Lin Yuan's Films and Their Contribution to Domestic Tourism

"Dong da, dong da, dong dada~"

The lively Dutar accompaniment blended with the drumbeats, drawing loud cheers from the crew and tearing open a raucous gap in the quiet night by Youcuo Lake.

Lin Yuan moved to the beat, rising onto his toes and performing a standard toe-step dance.

The tips of his boots lightly tapped the ground, sending fine bits of grass flying. Moonlight stretched his shadow long across the lake, overlapping with the reflection of the snow-capped mountains.

The bonfire gilded the side of Lin Yuan's face, and beads of sweat at his temples flew through the air as he spun, reflecting the flames like falling stars.

The scene was dreamlike, and the onlooking crew members had long forgotten the skewers in their hands;

the photographer on set hugged his equipment, yet forgot to press the shutter;

the script supervisor's notebook fell onto the grass, its pages fluttering in the night breeze;

Director Cohen held a cigarette between his lips, its ash hanging in a long strip.

Everyone's gaze followed that spinning figure. The bonfire danced in their eyes, casting them in a dazed glow.

The audience in the theater was no different. The entire hall had fallen silent as everyone stared fixedly at Lin Yuan dancing, wanting to carve the sight before them deep into their hearts.

On the big screen, Lin Yuan spun faster and faster. His face flickered between light and shadow in the firelight, and every stomp made the grass beneath his feet tremble slightly, as though he were stepping on everyone's hearts.

The drums quickened. Lin Yuan leaped, and moonlight passed perfectly through his figure, casting a graceful silhouette across the snow.

At that moment, time seemed to freeze.

The outline of Yala Snow Mountain grew clearer in the night, the moon hanging