From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

Has anyone ever noticed the Los Angeles sun around five o'clock in the late summer afternoon?

It's a shade of orange, a clear and bright orange, neither flamboyant nor ostentatious, even somewhat elegant, yet revealing a touch of freshness amidst the vibrancy, faintly spreading across the light blue, with lazy clouds wandering within, rippling in layers, as if one could see the sea and the universe.

The distant and vast expanse stretches out infinitely, as if opening one's arms could embrace the boundless sky, the vast ocean... and the entire universe.

Involuntarily, one's heart also begins to unfold.

At this moment, the universe is no longer mysterious, but a magnificent spectacle.

The busyness and congestion of daily life have gradually transformed people into head-down tribes, with heavy pressure pouring onto their shoulders, almost suffocating them. Even living in Los Angeles, they rarely have the chance to look up and carefully examine the sky above them, completely forgetting that the world is actually very large.

Until this moment.

Following the bustling crowd, Nicholas looked over and saw Brad's happiness and Jennifer's charm. The two of them generously displayed their affection in front of the media. Brad made no secret of his dependence on his wife, and the smile between his brows shone brightly in the overwhelming flash of lights.

Inadvertently, the corner of Nicholas's eye caught a glimpse of a figure.

A fleeting glance, graceful as a startled swan.

In that instant, the orange sunlight blazed up, the bright color deepening, evolving into a brilliant and uplifting red sunset that lightly fell on that shoulder, sketching out the sharp and clear lines of the jaw with a few strokes, like the edge of a knife, revealing a hint of sharpness.

His gaze swept past, involuntarily, uncontrollably, and then looked back again, slightly stunned—

That is?

A tall and upright figure, with extraordinary bearing, stepping out of the car and standing still, re-buttoning the unbuttoned suit, the proportion of broad shoulders and a narrow waist perfectly displayed under the close-fitting cut. The perfect fit, neither too much nor too little, presented the golden ratio of the body's skeleton, easily capturing attention.

Black suit. Black dress pants. Black shirt. Black tie.

An entirely dark outfit from top to bottom, without a single trace of other colors, clean and simple.

Yet, one could discern layers within the darkness, the charcoal black silk trim on the outside of the suit collar, the deep black patina trim on the outside of the shirt's stand-up collar, subtle details that created visual impact through proportion, layering, and lines. The draping fabric clung to the body, perfectly merging with it.

However.

The tie was loosened.

The narrow tie was rebelliously and unrestrainedly loosened, inadvertently revealing a hint of rock and roll temperament, like a messenger from hell, stepping onto the stage amidst flames.

A ground full of splendor, rippling in layers underfoot, slowly spreading out.

Hiss.

Nicholas subconsciously held his breath, his brain ceasing to function, just standing there stunned, even forgetting the action of pressing the shutter.

The air, solidified.

Nicholas wasn't sure if it was his illusion, but the whole world seemed to be in slow motion, those screams, those cheers, those distorted faces, that air, that light, those crowded figures all turning into a blurry halo in his vision at ten times slower speed.

Everything, all of it, became mere accompaniment.

Then.

A wisp of sunset light lightly fell on the shoulder of that figure, the handsome and sparse eyebrows reflecting a hint of cold detachment, the bright eyes reflecting the surging crowd yet calmly withdrawing from the scene, naturally revealing a kind of aloofness, the noise and heat quietly stopping.

Everything else, no longer mattered.

Click.

Are you sure?

Nicholas was somewhat doubtful of his eyes.

He knew Anson, of course he remembered Anson, he had a deep impression, but the Anson in his memory was lazy, unrestrained, dashing, and easygoing.

Like the August sun on the French Riviera.

However, the one before him?

Low-key. Cold. Sexy.

The whole body exuded a kind of mystery that kept people at a distance, detached from worldly affairs, yet with a dangerous and fatal attraction that made people fascinated.

He, started walking, step by step, stepping on the sunset, entering the night.

In an instant, the light and shadow changed, and the stars shifted.

Hiss.

Nicholas couldn't help but hold his breath again, and then, pressed the shutter.

Click.

Click, click, click, click, click.

He couldn't stop at all.

This was Anson, this was indeed Anson, but it was an Anson he had never seen before, like a completely opposite individual, showing a brand new face.

Watching Anson step onto the steps, and then the blockade of the world was finally lifted, returning to its original state, only then did Nicholas realize:

That was his own illusion.

The scene was still cheering and going crazy for Brad and Jennifer, and not many people noticed Anson, so, was Nicholas the only one making a fuss?

Wait a minute.

Does this also mean that Nicholas was the only one to capture an exclusive?

As soon as the thought popped up, Nicholas noticed the change in the atmosphere of the scene—

The exclusive, flew away.

The scene also noticed Anson, although not as keenly as Nicholas, a little slower, but eventually discovered Anson's appearance.

Different, indeed different, Nicholas's vision and intuition were correct.

In the present day of 2000, men's suits and formal wear were still relatively traditional, represented by Armani suits, relatively loose and relatively general, more trying to show the burly and tough image of men's figures, although the rock and punk temperament had invaded the fashion world with the rise of Kate Moss, it was more focused on women's fashion and did not have a shaking impact on men's fashion.

Before his eyes, Anson was not like that.

Well-fitting, close-fitting, tight-fitting, without a trace of excess flesh, using fabric to wrap and outline the curves of the figure, proportion and lines were key, showing the dark side of male temperament evil and sexy with a rock and rebellious spirit, and the black without a trace of impurities made the evening dress exude a completely different temperament.

Different, maybe ordinary viewers couldn't say why, but such Anson, placed in a lineup of three hundred or five hundred superstars, could still easily stand out, subversively breaking the stereotype of men's formal wear, and let the unrestrained and unrestrained temperament bloom on the red carpet.

One step at a time, walking towards the Shrine Auditorium.

It felt as if Lucifer was walking towards the Heavenly Shrine, stepping on blood and corpses.

Thrilling.

Magnificent.

Although the reaction speed was a little slower, the audience at the scene still gradually noticed Anson, and after the shock, astonishment, and shock, they couldn't help but marvel and praise, it was a kind of breath-cutting temperament, permeating the entrance of the Shrine Auditorium with a coercive force.

Dropping a declaration:

I'm here to make trouble.

Involuntarily, it actually became exciting, even unsure if they knew this man, but they couldn't control their excitement.

Thousands of hot gazes silently gathered towards Anson, and the noise and clamor quietly calmed down, just watching Anson's direction of advance—

Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston.

No way?

No way!

Fifth update.