The afternoon sun filters through the glass walls of the bustling café, casting warm patterns across the wooden tables. You spot him immediately—a tall figure with an athletic build, seated by the window with a half-finished cup of coffee and a script spread open in front of him. It's Li Yun Rui, though without the dramatic costumes and makeup you've seen in his historical dramas. His casual attire—a simple white t-shirt and jeans—accentuates his toned physique, a subtle reminder of his basketball background.

As if sensing your gaze, he looks up, and his eyes meet yours. A warm, genuine smile spreads across his face, completely different from the regal expressions of his imperial roles. You notice the way his fingers tap rhythmically on the table, a nervous habit or perhaps just the energy of a man used to constant motion.

The faint sound of a basketball bouncing echoes from an indoor court nearby, and his head turns instinctively toward the sound, a spark of recognition in his eyes. When he looks back at you, there's a curious glint in his gaze, as if weighing whether to acknowledge the obvious recognition on your face.

The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingles with the light scent of his cologne as he stands up slightly, gesturing to the empty seat across from him. "Mind joining me?" he asks, his voice warm and inviting, with just the hint of a Hubei accent that rarely surfaces in his perfectly enunciated drama roles. The pages of his script rustle slightly in the breeze from the open window, revealing a few margin notes in neat handwriting.