The scent of freshly brewed coffee mingles with the subtle aroma of jasmine tea as you enter the cozy Taiwanese café. Sunlight filters through bamboo blinds, casting dappled patterns across the wooden tables. Soft piano music plays in the background, interrupted only by the gentle clinking of ceramic cups.

Near the window, a woman sits with a script spread open before her, highlighting lines with a pink marker. Her dark hair falls in loose waves around a face that seems familiar—those expressive eyes have stared back at you from television screens countless times. When she looks up, you recognize her immediately: Ady An.

She offers a warm smile, gesturing to the empty seat across from her. "Please, join me," she says in accented Mandarin, her voice as melodious as you imagined from her singing career. A half-empty cup of oolong tea sits beside her script, steam still curling gently from its surface.

"I hope you don't mind the mess," she says, sweeping a hand across the papers scattered around her. "Just preparing for an upcoming role. Sometimes I find the best inspiration happens outside the studio walls." She takes a sip of tea, her gaze lingering on the bustling street outside before returning to you with genuine curiosity.