From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

“So, what exactly happened that day?”

Carefully, Edgar couldn't help but ask the question after all.

“Heh.” Anson's lips curled up slightly, a low chuckle escaping from deep within his throat, “Captain, you've worked hard, holding back your curiosity for so long.”

Seeing that Anson was even in the mood to joke, Edgar's tense and flustered emotions calmed down a bit. Just as he was about to reply, Anson continued speaking without pause.

“On the road, I saw a strong man committing domestic violence, beating a boy and his mother. I couldn't help but intervene.”

A few simple words, without the beginning or end, only simple and cold facts, but Edgar was stunned.

“He was right there, in broad daylight, treating them like trash, hitting them again and again, the child and woman unable to resist him.”

“Bang.”

“Bang.”

Again and again, Anson calmly described the sound of fists meeting flesh, which crashed upon Edgar's eardrums like thunder.

“You know? When muscle collides with muscle, it makes a dull sound. Even though others can't hear it clearly, those sounds will slowly penetrate the victim's muscles and blood, until they no longer feel the pain, and only their dignity and pride slowly shatter.”

“Some people say, why not resist? Why not run away?”

“It's not a question of whether they can or cannot, but because that violence has become a habit, deeply rooted in their souls, so much so that they forget to run away.”

“Silently enduring all of this, vaguely believing that this is what they deserve.”

Calm, gentle, even with a faint smile.

Anson described it quietly, but Edgar felt a chill run down his spine. He tried to speak, but the sound got stuck in his throat, and he stood there like a fool.

“Sorry, I couldn't help it.”

Anson looked at Edgar, responding with a smile, bringing the answer to a close.

“Cough cough.” Edgar cleared his throat, pulling himself out of the quagmire of his memories, trying to remain calm and return to his professional role as a manager, “Anson, this is someone else's business. You shouldn't interfere. Not to mention whether that man had a gun or other weapons, or whether he might hurt you, you still shouldn't interfere.”

“You should have called for help, you should have called the police.”

“You shouldn't have involved yourself.”

Edgar noticed that Anson didn't respond, only kept smiling and looking at him quietly.

Edgar was a little embarrassed, “Anson, this is my professional opinion, you are a public figure…”

Anson nodded slightly, “I understand, it's your job.”

“But…”

“Everyone is like this, it's someone else's family matter, it's someone else's business, we should keep our distance.”

“Until one day, tragedy strikes.”

“We are still bystanders, we say with regret, 'What a pity.' Then we turn around and leave, continuing our own lives, not knowing what kind of pain they have experienced, nor knowing when such a tragedy will befall us.”

Edgar was stunned.

This was an Anson he had never seen before, some fragility, some sadness, some struggle, not intense or flamboyant, like bitterness gently tugging at the heart, a misty darkness lingering at his fingertips. But it was precisely this calmness, without heart-wrenching cries or dramatic ups and downs, that revealed a kind of vicissitude from having experienced countless hardships.

Now, Edgar finally understood what that hidden, unique aura on Anson was all about.

However, he didn't have time to sort out his thoughts carefully, he was just stunned in place, staring into Anson's eyes, as if being drawn into a blue vortex. All professional opinions stopped at the tip of his tongue, and he could no longer speak.

The face of that young boy reappeared in Anson's mind.

He thought the memory had faded, it was only a brief encounter; but he didn't expect the image to still be clear, he even remembered those eyes.

“Captain, do you know the nomadic people in the desert?”

“After night falls, they tie their camels to the trees with ropes; but when morning comes, they untie the ropes.”

“However, the camels do not run away.”

“Because they remember the ropes they were tied with at night, even if they are untied and cannot be seen, just like we deeply remember the scars and pains of the past.”

“In fact, everything has passed, it has long become history, but the shadows of the past still loom over our heads, binding our ankles. Even though we can't see it, we are still left in place by that invisible rope.”

“We dare not and cannot run away.”

The afternoon sun of California lazily scattered down, warmly falling on the surface of the skin; however, one couldn't help but shiver.

Staring at Anson, Edgar couldn't help but wonder:

What exactly has Anson experienced?

Thinking carefully, although Edgar had entered the Wood residence in New York, his understanding of the Wood family and Anson was still very limited.

Obviously, he, like everyone else, got to know this young man because of Anson's appearance, but stopped there, never truly delving into the soul beneath the skin; however, in daily interactions, Anson's charm slowly presented itself, always bringing surprises.

Like a magnificent masterpiece.

The beautiful cover and packaging often lead people to misunderstand, perhaps the content is not very good; but after opening the title page, one can no longer stop, and can't help but want to continue exploring the story behind it.

Perhaps, at that moment, they ran away; but Anson didn't know whether, after night fell, they would follow the rope back again?

Bitterness gently diffused at the tip of his tongue.

Hu.

Gently exhaling a breath, Anson brought his thoughts back.

“Don't worry.”

“If that man comes to our door, threatening exposure, good, we'll make a big deal out of it and let the law intervene.”

“I don't mind standing in the witness box or the defendant's box, I just hope I can help them cut that rope, and then tell them to run away.”

In his voice, there was a faint hint of a smile.

Edgar looked at Anson helplessly, the words of opposition already swirling on his tongue, but in the end, they turned into a smile, “If things really happen, I won't stop you, but I need you to tell me immediately, so that Eve and I can help, so that we can stand on the high ground in advance.”

“Okay.” Anson agreed crisply.

That unwavering response left Edgar speechless for a moment, he looked up and sighed, “Ah, why do I have a feeling that I've boarded a pirate ship?”

Anson picked up his teacup and took a sip slowly and methodically, his expression and movements clearly saying: It's too late.

Edgar couldn't help himself and burst out laughing.

At this time, Anson slowly changed the subject, “So, what brings you here today? If it was a small matter, you would have just called.”

Edgar rolled his eyes, “Mr. Wood, that's assuming you're willing to carry your phone around.”