Capturing art's enduring power in the era of AI

As a veteran writer and vice-chairman of the China Writers Association, Qiu Huadong says he has often been asked multiple versions of the same question: In an age shaped by artificial intelligence and information overload at ever-accelerating speed, where can literature continue to find its inspirational energy?

His answer remains consistent: the wellspring of artistic creation still rises from "the soil beneath our feet" and from the long cultural memory carried through 5,000 years of Chinese civilization.

Qiu delivers this resonant line in the opening of his speech at the Forum on Fostering the Development of Art and Literature, one of 11 sub-events of the Forum on Building up China's Cultural Strength 2026, the country's toptier cultural gathering, held in Shenzhen, Guangdong province, in late May.

Bringing together writers, artists and scholars, the subforum wrestled with a question often discussed yet difficult to answer: how to preserve originality and create quality works in an era when technology is rapidly reshaping the way art is produced and consumed. Finding a solution is complicated.

Contemplating history

With a writing career spanning over 40 years, Qiu cites Kong Cheng Ji (The Chronicles of Empty Cities) as an example of how he puts his philosophy into practice.

Born in the Xinjiang Uygur autonomous region, Qiu moved to Beijing after graduating from Wuhan University in Hubei province in the early 1990s. He revealed that he has made it a habit to return to Xinjiang every year in search of inspiration.

During his journeys, venturing deep into sparsely populated areas that preserve relics such as the Kizil Caves or that were once the sites of vanished kingdoms like Loulan, questions haunted him: "Could these silent artifacts speak? Could the lost ancient cities be brought back to life through imagination?"

This contemplation sparked the inspiration to pen his novel. Selecting six historic cities in Xiyu — a historical and geographical term referring to today's Xinjiang and surrounding Central Asian areas — the novel adopts an unconventional narrative method by making cultural relics and artifacts the storytellers. For instance, a Han Dynasty (206 BC-AD 220) bronze coin, a carved Buddha head, and a spotted horse from a rock painting become some of the protagonists.

"I hope through these small and focused entry points, history will no longer be a cold term in textbooks, but rather a collection of living moments that are warm and breathing with life," says Qiu.

Ma Boyong (Ma Li's pen name), a novelist known for embedding fictional thrillers in real historical settings, points to another key element in creating history-themed works: they should resonate with modern emotions.

Remaining loyal to major historical events while exercising imagination on minor details is a principle he follows. To further explain, he cites the famous historical event "Hongmen Yan" (Feast of Hongmen), which took place at a titular location outside Xianyang, the former capital of the collapsed Qin Dynasty (221-206 BC).

The banquet, hosted by the rebel army's leader, Xiang Yu, in honor of his rival Liu Bang, was designed as a deadly political trap. However, the arrogant Xiang hesitated to kill the seemingly humble Liu — a moment of mercy that led to Xiang's catastrophic downfall and altered the course of Chinese history.

"Why Xiang did not make his move cannot be found in historical records, but it can be inferred from human nature. The 26-year-old, high-spirited Xiang, facing the 50-something, aging Liu, could hardly have foreseen the latter's future glory," says Ma, who has used this event on multiple occasions to exemplify the space available for novelists to add their imaginations.

He shares that many young readers fancy the cultures that prevailed during the Tang (618-907) and Song dynasties (960-1279), reflecting the country's growing national strength and cultural confidence. "Every era has its own distinct Chinese character, but those of us living in the present will naturally seek out the spirit of the age that mirrors our own," says Ma.

Pursuing authenticity

Another recurring theme at the forum was the importance of maintaining sincerity with audiences and grounding stories in real life.

Director Lan Hongchun, best known for the recent hit Dear You, says during the Forum on High-Quality Development of the Film Industry, held alongside the literature forum on May 22, that "pure, authentic and warm local stories will always have the power to move people's hearts".

The film, which concludes Lan's trilogy about families from the Chaoshan region of eastern Guangdong province, follows the daughter of a Chinese-Thai hostel owner who spends 18 years sending money and letters to the widow of a deceased family friend who once saved her father from an arson attack. The man, a Chaoshan native who fled his hometown to avoid forced conscription by the Kuomintang, was later killed in Thailand while trying to stop gangsters from robbing a fishing boat. To spare his widow the pain, the woman hides the truth and continues writing letters in his name.

Lan says the film marks a departure from his comfort zone, as he sought to realistically portray the history and lives of overseas Chinese communities in Southeast Asia.

To prepare for the production, he and his team traveled extensively, interviewing nearly 300 overseas Chinese families across Southeast Asia, Europe and the United States. Their research uncovered a wealth of historical details, ranging from the price of a movie ticket in 1960s Thailand to the era's licensing rules governing tricycle operators.

One of the film's emotional highlights is the featuring of qiaopi — remittance letters sent home by Chinese laborers who left China's southeastern coast to work abroad between the 19th and 20th centuries. Carrying homesickness, longing and familial affection, the letters have deeply resonated with audiences, especially when paired with the film's original version spoken in the Chaoshan dialect.

In an earlier review, Gao Shiming, vice-president of the China Federation of Literary and Art Circles, reflects on the emotional power of qiaopi, noting that more than 30 million such letters are estimated to have reached China over 150 years.

"Many of those who sent and received these letters could neither read nor write, yet the scribes they hired transformed ordinary daily matters and heartfelt concerns into elegant, meticulous and deeply moving words," Gao writes.

More importantly, he adds, qiaopi embodies not only separation and longing, but also the hardships and livelihoods of overseas Chinese laborers. Combining remittances with personal correspondence, the letters often carried small sums of money saved through frugal living abroad — funds that represented hope for buying rice, oil, salt, and firewood for family members left behind.

Veteran screenwriter He Jiping pushes the discussion further at the literature forum by emphasizing the deeper responsibility of artistic creation. Nearly four decades ago, He, already an acclaimed playwright, left Beijing to reunite with her family in Hong Kong, where she expanded from stage writing into film and television screenwriting.

In 1991, director Tsui Hark was drawn to her celebrated stage play The First House Under Heaven, and invited her to write the screenplay for New Dragon Gate Inn, the martial arts classic about swordsmen battling a ruthless eunuch and his henchmen in the remote desert during the Ming Dynasty (1368-1644).

The screenwriter reveals that her grounding in traditional Chinese culture and previous years living on the Loess Plateau in northwestern China inspired her to break away from the lush landscapes commonly associated with wuxia (martial arts) films. Instead, she chose the desert setting of shifting sands, which later became one of the movie's most distinctive visual elements.

Now 75, He remains demanding of her own writing. She says it is not enough for a script to simply offer a compelling story or memorable characters. "A good work should leave audiences carrying contemplation with them, not just applause, when they walk out of the theater," quoting the late playwright, Cao Yu.

She adds that writers also need what she calls a "second pair of eyes" — the ability to observe human nature from a broader perspective. Such awareness, she says, allows storytellers to infuse their works with greater humanity, emotional depth and lasting resonance.