From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

“When Proust reached the final moments of his life, he looked back on the past and examined all the painful times he had experienced. He felt that the painful days were the best days of his life because those days shaped him. What about those happy years? They were all wasted, and he learned nothing.”

His fingertip gently caressed the page, paused for a moment, and then flipped back, his gaze falling on the words, unable to resist reading them again.

The syllables danced lightly between his lips and teeth, finally transforming into a mixture of bitterness and sweetness that spread across the tip of his tongue, and his thoughts slowly settled down.

After the filming of "Catch Me If You Can" wrapped up, Anson also entered a brief vacation, riding his skateboard, learning to surf, lying on a beach chair flipping through thick tomes, falling into a hazy daze under the lazy sunlight, and after waking up, continuing to read from where he left off.

Time, like grains of sand, slipped through his fingers, gently brushing against his skin—

Bit by bit. Crystal clear. Yet, in a moment of slight distraction, he missed its speed, and by the time he realized it, most of it had already slipped away.

These past few days, in the gaps between rest, in the pauses, the figure of that boy on the streets of New York flashed in his mind, the boy who aimed a gun at his father, the boy who shouted that he didn't need redemption, the boy who was falling apart in despair, and his thoughts couldn't help but hit the pause button.

But he didn't know how that boy was doing now.

Whether he had successfully escaped with his mother, but where could they escape to? Had they found a sanctuary, completely escaping the shadow of domestic violence? Or, in the end, would they go around in circles and return, falling into a cycle of hell again and again, until the end of darkness?

But he still thought of that boy from time to time.

“I don’t want to be anyone important, and I don’t need your salvation,” he said.

What he wanted was very simple.

An ordinary life, an ordinary routine, like all ordinary middle school students, troubled by homework, excited by secret crushes, arguing over friendships. The worst thing in the world is a pop quiz in class, and the happiest thing in the world is staying up all night playing games with friends without homework.

The ordinariness and normalcy that people are tired of, despise, and reject are a illusory dream that he seeks but cannot obtain.

His fingertip moved slowly across the page again, carefully savoring the words.

Once, he hoped that someone in the endless night could tell him to persevere for a while, to persevere a little longer, that what could not kill him would make him stronger, until one day in the future, he would look back with a smile and tell everyone that the painful days were the best days of his life.

Now, he also hoped to pass these words, these beliefs, to that boy.

Perhaps, in those long nights, they repeatedly thought they couldn't hold on, repeatedly teetering on the edge of giving up and collapsing; but… it will pass, everything will pass, and they will eventually evolve into a stronger existence, shattering all darkness.

“…Anson?”

Until a call interrupted his thoughts, Anson suddenly looked up, and in the sunlight, he saw Edgar's worried face.

Anson gathered his scattered thoughts, gave Edgar a smile, and joked, “You're getting more and more free and casual coming in and out. Who opened the door for you?”

“Shhh, James isn't here today. Chris helped open the door,” Edgar also joked.

Then, Edgar sat down opposite Anson, hesitated for a moment, and finally asked, “Anson, are you okay?”

Anson raised his eyebrows slightly, “Huh? What do you mean? I'm fine, everything is fine.”

Edgar hesitated, but finally sighed softly, “Are you worried about the New York thing? Don't worry, everything has been arranged properly.”

Anson: ???

New York?

Could it be about the road rage driver? Anson didn't mention the boy to Edgar, so New York could only be about that one thing.

But that incident was already two months ago, and the media and paparazzi had long forgotten it. Why would he need to worry about that incident?

Edgar looked at Anson and couldn't help but say, “You were in trouble that day, weren't you? Not with that driver, but before that.”

“Even though there's no surveillance footage, I noticed the scratch on your hand.”

“I don't know what happened, but I believe you, you wouldn't cause trouble easily; since you don't want to talk about it, you naturally have your reasons.”

“I just want to say, please rest assured, I've already wrapped everything up. There's no surveillance footage, and no witnesses. No matter what happened, even if the other party comes forward to accuse you, it's your testimony against his testimony, and we can still control the narrative, so you don't need to worry.”

Anson was slightly stunned, and looked down at the back of his hand, which had long been unscathed, “So, you've known for how long?”

“Since day one,” Edgar didn't hide it anymore, “Anson, this is my job.”

Anson, “So, that's the real reason you let the paparazzi release that photo in the first place? To divert attention?”

Edgar did not deny it.

But that was already the answer, and Anson chuckled.

Edgar was a little uneasy. He wasn't sure how Anson would react. To be precise, even now, he didn't know what had happened that day, “Anson…”

The corners of Anson's mouth slowly flattened into a smile as he looked at Edgar, “Captain, thank you.”

Edgar was stunned.

“Thank you for your trust, for believing in me unconditionally without asking any questions. I know that protecting me is your job, no matter what the truth is, you need to protect me; but believing in me is not, you didn't even ask me, you just stood by me unconditionally. Thank you for being willing to be my companion.”

A manager and an artist are on the same boat. No matter what happens, the manager and public relations personnel must protect the artist, even if it means distorting the truth and calling a deer a horse; but that doesn't mean they need to believe in the artist 100%. They can protect the artist while gnashing their teeth and hating their own artist.

However, Edgar chose to believe him.

Anson understood that this was not easy, even harder than ascending to heaven. After all, in the circle of Hollywood's world of fame and fortune, trust is the most worthless foolishness and naivety.

Therefore, he needed to say thank you to Edgar.

Edgar blinked, flusteredly trying to hide his embarrassment, and cleared his throat, “I just… that's because… it's my job.”

Everything was because Anson trusted him, from the first time they met.

Edgar thought that it was only natural for him to trust Anson, after all, he had bet all of his career on Anson, but now Anson was using his actions to tell him that trust was a warmth worth thanking and cherishing.

Before he became even more embarrassed, Edgar hastily changed the subject. “So, what exactly happened that day?”