From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

Sean - Graham stared at the ground, the focus in his eyes gradually dissipating, sinking into deep torment, the world seemingly collapsing.

I'm sorry.

Since the accident, Sean had said sorry countless times; but the more he said it, the more unsure he felt, because he himself didn't buy it. A single apology couldn't make up for the mistake. Leaving aside everything else, Anson's current pain and suffering were all because of him. "Sorry" was simply too insignificant.

But, what to do?

Even if he used his life to compensate, it would be far from enough.

Quietly staring at the ground, his thoughts gradually dissipated,遁入 into an endless void, letting himself float and sink in the darkness.

"… Sean?"

A call came from his ear, like a thunderclap, instantly dragging Sean back to the ground from his suspended state. His internal organs churned, but Sean didn't have time to think. His first reaction was to bow deeply.

"I'm sorry."

The words blurted out subconsciously.

Nora was annoyed, "What are you apologizing for? People who don't know might think I did something to force you to apologize?"

Sean was stunned, and quickly said again, "Sorry, I shouldn't apologize so casually."

Nora's breath caught in her chest. She saw Sean's bandaged hands at a glance, with traces of bright red seeping through. Only then did she realize that this was an artisan who relied entirely on his hands for a living.

However, Nora still controlled herself, and didn't soften her heart easily, "I am Anson's mother, Nora. Can you tell me what happened?"

Nora also knew that such artisans relied on their skills to make a living. An accident or a mistake could cause them to lose their jobs; therefore, those who could enter the "Spider-Man 2" crew must be industry experts. It was unreasonable for them to make mistakes casually, especially such a major mistake.

So, she needed the truth.

Nora knew that Lucas should be investigating, but this didn't affect her understanding of the situation.

Anger burned in Nora's chest, but this anger didn't ignite reason, instead becoming a force of focus.

Only after Nora had finished asking in detail did she tell Sean that Anson wanted to see him; but Anson needed to rest, so the time couldn't be too long.

Sean stood at the door of the ward, his right hand on the handle, but he hesitated—

He didn't know how to face Anson. It seemed that he could do nothing but say a light "sorry". This sense of powerlessness made him deeply frustrated.

Taking a deep breath and summoning his courage, Sean still pushed open the door of the room.

Creak.

Inside, it was quiet, so quiet that the sound of the door panel was even clearer. Sean had to control himself gently, his heart pounding, almost jumping out of his throat.

On the hospital bed, Anson closed his eyes peacefully, seemingly falling asleep.

Sean became more and more uneasy. If Anson was resting, should he go out; but Nora said that Anson wanted to talk to him, shouldn't he just leave?

He was in a dilemma.

Sean stood stiffly at the door, not knowing what to do for a moment.

"… I just confirmed that this is not a morgue or an operating room."

A voice came, and Sean was startled, his heart almost jumping out.

Following the voice, Anson had already woken up, with a smile on his lips.

"Sorry, I waited until I fell asleep. It seems that my mother should have interrogated you well. How many rounds of bombing have you received today?"

Light, humorous, with a bit of banter.

But Sean couldn't laugh. He mumbled his lips, but couldn't make any sound. His messy head didn't have any thoughts either.

So, Anson's words just stayed there without beginning or end.

A little awkward.

Anson understood this scene.

In his previous life as a working man, Anson himself had experienced such situations:

Sometimes it was indeed his own mistakes that led to the bad situation, sometimes it was for other reasons but it was indeed his own improper handling at the last moment that led to the bad situation, and sometimes he even became a scapegoat for others.

Everyone has their own responsibilities to bear; but at the same time, the mistake has already been made, and in the end, it is still necessary to clean up the mess. Instead of dwelling on the mistake, it is better to start dealing with the current predicament and disaster—

If it is possible to make amends, that would naturally be the best; but if not, it is also a way to settle the new and old accounts together.

Suddenly, Sean raised his head to look at Anson.

Anson, "If apologies were useful, what would the police do?"

Sean: …

Anson, "No reaction, 'Meteor Garden'? Isn't it broadcast in the United States? Okay, never mind, my point is, I don't need your apology, because the matter has already happened, and apologies can't change anything."

Sean's expression struggled.

"But, I need your help," Anson changed the subject.

"Next, I need you to cooperate with the investigation so that we can find the real reason and prevent similar things from happening again. We need to find the culprit."

"Secondly, I need you to gather a team, wire masters and martial arts instructors, so that we can gather professional opinions to see if we can find a more stable and safer shooting method, forming additional insurance, rather than putting all the weight in the hands of the masters."

"I know that the job of martial arts instructor is becoming more and more difficult to find. Computer special effects are replacing your work, and wire masters may be completely eliminated in the future. You can't find apprentices now either."

"But I always believe that there are still directors who insist on using retro shooting techniques. This skill is still a unique art belonging to the film, but we need to develop it slightly according to the changes of the times."

Sean was stunned, completely stunned:

Who am I? Where am I? What am I doing?

He couldn't keep up with Anson's train of thought at all, so much so that he slightly opened his mouth and couldn't hide his astonishment.

"Of course, it's not that you are unwilling to develop technology, but that you don't have the funds."

"Okay, before the next victim appears, I am willing to sign a check so that we can do something meaningful, what do you think?"

Sean was crazy, completely crazy—

Anson didn't condemn him, not only didn't, but also tried to help.

How did this happen?

Sean didn't realize it at all, he was both flustered and scared, and he couldn't even be happy, "Anson… I'm sorry."

The words were so pale, countless thoughts crowded in his mind, but in the end, they still evolved into a light word, without any power.

"I just…" Sean froze in place, staring blankly at Anson.

Without warning, Anson's face fell, "Did you think I would lie here raging and self-pitying and then vent my anger on everyone around me, wishing I could sacrifice you to the heavens, and be defeated by a little accident?"

"Or are you saying that you think that making a mistake can be simply scolded, eaten a little lawsuit, compensated until you are bankrupt, and swept out of the entire industry can make me feel comforted?"