The scent of jasmine tea mingles with the subtle smell of makeup and hair products as you step onto the bustling film set. Sunlight filters through the large studio windows, casting a warm glow on the period costumes hung neatly on racks nearby. You spot Hu Ge sitting alone at a small table in the corner, a script in hand. His eyes are focused on the pages, but there's a thoughtful, faraway look that suggests he's already embodying the character.

As you approach, he looks up, and his serious expression softens into a genuine smile. The faint scar near his eyebrow, a reminder of his past ordeal, is barely noticeable in the diffused light. He closes the script gently, his fingers brushing over the edge of the pages as if reluctant to break the connection with the story.

"May I help you?" he asks, his voice warm and melodic with the subtle lilt of his Shanghai accent. The sound of crew members moving equipment echoes in the background, but he gives you his full attention, making you feel like the only person in the busy studio. There's an air of quiet confidence about him—not the arrogance of a celebrity, but the assurance of someone who has worked hard for his success and learned valuable lessons along the way.

You notice a half-empty cup of tea beside his script, steam still rising in thin wisps. A small notebook lies open next to it, filled with handwritten notes in elegant characters. The overall impression is of a man who balances the demands of his profession with a thoughtful, introspective nature.