From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

“I don’t think Edgar is just doing it for marketing; he probably genuinely believes you have a chance.”

Amidst the chaotic news, Lucas grasped the core.

“Imagine, why not?”

“007 has been around for thirty? Forty years? Consistently maintaining the same type and style, preserving its brand image, is a good thing.”

“But at the same time, the audience is no longer the same audience. Nowadays, audiences have higher and higher demands for genre films, and their tastes are also becoming more discerning. If 007 doesn't change, they might face market loss, like a stagnant pool, gradually losing vitality.”

“I believe you are their opportunity, and Edgar probably thinks so too.”

At least, from a theoretical perspective, that's indeed the case.

Anson put down the palette in his hand, looking at Lucas with a surprised expression, revealing an interested look, “Since when did you start caring about movies?”

Lucas didn't even lift his eyelids, “Since you started becoming an actor.”

Anson choked.

Lucas, “In essence, movies are also a business.”

Anson protested, “Oh, that's not romantic at all. Movies are art. Art!”

Lucas, “Art also needs to make money. Otherwise, art that no one discovers is equivalent to no one recognizing its value. Are you willing to become Van Gogh?”

Anson spread his hands, with a look of utter despair, “You've ruined all romantic fantasies. Now I feel like I'm covered in the stench of money.”

This was obviously a joke.

Lucas made a gesture of taking off his hat in thanks.

Anson chuckled, “Speaking of which, why are you here? What about your job? God, if I were your boss, I would have kicked you out already.”

Lucas, “No need to wait for you to act. I resigned.”

Anson: … …

Anson blinked, his first reaction was that Lucas was joking, but after carefully examining Lucas, he realized that Lucas wasn't.

“Wait, why?”

Lucas, “Different collaborative philosophies.”

Anson scoffed, “Is this some kind of divorce statement? Why are you saying it so lightly?”

Lucas remained calm, “Where there is a gathering, there is a parting; where there is cooperation, there is a breakup. That’s life, it’s perfectly normal, no need to make a fuss.”

Anson felt a breath stuck in his chest, rolled his eyes, “Do Mom and Dad know?”

Lucas, “They didn't ask.”

Because it was too absurd, Anson laughed directly, “If I hadn't asked, you wouldn't have said it, right?”

Lucas, “Every time you take on a project, or miss a project, do you tell us?”

Anson's eyes widened, “From today onwards, I will, definitely will.”

Lucas, “But I don't want to hear it.”

Anson: … …

After a brief moment of surprise, Anson calmed down slightly, “When did this happen?”

Lucas said casually, “It's been a while.”

Anson, “Wait, is it because of me?”

Lucas was about to speak.

Anson shook his head, “Don't be perfunctory with me. When I was in the hospital, you were always hanging around in the hospital like an unemployed bum. Is that why you fell out with the company?”

“Luca, is that so?”

Lucas didn't speak.

Anson couldn't help but say, “Damn. Damn, damn, damn!”

He raised his head and looked at Lucas, all kinds of complex emotions surged in his chest, finally evolving into a smile at the corner of his mouth, weakly rising up, “So, what's next, what are you planning to do?”

Lucas remained unconcerned, “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Have you forgotten? Back then, I went to Silicon Valley alone, starting from scratch, without fearing anything; it’s still the same now.”

“What’s more, I still have you now, don’t I? My baby brother has grown up, and I’m still making good use of the funds you gave me.”

After a pause, “I’m planning to go to Los Angeles.”

Anson raised his eyebrows slightly, “Why not just come to Malibu, I’ll support you.”

Originally, Anson was making a joke, teasing Lucas, but he didn't expect Lucas to nod lightly, “That's the plan for the first half of the year. Before I get my footing, I'll be staying at your place. The luggage has already been moved in.”

Anson: ?

After thinking for a while, “Lucas, honestly, Noah is a spy you arranged by my side, right?” Anson's face was serious.

Lucas glanced at Anson, “I thought you just invited me to Malibu.”

“Inviting is inviting, but you made the decision without even saying hello, something’s not right.”

“Anyway, the result is the same, isn’t it?”

“No, no, no, the logical order is different. You're also feeling guilty, so you specially ran to Columbus to express your apology, right?”

Chattering, rambling.

The two brothers engaged in a head-to-head confrontation, with tit-for-tat exchanges continuing for quite a while.

After the sun went down, Anson and Lucas left the studio. They didn't drive, relying on their legs, walking in the afterglow of the sunset, heading to a restaurant for dinner.

It was an inconspicuous Italian family restaurant, with no special dishes, but it was particularly warm.

The chef and owner said that their recipes were all inherited from their grandmother, all authentic Italian home cooking.

The grandmother was the first chef of this restaurant, until her body could no longer support it, and she was forced to retire, then the owner took over the restaurant.

And that white-haired old lady still came to the restaurant every now and then to supervise, talking incessantly in Italian, mingling with the guests.

Anson drank a small glass of red wine with the grandmother, Lucas sat quietly aside, watching his brother chatting happily with the owners and guests in the entire restaurant.

After dinner, the Wood brothers continued to stroll through the city's night scene on foot, going to the supermarket to buy a bunch of things.

Watching Anson's sneaky figure, Lucas pretended not to see Anson secretly hiding three bags of potato chips in the corner of the cart —

Even though Anson had already bought five bags openly.

Until it was time to check out, the guilty Anson confessed frankly, and Lucas tacitly indicated his permission, which made Anson cheer happily.

Carrying a bunch of things, the two brothers staggered back to the studio —

There was a second floor, with a bedroom, bathroom, guest room, everything. Anson had been living there for some time.

Arriving at the studio, Lucas was in charge of mixing cocktails, while Anson was in charge of sitting on the sofa chair in the backyard counting the stars. The refreshing breeze slowly caressed his cheeks, his whole body muscles relaxed, a bottle of coke paired with a bag of potato chips, leisurely and comfortable, the happiness of life seemed to be nothing more than this.

“…This is already the second bag. At this rate, I might not last until tomorrow night.” Lucas looked at the potato chip packaging bag next to Anson, looking a little helpless.

Anson waved his hand, took the cocktail from Lucas, and changed the subject nonchalantly.

Lucas didn't continue to say anything after all, sitting down on the sofa chair next to Anson, bathed in the moonlight, slowly relaxing.

Until Anson's calm voice came from his ear, “Lucas, you leaving the company to go to Los Angeles, it wasn't an accident, was it?”

Hidden behind the calmness was a kind of certainty, suddenly grabbing Lucas's heart.

Lucas's muscles stiffened, a thunderous sound surged above his eardrums, and he was stunned for a very, very short time.