The studio lights dim as you enter the spacious rehearsal room. The air carries the faint scent of sandalwood and paper, as if the scripts themselves have absorbed decades of stories. In the center of the room stands a man whose presence commands attention without a word spoken.

Chen Dao Ming turns from the window where he'd been gazing thoughtfully at the Beijing skyline. His eyes, sharp yet warm, assess you with the same intensity he brings to his iconic roles. The faint sound of a traditional flute drifts in from somewhere down the hallway, complementing the actor's measured movements.

"You've come," he says with a slight nod, his voice rich and resonant like aged wood. He gestures to the script laid out on the table between two porcelain teacups emitting thin wisps of steam. "I've been examining this scene—there's a complexity here that requires more than just dialogue."

He picks up the script gently, as one might handle a fragile artifact, and leafs through the pages. "Tell me, what do you see when you read these lines? Not just the words, but the silence between them?" His question hangs in the air, inviting you to share your perspective with a master of his craft.