From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

That... was Anson.

He stood quietly at the center of the stage, without the embellishment of lights, the company of backup dancers, or the support of a set. Everything seemed plain and simple, yet it firmly gripped the audience's attention, making it impossible to look away. The aura that flowed from him naturally, amidst the bewilderment and shock of the entire arena, effortlessly made him the focal point.

Heh.

A soft chuckle came from the microphone, yet it was impossible to discern its meaning.

Then, Anson spoke.

"Stop Making Sense."

There's no need to try to think things through and understand, no need to find answers for everything, no need to resolve all doubts, and no need to constantly follow the crowd for fear of exposing oneself.

A single sentence, a jest, a complaint, and an attack all in one.

Like a stone thrown into still water, it stirred up a thousand ripples.

Buzz, buzz, buzz.

The entire Staples Center seemed to vibrate faintly, as everyone tried to fathom the deeper meaning of Anson's words and confirm that they were not the target of his attack.

However, Anson didn't give them the chance.

A faint sigh and bitterness collided between his lips and teeth, a gentle, sorrowful tug slowly hitting the chest, instantly drawing everyone into the world of music.

What... is this?

As they looked at each other, confusion and questions spread, but no one could find the answer—this, they had never heard before.

Although the August 31st Band had only burst onto the scene a year ago, the influence of the "Midsummer Midnight" album had spread to every corner. People were extremely familiar with the tracks on this album, yet they could say with absolute certainty:

There was no such song.

Could Anson be performing other classic tracks? Like the performance commemorating the fortieth anniversary of The Beatles?

But whose song was this?

No impression, never heard it, no memory of it.

Countless doubts remained unresolved, and they were still increasing.

However, the most magical thing was that the turbulent thoughts in their minds were surging, yet they couldn't concentrate their attention. In the blink of an eye, they were drawn into Anson's singing, slowly falling into the melody.

Not a free fall, but a drifting descent in the weightlessness of space.

Slowly, gradually, bit by bit, they slipped into the darkness.

The entire Staples Center was filled only with Anson's singing, a single voice, nothing more. No accompaniment, no instruments, no embellishments whatsoever.

"Can anybody hear me or am I talking to myself?"

"Saying things that no one else needs to know."

Unconsciously, uncontrollably, Archie held his breath, staring blankly at the big screen.

That singing, like a celestial sound coming from beyond the sky, stirred up gentle echoes in the lake, softly landing on the heart. Every pore on his body could feel the sadness and resilience hidden in the melody and singing.

Again and again, it tugged at his heart.

That was Anson, the guide who had lit a glimmer of dawn for him in the endless night, the companion who had accompanied him all the way on the long road, the afterglow of midsummer who persisted in pursuing his dreams amidst pain and despair.

And now, he seemed to be telling his story.

For no reason, Archie's heart was struck hard, and in the melody and lyrics, he seemed to see Anson, and also seemed to see himself.

Then.

The most bizarre and jaw-dropping scene appeared.

Staff members came on stage, completely ignoring everyone else, even while the performance was in progress.

Just when people thought the performance couldn't get any more disastrous, just when people had finally managed to immerse themselves in Anson's singing—

What was going on?

The staff members seemed completely unaware of Anson's existence, carrying chairs, power strips, microphones, and other equipment onto the stage, busying themselves behind Anson.

Yet, Anson seemed oblivious, wholeheartedly focusing on the performance, his fingertips falling on the strings, finally plucking them after singing a whole section a cappella.

Playing, stirring up the melody.

"And if they say, Who cares if one more light goes out? In a sky of a million stars, It flickers, flickers."

Archie was stunned, completely stunned.

"Who cares when someone's time runs out? If a moment is all we are, We're quicker, quicker."

A shiver ran from the soles of Archie's feet all the way to the top of his head, and his entire scalp began to tingle.

In his vision, Anson was still standing alone in place, lonely yet strong, fragile yet resilient. The world was so noisy, so chaotic, and so turbulent, yet he had never wavered, facing all the wind and rain with unwavering determination, continuing to sing with the passion and strength from the depths of his soul.

"Who cares if one more light goes out? Well I do."

In that instant, Archie fell apart, sobbing uncontrollably—

This was a response from Anson.

In the vast expanse of stars, even the weakest and smallest star is still important. Without their existence, there would be no magnificent scene before us; without them quietly shining, there would be no brilliance in this night sky.

In the vast night sky, there is both the North Star and the unnamed starlight.

Standing before the grandeur and vastness of the universe, we are all equally small and humble; standing before the vastness of the river of time, we are all equally insignificant.

Therefore, the existence of every light is equally important, even in the corners where no one knows, they are always quietly shining.

It wasn't a shout, it wasn't a high pitch, it wasn't a loud singing, it was just a quiet narration, a gentle telling, yet it hid a surging power in the simple singing—

It's not being loud that gives strength; it's not being detailed that gives impact.

"Oh, God."

Archie stood there in disbelief, letting himself fall apart in the emotional tsunami.

When Gloria noticed Archie's abnormality, she was taking a deep breath, her eyes slightly moist. She could feel the power flowing from the melody. Although she didn't understand why, she was still filled with emotions, a kind of indescribable emotion was swelling up, like cotton candy.

However, Gloria looked at Archie, trying to control herself, "Are you okay?"

Archie nodded but shook his head again, pointing to the big screen, and then pointing to himself, "This is... written for me."

Unclear, intermittent, Archie couldn't express himself completely.

But Gloria understood.

She couldn't help but be stunned, quietly watching Archie. Everything that had just happened on the red carpet rushed like a tide, instantly hitting her heart.

Then, with a look of astonishment, she turned to look at the big screen. That emotional storm roared towards her, but she lost the ability to react.

Someone else appeared on the stage—

Finally!

It was... first seeing the cello, then seeing the figure, it was actually Miles.