Meet Zhijiang Shan | Interior Designer, Architect

We had the good fortune of connecting with Zhijiang Shan and we’ve shared our conversation below.

Hi Zhijiang, career-wise, where do you want to be in the end?
By the end of my career, my deepest aspiration is to be recognized as a pioneer who redefined interior design—transforming it from purely an artistic discipline into a vital force for environmental and societal change. I envision creating spaces that transcend traditional boundaries, where aesthetics, ecology, and human wellbeing are seamlessly integrated.
My ultimate goal is to establish a new paradigm in interior design rooted in ecological thinking. I want to be known not only as a designer, but as an advocate and innovator who champions sustainable living through thoughtful design. By leveraging natural light, optimizing airflow, and incorporating biophilic elements, I aim to create spaces that reduce dependency on artificial energy sources while enhancing human connection to the natural world.
Professionally, I’m building toward a portfolio that catalyzes a global shift toward eco-conscious interiors across residential, commercial, and cultural spaces. My design philosophy centers on the belief that exceptional design should simultaneously delight the senses, improve quality of life, and minimize environmental impact. Every project begins with fundamental questions: Is this space healthy to inhabit? Does it foster a meaningful connection with nature? Will it age gracefully with minimal waste?
I’m particularly passionate about demonstrating that sustainability and beauty are not competing values—they’re complementary forces that, when skillfully combined, create more compelling and meaningful environments than either could achieve alone. Through my practice, I want to prove that people can adopt sustainable habits naturally simply by living and working in better-designed spaces.
My vision extends beyond individual projects to systemic change. I hope to influence industry standards, mentor emerging designers, and collaborate with like-minded professionals to reshape how our profession approaches environmental responsibility.
Ultimately, I want my legacy to embody both beauty and responsibility—to be remembered not just for visual creativity, but for vision. I hope the work I create today helps build a more conscious, sustainable world for future generations.

Let’s talk shop? Tell us more about your career, what can you share with our community?
I began my career in an era when material resources were limited, and creative careers were often seen as impractical. I didn’t come from wealth or connections, and I didn’t study at an elite design school—in fact, when I first started, the field of “interior design” as we know it today didn’t even exist in my part of the world.

What I did have was a deep love for art. I studied traditional drawing—ink, sketching, painting—and used that foundation to understand form, proportion, light, and emotion. Over time, through persistence and on-the-ground learning, I transitioned from an art student to a professional interior designer. I didn’t follow a conventional academic path; my journey was built through years of practice, hands-on experience, and a refusal to give up.

The early years were not easy. My first priority was to build a stable life and income to support my family. I took every opportunity I could find—no matter how small—to learn, to build, and to earn the trust of clients. I believe this grounded, practical beginning taught me how to be a designer who solves real problems, not just creates visual spectacles.

Today, after more than two decades of work, I’m proud to say I’ve built a portfolio that spans residential, commercial, and cultural spaces across China and beyond. My work has been recognized by several regional and national institutions, and in recent years, I’ve also received international acclaim—including design awards from Europe, the United States, and across Asia. These honors mean a lot to me—not because of the prestige, but because they reflect how far I’ve come from where I started.

More importantly, I’ve built a brand that values thoughtfulness, sustainability, and emotional connection in design. My approach blends aesthetic intuition with functionality, and always centers around the people who use the space. I believe in creating environments that feel good to live in—not just look good in photographs.

What sets me apart is not a famous diploma or a headline-making project. It’s the fact that I’ve walked every step of this journey myself, learned from the ground up, and held onto my values the entire way. And maybe what I’m most proud of—beyond the awards and the projects—is the life I’ve created through this work: one where design is not just a profession, but a lifelong practice of care, curiosity, and craftsmanship.

Let’s say your best friend was visiting the area and you wanted to show them the best time ever. Where would you take them? Give us a little itinerary – say it was a week long trip, where would you eat, drink, visit, hang out, etc.
If my best friend were visiting Luoyang for the first time, I’d want them to see not just the tourist highlights, but the quiet poetry of the city—the places where history, culture, and everyday life gently intertwine.

Day 1: We’d begin with the Longmen Grottoes, one of Luoyang’s most iconic sites. But instead of rushing through, I’d encourage us to take our time—observe the way light dances across the limestone carvings, how each Buddha’s face holds a different emotion. As a designer, I find endless inspiration in the craftsmanship, the scale, and the quiet reverence of the place. In the evening, we’d stop for a simple bowl of Luoyang Water Banquet, a local specialty that reflects both delicacy and ritual.

Day 2: We’d visit the Luoyang Museum and the Ancient City Wall, then wander through some of the older residential neighborhoods. These are areas that most tourists miss, but I love them for their lived-in charm—the layered textures of stone, wood, and red lanterns, the unexpected courtyard gardens. I’d explain how these environments influenced my early ideas about space and materiality.

Day 3: A nature day. We’d drive to Baiyun Mountain or Laojun Mountain for some fresh air and hiking. I find nature incredibly grounding—and I often bring ideas back to the studio after days like this, whether it’s a certain shade of green, or the way a pine tree leans toward light.

Day 4–5: I’d show them a few of my favorite built projects around the city—perhaps a teahouse or boutique hotel I’ve designed. We’d talk about what it means to build “quiet architecture”—something that doesn’t shout, but listens. Then I’d bring them to a few good spots for local design: small ceramics studios, or antique furniture workshops tucked away in side streets.

Day 6–7: We’d take it easy. A stroll through Peony Park if the season is right. A visit to a local bookstore and some hidden cafes. Maybe even meet a few friends—artists, craftspeople—for tea and conversation. It’s often in those conversations that people understand the soul of a place.

I’d want my friend to leave not just having seen Luoyang, but having felt it—its rhythm, its grace, and its quiet depth. Just like good design, it doesn’t scream for attention—but it stays with you.

Who else deserves some credit and recognition?
If I were to give a shoutout, it wouldn’t be to just one person—it would be to a small constellation of people who made my journey possible, quietly but powerfully.

First, to the craftsmen I’ve worked with over the past 20 years—some of them have known me since my very first project, when I was still second-guessing every design decision. I remember standing on muddy construction sites in the middle of winter, arguing over a beam angle or window height, only to share a thermos of tea after the workday ended. These are not people who talk much about aesthetics, but they feel design. They’ve taught me that precision comes from patience, and that real respect is earned when you show up consistently—not just on paper, but on-site, with your sleeves rolled up.

Second, to the younger designers who have passed through my studio—many of whom have gone on to start their own practices. I remember one assistant who once questioned why I left a section of a wall completely bare in a luxury restaurant project. It led to a three-hour conversation about silence in space, about visual breathing room, and about the Chinese principle of 留白. That exchange stayed with me. Their questions have often forced me to articulate what I had only felt before—and that has made me a better designer.

Lastly, to my peers—not just fellow designers, but also gallery curators, material suppliers, and even clients who’ve challenged my thinking. I’ve shared long dinners where design talk faded into stories about family, childhood homes, the scent of wood in old temples. These moments reminded me that design is, at its heart, about memory and emotion—not just form or function.

So this shoutout is to everyone who has been part of the messiness, the poetry, the patience, and the deep reward that comes with this work. You’ve made my career more than a job—you’ve made it a life.

Website: https://www.rongjie.org/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/rongjie_studio/profilecard/?igsh=MTZrMjRwYnhzYng4bQ%3D%3D

Image Credits
Wei Zhao, Xushan Geng