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🕑 Added 2025-05-14 17:12:10 +0000 UTCChapter 1416: Facing Fear
The success or failure of a movie is never that simple.
Some films are met with overwhelming confidence from the director and crew, receiving glowing reviews in internal screenings, only to disappoint upon official release.
Others, approached with caution and low expectations, unexpectedly surprise audiences after hitting theaters.
Between creation and promotion, between art and marketability, uncertainty always lingers. Despite Hollywood’s extensive formulas and industrialized approach to filmmaking over the past thirty years, success is never guaranteed.
This time is no different.
Cody… is just Cody—just another crew member. His opinion doesn’t represent the entire production, nor can he predict the film’s final outcome.
Much can still happen before a movie reaches theaters and meets its audience.
However, Cody’s confidence and enthusiasm, the spark in his eyes, added a layer of mystique to Walking with Song.
As fellow crew members, they understood the stark difference between working on a dreadful, exhausting project and one that felt exciting and promising. In a way, they could sense a film’s potential from within.
And let’s not forget—before filming even began, Walking with Song was met with skepticism and challenges. All signs pointed to disaster. To the crew, this was just a job: do the work, take the paycheck, and move on.
Clock in, clock out—no need to care beyond that.
Cody had felt the same way when he first joined the production.
But now?
Could it be that Walking with Song was about to defy expectations?
Someone next to him shifted, squeezing onto the couch beside Cody. They nudged him with their shoulder and lowered their voice, “What exactly happened?”
“Wait, Anson wouldn’t actually… during awards season…?”
The question trailed off, left unfinished, but the excitement and disbelief in their eyes said it all.
This year’s awards season had been a tug-of-war between Anson and the Academy, widely debated in Hollywood circles. But overall, industry gossip leaned in favor of the Academy.
Anson?
Undeniably a top-tier celebrity in terms of popularity. But popularity doesn’t equal talent, and in Hollywood, he was still seen as a pretty face—a “flower vase” with no real acting chops.
No matter how much media buzz surrounded him, Hollywood didn’t see him as another Johnny Depp, someone worthy of an Oscar nomination.
That was the prevailing opinion.
But imagine—if Anson actually turned the tide with Walking with Song, he wouldn’t just be proving the Academy wrong; he’d be shattering long-held stereotypes.
That, in itself, would be a spectacle.
Just the thought of it was enough to make people eager for the drama to unfold.
Yet, interestingly, Cody didn’t hesitate. He didn’t even acknowledge the unspoken mockery toward Anson’s supposed lack of talent.
He simply nodded and said casually, “He has my vote. Of course, assuming I had a vote to cast.”
Direct. Matter-of-fact. No theatrics.
His tone and expression carried a quiet conviction that didn’t lie.
The friends around him exchanged glances, only now realizing—Cody wasn’t joking.
Maybe Walking with Song really was worth looking forward to.
A subtle undercurrent began to flow through Hollywood. Neither James Mangold nor George Lucas were aware of it yet, but word-of-mouth about Walking with Song was slowly spreading among different crews and industry workers.
That had to be a good thing… right?
### *Back in Los Angeles*
Setting aside the backstage chatter, Walking with Song wrapped filming smoothly—so smoothly, in fact, that it finished ahead of schedule. The positive atmosphere on set defied expectations, leaving those who had been waiting for the production to fail completely stunned.
Forest Studios’ first step into Hollywood had been remarkably steady.
But what did that mean?
For the Wood family, none of that mattered. The filming process, Hollywood gossip—irrelevant. Their only concern was their youngest son.
Upon wrapping Walking with Song, Anson returned to Los Angeles. Without needing Lucas to act as a go-between, he sat down with Charles and Nora himself.
He told them everything.
He was honest about seeing visions of Jack and his nine-year-old self.
And while he hadn’t seen them recently, he wasn’t sure if they would return. He might need their help—to face his nightmares and inner demons head-on.
For Charles and Nora, it was a massive shock. Fear and panic were inevitable. But from another perspective, Anson was finally confronting his past.
That had to be a good thing.
As Anson put it, if he kept running from his childhood nightmares, he’d never break free. The wounds wouldn’t heal—they might even get worse. The first step to escaping the darkness was to face it.
Not just for him.
Charles, Nora, and Lucas had all been haunted by the same shadows.
That nightmare had loomed over the Wood family for too long, festering like an open wound.
It was time to face their fear.
It wouldn’t be easy. But it was necessary.
Nora gazed at Anson, her emotions tangled. He was still Anson—but he was no longer the same Anson.
A bittersweet ache filled her chest. She whispered, “Our little one has grown up.”
It was both heartwarming and heartbreaking.
Anson spread his arms in exasperation. “Hey, I’ve been of legal drinking age for a while now.”
His joke lightened the mood instantly.
Charles deliberately cast a wary glance at Lucas, then at Nora. “Wait… Anson isn’t developing a drinking problem, is he?”
One moment, they were worried about his hallucinations, and now Charles was throwing out a whole new concern?
No one answered.
“Too soon for that joke?” Charles asked.
Lucas and Nora simply stared at him, deadpan.
Anson, on the other hand, burst into laughter, exchanging a playful high-five with Charles.
That conversation, though it didn’t erase the wounds, lifted a weight off Anson’s shoulders. For the first time in a long while, he felt truly at ease.
That night, after taking a shower, he opened his bedroom door—
And saw someone sitting on the edge of his bed, legs swinging.
Jack.
Jack Priest hadn’t completely disappeared.
Because this wasn’t a game.
There were no “boss fights” where, once defeated, the enemy never returned.
Real life didn’t work that way.
It never did.
*Chapter 1417: A Farewell to Remember*
Jack Priest appeared once again.
However, Anson was neither surprised nor flustered. As he wiped his damp hair, he looked Jack up and down.
Something about Jack seemed different today. He was slightly reserved and shy.
He glanced at Anson briefly before quickly lowering his head, carefully concealing the emotions in his eyes. It was as if he didn’t know what to say, afraid Anson would throw him out. His shoulders slumped pitifully, and he gently swung his legs, not daring to make a sound.
The sight made the corners of Anson’s lips curl into a subtle smile.
After a brief moment of thought, Anson sat down beside Jack.
From this angle, he could see Jack’s battered and bloodied feet clearly.
Now that nothing was obscuring his view, the abnormalities he had previously overlooked were immediately apparent. Yet, instead of fear or pain, he felt an unexpected sense of relief.
Jack seemed to notice Anson’s gaze and instinctively curled his feet inward.
This only made Anson’s smile grow.
"Jack, let's wash your feet first," Anson said.
Jack looked up at him, his expression tense and stubborn as he shook his head.
Anson chuckled softly. "I’m just worried about my carpet, even though I don’t have to clean it myself."
He stood up and walked toward the bathroom, turning back to wave Jack over. Jack hesitated for a moment before biting his lip and reluctantly following.
Standing inside the bathtub, Anson turned on the faucet. Warm water gushed out, splashing into the tub. Meanwhile, Jack remained outside, his reluctance written all over his face.
Anson called him over twice, but Jack didn’t respond. Looking down at the shallow pool of water in the tub, Anson suddenly lifted his right foot and kicked—sending a splash of water flying toward Jack.
Jack froze.
He lifted his head abruptly, staring at Anson, who had just pulled off his little prank.
A wide smile broke across Jack’s face.
"Anson..." Jack whispered in disbelief.
Anson didn’t reply. Instead, he kicked the water again.
Jack raised his hand to shield himself, but he was still hit.
"That’s not fair!" Jack protested.
In retaliation, he hurried into the bathtub, placing his hands over the faucet’s spout. Redirecting the water with his palms, he shot a stream of it straight at Anson.
Splash!
Anson was instantly drenched, his expression one of utter shock.
Jack, seeing him in such a sorry state, put his hands on his hips and burst into laughter.
Anson, of course, wasn’t about to admit defeat. He bent down and used both hands to splash water furiously at Jack. Jack, caught off guard, got a face full of water but quickly counterattacked, using the faucet once again.
Back and forth they went, water flying everywhere.
Eventually, they stopped and looked at each other—both soaked, both breathless.
And then, they laughed.
They laughed until they were exhausted.
Jack slumped against the edge of the bathtub, staring down at his dirty, battered feet. Finally, he bent forward and began washing them in the warm water, scrubbing away the dust and dried blood.
Bit by bit.
Once his feet were clean, he hesitated before speaking.
"So... does this mean we’ll never see each other again?"
But Jack didn’t dare look up at Anson. He curled his shoulders inward, trembling slightly.
Anson shook his head.
"No, of course not. I think we’ll see each other again."
"But Jack, I just want to say... thank you."
Jack stole a glance at Anson, quickly trying to hide the redness creeping into his eyes. Their gazes met, and in Anson’s eyes, there was nothing but sincerity.
"If I hadn’t met you, I might never have escaped my nightmares. I might have ceased to exist altogether."
Anson was serious.
Because that’s exactly what had happened to his former self. Lost in endless darkness, drowning in confusion, struggling desperately—until, in the end, he was consumed by it.
That was what gave Anson a second chance. A fresh start.
"When I was comforting you, helping you… I was really helping myself."
"After meeting you, I realized I wasn’t as brave as I thought. I was afraid, weak, hesitant, and scared. The strength and confidence I projected were just a disguise, carefully concealing my wounds. As long as I could forget everything, it would be as if it never happened."
"But reality doesn’t work that way. What happened, happened. The wounds are still there. The nightmares, the pain, the struggle—they’re all still there."
"For the longest time, I hated myself. I hated how powerless I was. I hated my own cowardice, my fear. I hated that I couldn’t fight back..."
Not just the nine-year-old Anson Wood.
Even the Anson from his past life.
He could have blamed others for his suffering, but deep down, he could never forgive himself.
Jack knew.
Jack knew everything.
He gazed at Anson, and when he finally spoke, his voice was thick with emotion, his vision blurred with tears.
"But you made it through."
Anson met Jack’s eyes and gave a small nod.
"You know, this isn’t my first life..."
Jack nodded in understanding. "Of course." Then, his lips curved into a wide smile.
"You forget—I am you. I know everything."
"But this time, it's different."
"You faced yourself, truly. Whether it was the first time or the second time, whether in the past or the present, you finally found the courage to confront yourself."
"That’s why you saved me. That’s why you taught me to chase my dreams and believe in hope. You showed me that life still has so much to offer."
"You did great, Anson. Really."
Anson looked into Jack’s eyes, and before he could stop himself, tears spilled over, burning hot trails down his cheeks.
But Jack only smiled brighter.
At last, Anson had allowed himself to be vulnerable. At last, he had faced his fears and weaknesses. At last, he had found the courage to ask for help.
At last, he had accepted his imperfections.
Jack took a deep breath.
"And most importantly, you’re not alone anymore."
Which also meant…
Anson didn’t need Jack anymore.
So.
"Anson…" Jack’s lips curled into a radiant smile, shimmering through his tears.
"Even if you see me again in the future, pretend you didn’t. Don’t worry—I won’t be sad or hurt. You don’t have to worry about me."
"And if, just occasionally… very, very occasionally, you miss me…" Jack chuckled.
"Then just look in the mirror."
"Because when I grow up, I become you."
Anson tried to say something, but his throat was too tight, and no sound came out.
So he just nodded.
A messy, tearful nod.
Jack stepped out of the bathtub, grabbing a towel to dry his hair and feet. Then he turned to Anson with a bright, carefree grin.
"Alright, I’m ready to go now."
"Don’t be sad. I won’t disappear, you know? I’ll just become a part of you. And now, I’ll never have to worry about being ignored again."
"Goodbye, Jack…"
Jack extended his right hand, looking at Anson with confidence.
Anson hesitated briefly before reaching out and gripping Jack’s hand firmly.
"Goodbye, Anson."
Jack’s smile widened, like the first light of dawn breaking through the darkness, illuminating the world in an instant.
Then, he turned and ran.
In the blink of an eye, Jack was gone.
Anson blinked, staring straight ahead.
The bathroom was empty.
Only his reflection remained in the mirror—drenched, a mess, fresh from the bath yet once again soaked. His eyes brimmed with tears as he searched the mirror, as if looking for something far, far away.
Chapter 1418: Handle with Care
This isn’t the end—it’s a brand-new beginning, a fresh start that should be filled with happiness and joy. But why won’t the tears stop?
Jack is him. He is Jack.
It’s just a farewell to himself. It’s just making peace with himself. Yet why does it feel like he’s drowning in overwhelming sorrow and bitterness?
Deep within his heart, deep within his soul, a part of himself seems to have vanished forever. The part of him that was battered, bloodied, imprisoned in shadows, and consumed by pain has finally been set free. That’s a good thing. But even knowing that, the anguish of loss surges uncontrollably, crashing over him like an unstoppable tidal wave, suffocating him in its wake, pulling him under.
Anson slides down into the bathtub, his shoulders slumping as he wraps his arms around his knees. He lets the emotions flood out, breaking down completely. He can’t even tell if he’s crying from sadness or relief.
Like a lost traveler with no way home.
*"Send your dreams away, to a place where no one hides.
Send your tears away, to where the tides collide.
Time fades… Time fades…"* (Note 1)
Silence, yet grand.
Sorrowful, yet healing.
The brilliant notes glide through the stillness of the stars and the sea, gently plucking at his heartstrings, awakening the most delicate, hidden emotions buried within his soul.
All his vulnerability, fear, cowardice, and brokenness—nothing is left untouched. Emotions long forgotten and buried in the corners of his memory begin to surface, carried by the dream, drifting toward the place where the tides collide. Bathed in moonlight and waves, they slowly unravel.
At last, they reach the end of time.
*"There is no end here, there are no farewells.
Fading away, into the darkness.
Time fades… Time fades…"*
The melody swirls in his soul, like a grand meteor shower crashing down, washing away all his strength and leaving nothing behind but his most fragile, raw self. And in the music, in the melody, he spreads his arms wide, embracing the sea of light before him.
There, in the vast silence, he is utterly alone—with only his shattered soul, his past and present selves, his forgotten memories and twisted pain, the endless darkness and the fires of hell. But now, all of it crumbles into dust, dissolving in the downpour of music, vanishing without a trace.
Then, he sees a battered, bloodstained figure curled up in the corner, trembling. Their frail shoulders look as if they could collapse at any moment.
"Anson."
He calls out.
The figure jerks its head up. It’s him—his past self and his present self.
Carefully, he sits beside the frail figure and softly hums.
"Ah, ah ah ah… Time fades…"
"Ah… oh, oh oh oh… hum…"
Light and gentle, like a healing touch over old wounds.
They will get through this. They will be okay. They will change.
"Time fades."
Standing at the river of time, everything else feels so small.
That night, he slept dreamlessly until dawn. For the first time in ages, he had a deep, restful sleep. The weight he never realized had been buried in his soul was finally gone.
When he woke up, he felt refreshed.
After washing up, Anson, still in his slippers, shuffled down to the first-floor living room. He collapsed onto the couch facing the Pacific Ocean, basking in the golden sunlight. Every muscle in his body relaxed as if he might just melt into the warmth. Mornings like this—this was happiness.
However, he soon became aware of the quiet shuffling of footsteps around him.
Not loud, not disruptive. Quite the opposite. The steps were light, careful, tiptoeing almost silently. But in the stillness of the house, the deliberate quietness only made them more noticeable.
"…You don’t need to sneak around like thieves," Anson murmured lazily, eyes still closed. "If actual thieves were this obvious, they’d be caught in no time."
Charles’ voice came, slightly sheepish. "Didn’t sleep well last night? Want to get a massage today? Might help you relax after wrapping up work."
Anson chuckled softly. "I actually slept better than I have in a long time."
Charles hesitated. "…Then what’s up with your eyes? They look swollen."
Without opening his eyes, Anson replied, "Oh. I cried my eyes out before going to sleep."
For a second, all breathing and movement around him stopped. The silence was suffocating.
Anson let out a helpless laugh. "It was just an emotional release. Honestly, crying so much is probably why I slept so well."
Charles and Nora exchanged a look before Nora finally spoke.
"Anson, are you sure you don’t want to talk to a therapist?"
Anson smirked. "My second personality refuses."
Silence again.
Shaking his head, Anson sighed. "Relax. That was a joke. Dad, Mom, I’m not some fragile porcelain doll. You don’t have to handle me with such care."
"No, no, no."
"Of course not. Why would we?"
"Yeah, yeah, totally normal behavior."
"We’re just… ordinary worried. Normal levels of concern. Nothing over the top."
Charles and Nora scrambled to deny it, babbling over each other. After a moment, Nora looked at Anson more seriously, choosing her words carefully.
"So, are you planning to take some time off?"
Anson finally sat up, rubbing his swollen eyes. As he turned to face his parents, he noticed Lucas sitting nearby, quietly flipping through some documents, completely silent the whole time.
"Yeah, I’m going to take a break. But I actually have a new idea—I want to record a new album, inspired by Jack."
"It’s just a rough idea right now, but I think it could be interesting. I want to explore it more."
"Kind of like Johnny Cash—turning personal struggles and darkness into art. Expressing it through music. Creating something new out of it."
"But you don’t need to worry about my work. You should be worrying about your own. Are you guys planning to move to L.A.? What about your jobs? Are you going to be like Lucas and hover around me all the time?"
Even though Anson had been completely focused on filming, he had noticed that Charles and Nora had paused their work for over three weeks just to be with him through the entire shoot. He was worried about them, too.
Nora waved a hand dismissively. "Work isn’t important. There’s always another job. But you—you’re my child. You’re one of a kind."
"Now, about your creative plans—are you thinking of painting too? Maybe channeling your emotions into art?"
Anson caught the concern in her eyes and couldn’t help but laugh.
"I’m fine, Mom. You’re talking to me like I’m nine years old. I’m not little Anson anymore. You don’t have to be so careful."
Silence. Absolute silence.
Anson sucked in a sharp breath and turned to Lucas. "Too soon for jokes?"
Lucas nodded seriously. "Way too soon."
(Note 1: Wait—M83)
*Chapter 1419: Never Leaving, Never Abandoning*
A small joke tightened the atmosphere slightly, making even the sunlight streaming into the hall seem a little colder.
Anson sighed helplessly.
Raising his hands, he said, “Sorry, some jokes shouldn’t be made so casually. Even though I’ve long gotten used to the existence of illusions, I know they still have an impact on you. You’re still worried that I might end up like those Hollywood actors in the rumors—losing my mind in the end.”
The air remained stiff.
Anson let out a helpless sigh. “That was a joke too.”
Lucas stared at him quietly. “But it wasn’t funny.”
Anson shrugged. “That’s unfortunate. It looks like you’ll have to put up with me for the rest of your lives.”
Pfft.
This time, Charles couldn’t hold it in and burst into laughter.
Though Nora and Lucas shot him disapproving looks, Anson smiled. “Thank you for your support, dear Mr. Charles Wood.”
Charles played along, raising his right hand like a singer acknowledging their fans at a concert, bowing slightly to an imaginary audience in gratitude.
Anson nodded in satisfaction. Noticing Nora and Lucas’ gazes, he showed a helpless expression. “This isn’t something that happens overnight, you know?”
“The accumulation of problems didn’t happen in just a day or two. Likewise, solving them won’t happen in a day or two either. So what should we do? Put everyone’s lives on pause?”
Nora spoke up. “If necessary, I wouldn’t mind.”
Anson shook his head. “But I would.”
Looking into Nora’s eyes, he said, “Mom, the future is long. I want to see a distant, bright future, not just the next ten days or so.”
That sentence struck deep into Nora’s heart.
“I want to keep making music. I want to keep challenging myself with different roles. I want to get my life back on track—just like Johnny Cash did.”
“At the same time, I want you all to have your own lives. I don’t want you putting everything on hold because of an uncertain, unknown factor.”
Nora hesitated. “But you…”
Anson interrupted, “If I need help, you’ll be there for me right away, won’t you?”
“Luca has already moved his entire life and career focus to Los Angeles. To this day, I still can’t tell whether Forest Pictures was his real career choice or just something he picked up after sacrificing his original ambitions for me.”
Lucas met Anson’s gaze directly. “At least now, I’m my own boss.”
It wasn’t a direct answer, but the roundabout response wasn’t entirely bad either.
Anson wrinkled his nose in mock disdain. “Still feeling guilty, huh?”
“Well, before he stops blaming himself, I plan to make full use of Forest Pictures.”
His blatant honesty made Nora chuckle despite herself.
“So let’s all stay busy. It’s precisely because of everything that has happened that our lives shouldn’t be put on pause so easily.”
“Mom, Dad, and Luca—this applies to all of you. Having your own lives and careers is the best way to fight against those dark shadows.”
Nora asked, “And what about you?”
Anson took a deep breath. “The old me was running away. I was afraid to ask for help, refused to face reality, and let fear and pain slowly consume me.”
Until my life could no longer bear the weight and completely collapsed.
“But now, I’m facing it. And I’m not facing it alone.”
As Anson said, it was a long process. Even though he had said goodbye to Jack last night, that didn’t mean Jack had completely disappeared.
But that didn’t mean they should put their lives on hold.
Charles understood. Nora did too.
Yet, she still couldn’t let go. She gave Lucas a deep look and said, “He needs time to recover. You better not assign him any work.”
Lucas didn’t respond, but Anson just chuckled helplessly.
“Mom, Luca’s not my agent. Are you threatening the wrong person?”
Nora ignored him and pulled Anson into a tight embrace.
Anson… wasn’t used to it.
In his past life, back in China, they weren’t used to hugging or expressing love openly—especially within families. Saying ‘I love you’ directly was an incredibly difficult thing.
Now, being tightly hugged by Nora, Anson couldn’t help but feel awkward.
“Mom… Mom… I can’t breathe…”
Seeing Anson still joking around, Nora raised her hand and playfully smacked him on the back. Anson grimaced dramatically, mimicking Edvard Munch’s The Scream in silent agony, making Nora burst into laughter.
Rather than saying Charles and Nora were completely convinced, it was more accurate to say they had truly realized—
Anson had changed.
It wasn’t just that he could calmly and rationally confront problems last night, nor just that he could joke and tease about them today.
The real difference was the sense of ease emanating from him.
A lightness, as if a heavy burden had been lifted.
At first, Nora had thought it was just a temporary illusion caused by wrapping up Walk the Line—a relief from the pressures of filming and working. But over time, she could feel the genuine relief and confidence radiating from him, completely different from the confusion, turmoil, and despair he had felt before.
Only now was she willing to believe—Anson was truly starting to step out of the shadows.
Maybe they needed to give him some time and space.
Maybe, as Lucas had said, they too needed to face that nightmare head-on.
The shadow that had loomed over the Wood family for so long was still there. But now, instead of lurking unseen in the corners, it had come into the light, where they could finally see it clearly.
This was just the beginning.
Outside the window, golden sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling glass, filling the room with warmth. The air felt lighter, the breathing easier.
Charles and Nora were discussing whether they should have a family gathering tonight.
Work would have to resume, of course—but there was no rush. It wasn’t often that the entire family was together, so cooking a homemade feast tonight seemed like a great idea.
Of course, since it was a last-minute decision, it was bound to be chaotic and complicated.
They needed a plan.
Anson lay back on the sofa, glancing at Lucas, who was sitting across from him reading a document. From the kitchen, Charles and Nora’s voices drifted in.
A smile tugged at the corner of Anson’s lips. “Doesn’t this feel a little like Christmas?”
Lucas looked up at him. “A summer Christmas?”
Anson shrugged. “Why not? It’s always summer Christmas in the Southern Hemisphere.”
Lucas nodded slightly, not arguing.
It was only then that Anson noticed the document in Lucas’ hands. It wasn’t a contract—it looked more like a script. Curious, he asked, “What are you reading?”
Lucas didn’t even look up. “Didn’t you hear what Mom just said? You need to rest. That means no work for a while.”
*Chapter 1420: Completely Clueless*
"Rest? I am resting right now." Anson looked at Lucas with complete calmness. He even stretched lazily to emphasize his current state.
Lucas stared at Anson expressionlessly, unmoved. "You know what I mean."
The body might be resting, but the mind was still running. That didn’t count as rest.
Lucas’s eyes practically spelled out his exasperation. "You just finished filming a movie, and now you're already thinking about your next project? What I mean is that you should take two or three months off, and then we can discuss new projects."
"Besides, didn’t you just say you were thinking about working on a new album?"
Anson responded with a question of his own, "So, are all these things considered projects?"
Lucas: …
Looking at Lucas, who was on high alert, Anson just found it amusing. It was already obvious—Lucas was just like the Wood couple.
They wouldn’t be able to relax anytime soon.
Anson said, "I do plan to take a break and adjust for a while. I’m not in a hurry right now."
"On one hand, I really am considering creating an album. This film shoot has brought a lot of emotions, and music is a great medium. It can carry a lot of emotional weight. Even though it’s also a form of performance, in some ways, I believe it brings me closer to my true self than acting does."
"I want to explore that."
"On the other hand, I need time to step out of the role of Johnny Cash."
"Acting doesn’t work like a switch. You don’t just slip into character instantly, and likewise, you don’t just walk away from it easily."
"I’m still in Johnny Cash’s mindset right now. It feels a bit strange. I need time to unwind; I can’t just jump into a new project right away."
"But…"
Lucas hadn’t spoken because he knew a twist was coming.
And sure enough—
Noticing Lucas’s gaze, Anson chuckled. "What? What’s with that look?"
Lucas studied Anson closely. "That’s my ‘I don’t understand’ look."
At that moment, Anson was sprawled lazily on the couch, with zero regard for posture. He had no sense of image or presence whatsoever.
This was the Anson Lucas had always known, the same from childhood to now. But the Anson seen by the media seemed to be someone entirely different.
"I still don’t get why so many women see you as their dream guy. If they saw you like this, their illusions would probably shatter faster than the speed of light."
Anson laughed outright. "That’s why it’s called a ‘dream guy’—it’s all a dream, an illusion, a projection of their perfect fantasy. To put it plainly, I’m just a tool."
Lucas thought about it seriously and nodded slightly. "That actually makes a lot of sense."
Anson spread his hands. "That’s why they say distance creates beauty. Don’t get too close to your idols, or you might end up facing a massive disappointment."
Lucas smirked. "I agree. Alright, I’ll talk to Edgar about increasing your security team. To prevent your fans from getting too close and shattering their illusions, we need to protect your image. How about eight bodyguards?"
Anson: ??? Wait, hold on, this took a wrong turn somewhere.
But Lucas ignored him. "And? You were saying ‘but’ just now?"
Anson looked at Lucas, still trying to argue. But seeing Lucas’s firm expression, he knew there was no room for negotiation.
A sense of despair washed over him.
So now, whenever he went out, he’d be surrounded by a group of men in black suits? Was he really about to live the life of those A-list stars he’d only seen in movies and gossip magazines—so famous he couldn’t even step outside?
Anson slumped his shoulders. "How about we start with two?"
Lucas: …
Anson let out a long sigh. "Forget the ‘but.’ I’ve lost my enthusiasm now."
He lay back on the couch, staring at the ceiling in defeat. But after a moment, he sat up again. Something felt off. Sure enough, Lucas had resumed reading a script, looking completely at ease.
A trap!
It was all a trap!
Seeing the barely noticeable smirk on Lucas’s lips, Anson shifted to sit cross-legged.
"But!"
Anson cleared his throat.
When it came to rest, Anson was serious. The filming experience of Walk the Line was a first for him. He had fully immersed himself in a role, losing himself in it.
Even now, without realizing it, his mannerisms and behavior still carried traces of Johnny Cash. He hadn’t noticed it himself, but he needed to break free from scripts and cameras to fully grasp that he no longer needed to perform.
That feeling was both subtle and strange.
This experience was a completely new chapter in Anson’s relatively short acting career. It was unfamiliar, unsettling, and a bit confusing. Transitioning from being a pretty face to a real actor wasn’t as easy as it seemed. The journey to becoming an actor had just opened another door for him.
More importantly, Anson was still processing his own issues. Whether it was Jack, his nine-year-old self, or even the memories from his past life, they all intertwined. Sometimes, in fleeting moments, he felt disoriented—
A clash between reality and illusion echoed in his mind.
So, yes, Anson needed to rest. Even if his family wasn’t constantly watching over him, he understood this himself.
Three months? Six months?
Maybe he wouldn’t need that long. Maybe he’d need even more time and space. But Anson didn’t care.
After all, he no longer had to struggle to make a living, nor did he have to fight for fame, power, or reputation. He just wanted to follow his heart and live for himself.
Rest—he was serious about it.
The conversation with Lucas was nothing more than idle chatter.
Still, seeing how Lucas was treating this like a life-or-death situation, Anson’s mischievous side kicked in. A playful glint flashed in his eyes.
"But."
"Negotiating a film project isn’t that simple. Talks can take three to six months, and the actual shooting schedule can be even longer. Projects we consider now might not even start filming until next year."
"Besides, for the really competitive projects, you have to strike first."
Lucas looked up at Anson. Despite realizing the setup, he didn’t panic. He listened carefully, then showed a slight look of confusion.
"I thought you didn’t care about that. The Butterfly Effect and Walk the Line weren’t exactly hot-ticket projects."
Anson chuckled. "That’s the difference."
"If I were just choosing projects for myself, I wouldn’t be in a rush. But the situation is different now. There’s Forest Pictures. I have to pick projects for the company, too."
Lucas shook his head. "Forest Pictures was founded with the idea of being like DreamWorks—to let you freely make the projects you’re passionate about."
Anson smirked. "But if that’s the case, Forest Pictures’ ceiling will always be DreamWorks. And let’s be honest, you have no interest in just becoming the next DreamWorks."
