The Best Actor in the Vase of Meiyu

Chapter 1827 Drinking and Talking at Night
"So, how did you do it? I know it wasn't through discussion or thinking; I stumbled along for a while, and then suddenly it clicked."

"I do not know either."

"Anson!"

"I'm serious, I really don't know."

Are you keeping it a secret now?

"Haha, I almost hope so. If it's really kept secret, it means I already know the secret."

Scarlett didn't believe it and stared at Anson with suspicion in her eyes.

That look made Anson unable to hold back his laughter. The alcohol was taking effect, and he was slightly tipsy in the night, which relaxed his nerves.

The party is in progress—

The production team ultimately failed to invite a master chef. Everything was too last-minute and unexpected. High-end chefs who are willing to travel often need to be booked in advance, and two hours of preparation time is definitely not enough, even for cooking for Anson Wood. But for the production team, two hours was enough to organize a bonfire party.

The crew demonstrated their organizational and execution skills, handling everything from venue and equipment to ingredients and takeout with great efficiency, and they actually succeeded.

Emmanuel stepped up and unexpectedly showcased his culinary skills, becoming the most popular barbecue master of the night, satisfying everyone's needs; meanwhile, all sorts of takeaway food converged from every corner of London toward the Surrey set, a dazzling array of choices.

Most remarkably, with Michael Caine's help, they actually found authentic Mexican food, and Alfonso couldn't stop smiling all night.

The bonfire blazed brightly in the night, filled with laughter, singing, and dancing, creating a warm and peaceful atmosphere. After a busy day, everyone could finally relax.

Anson lay on a beach chair, sitting in the grass. The rain had stopped, and the damp earth smelled slightly cool. He couldn't help but move a little closer to the campfire. The aroma of food in the air made him feel relaxed. Being in the countryside, he felt a sense of comfort and homecoming.

Anson turned his head to look at Scarlett. Her profile, illuminated by the firelight, appeared somewhat silent. Although a smile still lingered on her lips, a hint of worry was visible between her brows.

Anson thought for a moment, then broke the silence again, "It's just about keeping trying."

Scarlett looked over.

Anson said, "I guess everyone has their own way of performing and understanding, and they may not be able to communicate with each other. But for me, I've been trying."

“At first, performing was an instinct, a vague and simple instinct; then we tried to control it with techniques, but it didn’t always work, because we didn’t know if the techniques were correct. Sometimes we could produce a wonderful performance, and sometimes it seemed to backfire and do more harm than good.”

"However, there are no shortcuts."

"I think there's no other way but to keep trying, refining, and experimenting."

"Just like just now."

“We discussed it, but Michael said to stop discussing and thinking, and instead focus on performing, feeling and experiencing, but the result was just as bad.”

Anson chuckled self-deprecatingly and glanced at Scarlett.

Scarlett laughed too. "The more anxious you are, the more chaotic things get, right?"

Anson spread his hands. "We've all been through this phase. When others criticize and insult us, we feel wronged and desperately try to explain ourselves, prove ourselves, and clear our names. Oh, or rather, we're still in this phase."

Scarlett burst out laughing at a self-deprecating remark.

"but……"

Anson calmed down and thought about it carefully.

"But the director said he believed in me."

Scarlett was stunned. Anson could sense the astonishment in Scarlett's eyes, and he nodded. "Of course, it's not just that. Michael's performance, my interaction with Emmanuel on camera, our discussions, and so on, all of these were preparations and accumulations. Without these attempts, there would have been no qualitative change later on."

"But the key point is that the director said he believes I can do a good job, he enjoys all the work on set today, and he believes we are on the right track."

"So, I want to try again."

Scarlett opened her mouth slightly, her mind churning with countless thoughts, yet she didn't know how to express them.

Anson turned to look at him. "I believe you too."

Scarlett looked at Anson quietly.

Anson shrugged gently. “I still believe you are the perfect choice for this role. I believe you have your own unique approach to acting and your dedication to your craft. Even when people see your appearance or label you with stereotypes based on rumors, you still enjoy the job of acting.”

"Is it right?"

Scarlett looked somewhat flustered. Anson's eyes were so clear and bright; though it was a question, they were so certain.

Scarlett shifted her gaze to the distance, quietly watching the roaring campfire, her eyes slightly warm.

Anson didn't urge him, but just sat quietly to the side, letting the surrounding laughter and noise invade and surge around the campfire.

Scarlett's voice came from beside her, "I don't know."

"For a time, I began to hate performing and resented standing in front of the camera like a Barbie doll, being manipulated and joked about by people. I had to conform to their imagination and pretend to be a brainless vase."

"But sometimes, I enjoy performing. When I'm performing, a part of my soul merges with the character, blurring the lines between performance and reality, and I'm adventuring and exploring in an unknown world. In the character, I can feel the courage and boldness that I don't have."

"I can't tell whether I still like performing."

Anson chuckled softly. "That's life, isn't it? We all hate life."

Why can't things be simpler? Like is like, dislike is dislike, why can't we just say it clearly? Why are we always guessing, always contradicting ourselves, always struggling? Why are we always suffering in confusion and bewilderment? Why are there so many unsolvable problems?

Scarlett tilted her head, resting it on her arm, staring at the campfire, lost in thought.

Then, Scarlett tilted her head and looked at Anson, "So what are you going to do?"

Anson, "Performance."

Scarlett was puzzled.

Anson said, "I look for answers in acting. Films seem detached from reality yet originate from life, and I try to find myself in the characters I play."

Scarlett did not respond, seemingly lost in thought.

The crackling of burning firewood echoed amidst laughter and chatter, so noisy and bustling, yet creating the illusion that the world had slowed down. They were swept into a black hole, watching time flow outside, their thoughts, their feelings, their struggles frozen in that moment.

The silence was broken when the phone in his pocket vibrated. Anson took out his phone, glanced at the caller ID, and gave Scarlett an apologetic smile.

He stood up, answered the phone, and turned to start walking.

Scarlett watched Anson's figure moving between the firelight and the night in silence. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, tall and slender, he could easily catch her eye without any special movements. Even without seeing his face, she could picture his warm smile in her mind, slowly sinking into the quicksand of her thoughts, all her mind and feelings being drawn into it.

My heart, which had been pounding wildly just a second ago, inexplicably slowed down, slower and slower, until I could almost hear the sound of each heartbeat against my chest.

The tide rises. The tide surges.

(End of this chapter)