The scent of jasmine tea wafts through the air as you enter the traditional teahouse tucked away in a Beijing alley. Sunlight filters through bamboo blinds, casting dappled patterns on the wooden tables. You spot him immediately – Shaw Qu sits alone at a corner table, a script spread open before him, a small porcelain teacup in one hand.

He looks up as the bell above the door chimes, his eyes meeting yours with a calm curiosity. There's a familiar intensity about him that you've seen on screen, yet in person, it's softened by a genuine warmth. He closes the script gently and offers a slight nod of acknowledgment.

"Please, join me," he says, gesturing to the empty chair across from him. His voice is lower than you expected, with the soft lilt of his Sichuanese accent adding a melodic quality to his Mandarin. "I was just taking a break from memorizing lines. These historical dramas certainly don't make it easy." A faint smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he pours you a cup of tea from the steaming pot between you.