From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

The air was heavy and fraught, filled with a tension that words couldn't express.

Kristen, James, Alfred, and others, including stunt performers and professional doubles, sat huddled in the hospital hallway, not a word spoken, gradually suffocating in the silence and oppression.

The sound of movement came from the door of the ward, and James was the first to jump to his feet.

"Anson…" The words of inquiry caught in his throat, unsure how to express himself, and then were swallowed back down in silence. James stared blankly at Lucas, his eyes pleading for answers.

It wasn't just James.

Lucas scanned the group. "Anson is awake. His condition is better than expected, and he's not in any immediate danger."

Thump.

Alfred's knees buckled, and he slumped to the ground, covering his face with his hands and rubbing hard, finally able to breathe again.

Kristen turned to face the wall, hiding her surging emotions, but her slightly trembling shoulders still betrayed her vulnerability.

James stepped forward. "When can we visit him?"

"Not now." Lucas rejected James like a cold-faced judge.

Ignoring James' frustrated and agitated expression, Lucas walked straight to Sam, who was sitting to the side. Sam's face was unreadable, but the anxiety and worry in his eyes were gradually consuming his reason, to the point where he seemed slightly dazed. Lucas had to pull Sam's wandering thoughts back.

"Sam, Anson wants to talk to you."

Sam looked up, slightly bewildered.

"But the doctor said that Anson still needs rest to allow his body time to heal, so the time can't be too long, five minutes at most."

Finally, Sam came to his senses, nodding slightly to show that he understood.

James couldn't believe it. "Hey, Anson's brother, I'm Anson's best friend. Why does the director get to go in, but I don't? What kind of standard is that?"

"Anson's brother's standard," Lucas spat out the words like ice cubes.

James choked, unable to retort.

Lucas ignored James and walked straight ahead.

He had only taken a few steps when Lucas paused slightly. He noticed—

Sean hung his head, lost in deep self-blame and guilt. No matter what else happened, he was the one who released his hands, and he needed to take responsibility for the current situation.

However, the question was, how should he take responsibility? What could he do?

The pain churned in his stomach.

He wanted to vomit, but he couldn't.

Sean noticed Lucas's footsteps in front of him, but he didn't dare to look up, watching helplessly as the footsteps paused slightly and then continued on.

Sean slowly closed his eyes, tormented in hell.

…

"What exactly happened?"

This was the question most frequently whispered and discussed among the crowd.

However, there was no answer.

Reporters who rushed to Cedars-Sinai Hospital after receiving the news were all blocked outside. The only thing they could confirm now was—

Something had happened. Anson was carried into the ambulance, and his current condition was unknown.

That was all.

With incomplete information and an unclear situation, the crew blocked all news, leaving only countless guesses. All sorts of terrible ideas emerged, and various speculations flew around, but no one could confirm anything.

The air was filled with agitation.

Harry Percy was also in the crowd, quietly hiding his figure.

Tension. Anxiety. Excitement. Exhilaration. Panic.

It was hard to imagine that so many different emotions were all intertwined at once, and the all-out adrenaline rush was like a party.

After the accident, Harry's first reaction was to run.

That was his only reaction.

He couldn't believe that things had happened this way, in such an absurd way. A chaotic mess of fear and worry exploded in his mind, and those terrible, extreme thoughts filled his head, unstoppable.

He kept telling himself, Anson is okay, Anson is okay, Anson is okay.

However, the bad news still came—

The ambulance was dispatched.

One piece of news after another surged in, dragging Harry into the darkness.

Then, Harry kept convincing himself:

This was an accident, an accident that no one wanted to happen, including himself; and movie sets were prone to all kinds of accidents.

In fact, not to mention filming movies, there were countless accidents in real life. Life was made up of one accident after another, good accidents, bad accidents, expected accidents, unwelcome accidents, and so on.

Then, Harry suddenly realized:

Maybe this was the first and only time he might have the upper hand in his conflict with Anson.

Standing in front of Anson, he had always been like a mouse seeing a cat. He had tried to escape and tried to resist, but he was always played by Anson, each time in a mess, to the point where he had developed a psychological shadow.

But now?

Anson might be lying motionless in a hospital bed, unable to fight back.

Harry knew this idea was evil, but the devil was still dragging him into the darkness, and the idea began to ferment in his mind, unstoppable.

Perhaps Anson was indeed injured, but not as seriously as imagined. All this news blockade was just a show, a publicity stunt to take full advantage of such injuries to attract attention.

This was absurd, but also very realistic—

In Hollywood, anything was possible. Life, old age, sickness, and death could all become a stage for performance. The spirit of entertainment to the death had long been ingrained.

If it was Anson, Harry thought the possibility was even higher.

After all, this young man had planned the "Surprise Flash Mob Event" and the image transformation at the Cannes Film Festival. What else was impossible?

Thinking of this, Harry couldn't control his excitement and agitation.

He needed to go to the hospital, like a serial killer returning to his crime scene. Fear and excitement were intertwined, mixed with the vigilance of being discovered and exposed, and the joy of appreciating the chaos he had created, like a god, looking down on his achievements from above.

Everything, like TMZ—

They uncover other people's scars, they reveal other people's secrets, they consume other people's pain, using camera lenses as weapons to sound the horn of entertainment to the death, and finally become an indispensable part of the dark corners of the Vanity Fair.

Perhaps, some would say that this was twisted, evil, hideous, and disgusting.

But Harry knew that even if they said so, people still couldn't control their desires, still being attracted by gossip, still excited by breaking news, still looking forward to dog blood and tension. Don't forget that it was because there was demand and a market that endless darkness and sin were bred.

Harry believed that when everything was revealed, people would be crazy, scolding and paying attention, besieging and discussing.

No one was an exception.