"This performance was truly terrible."
A searing fire raged within Renly's chest—an unquenchable fire. His emotions hadn't completely left the scene of his recent performance. His anger surged, consuming his entire being in an unstoppable restlessness. He felt the urge to vent it all out.
However, the remnants of his rationality told him that venting his emotions on others, lashing out, was a misguided behavior. So, with his last trace of sanity, he spoke up, "I'm sorry, I need to calm down. Give me thirty minutes."
His resolute voice held a conviction that was impossible to refuse. If he stayed any longer, he couldn't predict his next actions. With that, Renly turned around, and the bustling crowd shifted aside to form a path against the wall. Renly maintained a modicum of decorum as he nodded in acknowledgment, then walked away coldly, his pace brisk.
Everyone wore expressions of bewilderment and shock, utterly clueless about what had transpired.
Jonathan was even more puzzled, his face a picture of confusion. He glanced at Seth, but Seth was equally bewildered, standing in place with a blank stare. After a moment of silence, he cautiously ventured, "Should... should I offer him a joint?"
"Seth!" The solemn atmosphere was instantly shattered, replaced by helpless laughter. Seth innocently spread his hands in response.
Jonathan could only look at Will, who seemed contemplative. He appeared to grasp the situation, yet also seemed oblivious. After all, he wasn't an actor; his perspective on matters was different. "How about we watch the replay again?" Will tentatively suggested.
Jonathan nodded in agreement. They decided to watch the replay once more.
However, after Renly left, an odd atmosphere settled over the set.
Everyone believed the performance had been exceptional. The director, producers, and even the story's originator were present, all unanimously expressing their agreement. Yet, Renly, the person at the center of it all, contradicted them, labeling it not as nitpicking or perfectionism, but as "terrible". What did this mean?
Was he criticizing his own performance? Or was he criticizing the lack of professionalism among the crew, implying they deemed such a performance outstanding due to their inadequacies? Moreover, he turned and left without a word, ignoring the producers and director, demanding a thirty-minute break. This wasn't just impolite—it was acting like a diva! So, what was going on now? Did Renly want to relish in the airs of a diva? Or did he want to display an air of actorly professionalism with a touch of self-righteousness?
Who exactly was he trying to impress with this attitude?
For a moment, a sense of agitation and chaos swept through the "50/50" set. Exchanges of glances and hushed discussions filled the air. Initially, everyone had been amazed by Renly's performance. But in the next moment, the atmosphere shifted one hundred and eighty degrees. This kind of "professional attitude" was hard to like, even bordering on repulsive.
"Don't just think about the crew; even actors like Anna and Bryce were baffled, unable to comprehend what had happened. Yet, upon careful reflection, from their first meeting to now, every action Renly took had been filled with strange inexplicabilities, so today wasn't too surprising.
However, even so, suddenly berating his own performance as 'terrible,' what did it mean? Was he waiting for more praise, expecting everyone to lavish him with compliments, proclaiming his performance as outstanding? Or was he genuinely criticizing his own acting? Did he think of himself as some acting maestro? Robert De Niro or Meryl Streep? Such cold and arrogant behavior was indeed capable of provoking a disdainful reaction.
Renly had no time to concern himself with these matters, nor time to explain them. He had to leave that space—a suffocating, blood-burning space. He needed a breath of fresh air, allowing his cluttered mind to cool. He had to reorganize his thoughts and start over.
He felt like a restless volcano, perpetually on the verge of eruption. He knew this wasn't normal. With the anger of Chu Jiashu, the confusion of Adam, and his own restlessness all colliding within him, he felt lost and powerless. He could only vent his frustrations onto himself.
Upon stepping outdoors, fresh air filled his chest, providing some relief, though not enough.
Renly's impulsive footsteps suddenly slammed to a halt. He felt his pockets, only to realize he was still wearing his costume, and they were empty. Reflexively, he lifted his head, scanning his surroundings. His eyes fell on a doctor in a white coat standing near the glass windows of a skywalk, lost in thought.
This skywalk bridged two different department buildings. Right ahead was a tall glass wall, still considered an indoor space, though quieter compared to the main set. Seattle's soft light filtered through the glass, casting a mild, soothing blue hue indoors. The sense of space seemed to expand unconsciously.
Without overthinking, Renly walked over, suppressing his surging emotions. He politely asked, "Excuse me, do you have a cigarette?"
The doctor turned her head. She was a woman with short, neat hair, slanted eyes, and delicate eyebrows. Her features were deeply intriguing, resembling those of a mixed-race individual. Her untouched face had a pureness reminiscent of a southern water town—nothing particularly striking, yet undeniably pleasant.
"Do you not know this is a hospital? Smoking is prohibited here," the doctor raised an eyebrow, her voice firm but lacking sharpness in her demeanor.
Renly patted his pockets, indicating his innocence, then added with a supplementary explanation, "I don't need a lighter."
The doctor paused, sizing up Renly from head to toe, as if she could see beyond his exterior. After about three seconds, she reached into her pocket and produced a pack of cigarettes, handing one to Renly. "How did you know I had cigarettes?" She was a woman and a doctor; many people didn't know she smoked.
"Do I need a reason?" Renly's counter-question left the doctor momentarily stunned before a smile graced her lips. She nodded in agreement.
Renly placed the cigarette between his lips without lighting it. The faint scent of tobacco lingered under his nose. The restlessness that surged throughout his body was slightly alleviated. It felt as though he could see the swirling smoke winding around his fingertips. Yet, his agitated emotions hadn't completely subsided. He remained uncomfortably restless, as if everything had spiraled out of control, leaving him ill-equipped to cope.
The doctor could sense the negativity emanating from Renly. She lowered her gaze, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Having trouble with work?"
Renly shrugged, "Life was never easy." His peripheral vision glanced at the doctor, "And you? Progress in the operating room isn't going smoothly?"
"Just pronounced a verdict." The so-called verdict was the announcement of the time of death. The doctor lowered her gaze to her hands, as if she could see blood staining them.
This simple action made Renly understand instantly. When faced with death, with illness, they always thought that by growing accustomed, they would eventually become numb. But reality wasn't so forgiving.
"Perhaps you could use a cigarette too." Renly's reply elicited a smile from the doctor, who casually glanced at the unlit cigarette between the corners of his mouth. It was held there, not ignited, shrouded in an inescapable melancholy, yet carried the exuberance and recklessness of youth. It was free-spirited and suave, captivating to anyone's gaze.
The doctor, however, didn't light a cigarette herself. She straightened her posture. "I'm getting back to my shift. The world is still waiting for me to save it."
Renly took the cigarette down, turned his head, and mockingly said, "Is that it? Just breathing in fresh air here... for three minutes, and then back to work?"
The doctor placed her hands in her white coat pockets, shrugged, "Life goes on. A brief rest, then starting anew. I hope every time is a fresh start, but..." She didn't finish her sentence, just shrugged. The smirk and mockery in her eyes were now unmistakable.
This wasn't a place for fresh starts; it was a place for continuation. Even if a surgery was successful, even if recovery happened, the impact of an illness on life was indelible, sometimes even entirely altering its course. But if the surgery failed, there was no future.
The hospital wasn't hell, but it was where life and death intersected. Every second and minute transformed this place, altering the tides. In the face of life, old age, illness, and death, all strength appeared frail and futile. Chu Jiashu was like this, and so was Adam.
"Cancer" and "death" were nouns without inclination, without attribute, yet when entwined with one's fate, life's trajectory shifted. Yet, within the tranquil confines of the hospital, all these complexities surged forth, a bitterness that made one choke.
Even for bystanders, it was the same.
Renly had gone through all of this, so had Will; the doctor before him was going through it now.
In the doctor's serene gaze, Renly saw his past self, and he saw his current self.
Renly and the doctor exchanged a smile, nodded, and then the doctor turned to leave, without a hint of attachment.
Though they had only conversed for three minutes, shared a cigarette, and hadn't even exchanged names, Renly's agitated state of mind gradually settled.
This was ultimately not the end of the world.
He was a newcomer, still a newcomer. Having acted in a few successful works didn't make him a great actor. He was never a prodigy. In the presence of those true geniuses, at best, he was a persistent striver, akin to Sisyphus.
"50/50" or "Detachment", both these works demanded his full commitment. There was no room for error. Thus, he didn't need impatience or urgency now; he needed to calm down and start from scratch.
Taking a long breath, he placed the cigarette back between his lips, gazed through the glass, observing the tranquil and peaceful scenery of Seattle. Finally, Renly found tranquility.