He may be the only person left who knows how to make the velvet flowers popularized in the Tang Dynasty, and he is anxious that the skill not be lost forever. Xu Junqian reports from Nanjing.

Zhao Shuxian, 59, may be the most carefree "gardener" in the country. At his 20-square-meter "garden" tucked away in a century-old residence in Nanjing, Jiangsu province, plum blossoms appear together with lotus, peonies and lilies all year around, be it the cold, snowy winter or scorching, arid summer.

Zhao is not capable of any magic: The flowers are artificial, handmade creations made of velvet and can bloom for centuries, if not forever.

Velvet flowers, the most common and popular accessory on ancient Chinese women's dressing tables, have been, like hundreds of Chinese traditional handicrafts, consigned to oblivion in recent decades.

In early 2012, however, flowers in Zhao's garden, or more accurately, his cramped studio, have experienced a new spring with the visit of Lawrence Xu, the Chinese haute couture dress designer who gained international fame for the "dragon robe" dress he made for fashion diva Fan Bingbing at the 63rd Cannes Film Festival in 2010.

Desperately eager to be "inspired by something exclusively Chinese" for his new work for the 65th festival in May 2012, Xu was "exhilarated" at the first sight of these artificial but lustrous flowers, and decided the theme of his next big dress - Chinese Edelweiss.

The snowy white gown, featuring more than 1,000 featherlike velvet petals handmade by Zhao over a number of weeks, received less attention than the dragon robe on the red carpet in France. But back at home, a new interest is growing among young people who used to think flowers of this kind were "too granny".

"Orders are flying in," says Zhao, sitting at a shabby desk scattered with dozens of scissors and clippers in different sizes at his studio, which is a part of the Nanjing Folk Art Museum.

Counting the pile of parcel receipts with which his flowers would be sent to all over China, Zhao says most people are buying his works, ranging from 25 yuan a lily to 2,000 yuan for a phoenix-like crown, for big occasions like weddings and festivals to accessorize their Chinese-style costumes.

"In fashion, they say less is more. And here, the old is new," he jokes.

Zhao, who speaks with a heavy Nanjing accent, is one of the few, if not the only, velvet flower craftsmen in China. In 2008, the craft failed to be chosen as a national intangible cultural heritage because there is only one craftsman who was found to know how to make them.

The history of the velvet flower can be dated back to the Tang Dynasty (AD 618-907), when it was first presented to emperors as a tribute.

Velvet flowers soon replaced fresh flowers in the royal palace as they are neither seasonal nor do they ever fade, symbolizing everlasting youth which was so cherished by women of the time. Its name, ronghua, is also a homophone with the Chinese word for prosperity, considered auspicious by the ruling class.

Before the Ming and Qing dynasties (1368-1911), the flowers were a luxury only available to the royals, but they later became a popular accessory for almost every woman, especially in Nanjing and neighboring cities, where the textile industry was strong and the cost of a velvet flower, which was mainly made from leftover silks, was very low. The skeleton of the flower is usually copper, with the flowers made for royals using silver wire.

But for Zhao, who was born in the 1950s and started his apprenticeship in the industry in the 1970s, it's been a different story of the velvet flower. The factory he worked at, together with hundreds of similar ones in the region, no longer produced velvet flowers but animals like bunnies and chickens to export to foreign countries for Easter, as the domestic political situation meant there was a limited market for ornaments.

The process of making a velvet flower, or velvet animal, is complicated, consisting of at least 10 steps beginning with the boiling and dyeing of the silk. Even the simplest piece, such as a lily, takes about two days to complete.

Most of the factories divided the flower making among several workers. Zhao, who describes himself as a person who easily gets bored by doing the same thing, worked hard to excel in every step, "stole" the trick of every new step, and became the few people to master all steps of the craft.

"I didn't get to choose my career, but I choose to be curious and proficient," he says.

Yet, the "garden" Zhao cultivates now is stuck in the winter again as no new "gardeners" are willing to follow his path.

With one year to retirement, Zhao worries who will inherit the skills of creating his never-ending garden.

Contact the writer at xujunqian@chinadaily.com.cn.

(China Daily USA08/20/2013 page10)