Straw of salvation.
The doctor in front of him was the sole straw of salvation. He knew the doctor was a deceiver, deceiving him that everything would be alright, that he could still look forward to a future, that things weren't as dire as he imagined. But... what if?
What if?
The desire for survival began to burn in his eyes, calm on the surface yet concealing surging undercurrents. "But I'm gonna be okay?"
He heard his own voice, struggling to maintain composure, yet with an irrepressible tremor. Though he himself didn't understand the meaning behind these words, nor did he grasp the situation he was facing. Since he was in the hospital, the only way to escape this predicament was to get better, wasn't it?
Andrew had to lift his head, and he then saw those numb eyes, as profound as the vast night sky, yet devoid of any radiance. He searched earnestly but couldn't capture any trace of life. The grand and immense void was terrifyingly empty. It was as if... he was personally strangling that soul.
This choked his words, they stuttered on his tongue, and with a reluctant heart, he looked away once again. Yet, from the corner of his eye, he could see the fragile shoulders, the taut muscles, the confusion, astonishment, bewilderment, and anger erupting from every inch of his body. Silent, yet tearing through clouds and splitting rocks.
He was pronouncing a person's death sentence.
"Right?" Andrew didn't speak, so Adam opened his mouth again. His voice was extremely calm, even too calm. It resembled glaciers beneath the ground, not even a gentle breeze in sight. That tender voice was so delicate, it felt like it would shatter upon touch, unbearable even with the slightest pressure.
But Andrew's heart couldn't help but contract, as if the rope of hope was in his hands, just a slight pull, and that rope would snap, watching him plunge into endless darkness. This made Andrew's words stick in his throat, as if he had swallowed a mouthful of sand, making it ache.
He averted his gaze, pretending to jot something down on a report, but found the motion utterly meaningless. He could only awkwardly raise his hands, "If you need someone to talk to, we have an excellent staff here at the hospital of social workers and psychologists. They specialize in these matters, and they would be able to help you."
The doctor once again averted his gaze, the doctor once again evaded the topic, the doctor once again avoided contact.
Finally, he understood, that's how things were. His shoulders lifted again, but it was a failed attempt. He sat there, looking lost, his brain stopped spinning, blood stopped flowing, even his breath ceased its rise and fall.
At this moment, time came to a halt. It was as if a colorful butterfly had landed on his fingertip, and then time gradually stripped away the colors, leaving the painting in black and white, heart-wrenching.
"Cut!"
Jonathan's coarse voice rang out on set, his throat's coarseness nearly causing him to cough. He stood up, wanting to say something, but his mouth was full of bitterness and not a single sound could emerge. He had to open his mouth wide, gasping for air, the suppressed and desperate feeling of being unable to breathe filled the entire set.
Not sadness, nor pain. He had no intention of shedding tears. It was just suffocating, the kind of stifling that made one panic, that made one want to escape. He simply wanted to turn around and leave this place, to take a breath of fresh air, as if he had witnessed the world transform from color to grayscale, clutching his chest, covering his mouth and nose, stifling sounds, unable to move, yet his chest burned with a searing heat.
He wanted to do something, but didn't know what.
Only at this moment did Jonathan truly comprehend: what cancer meant.
From the perspective of an onlooker, people often had a misconception. It was just some incident, why make such a fuss?
Just a curse, no knives or guns involved; just a text message, no physical harm; just a failure, not the end of the world; just cancer, not instant death.
Because when such things happened to others, one was never able to fully empathize. They would always guess the feelings of others based on their own thoughts, thinking, "This isn't a big deal. If it were me, I definitely wouldn't react like this." And so, people liked to stand on their pedestals, passing judgments from above, offering their pity and critique.
Cancer was no exception.
Everyone knew how dreadful cancer was, but after three decades of development, cancer was no longer an incurable ailment. When they learned someone else had cancer, their hearts would grow heavy, they would feel sorrow, but ultimately, they couldn't truly feel the pain. Even the closest friends, the most intimate lovers, and the dearest family members were no exception.
Because it wasn't real.
But just now, in this very moment, Jonathan tangibly felt the impact of "cancer".
It was cancer, capable of destroying a person's life. Even though there were relatively effective control drugs now, and even though a small percentage had managed to recover, it was still cancer, representing the sickle of death. The tactile reality made his blood turn icy cold, as if he could clearly see the world shattering into pieces.
Even Jonathan, standing behind the monitor, felt pained by this sight, not to mention Andrew, who was acting in the scene.
Jonathan turned around and saw that every member of the crew had averted their gazes. They pretended to be looking elsewhere, yet within the serene and tranquil atmosphere, a sourness that couldn't be released lingered. Even Will was no exception.
Originally, Jonathan wanted to ask Will about his psychological state at that moment. Was Renly's performance up to par? However, now, Will's actions had already provided the best answer. No need for questions, Jonathan could sense the turmoil deep within Will from his complex expressions.
Thus, Jonathan withdrew his gaze, turned to Renly, cleared his throat, and announced in a loud voice, "Let's shoot from a different angle this time." This was equivalent to saying that the shot they just took had been approved.
"Wait." However, Renly's voice interrupted the crew's next actions, causing everyone's attention to shift towards him.
At the moment, Renly was seated in a chair, motionless, as if he had lost control over his body.
The intense emotions from that short scene just now had become too overwhelming. He was on the brink of losing his ability to breathe. The sense of reality that shattered the fabric of time felt all too genuine, to the point where he lost control of everything.
He knew, in that moment, he wasn't Adam. He was Chu Jiashu.
The nightmare struck once again, those long ten years of time still felt like poison, deeply rooted and embedded in his soul, never truly fading. No freedom, no hope, no sunlight, not even darkness, no despair, no sadness, not even the courage to end himself. Pitiable, tragic, yet almost laughable.
Even though Jonathan halted the filming, interrupting his train of thought, he couldn't rid himself of the bone-chilling sensation. He continuously told himself he wasn't Chu Jiashu, that he had won a new life, that he had escaped the clutches of the nightmare. Yet his muscles remained terrifyingly rigid, almost devoid of sensation.
Finally, after considerable effort, his fingers moved ever so slightly, allowing him to exhale a long breath. The sense of reality returned warmth to his blood, and once more, he felt his limbs.
"Can I watch the performance just now?" Renly's voice was somewhat hoarse, tinged with a deep undertone. It sounded composed, yet it concealed countless emotions, making it difficult to discern.
Jonathan glanced at Seth. He wasn't entirely sure of the significance of this request. In comedy, they wouldn't nitpick performance details; it was more about controlling the rhythm of the performance. So, experiencing the live rhythm on set was the right way to go. Jonathan seldom watched replays.
After receiving Seth's affirmative response, Jonathan shrugged in agreement. "Why not?"
Renly didn't immediately stand up. He seemed to be adjusting to his own body, a sensation that was both familiar and foreign. It was as if he were taking his first breath after being submerged underwater, having to consciously inhale large gulps of air, as if he had forgotten how to breathe through his nose.
After a while, Renly finally stood up. The slightly warmer blood flowed through his limbs, though his muscles hadn't entirely loosened up. This made his movements somewhat clumsy, almost robotic.
Under the puzzled gazes of Jonathan, Seth, and the others, Renly walked to the monitor and began watching the replay of the performance.
In reality, this segment of the performance wasn't long. From start to finish, it was only seventy seconds. Moreover, it wasn't a one-shot long take. Jonathan had arranged four camera positions to capture different angles and depths of field, supplemented by close-ups and detail shots, completing the entire seventy-second scene.
The replay ended quickly.
Jonathan couldn't help raising an eyebrow again. Even on a second viewing, he found it extremely moving. The intricate performance that delved deep into the marrow had powerful explanatory ability; it required little interpretation. The story was already presented before the eyes, and this display of acting skill was indeed remarkable.
Moreover, it was worth mentioning that Renly had interspersed some subtle humor into his performance. For example, lines like "Was that English you just spoke?" frequently appeared in comedies, mocking the other party for speaking too professionally. Sometimes, they were used to ridicule guys who were obsessed with superhero comics. Another example was the self-deprecating smile, coupled with the bewildered look – these little details were truly fantastic!
Jonathan really loved this recent segment of the performance. It had a slightly dramatic style, perfectly executed.
"No, I don't like it," however, Renly's words reached his ears, causing Jonathan's smile to involuntarily freeze. He furrowed his brows, his face a picture of astonishment as he gazed at Renly. "What?"
Jonathan thought he was hallucinating.
He didn't expect Renly to shake his head again, and with utter conviction, say, "This performance is terrible."