From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

"Ah!"

In the darkness, a scream pierced the sky, tearing through the silence, ripping open the night, and scorching, dazzling golden sunlight cascaded down like a waterfall.

Large swaths of brilliant light forcefully squeezed into newly opened eyes, trying to fill every corner of the hazy vision, causing a burst of pain, and prompting an instinctive closing of the eyes again.

A splitting headache.

The ground shook.

But there was no time to worry about that now, because after the heart-wrenching scream, everything fell silent.

The soundless, motionless silence amplified the effect of the scream just moments before, and a wave of panic and unease washed over, instantly seizing the throat, triggering an instinctive reaction to rush out.

Thump, thump.

A series of chaotic footsteps gathered towards the stairwell from different directions, then stopped at different positions.

Eyes still closed, they tried to discern directions by listening.

"Who is it!"

Brad roared like a lion, his frame thin, but radiating alertness and vigilance, wielding a beer bottle defensively.

Anson barely opened his eyes, looking down from the second floor.

Clearly, they had also heard the scream, and some could be seen reacting, sitting up or standing.

But after waiting a moment and hearing nothing more, they relaxed and lay back down where they were.

The scene looked like it was straight out of a "Walking Dead" set, fitting in perfectly.

Then, James, wielding a facial cleanser as a baseball bat, rubbed his eyes and looked up at Anson on the second floor.

"Was that scream Chris?"

Anson turned his head towards Chris's room—

The door was wide open.

What was going on? Could something really have happened to Chris?

His mind cleared considerably, and Anson took a deep breath, regained his composure, and without hesitation, took a step forward, lowering his center of gravity, clenching his fists, adopting a boxer's stance, ready to attack.

But!

Just as he took one step, a figure darted out from inside.

Bouncing and leaping, landing steadily, arms and legs spread wide open, face filled with excitement, radiating a wild energy.

"Ah!"

Another scream.

Anson's right leg, already launched for a side kick, abruptly slammed on the brakes mid-air—

It was Chris.

The ruthless screaming chicken before him was none other than Chris Evans.

Anson helplessly retracted his right leg, relaxed his stance, looked downstairs, and shook his head at his two companions who were rapidly approaching, weapons in hand, bodies lowered.

"False alarm."

James relaxed, took two steps forward, and looked up, scanning the scene, speechless.

"Chris, Jesus Christ, what's wrong with you?"

Facing James, who was in a foul mood from being woken up, Chris didn't mind at all, using all his strength to barely restrain the urge to cheer again, but his slightly trembling voice still betrayed his excitement.

"It's done."

"It's done!"

"Oh, God, it's done, hahaha."

Brad, who was slowly dragging his feet to catch up, saw that he was only two steps away from the second floor, but simply gave up and sat down.

"What?"

Brad was confused.

Chris looked at James and Brad, but finally his gaze landed on Anson.

He paused, and a smile fully bloomed on his lips.

"Anson, it's done."

"The ratings, they exploded."

Everyone: ......

What was going on?

Why was the whole world spinning?

Why did it feel like an Alien was about to burst out of their stomach?

Chris looked at the silence before him and couldn't help but grow anxious.

"'Friends'? Last night's broadcast? Are you guys goldfish or something?"

"The ratings are out, Anson's debut!"

James said, "Oh," "Looks like, it went well."

Just that?

Chris shook his head repeatedly.

"Went well? More than that!"

"It's a small peak!"

"Anson!"

"Anson, Anson, Anson, everyone is talking about you now.

God, I strongly suspect that NBC's hotline should be exploding right now."

Anson looked at Chris, who was beside himself with excitement.

"Hotline, what era are we in, the seventies?"

A little joke.

But Chris didn't mind.

He rushed back to his room in a flurry, then burst out like a whirlwind, waving a newspaper in his hand, completely like a newsboy.

"'The Times', today's entertainment section headline!"

"The Times" was an abbreviation.

Throughout North America, everyone defaulted to this referring to "The New York Times," which showed the newspaper's authority and influence.

But in California, it was slightly different.

Here, it meant "The Los Angeles Times," as the residents of the City of Angels had their own loyalties.

Of course, "The Los Angeles Times" also had the credentials to back it up.

It and "The Wall Street Journal," "The Washington Post," etc., were some of the few media outlets that could rival "The New York Times," whether in sales or reputation, authority or influence, they were on the same level.

This time, Anson was half a beat slow, but not because of a hangover—

How could he forget that this was 2000, and the internet hadn't fully developed yet?

Not to mention the social networks that would become a part of life in the future, many of the websites that people would later become familiar with were still in the process of development.

For example, Rotten Tomatoes, the authoritative website that reflected public ratings, had just been established last year and was still in the early stages of development.

For example, TMZ, the Los Angeles website that completely changed the gossip industry, was still nowhere to be seen and wouldn't appear until 2005.

The internet was still in its infancy.

At the moment, if people wanted to learn about information, gossip, or collect information, the internet was not the first choice.

This was still an era belonging to newspapers and magazines.

Print media was king.

If someone wanted to learn about entertainment gossip or industry news, "The Los Angeles Times," "Vanity Fair," and "Entertainment Weekly" were the best choices.

And in the professional and authoritative fields, "The Hollywood Reporter" and "Variety" were now undeniably the leaders in the industry.

Ratings and box office results were no exception, and agents, producers, directors, actors, etc., all had to wait for the official reports in the newspapers.

Chris was beaming, unsure if it was from the hangover last night or from excitement, perhaps both, and loudly read the news headline.

"Guest star Anson Wood shows magical charm, ratings rebound strongly, creating the second-highest score of season six—

'Friends' is ready to sprint to the finish of season six."

Chris rushed forward, presenting the newspaper to Anson.

"Anson, look, this is your name, right above the headline."

The ink had dried, and a faint fragrance lingered under his nose.

Rows of black lead letters were laid out before his eyes.

Separately, each letter had no special meaning, but after being arranged and combined, they became different.

That was his name.

Originally, Anson hadn't taken it to heart.

After all, he had lived through the internet age and could see his name appear on different pages at any time.

The weight and meaning represented by lead type had gradually dissipated in the internet bubble.

But seeing his name appear above the entertainment section headline, not on a virtual webpage, but in a real newspaper, and "The Los Angeles Times" at that.

A subtle feeling, like the flapping of butterfly wings, arose spontaneously.

"…Last night, the latest episode attracted 24 million viewers…"

What!

Twenty-four million!