From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

Amidst the chaos and a mind filled with thoughts, Reese was somewhat absent-minded.

She stood there blankly, her thoughts already soaring into outer space.

However, Reese ultimately didn't leave, even though she herself couldn't find a reason to stand there. But an indescribable impulse made her persist in standing still, immersed in her jumbled thoughts.

Until her calves felt slightly sore, and her knees felt a little weak.

She was tired.

Reese adjusted her posture and looked down at her watch—

Two minutes?

What! Had she only been standing here for less than two minutes?

Reese could hardly believe her eyes. No, no, no, it wasn't two minutes, it should have been twenty minutes. How could it only be two minutes?

God, her perception of time was actually two hours…

This realization hit Reese hard, making her feel uneasy. She awkwardly touched her neck, trying to hide her embarrassment.

However, Reese immediately realized that no one else had noticed her, meaning she was the only one feeling embarrassed. She couldn't help but exhale a long breath.

At this moment, the sound of a guitar string came from directly in front—

Clear, calm, and subtly bright.

Reese looked up and immediately saw Anson plucking the strings.

His slender fingers danced between the strings, notes flowing gently, quiet and soothing, moving unhurriedly, everything seeming magical.

Melody, which should originally belong to the sense of hearing, yet Reese seemed able to touch the tenderness and fragility of the notes, which might scatter with a gentle touch, quietly emitting a faint glow, murmuring in the endless night, the gentle vibrations in the air slowly landing on the skin's surface, stirring it up.

This, was it touch?

Boundless darkness surrounded it, heavy and deep, with no end in sight and no exit to be found. That faint light flickered on and off, swaying, ready to be extinguished at any moment.

When did it start? Her heart was covered with fragmented, tiny wounds.

Once, those voices that criticized her as a useless pink Barbie doll, those voices that mocked her as having an ugly, unbearable, shoehorn-shaped face, those voices that believed she could never become a true actress…

She couldn't hear them anymore, but she wouldn't admit defeat.

Because she knew they wanted to see her hurt, to see her suffer, to see her struggling in the darkness, she simply wouldn't let them get their wish.

So, she displayed an even brighter smile, raised her chin high, faced those scoldings and attacks with a radiant smile, and climbed the peak of her career, stepping on their envy and jealousy. She didn't even bother to retaliate against them, because they were no longer on the same level as her.

There was no need.

However, those words, those gazes, those prejudices, still left dense wounds on her heart, which she had never realized.

Until this moment.

Everything, was just like… June Carter.

Her smile, her sunshine, her brightness, her cheerfulness, like the sun, dispelled the darkness for Johnny Cash, saving Johnny's soul from falling into hell.

But, what about herself?

She also carried her own struggles and pain.

But every time she stepped onto the stage, she always showed her brightest and most ardent side, using passion and joy to complete her self-redemption, resisting the darkness.

Reese was still stunned, standing in place, unable to move, quietly, blankly staring at Anson.

Just a guitar.

Anson didn't sing, but wholeheartedly played the guitar. His weariness and confusion, his tenacity and perseverance, those positive and negative emotions all collided and rubbed against the fingertips and strings, evolving into notes that flowed gently, silently blending into the air.

"Notes, before meeting a kindred spirit, have no meaning."

Then, what about after meeting?

Starlight, lit up little by little in the endless darkness, flickering stubbornly and persistently, burning the power of the soul, blooming with faint light.

Those notes, transformed into starlight, fluttering in the recording room like scattered stars.

Without warning, Reese's eyes welled up with tears.

She didn't know what was wrong with herself, even felt somewhat inexplicable, but the wounds on her heart gently tugged, the sour and tingling pain evolving into tears filling her eyes, helplessly standing in place, full of tears, like a fool.

Time, lost its meaning at this moment.

Ten minutes, twenty minutes, thirty minutes, Reese was completely unaware, just quietly standing in place, letting her heart and thoughts get lost in the melody.

At this moment, she was Reese Witherspoon, and June Carter, and also an ordinary little girl, embracing an actress's dream, standing under the vast starry sky, depicting the brilliance and splendor at the end of her dream, not only the spotlights, but also millions of viewers.

So, why did she yearn to become an actress? Why did June Carter yearn to become a singer?

Because of attention, because of the lights, because of the fame and fortune? Maybe all of them, but far more than that. They yearned to inject their emotions into their works of art, to create an emotional connection with the audience, to share the emotional resonance they both possessed in the time of a movie or a song.

The reason why actors can become actors, and singers can become singers, is that they cannot be separated from the audience. Without the audience, they are nothing.

Now, Reese finally understood what Anson meant.

At this moment, music became a bridge, establishing a connection between Reese and Anson, from performer to listener and then back to the performer, giving meaning to the performance in front of her.

Bang!

The recording studio door was pushed open, and Reese was startled.

Turning her head, Connor's clumsy, sweaty figure squeezed in, cautiously looking around, revealing a simple and honest smile,

"Sorry, we're late."

Then came Lily.

Finally, Miles.

They entered one after another, hurriedly greeting Reese, and seeing Anson inside the recording room, they dropped their backpacks and luggage one by one and immediately joined in.

Reese stared dumbfounded at the scene before her, her brain completely shutting down, unable to keep up with the speed, watching them enter the recording room like wooden chickens.

Anson's performance still hadn't stopped. They spontaneously found their instruments, but they didn't rush to join in, but familiarized themselves with the instruments at their own pace, without even taking a sip of water, each already entering the world of music.

Reese: … What exactly is happening? Could this be a dream, and she, like Alice, has stumbled into the Mad Hatter's world?

Time? How long has Anson's performance been going on? What are they planning to do now? Are they going to start playing immediately?

Who am I. Where am I. What am I doing.

One question mark after another overflowed, with no answers.

However, the wonderful thing is that it seems like all the question marks are unimportant. Not at all.