381-385

*Chapter 381: Self-Inflicted Trouble*

"Cut!"

Steven's voice came from the hallway outside. The paper-thin walls did nothing to block the sound, so everyone in the bedroom, where the scene was being filmed, could hear him clearly. The next second, they could hear what he said next.

"No issues, let's move on to the next shot."

Simple and clear.

With Steven's words, the atmosphere on set noticeably lightened. You could see the joy in people's eyes as they exchanged glances. The toughest scene was almost done, and they could finally clock out on time.

The "divorce announcement" scene had indeed been challenging. It required perfect coordination between the actors, and everything from lighting to cameras to sound had to go off without a hitch. Even though they'd rehearsed, it was still a test.

They had already gone through seven takes for various reasons.

The eighth take had just wrapped. Without a doubt, this scene had been the most difficult and challenging one since the start of the "Catch Me If You Can" shoot, making everyone on set a bit tense.

So when Steven announced it was good, the whole crew was visibly relieved.

However, there was one exception—Anson.

Natalie had been by Anson's side the entire time and remained there for the next shot. She noticed the hesitation in his expression.

"What's up?" Natalie asked.

Anson hesitated.

Natalie waited patiently, quietly watching Anson.

After some thought, Anson finally spoke, "I want to do another take."

Anson knew what this meant.

He had been on set before and worked in the industry. The thing he hated most was when actors or directors thought they could do better, leading them to insist on "one more take." Of course, he understood that artists often need this process to find the best version, but for the crew, there was only one thought:

Stop making me work late.

But they, the crew, had no say. So they just grumbled silently. If the actor or director insisted on "one more take," they had no choice but to comply. Overtime was all too common.

The worst part was that after hours of hard work, the director often decided that the previous take was still the best.

This meant that all the extra effort had been wasted.

At times like that, the crew felt that even swearing was a waste of energy and emotions. The only thing they wanted was to stay far away from these artists—

Can't win? Can't even hide?

The harsh reality was, they often really couldn't hide. Sigh.

Now, with roles reversed, Anson was the one wanting to do another take, making him the difficult one they couldn't escape.

And the real reason Anson hesitated was that Steven had already approved the shot. Did he really need to drag the whole crew through this again?

Since "Friends," Anson had been quite content with his status as a pretty face, acting effortlessly, making easy money, and enjoying life. Yet, unknowingly, his mindset had changed.

Should he listen to his inner voice?

For Anson, this was a first. He felt strange, even unsure if it was because of Frank Jr.'s character that he was now feeling uncertain.

Was this what it meant to be in character?

Natalie didn't express her opinion, gently asking, "Are you sure?"

Anson didn't respond immediately but instead took a moment to think. He recalled the performance just now, knowing he could do better. The eighth take still felt too stiff. After so many takes and retakes, his performance was starting to feel rigid and tense. He felt like he was trying too hard.

A little slip, and it could go overboard.

Then, Anson gradually became more confident, "Yes, I'm sure."

Natalie had been closely observing Anson's expression. She wasn't surprised by his response. She patted his shoulder lightly, giving him an encouraging look.

Anson straightened up, ready to speak.

But Natalie beat him to it, "Director." She called out loudly, "Sorry, but I’d like to do another take. Is that okay?"

"I feel like I wasn't relaxed enough. I can do better. Really, I'm very sorry, but I think we need to redo this."

There was a rustle as all eyes turned to Natalie.

Anson knew what those looks meant and glanced at Natalie in disbelief.

She winked at him, signaling with her eyes: Leave it to me.

Anson was slightly taken aback, feeling a warmth in his heart. He understood Natalie's goodwill and knew he shouldn't refuse, or else he'd put her in an awkward spot. But he also couldn't just accept it, knowing how the crew felt—

Annoying the big shots might cost you your job, but annoying the little guys would make your day-to-day work a nightmare.

Caught between a rock and a hard place, what should Anson do?

"Sorry, I think it's my fault. My eye line was a bit off, which might have affected the scene." Anson raised his hand, echoing Natalie's sentiment.

Natalie didn't hide her surprise.

Anson smiled, "Director, it might not be obvious on camera, but the performance feels a bit disjointed. Sorry, can we do it again?"

This time, Anson could clearly feel all the eyes on him.

Natalie was a French actress, and Hollywood usually assumed European actors were difficult. Given her credentials, even complaints about her were more subtle. But when it came to Anson, no one held back.

Earlier, they were relieved that Anson had performed well so far without any slip-ups. But now, with the prospect of finishing on time at stake, Anson suddenly seemed a lot less likable.

Steven was taken aback.

This wasn't his style. He believed that as long as the performance was up to par, there was no need for more takes. He didn’t like nitpicking at the details of a performance, so if he said it was good, it meant the overall effect was fine.

And now?

Steven wasn't one to indulge actors unless it was Tom Hanks. It wasn't about finishing on time but about keeping his progress and schedule on track. He didn't like the shoot slipping out of his control.

Simple, efficient.

That's always been Steven's style.

However, Steven didn't immediately shut them down. Instead, he calmly observed for a moment, closely watching the brief exchange of glances between Anson and Natalie.

He couldn't tell if the performance was too stiff—he hadn't noticed anything off in the monitor—but he could see the mutual understanding between Anson and Natalie. Whatever the truth was, it was clear that these two actors were on the same page.

Steven pondered for a moment, giving Anson another look, his thoughts briefly swirling.

Then, he said, "Alright."

"We'll do another take, but you'd better give it your all."

Oh.

A collective sigh of frustration rippled through the set, with anxious and impatient looks becoming more apparent. People turned their backs to Anson, rolling their eyes and muttering under their breath, eager to see what these two "artists" could possibly achieve with another take.

The pressure and the noise silently built up, heavy and intense, all of it bearing down on Anson.

*Chapter 382: The Moment Arrives*

"Never in a million years did I think Anson was like this!"

"Wasn't he supposed to be just a pretty face?"

"He looks like a slacker who'd be happy with a passing grade, but then—plot twist—he's the straight-A student who claims he didn't even study?"

"Jesus Christ, who does he think he is? Robert De Niro? Another take? What on earth is Steven thinking, agreeing to this?"

"I thought it was finally Thursday, only to realize it's just Tuesday."

"Wait, how many films has he starred in, again?"

Murmurs filled the air, unspoken but clear as day in the glances exchanged around the room.

It was obvious—they were displeased. Especially with Anson, the least experienced member of the crew, making such a request. The fact that veterans like Christopher and Natalie didn’t object only made the atmosphere more tense.

The undercurrents were strong.

If looks could kill, Anson was sure his back would resemble a porcupine. Luckily, no one in the "Cat and Mouse Game" crew had laser vision, but the weight of the stares still felt like a burning sensation on his skin.

Even Steven gave Anson a look, one that seemed to be tinged with a bit of schadenfreude.

That look seemed to say, "You got what you wanted; now let's see if you can pull off something special, haha."

As a director, Steven was fully aware of what was happening within the crew, but he didn’t plan to interfere. Nor was he going to change his mind.

Earlier, during the kitchen scene, Steven had been moved by Anson's performance but didn’t alter his shot design or filming process for it.

And now, Steven still wasn’t planning to change his filming schedule. But since both Anson and Natalie had expressed that they thought another take was needed, Steven couldn’t help but think, maybe he should give Anson a chance?

After all, everything was still on schedule, and an extra take wouldn’t hurt. So, Steven, in a rare moment, nodded.

So, should he maybe allow himself a bit of hope?

Anson was absolutely certain—he could see a "haha" in Steven’s eyes. The smile hidden behind Steven's white beard was unmistakable, as if he was enjoying the show.

Anson had never imagined he'd one day be the reason for a delayed wrap. But he didn’t dwell on it; he quickly refocused because he knew that the only way to avoid things getting worse was to give it his all and finish the next take as quickly as possible.

He needed to concentrate.

The calmer Anson became, the more he was convinced that taking this risk was the right move. It seemed like he had finally touched the door to method acting—

He wanted to give it a try.

With a slight adjustment to his breathing, Anson calmed down, without hesitation, doubt, or distraction. He didn’t even recall the lines for the scene; instead, he immersed himself in an emotion, a blend of confusion and disorientation, as if he were drifting through distant memories of a past life.

As he quieted his mind, the world began to grow louder—not with noise, but with the sounds of blood flowing, the heartbeat, and the rhythm of his breathing echoing in his eardrums. His tongue could almost taste the bitterness and confusion, pulling him abruptly into the water—

Clear and icy blue, the lake slowly swallowed him, and though he tried to call for help, tried to find his way, his focus blurred. The vague figures on the shore grew fainter, almost consumed by a blue haze, while his throat could not produce a sound.

Was it fear?

No.

Maybe, deep inside, there was a flicker of it, but at this moment, it was more a numbness, even a willingness to let himself sink slowly.

Where were his father and mother?

Who was he supposed to call out to?

Then—

A dull thunder roared, exploding in his ears.

"Action!"

The air fell silent.

He was angry, indeed. Before entering this room, anger had occupied his mind, like a volcano constantly erupting.

Lately, he had noticed changes at home. His mother always had various "friends" visiting, and these uncles would come when his father wasn’t around, leaving their coats on the couch in the living room. When they and his mother emerged from the room, they would gaze at him with a satisfied look and even offer him gifts.

It disgusted him.

But he had been avoiding it, never daring to confront the truth behind the thin veil.

Today, he finally couldn’t hold back.

He saw another suit jacket on the living room couch. He didn’t even want to touch it; it just seemed filthy to him. So when he saw the owner of the coat come out of the room, he exploded.

Completely lost control.

However, this "uncle" seemed different from the others. He didn’t leave right away; instead, he told him to calm down and led him into the room.

A sense of dread gripped his heart, and he felt like he was drowning—

But can someone drown on dry land?

His chaotic thoughts swirled in his mind, and then he entered the room:

His mother. His father. The "uncle." And an old woman he didn’t recognize.

Wait, what was going on? What had happened here?

Run.

Every cell in his body was screaming, but it was as if he had lost all control. The anger within him froze into a cold, numb state as he stumbled into the room. Without understanding why, he sat down beside his mother, his eyes filled with panic and confusion, trying to make sense of the chaotic activity around him. Yet, his mind was blank.

He was completely paralyzed.

What should he do? What should he do? What should he do?

The entire world fell silent.

Behind the monitor, Steven also froze. He wasn’t even aware that his neck and shoulder muscles had stiffened, leaving him staring blankly at the screen. It was as if he saw himself in that moment—when his parents had sat at the dining table and told the children they had decided to divorce.

The same panic. The same bewilderment. The same fear. The same confusion.

On one hand, he had always sensed the change; the ominous feeling had been there all along.

But on the other hand, he wasn’t sure how things had escalated to this point.

So, was everything really falling apart?

On screen, Steven saw those eyes—clear, blue eyes, with slightly reddened rims, though no tears fell. The pupils quivered slightly, the focus blurred and dispersed. Despite the stillness, he could hear the roar of a world breaking apart.

Unintentionally, Steven's gaze locked with those eyes through the monitor.

Buzz.

A deafening hum filled his ears.

If there truly was a god of acting, then this was the moment of divine intervention. The flood of emotions in that single glance was overwhelming, more real and more complex than any words, actions, or expressions could convey. A thousand unspoken words were hidden in those blue depths—

Surging. Misty. Boiling. Spreading.

It was like the monsoon rains before summer, endlessly drizzling, endlessly drizzling, drawing the entire world into a humid, oppressive heat.

There was no escape.

*Chapter 383: A Single Glance*

The world was spinning—

"You don't need to be afraid. I'm right here, Frank. I've always been here. But there are laws, and in this country, everything must be legal, so we need to make some decisions."

His mother was trying to explain, but he couldn’t focus.

He noticed the old woman packing up some belongings. Why was she packing? Whose things was she packing? Who was she?

The "uncle" was in the corner, talking to his father, holding some papers. What were they discussing? Why wasn’t his father saying anything?

The old woman moved about, the uncle moved about.

His vision blurred, the whole world spinning fast until every image and sound twisted like in a funhouse mirror.

His head felt heavy.

He felt like he was going to be sick.

"Mr. Kosner is here for this."

Kosner?

Yes, that was the uncle's name. He had introduced himself just now, but why was it all so fuzzy? Who was this uncle really?

The uncle continued, "Often, these decisions are made in court, but it can be expensive, Frank. People fight over children."

His mother interjected, "No one is going to fight!"

"Look at me, Frank, no one is going to fight!"

The old woman babbled something unintelligible.

His mother quickly stood up and walked over to the old woman, explaining in the same strange language.

Chaos.

Absolute chaos.

His head was spinning, and he could no longer distinguish who was talking to whom. Voices mingled together, while faces blurred into one.

Finally, he found an opening and turned to his father.

"Dad, what’s happening?"

His father sat on the couch, the lamp beside him casting a soft light over his face. He met Frank’s gaze, trying to explain, but no words came out. He just stared back, frozen.

Frank’s eyes pleaded, *Dad, say something, anything.*

But there was no response, and Frank’s heart slowly sank—

The memories came flooding back, all the hurt, all the pain.

In that moment, Frank couldn’t tell if he was young Frank or Anson, if this was the past or the present, the line between reality and illusion completely blurred. He was drowning in the ruins of memories.

Then, his mother's voice cut through once more.

"Do you remember your grandmother, Eve?"

"She arrived this morning."

Grandmother?

His face was filled with confusion as he looked at the old woman, now realizing that the strange language they had been speaking was French. So, that’s what it was.

The old woman approached him with a warm smile, cupping his face and planting a kiss on his forehead. He tried to recall any memories of her, but he failed. All he could do was offer a polite smile.

His mother sat back down beside him.

"Do you understand what we're saying, Frank?"

He was still stunned.

Looking into his mother’s eyes, he shook his head slightly, his angelic face innocent, with his brows relaxed, gazing at her with a touch of curiosity, waiting for an answer.

Natalie froze for a moment, the look in Frank’s eyes landing softly on her cheek like a butterfly, but it tugged at her heartstrings.

She finally realized that she was shattering a child’s world.

So cruel.

But there was no turning back. The bowstring had been drawn, and there was no retreating.

Her words faltered on her tongue. Despite being an experienced actress, even Natalie didn’t realize that her tone softened, becoming careful and delicate, as if handling a fragile crystal.

"Your father and I are getting a divorce."

It was said, finally said.

He didn’t react.

He seemed incapable of reacting, just sitting there, dumbfounded.

Grandmother said something.

His father said something, "Nothing will change. We can still see each other."

*Mother's words cut through the air, silencing Father with a sharp reprimand, "Stop it, please. Frank, don't interrupt."*

He heard everything, yet couldn't comprehend what they were truly saying. Their mouths moved, sounds mingled, but it was all a blur.

Then—

Frank?

Was his mother calling him or his father?

Instinctively, he looked over, past his mother, locking his gaze on his father. His stare was stubborn and unwavering, with a hint of vulnerability in his eyes:

*Weren't things supposed to get better? Weren't they working on it, together? Weren't they supposed to return to how they were before?*

So, what had happened?

Christopher's heart skipped a beat. Under the weight of that gaze, he looked away, guilt-ridden, and dropped his head, overwhelmed by anxiety.

Yet, it was futile. He could still feel the warmth of that gaze.

No anger, no sadness, no tears, no frown—just a calm plea, filled with countless unanswered questions. He waited, unable to get any response, standing there, powerless but resolute.

Christopher couldn’t bear it; he really couldn’t meet those eyes. They were calm, without any turmoil, yet they engulfed him entirely.

He had never felt so defeated.

Fortunately, the uncle—no, the lawyer—stepped in at the perfect moment.

"You don't need to read all of this. Most of it concerns your parents' matters, the troubles of adults. But this part... this part is very important."

"Because it talks about who you'll live with after the divorce. Who will have custody of you."

Those words finally caught his attention, and he focused on the lawyer. But the moment was fleeting, like a heavy bomb dropped in the room, sending ripples through the air, spreading endlessly.

His neck felt stiff.

Instinctively, he turned to his father, hoping for him to say something—anything. But there was nothing.

Then, his gaze shifted to his mother, searching her eyes for something—anything. But she didn’t meet his gaze, her attention fixed solely on the legal documents in her hands.

She said, "There's a blank space here."

Grandmother's voice chimed in again, and he could no longer see his father, lost in the cacophony of sounds around him. The lawyer continued to drone on.

"You’ll go to the kitchen, sit at the table, and write down either 'Father' or 'Mother'..."

Buzz.

Buzzing.

"There's no rush, but when you return to this room..."

The world was a noisy blur.

On the film set, there was absolute silence; no one dared to interrupt the shoot.

Perhaps Steven was the only exception—

*"Front. Close-up."*

He immediately issued the command to the cameraman through his headset, driven by a strong premonition. He instinctively seized the moment.

He wanted to see those eyes; he needed a close-up of those eyes.

The cameraman acted swiftly, rotating clockwise from behind, moving forward to get a frontal shot, focusing the camera on Anson’s face.

A close-up?

Initially, he was waiting for Steven's direction, wondering whether to cut quickly or zoom in slowly. But then he saw Anson’s eyes—his inspiration struck, sending chills down his spine. The camera locked onto those pupils, engaging in a silent "conversation" through the lens. Suddenly, the world around him went quiet.

*Chapter 384: A Stroke of Genius*

Suffocation.

He felt suffocated, as if an invisible hand was tightly gripping his throat, making it impossible to breathe or make a sound. The world was roaring, spinning, and... falling apart. Every face, every image in his vision was crumbling away.

Where was his father? Silent. He was avoiding his pleas for help, avoiding his questions, trying to cover up the truth, but now it was clear that peace had already been shattered.

Where was his mother? Single-mindedly focused on getting him to sign his name, without even taking the time to explain what was happening. There was no space to breathe.

So, what should he do?

What could he do?

"...Write down your father or mother's name. There's no need to rush, but when you return to this room, I want to see a name on that line."

"Frank, just write down one name, and this will all be over. Haha, everything will be fine."

Escape.

He just wanted to run away, far, far away from here.

If he could just get far enough, everything that happened here would be left behind, paused. His parents wouldn't be able to divorce until he found a way to fix everything, like a superhero solving all the problems.

He would find a way to save it all. He would.

But, but...

What should he do?

Suddenly, he was struck with confusion.

He looked up, staring ahead, frozen in place. He forgot to think, to move, even to breathe, just staring blankly at the scene in front of him.

Silent. Motionless.

But he could clearly see the world reflected in those deep blue eyes falling apart, piece by piece, like watching a slow-motion replay, even seeing the bricks, the dust, the fragments peeling away. The clear and deep blue reflected every detail of the action.

So, they really could see the destruction of a world, just like the ending of "Fight Club," quietly witnessing everything unfold.

No anger, no fear, no rage. Nothing.

Only silence. A deathly silence.

And then, the surrounding noise and clamor gradually faded away until it completely disappeared.

The entire set was completely stunned.

After all, no one cared about this scene. Divorce had become so common in today's world, just another ordinary part of daily life. There was no need to make a fuss; both spouses and children should be more accepting.

But in reality, it wasn't like that.

Some people don't care, but others do. Just because something happens frequently doesn't mean it hurts any less. For some, it's still a deep wound, slicing to the bone and slow to heal.

A family is a world unto itself.

At least, for little Frank Abagnale, it was still like that. All those beautiful, happy, and magnificent dreams had just turned to dust.

He didn't scream, didn't cry out, didn't even shed a tear.

He just froze, as if you could see the light in those blue eyes slowly dimming, the whole world plunging into darkness.

Yet there was a force capable of destroying everything.

He stared at the camera as if he were staring at each and every person ahead—

One by one, they couldn't help but avert their gaze.

Just two minutes ago, they were complaining, their minds only on getting off work; but now, they were witnessing a child's world being torn apart, a pang of guilt gripping their hearts.

They held their breath.

And then.

He caught his father's voice amidst the clamor and noise. He turned his head, looking around, his eyes unfocused, searching the void, "Dad, whose name?"

He didn't get an answer, at least not from his father.

Christopher once again avoided his gaze. Even though that gaze wasn't directed at him this time, he couldn't face Anson's eyes and awkwardly lowered his own.

The lawyer intervened, performing his duties, "Your mother or your father, just write a name there. It's that simple."

"Don't be afraid; this isn't a test. There's no wrong answer."

The lawyer raised the ballpoint pen in his hand and placed it in front of little Frank.

He hesitated for a moment—

Afraid?

Afraid!

Up until that moment, fear suddenly gripped his heart, squeezing it fiercely, harder and harder, almost as if it was going to crush his heart into pieces.

Huh.

Anson took a sharp breath and held it.

The nightmare was back.

No tension, no anxiety, no fear. Instead, his features gradually relaxed, becoming exceptionally calm. Even the trembling in his pupils had ceased.

Everything was perfectly still.

It was like the calm before the storm—a kind of unnatural, extreme calm.

In his eyes, there was nothing but ruins, an utter silence, a deathly stillness.

For a brief moment, the entire world seemed to press the pause button. Time and space halted, even the sound of breathing and the heartbeat vanished.

And then—

Huh.

He breathed again.

It was just a single breath, but it unleashed all the energy at once, causing a roaring sound in his eardrums, with waves of energy continuing to surge.

The explosion happened just like that. Even without seeing it, one could imagine the scenes of the earth shattering, the mountains roaring, and the seas raging. A wave of sorrow and bitterness clutched at his ankles, holding them firmly, and then—

The fall.

A free fall, plunging into an infinite abyss, swallowed by darkness, seemingly never able to reach the bottom.

In that instant, everything froze, becoming eternal.

The camera was locked onto his face, capturing a close-up, a focus, with the light and shadow delicately capturing every detail on that face and in those eyes, making the light seem soft and gentle, breaking and scattering between his brows.

At that moment, everyone was deeply immersed in that emotion, unable to extricate themselves.

Not just the audience, but even the seasoned actors Christopher and Natalie were no exception. They were completely drawn in, as if they were really going through a divorce, as if they were truly destroying young Frank’s world with their own hands.

Christopher tried to speak, but found that everything felt too weak, too pale. He awkwardly turned his head to avoid the gaze.

Natalie had the words on the tip of her tongue—"write me"—but couldn't say them. The worst part was that she wasn't sure if she wanted young Frank to write her name.

Suddenly, Natalie recalled what Anson had said to her before the shoot.

"You know?"

"In real life, young Frank never saw old Frank again. Their last moment together was when old Frank avoided his eyes, refusing to give any answers."

"And young Frank only saw Paula once more. Paula remarried and had other children. They didn’t stay in touch."

Reality broke through the fourth wall and invaded the film.

Natalie stared at the face and the gaze in front of her, completely stunned—

So this is what the collapse of a world truly looks like, something that can never be undone.

One second. Two seconds.

No one spoke, no one dared to break the momentary silence, fearing that any sound would shatter the fragile world before them into pieces, until the roar echoed in their ears.

"Cut!"

However, there was no sigh of relief. Instead, hearts sank heavily, plunging into darkness.

Chapter 385: A Sudden Shiver

Whew.

Anson let out a long, deep breath, expelling all the pent-up air in his chest, but still, he couldn't feel any fresh air coming in.

He was calm, incredibly calm. His mind was blank, devoid of any negative emotions—no sadness, no anger, no disappointment, no pain—just a profound calm, like the endless deep sea in the darkness.

However.

His chest burned uncomfortably, as if a faint, tiny flame was flickering inside, not fierce or explosive, just quietly burning.

When he looked up, he saw the room was bustling and overwhelmingly crowded, his vision filled with bodies, leaving no space to stand.

He froze for a moment—

Who was he? Where was he? What was he doing?

Everything became blurry.

At one moment, he seemed to be back in his previous life, returning to that nightmare-like afternoon, with the bank seals, the neighbors' gawking, and the victim's heart-wrenching screams filling his vision and hearing, his brain on the verge of explosion.

At another moment, it felt like he was tumbling down a rabbit hole, like Alice in Wonderland, unable to distinguish between reality and fantasy because the dream was too vivid. He saw a sleeping figure through the keyhole but didn’t know what to shout.

Was he little Frank? Or was he Anson?

Then.

The film set finally started to come back to life, slowly returning to reality from the shock and impact, with their minds buzzing and emotions crashing like waves but unable to find an outlet—

So, they clapped.

No one had expected it, really, no one had anticipated such a twist.

The crew was used to Steven's shooting rhythm, and they were accustomed to actors being just a part of the movie—which meant that actors didn’t need to show off; just the right amount of acting was enough, without going overboard.

The scene just filmed was already good enough, very good, with no need to add more. To the crew, Anson’s ambition and greed seemed like nothing more than an actor's vanity and arrogance, thinking the world should revolve around them.

There was no need. Really.

But now, all those thoughts were overturned, deeply immersed in shock.

Subtle yet profound.

Calm yet layered.

No grandstanding, no overacting, no showing off. Everything was so simple and natural, yet the emotions were perfectly conveyed through the eyes and movements, with even a single strand of hair adding to the performance.

It gently pulled all the viewers into a bottomless abyss.

The shock didn’t hit them like a wave but spread from within.

So this was Anson’s real intention in wanting to shoot the scene again. It turned out they were the ones who hadn’t seen the layers behind the character. They were the “sixty points is good enough” assembly line workers. It turned out that making a movie should indeed carry some artistic pursuit.

This, this was acting.

As an audience, witnessing all this up close, seeing the actor and character merge, showing a completely different face, releasing all the energy of the plot and character—it was an experience, a shock, that made the brain’s waves crash more violently, burning in the blood.

Until they could no longer control it—a shiver ran through them, uncontrollable—

Which turned into applause, a release.

There were no cheers, no whistles, just the simplest and purest applause, a reflex, mechanically clapping their hands.

Slowly, slowly, as emotions burned, their hearts began to surge, clapping harder, their eyes growing brighter.

A surge of passion.

The applause swept through the set like a tidal wave; no one could resist.

The more impatient they were before, the more stunned they were now.

Even Steven was no exception.

Looking around, Steven could see many people smiling helplessly, shaking their heads in both admiration and shock, unable to find words to describe it; but most people were wide-eyed, exchanging dumbfounded looks, searching for similar shock in each other's eyes.

When they looked at Steven, there was only one thought in their eyes:

Where on earth did you find this treasure?

Steven just smiled mysteriously, keeping the secret to himself.

When the movie is released, Steven might share some behind-the-scenes stories. He and Tom Hanks had locked in Anson during Paris Fashion Week.

That might just blow people's minds.

Steven himself admitted that the main reason he chose Anson was because of his versatile look, perfectly fitting the charm of young Frank Abagnale. In Steven's mind, he wanted to shape this character like a model, constantly showcasing the character’s charm.

But how much of that original intention remained now?

Even for Steven, it was a surprise.

From the kitchen scene in the morning to the divorce announcement in the afternoon, within just one day, they managed to showcase a character’s psychological changes over several months with such delicacy, richness, and realism. Admiration wasn't enough to describe Steven's feelings.

In fact, Steven had already responded with action—

A close-up.

On Anson's face.

Making a movie works like this: meticulous planning and overall layout before shooting, with the director overseeing everything, but the actual work is left to the professionals, waiting for inspiration to spark during the shooting process to complete the creation.

Just now, that’s exactly what happened.

Everything was planned, but an unexpected variable appeared in the plan:

Anson.

And at that moment, Steven responded, as did the cameraman and lighting technician, immediately capturing the inspiration, perfectly seizing the subtle changes in Anson’s eyes and expression.

If the reactions of the cameraman and lighting technician were entirely within Steven’s expectations—they’d worked together for a long time, with "Saving Private Ryan" being one of their projects—they knew Steven well and seized the opportunity; then the performances from Christopher and Natalie, the two actors opposite Anson, were a surprise, a refreshing delight, completing a perfect exchange of emotional beats.

Wonderful, indescribably wonderful.

Generally, Steven wouldn’t alter his shooting plan, especially not for an actor’s performance. But just now, Steven trusted his instincts and chose to follow the inspiration.

At that moment, Steven truly felt the presence of the movie gods.

A smile crept onto his lips.

Steven couldn’t help but wonder if Tom had seen this very quality in Anson, which was why he had so unwaveringly recommended Anson back in Paris.

Clap, clap, clap.

The applause surged, swelling higher and higher, reverberating through the old apartment. Dust started to fall from the walls, and the entire world seemed to shake.

No one had anticipated this moment. The first breakout moment since filming began had unexpectedly occurred during the most challenging scene in New York. It was an absolute surprise, and all the bustling attention was now focused on Anson.

Then, finally, someone noticed something off about Anson—

It seemed like... he couldn’t breathe. The confusion and bewilderment in his eyes hadn’t subsided; instead, they were growing more intense.

Was Anson okay?

Before anyone could voice their concern, Anson suddenly broke the silence. He abruptly stood up—

And bolted out the door, rushing out in one swift motion.