From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

Smack.

A pain, a suffocation, beyond the limit of endurance, the world plunged into endless blue, instantly cutting off breath, endlessly falling towards a black hole.

Pain, it really hurt so much, the pain of the soul tearing filled every cell, it seemed he could feel himself disappearing, being swallowed, being torn, being crushed, overwhelming despair and pain crushing his chest, crushing his heart, watching helplessly as he fell apart and vanished into thin air.

Anson opened his mouth, trying to call for help, but found himself unable to make a sound, despair coldly and piercingly binding his ankles, free-falling downwards.

Everything, paused.

Outside the meeting room, Lucas watched intently, completely forgetting to breathe.

In his line of sight, Anson's expression was painful and狰狞, a struggle and pull that was difficult to accurately describe in words seemed to be tearing his soul apart.

Until his face returned to calmness, it disappeared, all emotions seemed to have disappeared, but this calmness was unsettling and even frightening, because the pain behind the calmness had broken through the extreme, it seemed he could see that fragile and easily broken soul slowly drifting away with the wind.

That overwhelming energy even broke through the walls, windows, and railings, and swept towards Lucas, pressing Lucas firmly in place, unable to move, not even a finger, standing motionless in place like a statue.

Then.

"Help…"

Lucas heard it, Anson was calling for help—

Oh, God.

Lucas instantly stopped breathing, no longer caring, broke free from his shackles, an unbelievable energy erupted from his body and he shot out, used the key left by the warden to open the meeting room door, bumped his shoulder, rushed in regardless, rushed towards Anson in three steps, watching helplessly as Anson became weak all over, as if his strength had been drained, and just collapsed to the ground.

Despair, crushed his heart.

Lucas took a step forward, held Anson in his arms, slumped to the ground following Anson's strength, hugged his brother tightly, and fell into fear.

Deep fear.

That year, he watched his brother like this, skinny and small, curled up in Charles' arms, covered in wounds, the exposed skin was covered in scars.

The back of his hands, the back of his feet, his calves, his cheeks, his shoulders.

Everywhere, shocking.

Wherever his eyes could see, his fingernails were peeling off, dripping with blood, his small cheeks had no color, quietly and gently lying in Charles' arms, his weak and motionless chest seemed to be able to stop breathing at any time, which made him stand there blankly, afraid to move, like a coward.

His brother, the brother who was like a kitten when he was born but miraculously grew up, seemed to disappear at any time, seemed to have his soul occupied by darkness.

And it was all his fault.

He said he would take care of Anson, he said that no matter what happened, he would not let Anson get hurt, he said that he would always be by Anson's side.

However, he let go, he let go of Anson's hand.

Only God knows how much he hated himself at that moment.

The same is true before his eyes.

"Help…"

Anson was calling for help, but he was clutching Lucas' heart tightly.

This time, he refused to let go, he would never let go, even if Death came.

Again, and again.

Again, and again.

In the endless blue and infinite cold, Anson thought he was ignored, forgotten, and abandoned again, in both his past and present lives, things never seemed to have changed, his efforts, his struggles, his mad dash were all in vain.

So, what is the point of continuing to persevere?

Johnny Cash had music, had June Carter, had the pursuit of justice and the pursuit of faith, which became the dawn that guided him to break free from the darkness and break free from his shackles, so what did he have?

A void.

Raising his head to look at the universe, endless darkness and infinite silence surrounded him, he just floated in mid-air, floating in the void, the surface of his skin could feel loneliness and loss slowly seeping into his body along the pores, little by little cooling the blood down.

Finally, it settled deep into the soul.

Consciousness began to blur, gradually disappearing in the boundless chaos, his existence seemed to be gradually disappearing.

"Anson, I'm here."

A call came from the distant distance, one after another, tirelessly repeating, grabbing Anson's attention in the chaos, like a ray of dawn.

Wait, who is that?

In the coldness and emptiness, that voice pulled Anson back, the temperature came back, the center of gravity also came back, the soul frozen in the vast darkness began to struggle, involuntarily looking around, starting to look for the source of that voice, trying to escape the endless loneliness.

Subconsciously, Anson ran towards that voice.

Darkness, boundless.

So, Anson stood up, looking for fate in the darkness, he was scarred in despair, he danced in the arms of demons, endless darkness corroded and devoured his soul, helplessly lost in the void, unable to identify the direction, or even judge his own existence.

Everything, only that one voice remained, the voice that broke the silence and broke free from the shackles.

In his eyes, the flames were rekindled, as if they had never been extinguished because of the void, wandering in an isolated place with no way out for too long, so weak and helpless, but rekindling hope when that voice sounded, searching around in fear and panic.

For fear that it was just his own illusion.

Who, who is there?

Who!

Can you hear my voice?

Subconsciously, Anson ran wildly, unable to find the direction and goal, just running wildly along the voice, in the boundless darkness, his feet seemed to ignite flames, running wildly on the raging fire all the way, but he had to race against time, before he vanished into thin air, to find that exit.

Tap tap tap, tap tap tap, running wildly all the way.

Just then, a sound came from the opposite direction behind him, dragging Anson's footsteps, the pace of continuous running stopped, looking back.

Then, he could see three blurry blue figures waving at him, jumping and shouting loudly, clenching their fists and cheering him on.

"Run, Anson, run!"

"Don't look back!"

"Anson, hurry, hurry, you are no longer alone."

That was Jack, nine-year-old Anson-Wood, and himself from his previous life.

They shouted and jumped, their heartfelt laughter echoing between the endless darkness and the blue, because they knew that this time they were finally not forgotten.

He, looking at himself, himself from his previous life, his eyes rekindled with light, youthful, vibrant and bright, clearly scarred but smiling.

He seemed to be shouting something, which made Anson's footsteps pause slightly, listening carefully, the breeze brought his murmur.

"Don't be someone else's hero…"

"Don't."