The atmosphere was slightly tense.
The driver sneaked a glance and noticed that Anson was still standing there. He quickly averted his gaze, trying his best to make himself invisible, and finally, his last bit of defiance faded away.
At this moment, Anson didn't continue pressing the issue. He glared at the driver one last time before turning back to the elderly lady. He quickly gathered the scattered items, placed them into a brown paper bag, and handed it to her.
The car sped off from the scene, its tail lights betraying the driver's anxiety.
The brief traffic jam behind them finally cleared up. Anson stood by the roadside, raising his voice to apologize to the drivers stuck behind.
After a moment, Anson turned his attention back to the elderly lady.
Her movements were still slow and unsteady, and even holding the brown paper bag seemed difficult. Seeing it was about to slip again, Anson quickly stepped forward to help her secure it.
The elderly lady looked at Anson.
"Thank you, I'm sorry, I mean, thank you, really."
Flustered, the elderly lady didn't know whether she should apologize or express her gratitude, her shaky voice full of guilt and unease.
Anson waved it off, "It's nothing."
"Everyone makes mistakes sometimes, and everyone needs help now and then. It's normal. There's no need to feel guilty over something so small."
The elderly lady nodded gently and took two oranges from the brown paper bag, offering them to him.
Anson was momentarily surprised but accepted them politely. "Thank you, I won't refuse then." He looked around. "Would you like me to find a cab for you?"
The elderly lady shook her head repeatedly. "My house is just around the corner…"
Before she could finish, a voice was carried by the wind.
"Anson…"
"Jesus Christ, Anson!"
One by one, four crew members came running, out of breath, scattering around as they arrived. Their pale faces were drenched in sweat, as if they had just endured some harsh ordeal, their lips still trembling.
The sight was somewhat amusing.
Reason finally returned to his body—
He was Anson, Anson Wood, living his second life. There was no need to deny those memories, nor to be hurt by them again, because those scars and setbacks were what made him who he was today.
Just like today.
Because of those past experiences, he was able to appreciate the beauty and allure of method acting for the first time, and once again experience the joy of being an actor.
Indescribably wonderful.
He shouldn't and didn't need to avoid it, nor should he be afraid or hurt. Instead, he should face it bravely and embrace the darkness of the past.
Whether it's filming or youth, they are all new stories, and the past won't repeat itself.
Even if, in the worst case, it did happen again, he wasn't a novice anymore, was he?
Without realizing it, Anson looked around, trying to find the young man and woman, but all he saw was the busy street.
Perhaps they would never meet again, but Anson just wanted to tell that young man: This isn't the end, and it shouldn't be the end.
He let out a soft breath, finally regaining his composure.
Then, Anson realized that he had run out so suddenly that he probably scared the entire crew. Who knows what the director would say?
For once, even Anson scratched his head in embarrassment.
He instructed one of the crew members to personally escort the elderly lady to her home at the street corner. After a quick goodbye, he hurried back with the others.
"Slow down, Anson, take it easy."
"I'll let the director know we found you, no need to rush."
Seeing Anson start running again, the crew members were so startled that their legs nearly gave out.
The last crew member, who had stayed behind, let out a long sigh of relief, feeling fortunate. Initially, he thought staying back was a tough job, but now it seemed he was the lucky one.
"Young man, who is he? He seems to be very busy."
"Oh, Anson? He's an actor. We're working on a film."
"Anson?"
"Wood. Anson Wood."
Though he didn't run the whole way, Anson still returned to the set as quickly as possible.
As soon as he walked in, Anson began apologizing repeatedly, which left the crew on set stunned. This afternoon's brief ten minutes had been quite an experience.
First, Anson's "let's do it again" caused the entire crew to be upset, but later, his outstanding performance won everyone over. Then, another spontaneous action from Anson threw the crew into chaos once again.
What now?
Someone couldn't help but quip, "Which part are we mad about?"
The words were sharp, but there wasn't really any tension behind them.
Anson looked toward the voice and responded, "First round after work is on me tonight."
A perfect answer.
For the crew, going home isn't the first choice after work; the bar is. No one can refuse a beer after a long day.
Cheers erupted immediately.
Anson added, "Tomorrow's afternoon tea is also on me, order anything you want."
More cheers followed.
The atmosphere instantly flipped, and the whole crew burst into laughter, the mood becoming lively and light-hearted.
Without stopping, Anson made his way to the director, Steven, by the monitors.
Steven never intended to reprimand Anson; there was no need. He was too busy thinking of ways to praise him. Steven had planned to take the blame himself, treat the crew, and do Anson a favor. Though Steven didn't need to worry about the crew's grumbling, Anson was in a different position.
But then, seeing the scene unfold, Steven smiled and decided to join in on the fun, crossing his arms and putting on a mock-serious face.
"So, what about me?"
Anson flashed a smile at Steven, "Director, please forgive me."
As he spoke, he extended his right hand.
Steven: ?
Steven held out his right hand, and Anson placed something in it.
A tangerine.
Steven was confused, "What's this now?"
Anson held up another tangerine in his hand. "An unexpected reward from the heavens. Thanks for your hard work, director."
Steven was completely lost, unsure of what Anson was going on about. But seeing the lone tangerine in his hand, and knowing only he and Anson had one, it felt special in a ridiculous, funny way. A smile crept up on his face.
Then.
Anson leaned toward Steven, "Director, do we need to shoot that scene again?"
He was asking about the take they just shot.
To be honest, Anson had been so deeply immersed in his character that he wasn't sure how it had gone. He needed confirmation from the director.
The roles were now reversed.
Anson felt he had given everything, leaving nothing behind. But if the director thought it wasn't quite there, or if an earlier version was better…
After all, directors and actors have very different perspectives, and ultimately, the director's vision is what matters.
Steven glanced at Anson, noticing a rare hint of uncertainty in the young actor. He had been planning to tease Anson, but before he realized it, his own smile widened, and his tone softened.
"It was great. Keep it up. We should prepare for the next shot."
Even Steven didn't realize that he was starting to look forward to what Anson would bring next.
Anson's grin grew wider, and he turned to face the crowded, bustling apartment set, spreading his arms wide like he was making a grand declaration.
"Alright, did you all hear that? Get ready for the next shot and let's work toward clocking out!"
The place erupted again with laughter, applause, and whistles, the energy in the room buzzing.