From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

“Why pretend like nothing happened?” Anson retorted, “Cry when you want to cry, laugh when you want to laugh, bravely and directly express your emotions, and wholeheartedly seize every moment of life. That is also a kind of charm.”

Annie didn't believe it.

She looked up at the sky, muttering, “What's so good about acting like a child who never grows up?”

Heh heh. Anson chuckled.

“Yes, like a child.”

“When we were young, we always longed to grow up and learn to control our emotions with reason, as if we could face any storm calmly; but only after growing up did we realize that there was a price to pay. When you want to cry, you can't, which also means you can't laugh when you want to laugh.”

“How stifling.”

Annie was slightly stunned, then tilted her head to look at Anson. His face, hidden beneath messy hair, was delicate and serene, like a washed sky filled with evening clouds after a rainstorm in late June. She couldn't help but stare quietly, trying to explore the depth and vastness hidden behind that purity.

She said, “The way you put it, it's like what just happened was a good thing.”

Liar!

The corners of Anson's mouth turned up, “Yes, that's what I think.”

Generous and sincere.

Annie couldn't help but be stunned.

Anson didn't explain but changed the subject, “So, how's your sleep quality? Are you awake now?”

As he spoke, he began to move his left shoulder with a grimace, accompanied by sighs and groans of back pain. If you didn't know better, you'd think his skeleton was about to fall apart.

Annie immediately understood, feeling a little embarrassed.

But, miraculously, this teasing seemed to make it… less embarrassing.

Annie bared her teeth and made a face at Anson, “I slept very well, thank you, pillow.”

She glanced at the water stain on Anson's shoulder, still a little guilty, and quickly lowered her head, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand again.

After thinking for a moment, she dragged her carry-on backpack from under the seat, rummaged through it, and took out a book, handing it over, “A thank you gift.”

“Thank you,” and not “apology.”

From the wording, it could be seen that Annie had also changed her perspective and was re-evaluating the little episode just now.

Anson took the book—

“To the Lighthouse,” by Virginia Woolf, the famous British writer.

Anson casually made a joke, “Did you write it?”

Annie was taken aback.

Her big, watery eyes looked at Anson, carefully examining his expression. Then, a smile bloomed, still disheveled and embarrassed, but her face stretched out like the sun breaking through the clouds, stunning in that instant.

Annie also realized it was a joke, “If I did, that would be great.”

Then.

The plane landed smoothly.

Annie was a little impatient. Seeing the seatbelt sign turn off and other passengers already eagerly standing up, she also stood up.

Anson, however, was not in a hurry.

In his previous life, the pace of life became faster and faster, like short videos, wishing to jump to the next video in five or ten seconds. Unconsciously, life was swept into a hurricane, with no room to breathe. Everyone was sprinting, sprinting at full speed—

However, no one knew where they were sprinting towards.

This time, he hoped he could slow down a bit. Life was so long but also so short, so why not enjoy the scenery along the way to the finish line?

Just right, no social networks, no smartphones, and even the internet wasn't fast. It was still the dial-up era, and everything slowed down. For others, their lives were getting faster and faster, but for Anson, life was slowing down.

So.

Anson made way for Annie to exit.

Annie gave an apologetic smile, “I'm a bit impatient.”

Anson raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, “Don't worry, I won't misunderstand that you want to leave here quickly. Even if you do, it's normal.”

Another joke.

Annie pursed her lips, “Ha, very funny. Haha.” She laughed dryly twice. Then Annie still came to the aisle, stood firm, and you could tell from the constantly shifting heels that she really wanted to escape here as soon as possible.

A turn of the head, and her smooth, waterfall-like long hair returned to its smoothness, indeed like a princess.

“Looks like I have to leave first.”

“It was a pleasure meeting you, and thank you very much for your help; but if possible…”

—It would be best if we never met again. What happened in Rome, stay in Rome.

The words that followed were not said. Annie grinned and stuck out her tongue, making a face. No words were needed, but it was already enough.

Anson smiled helplessly, “Who knows, the world is big, but it's also small.”

Annie widened her eyes, imagining the scene of their reunion, and couldn't help but shiver. Then, her eyes caught Anson's smile, and she quickly withdrew her gaze, hurriedly saying “Goodbye” to Anson, and followed the slowly moving crowd forward, leaving quickly.

After taking two steps, she looked back again, her expression as if she had seen a ghost, and she quickly withdrew her gaze, lowered her head, and followed the team to leave the cabin quickly.

Anson also withdrew his gaze, looking down at the book in his hand—

The book wasn't new, to be precise, it was a bit old.

One look and you knew the owner must have carefully read it for a long time, and you could almost feel the warmth of the fingertips left on the pages during focused reading.

He opened the book.

“‘Yes, if it's fine tomorrow, I'll be sure to let you go,’ said Mrs. Ramsay…”

Originally, Anson just wanted to pass some time. After all, in the era without smartphones, the trivial time in daily life began to increase. The time waiting to get off the plane, the time waiting for the shuttle bus, the time waiting for luggage, time seemed to overflow all at once.

Books just provided a way to pass the time.

But he didn't expect that after opening it, he would naturally read on, and the passage of time would no longer be important, but instead he would enter a quiet world.

Squeak.

“Sir, we've arrived, Fairmont.”

Ahead, came the voice of the taxi driver, and Anson's thoughts finally pulled away from Woolf's words, and he casually folded a corner of the page as a marker.

Pushing open the car door, a retro building with red brick walls filled his vision, and above each window was a white fan-shaped crown decoration, like Santa Claus's beard, with a touch of Nordic fairy-tale playfulness, making the corners of his mouth rise slightly.

Although he only saw a corner of the entrance, if Anson didn't judge wrongly, this should be a resort, and a five-star one at that.

Sure enough, the name “Garry Marshall” still had appeal. No wonder a romantic comedy film that didn't require computer effects had a budget as high as twenty-five million dollars. You could see a corner of the iceberg from the accommodation conditions in front of you. All the crew members would be staying here.

“Thank you. Thank you! I can do these myself, thank you.”

Just ahead, Annie Hathaway, who had just unloaded her luggage and was about to enter the hotel with the help of the bellboy, repeatedly expressed her gratitude.

A turn and a look back.

Annie saw a bright smile, waving to greet herself, “Hey, good afternoon.”

Third chapter.