Gradually, strength returned to his body, and his frigid limbs began to regain warmth. The prickling sensation surged like a tide, but it was warming him up. However, his stomach remained ice-cold, as if several ice balls had been thrown inside, relentlessly sinking downwards.
He forced himself to stand, only to find his legs trembling slightly at the knees. He was in a state of weakness. Opening the cubicle door, he staggered over to the sink. In the mirror, he saw a disheveled version of himself, covered in sweat, hair tousled, and a pallid complexion. He looked as if he had just returned from hell. A bitter, sardonic smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
Even during the filming of "Buried", even during the eight hours spent in a coffin, even during the physical confrontation with Vin Diesel, he had never been this bedraggled. Yet today, he was an utter mess, feeling like all his defenses had been thoroughly breached, completely powerless, lacking any ability to fight back.
But then again, this wasn't surprising, was it?
Because this was all too real for him. This wasn't a movie; this was life.
He understood that oppressive feeling of sinking slowly, unable to call for help. He understood the helplessness of wanting to survive but being utterly powerless. He understood the numbness when death approached, yet one remained indifferent. He was Chu Jiashu, he was also Adam. It required no effort. He'd easily find himself trapped once again in that chaotic space, floating and sinking.
The eyes in the mirror were unfocused, lackluster, devoid of vitality, so hideous it was almost unbearable to look at. He involuntarily raised his right hand, swiped at the mirror, attempting to erase the image, but only left a row of fingerprint smudges, blurring the reflection. His face morphed into six or seven fragmented images, like flowers in a mirror, a moon in the water.
He turned on the tap, splashed his face with cold water, washing away all traces of sweat. Vigorously rubbing his cheeks, he tried to wake himself up. But he soon realized he was already awake—always awake—because those memories were too real. There had never been a moment of falsehood.
His hands felt icy to the touch, his skin's warmth hadn't fully returned. He could barely sense the presence of his veins. The nearly vampiric sensation of a deathless body's desolation and vastness surged in.
Staring at his trembling hands, Renly suddenly understood. All of that had been the side effects of chemotherapy.
But... chemotherapy side effects? How absurd.
First, he didn't have cancer. Second, he hadn't undergone chemotherapy. Third, his body didn't even have significant issues. Yet, he was experiencing the torment of chemotherapy side effects? This was beyond ridiculous. Laughably so. Utterly nonsensical.
The smile at the corner of his lips involuntarily curled up in self-derision. But halfway through, as he looked at himself in the mirror, he suddenly froze: It wasn't impossible.
It was like a couple getting pregnant. When the wife became pregnant, the husband, to show care and protectiveness, began to adjust his lifestyle to match the wife's—sleeping habits, exercise routines, even dietary habits, and more.
In certain cases of psychological resonance, husbands might manifest "pregnancy" symptoms, including morning sickness, nausea, and other general conditions. They might even experience self-perceived fetal movement and abdominal swelling, simulating the conditions of pregnancy.
This phenomenon has been medically confirmed and has occurred in numerous cases in real life.
Everything felt too real, and so closely linked that his body responded to the psychological suggestions, producing corresponding reactions. The line between reality and assumption blurred, turning hypothetical situations into reality. So, was he in this situation now?
Was he genuinely feeling the erosion of cancer, truly experiencing the invasion of chemotherapy? It all felt just like the previous life, that gradual suffocation, like the hand of death gripping his neck, slowly closing in, extinguishing all hope of life.
So, had he truly gone mad now? The boundaries between illusion and reality had melded completely, much like in "The Truman Show", where TV illusions became one's actual life.
He existed, yet he didn't. He was a real character conjured up by someone else, flesh and blood, personality and edges, blurring the line between truth and falsehood. But everything he was, was controlled by the "God". So, could he, like Truman, step out of this absurd reality show?
Once again, he raised his head, gazing at himself in the mirror, water droplets clinging to his cheeks. His paleness still lacked the flush of blood, and his tranquil gaze lost all brilliance. Tugging his lips into a smile, he revealed a broad grin, yet his eyes remained still, the unfathomable glint failed to reflect any vitality.
He knew, deep down, at the depths of his eyes, in the abyss of his gaze, an invisible giant hand was dragging his legs down, slowly distancing him from the water's surface. His vitality was gradually fading away in the inky black lake until it vanished completely.
This was the tumor speaking.
He told himself this, reassuringly. It wasn't his true thought, nor his true state. All of this was the tumor speaking, the tumor named Adam.
All of this was real. He was Renly, shooting a movie called "50/50". He had been Chu Jiashu, paralyzed in a bed for a full decade. He portrayed Adam, afflicted with cancer, undergoing chemotherapy. His real-life prototype was Will, the screenwriter of the film, who had successfully escaped the clutches of cancer.
This, all of it, was real. His thoughts were crystal clear.
However, the boundary between reality and illusion had vanished. He wasn't certain if this was the set of "50/50". There was a scene in there where Adam vomited in the bathroom. He also wasn't sure if he had returned to memories from his previous life. He remembered the bone-chilling sensation during his last moments, originating not from his body, but from his soul. He still wasn't sure if this was his real condition, the recent bouts of low fever and stomach issues weakening his body.
He tried to find his true self in the mirror. But he couldn't discern which one was the real him. Renly? Adam? Chu Jiashu? Which "self" should he seek to stand firmly on the track of real life once more?
This isn't normal. Just like he had experienced chemotherapy side effects, which also weren't normal. So, this must be the tumor speaking. When the tumor spoke, it was akin to stories like "Harry Potter", where trees could talk, and hats could speak. It was all illusory, yet also real.
It must be the case. He remained calm, not a trace of panic. There was no relapse into madness like during the period of "Buried". He couldn't even distinguish between dreams and the film set. Now, he was exceedingly clear-headed; he needed to maintain that clarity.
Opening his eyes again, gazing at the familiar face in the mirror, he began to speak, "It's 2011, February 20th, afternoon. I'm in Seattle, filming "50/50". I'm an actor, acting, and all of this is just acting."
After finishing, he paused for a moment, then repeated every word all over again, before pausing once more, earnestly examining his reflection in the mirror. The phrase "I am Renly" rolled around on his tongue, never managing to escape. Ultimately, he gave up, took out two tissues, wiped away the water droplets from his cheeks, and released a long exhale. His body was slowly recovering.
Taking steps once more, he left the restroom and saw Seth and Will standing at the doorway.
Both of their faces held deep worry, their nervousness barely concealed. They wanted to say something authoritative, but didn't know how to start. The result was awkwardly freezing in place. Their manner resembled the look of friends just informed that they were suffering from cancer, except for a "sorry" expression, they didn't know how to proceed.
Renly found this genuinely amusing. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "You guys go ahead. I'll sit down and rest for a while, then catch up." His limbs still lacked much strength, and he felt weakened all over. He needed to catch his breath.
"Are you alright?" Seth couldn't hold back, asking with utmost caution, treating Renly like he was a fragile porcelain doll.
Will, standing by, wore a serious expression as well, though he didn't speak. His resolute gaze fixed on Renly, a faint glint revealed his determination and hope. The power of that conviction resonated with Renly, an unspoken understanding between kindred spirits apparent as their gazes met.
"I'm fine," Renly smiled and nodded at Seth. "I just felt uncomfortable in the stomach a moment ago, and I've dealt with it a bit. Right now, what I need most is to sit down and rest for a bit, alone." Without waiting for Seth's request, Renly emphasized the "alone" aspect. "I'm serious; you guys go on ahead."
Seeing the two immobile behemoths, Renly couldn't help but grin. "This is a hospital. Medical personnel are constantly coming and going. This should be the last place where you need to worry about me. Rest assured, I'm not planning to risk my life."
Seth felt a strange sensation. For a moment, he felt like Renly was talking. Yet in the next moment, he thought it was Adam speaking. That blurry sensation made it difficult to discern whether this was reality or a film. In the movie, he had the most scenes opposite Adam, and he felt like this scene just now had truly happened as per the script.
Seth scratched his head, hesitating for a moment. He then glanced at Will, and after both nodded, they reluctantly began to step away. Still, they couldn't help but look back, only to see Renly sitting on a nearby bench, relaxing and resting.
Only then did Seth feel a bit more at ease. Will tugged at his arm and whispered, "Let's go, he'll be okay."