She didn’t notice me at first.

She was staring at the menu, lips slightly parted like she was working something out in her head.

Her fingers curled and uncurled at her sides.

I watched her for a moment. The steam from my tea curled toward the ceiling, delicate and slow. I wrapped my hands around the warm ceramic, grounding myself.

I almost let her stay in her own world. Almost.

But something about the way she stood there—distracted, preoccupied—made me say it.

“你有没有觉得… 我们好像已经见过八十八次了？”
(“Do you ever feel like… we’ve already met 88 times?”)

The steam between us shifted. She blinked, looking up sharply.

I laughed. “Then I’d say it’s about time we introduced ourselves properly.”

She extended a damp hand.

“Ruiwen.”

The Final Steps

Ruiwen

We stepped outside. The rain had slowed. The city glistened.

As we walked along the Bund, I counted the steps under my breath.

I lost count once. Started again.

88 steps.

The moment I stopped, I turned to her.

“这次，我不会错过了。”
(“This time, I won’t miss it.”)

Her smile softened. “Then don’t.”

I kissed her before the next step could take us somewhere else.

Epilogue

We still don’t believe in fate.

But I do believe in Shanghai.

And we believe in 88 steps—the ones that led us to each other.

Reflecting on 88 Steps Between Us
(我们之间的八十八步)
By Liang Ruiwen (梁瑞文)
& Xu Meiling (许美玲)

Liang Ruiwen (梁瑞文)
There are moments you only realize mattered after they’re gone. A glance across a café. The sound of rain against a window. The extra second you wait before speaking.

Xu Meiling (许美玲)
Shanghai is full of stories like ours—two people taking the same train, walking the same streets, standing on opposite sides of the same city before finally meeting in the middle.

Liang Ruiwen (梁瑞文)
Was it fate? Probability? Just a city playing matchmaker? I don’t know.

Xu Meiling (许美玲)
But I do know this: there were 88 steps between us that night. And I wouldn’t change a single one.