From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

Anson takes the stage.

The cello was already exceptionally crowded, with three people playing a single instrument, but no one expected a fourth to join. That handsome and dashing figure effortlessly captured everyone's attention, and the astonished faces couldn't close their mouths as they stared blankly at Anson's arrival.

Anson squatted in front of the cello, using its face and sides as a drum surface—

Tap. Tap tap.

Thump. Thump thump.

With varying degrees of intensity and speed, sometimes crisp, sometimes muffled, sometimes light, sometimes lively, like a clear spring, it danced up and down among the three layers of string sounds. The notes pirouetted, creating a beautiful and magical scene in the heart of New York's concrete jungle, grand and magnificent.

Inconceivable!

Gasps, praises, and astonishment rippled through the crowd, then all sounds caught in their throats as they gaped at the scene before them.

In just four short measures, Anson stood up, ended his drumming, turned, returned to the snare drum, and slung on his acoustic guitar.

Then came Connor.

Finally, Lily.

One after another, the layers of melody gradually returned to simplicity. After shedding all pretenses, only the cello remained.

Miles sat quietly, his eyes focused and immersed, his mind and soul sinking into the melody, resonating with the cello. The usually low and soothing cello strings now produced a lonely and desolate bitterness, standing alone in the center of the world, performing.

No one had imagined that the cello possessed such charm.

Even in symphony orchestras, the cello always seemed to be overlooked and forgotten. Because of its bass register, it was always in a supporting role, and solo performances seemed somewhat monotonous, making it difficult to feel the layers of melody and emotion.

Yet here, relying solely on a cello, they firmly grasped everyone's attention in a ninety-second performance, captivating them.

Miles's bow moved slower and slower, a faint sorrow flowing gently in the lonely strings, spreading out. The bustling street seemed to quietly transform into a hidden corner, where only they were singing—

Unheard by anyone.

The power of emotion, immense and abundant, surged forward.

The entire audience was silent, and in their stunned expressions, one could clearly see the thoughts churning in their eyes.

Until the string sound ended, a brief pause, and then—

Ding.

A crisp and bright guitar string was gently plucked, like a clear drop of water falling onto a deep blue glacier, and the biting air rippled softly.

Heartstrings, stirred.

Eyes turned in unison toward the source of the sound, Connor.

Connor held his guitar, standing quietly beside Miles, his gaze focused and affectionate on his guitar, revealing a hint of attachment. Those reluctance, those sighs, those desolations turned into a smile, gently rising at the corner of his mouth, his slender fingers flying up and down the strings.

Clear, bright, long, and distant.

Only a guitar, and then, a song like a gentle breeze through a valley brushed over their faces, and their hearts skipped a beat involuntarily.

Turning their heads, they saw Anson.

A guitar, a song, singing quietly, as if no one was listening, as if no one was appreciating, as if standing at the end of the world.

"Crossing the darkness, searching for my direction, following the guidance of a beating heart, not knowing the end of this journey, but clearly remembering the starting point."

Vast, boundless, and limitless, without any skill or fancy, Anson's voice intertwined with the guitar strings, everything returning to its most primitive state. Without any embellishments or decorations, he released all the emotions between the lines, and the noise of the entire world completely settled down.

Shedding the complexity, shedding the chaos, nakedly displaying his voice, those vulnerabilities, those embarrassments, those confusions, without reservation.

Anson before their eyes seemed to be standing in endless darkness, lost and bewildered. The overwhelming surge and grandeur were about to crush his shoulders. Those sorrows, never spoken, left his soul scarred and bleeding. He closed his eyes, listening to the direction guided by his heart.

Then.

The corners of his mouth slightly lifted. It wasn't tears that showed sadness, but the bitterness behind the smile that truly made the heart contract sharply with sorrow and loneliness.

Staggering, fragmented.

But Anson's eyes remained clear.

"Hey, they say I'm young and ignorant, they say I'm delusional, if I don't wake up, life will slip through my fingers."

"But I don't care."

Miles watched Anson, the memories of the past two years surging in his mind, bitter and sweet, sad but happy, unbearable sighs rising to his heart. His bow fell on the strings again, slowly drawing in harmony with Anson's voice, the melodious and long strings dancing in the darkness.

The simplest strings. The simplest song.

But that was enough.

Lily's eyes welled up with warmth. At this moment, they were still standing on the streets of New York, but she no longer cared about the number of onlookers, nor did she care whether their voices could be heard. She just wanted to enjoy this moment, to enjoy the happiness and joy brought by the music.

Indeed, dreams cannot support life, dreams cannot fill the stomach, dreams cannot pay the rent.

But dreams make life bearable.

Without dreams, they would only be walking corpses, living aimlessly, never daring to explore the truth of their souls.

Anson said, he didn't care.

Even if it wasted time and wasted life, he didn't care. Even if he was young and ignorant, even if he was delusional, he didn't care. He just wanted to hold on to this moment, to embrace himself, to embrace his dreams, to embrace the brilliance and passion of life.

Even if they eventually chose to give up, to return to mediocrity, to return to the daily routine, at least, they had burned.

Taking a deep breath, Lily also regained her smile.

"Wake me up when it's all over, when I'm wiser and I'm older..."

A high note, beautifully held, sustained and soaring, a whisper and a declaration.

"All this time I was finding myself..."

Then, a pause.

Anson's bright eyes lifted, looking at Lily, looking at Connor, and finally landing on Miles, the song fading into silent nothingness, as if murmuring to himself.

"And I didn't know I was lost."

The final note, melodious, a faint bitterness lingering in the air.

Blair didn't realize that she was already in tears, suppressing them with all her might, but still unable to stop the tears from welling up. She stood in the surging crowd, yet she was so alone, the whole world was just herself and the four people before her, just herself and the melody floating in her ears.

They were all fools, a group of fools who believed in dreams.

However.

At this moment, the smile on Anson's lips lifted, like the scorching sun in June, and he shouted loudly, "Ee-yah!"

Note 1: Wake Me Up [Wake-me-up—Avicii (hoppipolla-version)]

Second update.