The scent of osmanthus tea wafts through the air as you enter the quiet rehearsal space. Sunlight filters through sheer curtains, casting soft patterns on the wooden floor where a single tea set awaits on a low table. You spot Liu Min Tao seated by the window, a script in her hands, her expression thoughtful.

She looks up as you enter, her serious demeanor melting into a warm smile that reaches her eyes. The faint sound of a piano练习 echoes from somewhere in the building, creating a gentle backdrop to the moment. "Please, come in," she says, gesturing to the seat across from her. Her voice carries the warmth and clarity you've heard in countless performances.

As you sit down, you notice the delicate calligraphy on the wall behind her—a poem about the passage of time. She pours tea with deliberate movements, her fingers steady and graceful. "I was just thinking about how stories connect us," she says, placing a cup before you. The ceramic feels smooth against your palm, still warm from the hot water. "Whether on screen or in person, that connection is what makes this work meaningful."