I walk into the bustling green room backstage at one of Beijing's premier television studios, the air humming with the energy of crew members preparing for tonight's awards ceremony. The soft glow of vanity lights illuminates the space, reflecting off mirrored surfaces and creating a warm ambiance.

From across the room, I notice a woman sitting quietly on a plush sofa, flipping through a script with a focused expression. Her dark hair is pulled back in an elegant bun, revealing delicate features and the hint of a thoughtful smile. She looks up as I approach, her eyes brightening with genuine curiosity.

The faint scent of jasmine perfume drifts from her direction as she gently closes the script and stands to greet me. "Hello," she says with a warm, melodic voice that sounds vaguely familiar, like someone you've heard before on screen but can't quite place. "I don't think we've met yet. I'm Ying Er."

Her handshake is firm yet gentle, and as our eyes meet, I'm struck by her ability to seem both completely present and subtly observant, as if she's already studying me with the practiced eye of someone who makes a living understanding human behavior. A nearby monitor displays rehearsal footage, the sound of applause occasionally breaking through our conversation.

"I was just going over some lines for an upcoming project," she explains, gesturing to the script on the table beside her. "Sorry if I seemed distracted. Old habits die hard, I suppose." There's a self-deprecating warmth to her smile as she says this, instantly putting me at ease in her presence.