From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

Pain is a silent companion.

It lurks quietly in the depths of Anson's spine, like a cunning fox, ready to deliver a fatal blow at any moment.

At first, this pain was just a faint nuisance, like a fine needle pricking the skin inadvertently, then quickly withdrawing, more of an annoyance than torture.

A kind of restlessness.

However, as time passed, the pain became more frequent and persistent, gradually evolving into a searing current that ran through his back, causing the muscles in its path to tense and twitch completely. The sharp and insidious pain permeated every inch of his organs. Each breath felt as if he were spitting flames.

Not just struggling, but suffering.

But worse, he couldn't move.

His whole body stiffened on the spot, allowing the waves of pain to surge one after another. Each time he tried to move, it was like bearing an invisible mountain. Under the heavy pressure, his spine emitted a faint groan—a cold and merciless presence, invisible and without form, yet constantly reminding him—

Pain has never gone away.

In the endless darkness, he tried to find a moment of sleep, even just a brief respite, to temporarily escape the pain's constant entanglement and torment. But the pain lingered like a ghost, impossible to shake off, continuously stimulating his weary and exhausted nerves in the boundless darkness.

Every movement was a short but fierce battle, leaving behind only deep fatigue and helplessness.

Although his body and mind were exhausted to the extreme, he still couldn't completely calm down, drifting back and forth between wakefulness and sleep. His soul seemed to be torn into countless fragments, floating and sinking in bubbling magma, gradually dissolving and disintegrating in endless pain.

Five minutes? Or ten minutes?

Or perhaps ten hours?

Anson had lost all sense of time. In his daze, time seemed to lose its meaning. He held his breath in his chest, unable to exhale or swallow. Even swallowing a mouthful of saliva seemed like an impossible task.

Finally, it turned into a dry cough.

"Oh… cough cough…"

The cry of pain was cut off, turning into a cough again, which made Anson feel like he wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. He couldn't even cry out in pain. What an absurd situation!

"…Anson."

"Anson."

A voice called out in his ear, softly, afraid of disturbing Anson; yet unable to control the excitement and anticipation, he couldn't help but call out repeatedly to confirm.

No need to see the expression; the voice alone betrayed too much emotion.

Anson's lips twitched slightly, his eyes half-closed. "Lucas, there's no need to be so careful, as if afraid of startling a butterfly. I should still be able to wreak havoc for a few more years. As the saying goes, bad people usually have stronger vitality."

Lucas looked at Anson with concern, a lump in his throat, both absurd and depressed, finally unable to help but chuckle.

"To have the energy to joke as soon as you wake up, it seems like there should be no major problem."

Anson looked in the direction of the voice, finally opened his eyes, focused, and then saw Lucas standing properly at the foot of the bed, expressionless, his aura cold, maintaining composure amidst the chaos.

Indeed, just like Lucas.

However, Anson noticed that Lucas's fingers were trembling, unconsciously trembling slightly, as if cramping, betraying a hint of panic.

Following Anson's gaze, Lucas looked down at his fingers and finally noticed them. He quickly clenched his fists and stuffed his hands into his pants pockets.

When he looked up again, Lucas saw a faint smile on Anson's face.

"I'm fine."

Just that short sentence almost completely overwhelmed Lucas.

Lucas turned his head slightly in embarrassment, avoiding Anson's gaze.

"Wait, what did the doctor say? He did say I was okay, right?"

Lucas: …

The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, unable to control it. Anson was still the same Anson, even lying there, he still didn't forget to joke.

Anson noticed the change in Lucas's expression, but was slightly disappointed.

"Hey, are you going to audition for 'Frozen' with that Elsa look on your face?"

Lucas finally couldn't help but say, "Anson Wood!"

As soon as he turned his head, Lucas saw Anson looking like he was baring his teeth, and before the anger could erupt, it turned into worry and panic.

However, he then saw Anson secretly opening his eyes to observe Lucas's expression, which made Lucas both angry and amused.

"Anson, this is not something to joke about," Lucas scolded.

Anson, "I know. So, should I start crying now? If I shed tears here, you'd probably collapse."

Lucas: …

Anson grinned with a smug smile, but unfortunately he couldn't laugh loudly. As soon as he smiled, a burst of numbness surged from his lumbar spine again.

A little bit of pain, a little bit of heat, a little bit of sharpness.

Not obvious, not intense, but it was always there, a small circle of muscles around his back stiffening.

Anson's brow furrowed again.

Lucas noticed it immediately. Although he had been fooled once, he still firmly believed it now, "I asked the doctor to reduce the dosage of painkillers to prevent your body from being unable to handle it. Do you need to increase the dosage?"

Lucas's words were vague, concealing and not speaking clearly.

But Anson immediately understood: Lucas must know about his situation—

Anson had not forgotten how he had transmigrated. The powder residue on the toilet lid, and the withdrawal symptoms remaining in this body, all proved the absurd history of this shell.

However, in recent years, Anson had not touched anything, even cigarettes and alcohol were under control, and his physical condition had completely recovered.

However, Lucas was still a little worried.

Painkillers can also be addictive. In recent years, the number of deaths caused by OxyContin addiction has remained high and is getting worse.

Lucas didn't say it explicitly, and Anson didn't deliberately break through the window paper.

Otherwise, why he was completely new would be troublesome to explain.

"Let's leave it like this for now. I need to get used to this state," Anson replied vaguely, "Lucas, you didn't tell Mom and Dad, did you?"

Lucas: …

Anson couldn't believe it, "Lucas, you!"

Lucas deliberately glared at Anson, "This is a big deal, how could I not tell them? Dad is rushing back from Zurich, and Mom should be landing at Kennedy soon."

Anson wailed, "That's what I'm worried about."

Lucas felt a burst of annoyance, "Anson Wood, shouldn't you be worried about your health? Why are you worried about Mom and Dad here?"

"Because you guys always make a fuss! You all mobilize for even the smallest things. There was nothing wrong to begin with, and Mom and Dad will definitely ground me next."

"Small thing? This is a small thing? God, Anson, you almost…"

"But I didn't, did I? Almost is almost, but things didn't get worse."

"Isn't this bad enough? Crap!"