Emptying the head

What did death truly mean? What did cancer signify? Did he truly understand? Or perhaps, did Will truly understand?

In a previous life, as Chu Jiashu, he had once embraced the Grim Reaper—not with fear, not with dread, but with a hint of release. After ten years of long torment and suffering, except for sporadic flashes of happiness, he had spent most of his time awaiting the arrival of death. He was tired, he was simply tired.

He knew, he was only thirty-two years old—far too young to face death, much too young. The prime of his life had withered without ever fully blooming. Yet, life's relentless pace had remained stagnant. When it was finally declared over, he felt happiness.

Only when darkness fully descended did his will to live burst forth like a comet streaking through the night sky. It erupted with intense energy, only to fade away before it could fully be released.

So, he began to run, relentlessly chasing that glimmer of light. The fear and menace of death were only momentary.

For Will, it was the same.

Even though the doctor had diagnosed him with cancer, even though his mother had broken down due to worry for him, even though his girlfriend had left his life in a betraying manner due to the cancer, even though the therapist constantly tried to guide him and help him release his inner emotions, even though his friend would pull him to flirt at a bar using his cancer as an opener, even though everyone around him regarded him with strange eyes, as if he were already a dead man...

Still, he couldn't feel it authentically.

Cancer and death seemed like minor alterations in life. He needed to start chemotherapy, much like deciding to walk the dog daily. The "dog-walking" happened to be a bit different—it had fixed timings, locations, and movements. His will to survive and his optimistic mindset supported him to carry on. Aside from that, the changes in life never truly struck him.

Those trivial details accumulated gradually, altering his lifestyle, intruding into his personal space, influencing his way of living. He was fearful, anxious, uneasy, and agitated. He sensed his life changing bit by bit, he was powerless to stop it, but this change wasn't earth-shattering. He could step back, adjust, compromise step by step.

Until one day, the doctor informed him that chemotherapy hadn't worked, the cancer cells were still spreading, and surgery was the only option—success or failure. So, all escape routes were severed, he was pushed into a corner, no way out. Gradual change finally ignited a qualitative transformation.

The sensation of reality hit him like a collision between Mars and Earth, striking his chest hard. The crossroads were here. With his eyes shut, he might never open them again, and it wasn't his choice. He could only lie on the cold operating table, awaiting judgment, completely defenseless.

Desperation, anger, agony, sorrow—all erupted with earth-shattering force. He loathed this world, despised everyone around him, detested every single thing in his life. He only knew one thing: he wasn't ready to embrace death.

It was merely a fleeting moment. Because after that, Will's surgery succeeded, and he gained a new lease on life. Will knew what cancer meant, knew what death meant, but ultimately, like the tide, it surged and then receded. Quietly, as time flowed on, it withdrew from his blood once more, and that sense of reality vanished again.

Chu Jiashu was like this, and so was Will. The character of Adam in the script was also the same. On the flight from New York to Seattle, he had already come to this realization, but he still hadn't grasped it thoroughly.

However, compared to Chu Jiashu, Adam was even more bewildered.

Because paralysis from the waist up was real and immediate. Chu Jiashu could clearly sense that he had lost control of his limbs, yet he remained at a loss. It wasn't until he realized that he had even lost control over his bladder that the sense of shame overwhelmed him, making the reality become clearer.

For Adam, the impact of cancer was a slow invasion. He was adapting little by little, groping step by step. The budding of those emotions followed a progressive process—a lengthy and genuine progression.

But in the present, at the moment of the doctor's diagnosis, Adam was only bewildered and clueless. What had happened to "other people" suddenly happened to him, leaving him at a loss.

There wasn't so much shock, so much pain, so much despair, so much turmoil, nor so much ebb and flow. Confusion, just confusion. His mind was blank, just confusion, along with a touch of unease, that was all.

Such a performance belonged to Chu Jiashu, to Adam, but it shouldn't have been Chu Jiashu; it should have been Will, as well as Adam. The boundary between reality and illusion had been thoroughly disrupted. Last life, this life, Will's, Renly's, memories', script's—countless fragments of stories were mixed up. He needed to untangle his thoughts, find that moment of confusion and disarray that belonged to Adam.

Outside the window, there was tranquility, an incessant flow. Renly's gaze unconsciously drifted further and further, the whole world growing larger and wider, as if there was no end, boundless.

Yet in his mind, he couldn't help but ponder—within the scope of the universe, was he just a speck of dust, insignificant to the point that his existence held no meaning? Were there others in distant corners of the world facing similar predicaments, their coping methods unknown to him? Compared to cancer, were the lives tormented by wars in the Middle East and Africa more deserving of sympathy...

Eugene Slege. When his faith was torn to shreds, when his soul plunged into darkness, when his life fell into silence, was death a form of relief for him, or was living a form of torment? Compared to those fragile lives vanishing on the battlefield, he at least had a chance to fight, but how should he fight?

What was the actual survival rate for cancer? How high was the mortality rate? What type of cancer was he afflicted with? Why couldn't he remember at all? That name was so hard to recall, he had never heard of it before. Did it consist of a long string of letters? Had even the doctors never come across it? Was this a good thing or a bad thing?

The focus of his gaze began to blur, thoughts began to wander freely, a variety of ideas rushed in. Then, a "pop" sound pierced through the glass, stinging his ears. In an instant, his soaring thoughts reeled back in, focus reassembled. And then he froze—what had he been contemplating just now?

Right, cancer. Wait, what type of cancer did he have? Which was scarier, cancer or paralysis from the waist up? Which was crueller, cancer or war? Cancer was caused by gene mutations, what did that imply—God's choice, or God's abandonment?

Once again, his thoughts wandered. Renly lowered his head, looking at the cigarette in his hand, somewhat dazed. Should he not be smoking? After all, he had cancer, and in order to stay alive, he should focus on being healthier. Or maybe, he should start smoking? Because he had cancer, and since his life wasn't likely to last much longer, shouldn't he indulge himself now, while he still had the chance?

Why was he standing here? Shouldn't he be working? Work! Yes, he finally remembered. He was shooting a movie. He was an actor.

Renly withdrew his gaze, standing in place, still somewhat perplexed. Countless fragments of memories mixed together, and he put the cigarette in his jacket pocket. Then, he resumed his steps toward the direction of the office.

To film hospital scenes, the crew hadn't set up a set inside a studio. Instead, they rented an office in the hospital for shooting. They had rented a floor designated for offices, minimizing disruption to the hospital's regular operations and avoiding any chaos.

"I can't understand. I think he's just crazy, a delusional madman."

"I can't grasp his motives in the way he acts. I can't find any clues whatsoever."

"So, he's just a lunatic."

"I think maybe he's under a lot of pressure. After all, everyone says his acting is outstanding. He might feel compelled to constantly improve."

"Why do I feel it's arrogance? His performance in that scene just now was already exceptional. I don't think anyone could offer a more brilliant display. It's like he's intentionally posturing as if he's some true master of acting."

...

Hushed whispers exchanged between people, murmuring. In the limited space, even if he couldn't catch every word, it was still comprehensible. Yet, neither Seth nor Jonathan stopped these discussions. After replaying the scenes twice, both of them remained completely puzzled, unable to fathom Renly's approach.

But Seth was somewhat helpless too. "Without James, Renly is our best option. At least he didn't vanish after that incident. We should be relieved he's back. What else can we do?" Implicitly, he meant that although he was slightly dissatisfied with Renly's presumption just now, they were in a weak position this time. They couldn't demand too much.

Renly's rise had been too rapid, his foundation unstable. Despite having "Buried" and "Like Crazy" as his previous works, he was still struggling to win over the majority. Ultimately, he was still regarded as a newcomer. In the "50/50" crew, Renly was the least experienced actor with the fewest works and the youngest age. Any slight misstep could lead to doubts, not to mention his audacious act just now?

A "clack" sound signaled the office door being pushed open. The low murmurs instantly faded, leaving the room eerily quiet. Everyone turned their attention towards the entrance, and there stood Renly, reappearing.

Seth immediately changed his expression, expressing surprise and enthusiasm. "Renly, you're back? It hasn't even been half an hour."

As if unaware of the multitude of eyes now on him, Renly walked forward directly, nodding politely at Seth. "I'm ready. We can resume shooting."