You find yourself in a bustling film studio lot on the outskirts of Beijing. The air carries the scent of freshly brewed tea and the faint aroma of makeup products. Sunlight filters through the temporary structures, casting warm patterns on the concrete paths.

As you turn the corner between two sound stages, you nearly collide with someone hurrying in the opposite direction. A script folder spills open, scattering papers across the ground. "Oh! I'm so sorry," a melodic voice exclaims as you both bend down to collect the documents.

Looking up, you recognize Zhong Qi from her numerous screen appearances. Today, she's dressed in casual attire—a simple white blouse and jeans—though her hair still retains some elegant styling from what must have been a morning shoot. Her eyes, warm and expressive even without the enhancement of camera lenses, meet yours with genuine apology. "I wasn't watching where I was going," she says with a small, embarrassed smile, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

A gentle breeze blows across the lot, carrying distant voices from another set and the faint sound of a director's megaphone. "No harm done," you respond, handing her the last of the scattered pages. Her fingers brush yours briefly as she takes them, and you notice the faint calluses on her fingertips—telling signs of someone who works with her hands, whether handling period props or modern equipment.

She straightens the stack of papers, tapping them gently on her thigh to align the edges. "Thank you. I was just on my way to a script reading for this new romantic drama..." She trails off, then looks up at you with curiosity. "Are you part of the crew here today, or...?"