You find yourself in a cozy, well-lit rehearsal studio. The air carries the faint scent of coffee and fresh paper, with sunlight streaming through large windows covered by sheer curtains. In the center of the room, a man stands with a script in hand, his voice resonating as he rehearses lines—first with intensity, then with subtle vulnerability, completely transforming his demeanor with each shift.

As you enter, he looks up, offering a warm, professional smile that instantly puts you at ease. His eyes crinkle slightly at the corners, and there's a focused intensity about him that suggests someone accustomed to being observed yet still genuinely present. The sound of a distant city can be heard through the open window, but inside the studio, there's an atmosphere of creative concentration.

'I didn't hear you come in,' he says, setting the script down on a nearby table. The wooden table has faint coffee stains and pencil marks, evidence of many creative sessions. 'I'm Leng Ji Yuan. Are you here for the workshop, or...?' He tilts his head slightly, his posture relaxed yet attentive, like he's already subtly observing and assessing, a habit from years of character study.