The Best Actor in the Vase of Meiyu

Chapter 2035 Reform your past
No.

In short, that's all.

Without hesitation, without explanation, without dialogue, Anson bluntly rejected Martin.

Everything was so decisive and resolute, leaving no room for maneuver, that Martin's breath was abruptly cut off, his mind went blank, and he stood there stunned.

Martin felt like a clown whose performance had failed and whose mistake had been exposed, standing under the spotlight in a state of utter embarrassment and shame, facing judgment from the entire audience.

For a very, very short time, thoughts surged through Martin's mind.

Anson noticed this expression and smiled. "Sorry, I didn't mean anything by it. I might need some time to prepare for work. If I rush into taking on work, my brother might just show up on set. Actually, I'm a little afraid of him."

He paused for a moment, then added, "Furthermore, I already made my position clear last time in London: I am a sincere person."

Martin chewed it carefully, and actually... laughed.

Martin glanced at Anson sideways. "You know what? I believe you."

He believed that Anson wasn't acting out of spite, nor out of revenge; everything he said was the truth, a sincere response.

Those terrible, awful thoughts cooled down for a moment, and Martin pulled his heart back from hell. He had been an unknown in London for far too long, and he had long been used to being rejected, denied, and ignored—or rather, not "in the past," but still "in the present."

He is still busy and searching in preparation for his first feature film.

Therefore, he is already quite adept at dealing with rejection.

What's more, the person in front of him was someone he had rejected before. Is this a cycle of reincarnation?

Martin fell into deep thought, his mind racing with divergent ideas.

"I think that's the biggest irony, isn't it?"

"People always pre-define an image of themselves in their minds because of popularity, fame, and lofty glory and status. Your arrogance and stupidity, your conceit and conceit, but they don't realize that all those images are dark thoughts in our own minds. The real stupidity and conceit is ourselves."

Martin once again demonstrated his sharp and incisive nature with his casual remarks.

then.

“But will you give me a chance? A chance to convince you?” Martin looked directly into Anson’s eyes.

Anson scrutinized Martin's eyes, remaining silent and letting the silence spread.

Martin felt an urge to flee and also an urge to punch the face in front of him, but he restrained himself and looked into Anson's eyes.

This should be the first time Martin has truly looked into Anson's eyes.

“I always thought that your face was everywhere, that I was so familiar with it, that it was in every corner of my life, that I could recognize it at any time. But now I realize that was also a kind of deception. I deceived myself. In fact, I never really looked at you properly.”

Anson popped a donut into his mouth and chewed it slowly. "That's understandable. After all, you're straight, right? It's perfectly normal that you don't have the habit of scrutinizing men closely."

Martin was completely unprepared for this response and couldn't help but burst out laughing. "So, that wasn't acting, and you're always this sharp-tongued in real life too?"

Anson remained calm. "There's no need to be too surprised. The line of people waiting to confess to me is already stretching all the way to Chicago. You'd better not join the queue."

Martin's smile widened completely. "Aren't you curious why I returned, overturned my own judgment, and found you again?"

Anson didn't answer immediately. Instead, he took a sip of coffee, his brows furrowing, clearly disliking the bitter taste. But he still gave an answer, "'Friday night with Jonathan Ross'?"

Martin's smile froze on his lips. "How did you know?!"

Anson curled his lip slightly. "Martin, you're not as smart as you think." Martin was stunned, and a surge of anger ignited within him, instantly overwhelming him and threatening to burst through his chest.

If it were according to his usual personality, he would probably have already launched a sarcastic and sharp rebuttal. Perhaps his fists aren't hard enough, but his mouth is definitely not forgiving.

Anyway, even if you lose the game, you can't lose face.

However, looking at Anson, who was calm and collected, Martin's anger, which had just surfaced, miraculously vanished, and he laughed instead.

"Perhaps you are right."

"It's only been ten days since our last meeting at the BBC. London, Paris, Los Angeles—the facts are what they are, and it's not hard to deduce the truth."

She let out a soft breath, "I never imagined that because of you, I would keep rediscovering myself."

Anson chuckled softly, "It's my pleasure."

"Or perhaps, this is the meaning of life: to constantly take risks and rediscover oneself. There is no need to blame everything on others."

“We always manage to bring everything back to ourselves, as if the earth revolves around us. I guess that’s why we met in Hollywood, right?”

Is this a critique of Hollywood actors' narcissism?

Martin rolled his eyes. "That's you. You."

Anson, however, showed no sign of being offended and calmly stuffed all the donuts into his mouth.

Martin's eyes darted back to him. "Well, if anyone in the world can be reasonably narcissistic right now, I think you certainly have priority."

Anson, "So that's why you came to Hollywood?"

Martin glanced at Anson again. Clearly, this was a ladder provided by Anson, and if he hadn't noticed, all his efforts would have been in vain.

“Yes.” Martin grabbed the ladder. “Actually, I don’t want to watch Jonathan Ross. I think he’s just an opportunist with no talent, all talk and no action. He seems sharp and incisive, but he’s just playing mind games. His show is worthless compared to real talk shows.”

Oops, how did the focus of the discussion shift to Jonathan Rose?
"but."

Martin pulled back from the brink.

"The news was everywhere, but I still watched it. I realized that arrogance and prejudice had blinded me, and I should re-examine my judgment."

Anson interjected, "About Jonathan Rose."

Martin's shoulders slumped as he looked at Anson helplessly. "No, it's about you."

Anson nodded slightly. "Very good. That's exactly what I wanted to hear. I'm in a good mood right now, you should seize this opportunity."

Martin took a deep breath, preparing to continue, but couldn't help but laugh out loud, shaking his head slightly with a hint of helplessness.

"What I mean is, you have a certain quality about you. You seem sunny but are actually melancholic, you seem carefree but are actually sad. Your sharpness and incisiveness are hidden in your humor. I don't know your past, and I don't want to pry, but I believe that this quality of yours may make you an excellent actor."

A few words, and it hit the nail on the head.

Anson's mind was in turmoil. He hadn't expected Martin to be able to see through appearances. This keen observation truly demonstrated the talent and potential of an artist.

No wonder Martin was later able to create works like "Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri" and "Seven Psychopaths," which are absurd yet imbued with pessimism and despair.

(End of this chapter)