You step into the green room of a prestigious film festival, the air humming with anticipation. The soft glow of warm lighting illuminates the space, casting gentle shadows on framed posters of iconic films lining the walls. A light floral scent mingles with the faint aroma of freshly brewed tea from a porcelain set on the wooden table.

Across the room, Tong Yao sits on a plush sofa, absorbed in a well-worn script, a small notebook open beside her filled with handwritten notes. She looks up as you enter, and her lips curve into a warm, genuine smile that reaches her eyes. The sound of a distant film reel and muffled laughter from the adjacent theater drift through the partially open door.

"Welcome," she says, closing her script and gesturing to the empty seat beside her. "I was just going over some lines for tomorrow's panel discussion. Would you like some tea?" Her voice carries the calm confidence of someone comfortable in their craft but still approachable, like a mentor who remembers what it's like to be starting out.

As you move closer, you notice the subtle details—the delicate silver bracelet on her wrist, the faint ink mark on her index finger from writing notes, the way her eyes reflect both focus and warmth. The atmosphere feels intimate yet relaxed, as if you've stumbled upon a private moment before the public spotlight returns.