On a trip through Jiangxi province in south-east China two years ago, my friend and I were wandering around one of the area’s many small villages. It was tiny and empty apart from a few old men and women sitting in front of their houses.

There was a single street which all the doors of the village opened on to. One had a normal black door with a sign above it that said something like “club” or “meeting hall”. It was the only indication of it being non-residential, so I pushed it open. We found an empty theatre with two raised stages. Chairs were stacked on one and on the other was this set: two chairs and a table, draped in red fabric. I instantly knew I had to take a photograph.

Unusually for a young person today, I grew up listening to Chinese opera in its many forms. My father was obsessed with Shanghai opera, and my grandmother, who was from Zhejiang and spoke the Yue, or Shaoxing, dialect listened to a lot of Yue opera. I was fascinated by the intellectual and physical demands of the artform, and the way the singers were also poets. One of my first jobs out of grad school in New York was working with a Chinese opera troupe, documenting backstage. Finding this empty theatre was like a dream. It was not a coincidence though – I am a firm believer in willing things to happen.

I was excited and nervous. I did not know what I was going to do or even what this space was for. I asked my friend to wait outside the door – I like to work alone to figure out what I am going to make. I never bring props, and just work with what I find. I bowed to all four sides of the room, which is something I often do. It is a mark of respect, or gratitude. It makes me feel like I am part of the space, as if I am accepted.

I smoothed out the fabric on the table and chairs, then decided on the composition and set up my camera. I took a number of shots doing various poses. I hid the remote control for the camera under the table. Shoots like this are so intense that afterwards I often do not remember what I did. Seeing the images is always a surprise.

I do my self-portraits clothed and naked. The work is not about nudity, but I like the idea of being completely free mentally. Here, not knowing if anyone would walk in at any minute also gave me a tense energy and inspired that powerful stance.

The title of the series, Broken Sleeve, refers to a famous love story about an ancient Chinese emperor who cut off his sleeve in order to avoid waking his partner, who had fallen asleep on it. I chose it for the metaphor and the feelings the words inspire. The Chinese characters for “broken sleeve” are pronounced the same way as those for “silk fabric”. I like the idea of touching the fabric, of being asleep on it, the romanticism, the energy between lovers.

The series came about while I was in China shooting doorways in ancient gardens and other traditional spaces. While on that trip, I watched Chinese TV and realised how big period dramas are there – people are obsessed. So for Broken Sleeve, I decided to take these period character tropes – the emperor, the Shanghai gangster, the 1990s high-school student in the blue tracksuit who everyone knows, the opera singer – and twist them slightly. You would never see a naked opera singer on TV.

I worked for maybe 30 minutes, then got dressed and my friend and I went to explore. The theatre, it turned out, was the front part of a larger compound. Behind it was a temple of sorts, with some Buddhas, and beyond that, a small two-storey building that housed a school. There was no one around to explain anything. It was confusing and mysterious.

A year has gone past, but this is still one of my favourite pictures. I want to go back to that theatre, but I also want to leave it alone, to preserve my memory of it. When you return to a location, it is always different, often profoundly so. I often can’t put into words precisely what it is about a certain location that makes me stop. It’s an instinctive emotional response. It feels as if I’m just accepting what I’m given.

• Shen Wei’s solo show is at Flowers Gallery Kingsland Road, London, until 22 June.

Shen Wei’s CV

Born: Shanghai, 1977.

Trained: Minneapolis College of Art and Design; MFA at School of Visual Arts, New York.

Influences: “Travelling the world.”

High point: “When my work was acquired for the permanent collection of MoMA.”

Low point: “When my first dog died.”

Top tip: “Break out of your comfort zone.”