From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

Fatigue. Exhaustion.

That was Anson's condition.

Completely hollowed out, inside and out, with nothing left, Anson felt an unprecedented level of weariness.

After a busy and stressful day at work, Anson didn't even want to move a finger, only wanting to lie on the sofa in a complete daze; forcing himself to perk up, barely managing to hold on, but before dinner time his eyelids began to droop, and when he finally ate dinner, he had no idea whether he was putting bread or an apple into his mouth, almost falling asleep halfway through chewing.

Dinner ended hastily, unsure if he had even finished eating.

At this point, he couldn't even bother with the common knowledge that going to sleep immediately after dinner could cause acid reflux; his head hadn't even touched the pillow before he lost consciousness, falling into a deep, muddled sleep.

However, the sleep was not peaceful.

Anson kept dreaming, bizarre dreams that disrupted reality and order, without reason or rhyme, all sorts of strange dreams.

One after another, completely filling him, leaving no gaps.

He couldn't remember any of those dreams clearly, not even fragments, only remembering the last one, set in a dark basement.

The damp, rotten, and filthy air swirled around his nose, reminding him that this should be a basement, where he was huddled in a corner, doing his best to squeeze his thin body into the shadows, completely hidden.

Although his hands were free from the ropes that had bound them, his chafed wrists still burned with pain, and the numbness from prolonged lack of blood flow could not mask the stinging sensation, as if ants were burrowing into his blood vessels, spreading through his muscles.

However, he had no time to care about these things.

His whole body was tense, completely alert, identifying the space and direction by the faint light from the crack in the door at the end of the basement stairs, his heartbeat almost ceasing.

Swallowing a mouthful of saliva, he realized his mouth was full of blood, and his throat was extremely dry, the act of swallowing feeling like swallowing shards of glass.

He almost cried out in alarm, but swallowed it back because of the slight noise coming from the doorway, every muscle in his body instantly tensing to the extreme.

Creak.

Someone had appeared.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs, creaking and groaning, fell on his taut nerves like thunder, his breathing and heartbeat completely disappearing.

"Hmm, where is he?"

The person spoke, followed by the sound of a switch, and dim yellow light spilled down.

Opportunity.

In that brief moment where darkness and light intersected, before the night had completely receded and the light had not yet filled the entire basement space.

He acted.

He darted out from his hidden corner, using his body as a stake to slam into the person.

However, it was like an ant trying to shake a tree—

His height only reached the person's waist, and his thin frame had no strength, how could he easily shake the tall figure in front of him?

But he was prepared.

Not only did he collide, but he also extended his leg behind the person's thigh to trip and push, relying on the speed, inertia, and strength of his body to directly trip the person.

Clearly, the person had not expected this, and fell backward unexpectedly.

"You!"

A cry of alarm.

But he didn't give the other person time to react.

The rusty piece of iron he had prepared earlier in his right hand suddenly stabbed towards the other person's abdomen, using all his strength; but the expected outcome did not occur.

In movies, daggers, kitchen knives, and even books can become murder weapons; but in the real world, even a sharp piece of iron could not pierce the other person's abdomen.

It was more difficult than imagined.

The iron piece only pierced a little bit, then got stuck, unable to go any further.

For a moment, he couldn't determine whether it was because the iron piece wasn't sharp enough, or because he wasn't strong enough, or if Hollywood movies were all lies.

He froze in panic.

Because this was real combat, even a small mistake could lead to complete defeat.

He panicked, he was afraid, he began to tremble violently.

But he still reacted.

Although he underestimated the sharpness of the iron piece, he did not overestimate his own strength, he knew that even if he tried his best, he was still insignificant in front of an adult, so he had to be prepared for two scenarios, a backup plan.

He could clearly see the ferocity in the other person's eyes, who was preparing to launch a counterattack, although the person was wearing a hood to cover their face, the murderous aura in their pupils still bared its fangs and claws towards him, he immediately waved his left hand, smashing the brick in his hand hard at the person's head.

Thud.

A muffled sound.

There was no blood splattering everywhere like in the movies, it seemed like only a layer of skin was grazed, but then he forcefully swung, throwing the brick at the person's head again, completing a continuous strike of hitting and throwing.

Finally, the person was briefly stunned.

He couldn't care about anything else, turning and rushing towards the stairs, his knees slightly weak, climbing the stairs on all fours to escape the basement, suddenly bursting into a bright light, dizzy and disoriented, his entire head almost exploding.

Time. Time!

He had to race against time, but the more nervous and afraid he was, the less he could panic, instead he paused slightly, judging the space and direction, looking for the location of the door.

At this moment, a person appeared at the door, without a hood, holding a bottle of beer, preparing to go to the kitchen, and didn't even notice his figure for a moment.

Just as that person noticed him, he took the initiative to act.

Instead of running in the opposite direction, he rushed towards them, throwing the rusty piece of iron in his right hand towards the person's face.

"Ah!"

The person cried out in alarm, instinctively dodging.

He took the opportunity to slip out of the gap next to them, running in a straight line, pushing open the front door, and running outside without looking back, with no reservations or pauses, rushing out in a complete daze.

Tap tap tap, tap tap tap.

A stinging pain came from the soles of his feet, and it belatedly dawned on him that he wasn't wearing shoes, but he couldn't care about that, constantly telling himself to calm down.

Pebbles. Sand.

The rough road rubbed against the soles of his feet, bloody, and then he realized that his hands were also covered in thick blood, wet and sticky, with stinging pain coming in waves like electric currents quickly passing through his body.

"Run, run fast!"

That was the only thought in his mind.

But he knew that he couldn't escape the clutches of an adult by relying solely on his legs, he needed help.

Either find a place to hide, like a game of hide-and-seek; or seek help from other adults.

After running only thirty meters, he quickly looked around, realizing that this was a middle-class neighborhood, with detached houses, but neighbors should know each other and help each other.

He had an idea.

Looking back, someone had already come out of the house he had escaped from, he had no time to hesitate or delay, he didn't continue to rush forward, but instead rushed towards a house on the left, and started banging on the door.

Bang bang bang, bang bang bang, using all his strength.