From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

Before him was a scene of ruin and desolation. Although both belonged to New York, Manhattan and Queens were two completely different worlds.

As if falling from heaven into hell.

Dilapidated houses, broken brick walls, messy weeds, needles and garbage everywhere, wastewater that hadn't been treated for a long time accumulated in a small puddle, dirty soil already covered with moss, abandoned houses without even windows, yet still a few homeless people could be seen building their homes here.

Not hell, but not far from it.

The woman curled up helplessly and painfully, yet still refused to relax, relying on sheer willpower to hold onto the burly man's leg, almost falling into a coma, just clenching her teeth and constantly shouting, again and again.

"Run, Jack... run."

"Don't come back... don't..."

"Jack..."

She was shouting, and the burly man seemed to be stimulated, becoming more and more violent and brutal, his fist the size of a bowl hammering on the woman's back like a storm, so that the woman's cries were intermittent and fragmented, and her pain could be felt from her voice.

The boy fell into deep despair, his feet nailed to the spot, his fist clenched tightly in the pocket of his sports jacket.

He just shouted, crying, "Stop. Please, stop!"

Anson was stunned, foolishly frozen in place, unable to move—

He saw himself.

Those victims came to his door, they couldn't find his father, but they found him and his mother, they thought he was harboring his father, forcing him to tell them his father's whereabouts.

But he didn't know, he really didn't know.

So, they went crazy, as if they had lost their minds, first pushing and shoving and then clenching their fists.

Subconsciously, he wanted to resist.

However, thinking of the harm his father had done to them, his clenched fist eventually loosened. If beating him could help them vent their anger, if beating him could atone for a little bit, then he would bear it.

In the midst of the chaos, he didn't know who pushed him down, and then fists and kicks rained down like a storm.

He could only curl up into a ball, hug his head, clench his teeth and endure silently.

Then, he saw his mother coming back with a block of tofu and a bunch of green vegetables.

"Run, Mom, run."

This was the only thought in his mind.

His mother seemed stunned, standing there, looking at this scene in disbelief. She tried to shout for help, but all she saw were strange and indifferent faces, watching this scene expressionlessly.

Finally, the tofu and green vegetables fell to the ground, smashed to pieces.

His mother picked up a stone from the roadside, shouting with a piercing voice, "I'll fight you!"

She seemed to have gone mad, rushing into the crowd, waving her arms recklessly, senselessly pushing the crowd away, hitting whoever she caught, clearing out a space, holding him tightly, so tightly, that she couldn't even cry, just constantly muttering to herself.

"We don't know, we really don't know."

However.

The crowd still didn't stop venting their anger, and even started beating his mother, fists and kicks raining down like a storm.

They had no way to resist.

He tried to protect his mother, but he couldn't get up at all. His mother just held him like that, holding him with all her strength.

The blood-stained face before him silently overlapped with his memory, firmly grabbing Anson's ankle, freezing him in place.

Bone-chilling cold surged from the soles of his feet to the top of his head, a wave of numbness.

"Jack, run, run away quickly."

However, that boy couldn't do it—

The burly man seemed to be stimulated, beating the woman madly, a murderous glint bursting out in his eyes, his fists and kicks becoming more and more frantic.

Finally, the boy could no longer control himself.

A premonition of disaster firmly gripped Anson's heart: No.

Anson noticed that the boy's fist in his pocket began to tremble slightly, a determined murderous intent flashing in his eyes, without despair, without anger, only a resolute determination to go forward.

He knew that look, a look of wanting to die together.

Anson, "No!"

In the next second, the boy took out a pistol from his pocket and aimed it at the burly man.

Anson rushed forward in one stride, standing in front of the boy before he could raise the gun, his heart shrinking into a tight ball, "No, Jack, no."

Because of absurdity and because of pain, that smile was so tragic and so resolute, as if mocking the misery of fate, and as if mocking his own stupidity.

The smile, like a night-blooming cereus, bloomed briefly, but after exhausting all its energy, it was about to wither in an instant.

This smile grabbed Anson's heart fiercely, because it meant that the boy had nothing left to lose, he had already made a decision.

Memories,

Instantly occupied the brain like a tide, dragging Anson into the darkness, all reason completely collapsed, there was only one thought.

"No."