I'm in Haoyuan village filming a video about rural vitalization. To the west are the Helan Mountains and to the east is Yinchuan, the capital of the Ningxia Hui autonomous region. The crew and I are interviewing a businesswoman about managing a homestay. Between takes, I notice a boy who has wandered onto the scene. He watches me with unblinking eyes, holding my gaze.

The director says "action" and we do another take. The outcome is fine but someone's clothes have rubbed against the microphone, so we have to reset and try again. I turn toward a chair but stop as I almost trample over the boy. He stands silent and motionless, looking up into my face.

"Hey there," I say awkwardly. He doesn't respond and doesn't move. We stand face-to-face for an awkward moment, until I finally break away and sit. He follows and stands in front of me while I check the messages on my phone. I can barely focus on them because I'm aggressively aware of his presence filling the peripherals of my vision.

Finally, the director calls him xiao pengyou (little buddy) and asks him to clear out of the room so we can film some more. This final shot is perfect and we wrap for the day. As we pull out of the homestay, I see the boy watching us go.

Two days later, we're back in the area, filming a closing monologue in front of a government office building. Up the road I see a red sanbengzi, or electric three-wheeler. The noise forces us to stop filming. As it nears, I see the boy is driving. He parks near us and watches from off to the side.

We finish the monologue and the crew sets about getting b-roll footage. The boy once again stands next to me as I flip through messages on my phone. I ask him what he's looking at. He's looking at me. I suppose a dumb question deserves a dumb answer. I tell him that his staring makes me feel uncomfortable. He apologizes and leaves.

Moments later, he's back, carrying a plastic bottle. He proudly shows off a grasshopper that he has just caught. I finally acquiesce and ask him his name. His surname is Li.