Spectating

The atmosphere in the room had an intriguing quality.

Everyone exchanged furtive glances, the unspoken understanding that arises after gossiping behind someone's back, with the person in question blissfully ignorant while those present remained in the know. This subtle rapport drifted through the air, curving lips into half-smiles and eyes occasionally darting toward Renly, followed by further silent communication through glances.

Unspoken agreements and a sense of schadenfreude danced in the glimmers of their eyes.

In the past few months, rumors about Renly had spread like wildfire and become incessant, but rumors remained just that—rumors. People would only believe when they saw with their own eyes, experienced firsthand. Today, Renly projected an image that was difficult to approach, lofty and aloof, an air of superiority—prompting others to adopt a watchful stance, anticipating a show: What kind of tricks are you hiding up your sleeve?

Not just in Hollywood, even in real life, people relished being spectators. Succeed, and everything's forgiven; but fail, and everyone would be quick to throw stones.

Unbeknownst to them, everyone's attention converged on Renly, even actors like Anna and Bryce. In their gazes, a tinge of criticism, scrutiny, and challenges was hard to avoid. Subtle, yet pointed.

Seth could feel those gazes, but he didn't restrain anyone. With arms crossed over his chest, his mood became somewhat restless. While he had been delighted with Renly's joining and his performance had confirmed his expectations, Renly's recent cooperative attitude made him uneasy. It was only the third day of filming—what was to come?

Deep inside, Seth, too, took on the stance of an observer.

However, Jonathan couldn't merely stand by.

As the director, Jonathan hadn't had a chance to communicate with Renly yet. What exactly went wrong in the scene just now? Where did it falter? Did the shooting method need to change? Was the pace of performance and camera angles appropriate? What changes would be brought about by adjustments? How should the scenes with his co-actor be arranged?

Jonathan had to address these minutiae one by one. His gaze followed Renly's movements, settling on his profile.

The tense shoulders relaxed a tad, and Renly turned his head slightly while stretching his neck and shoulders in a strange manner. His gaze landed on the script laid out on the desk before him, reading it word by word. It was as if nothing had happened, immersing himself anew in the preparations for his performance.

Taking a deep breath, Jonathan approached and politely said, "Renly, sorry to interrupt you."

Renly momentarily paused his actions, turned his head, and Jonathan could clearly see those deep brown eyes. They had regained their calm, undisturbed, resembling a serene, clear lake. The glimmers of thawing ice and snow flowed gently by the lakeside. This was a far cry from the ferocity, repression, and anger of moments ago—a complete transformation.

Jonathan cleared his throat, masking his discomposure. "What went wrong with the performance just now? Do we need adjustments in the shooting method or in your performance?"

Renly didn't respond immediately. He pondered for a moment before saying, "The entire performance had some issues." This reply caught Jonathan off guard. "Here's what we'll do: let's redo the scene and evaluate the results. We can then discuss things more thoroughly. How does that sound to you?"

Renly could meticulously dissect the entire character and explain it to Jonathan. However, this wasn't an easy task, and Jonathan wasn't the kind of director who pursued perfection in performance. Their communication was bound to be more complex. Instead of engaging in an extended discussion here, it would be more effective to simply demonstrate. With a direct comparison, everything would become clearer.

Different directors had different styles. Some liked to maintain strict control, while others preferred giving actors more freedom and space.

Observing Renly taking charge of the situation, Jonathan didn't feel slighted. Although he still had questions, he refrained from voicing them. He nodded in affirmation, "Let's do it again, then!"

As he turned around, Jonathan noticed the anticipatory gazes. However, these were not delighted expectations; they carried a hint of schadenfreude. Jonathan suddenly felt that Renly was somewhat pitiable. He turned back and his gaze fell on Renly's shoulder, realizing Renly was unperturbed. He was once again immersed in reading the script. Jonathan sighed lightly and took a step forward.

Jonathan motioned for Andrew to join him, and in a hushed tone, he gave him some instructions. Then, he clapped his hands to alert the crew, signaling that they were ready to resume shooting.

Andrew was a bit bewildered. He had been in the room the whole time, so he had clearly heard the discussions. Now that shooting was resuming, his body movements and facial expressions couldn't help but become a bit stiff. He didn't know how to face Renly.

Seated across from Renly, Andrew carefully lifted his head to scrutinize the young man before him. From an actor's perspective, the previous performance was an incredibly unique experience. His pacing had been completely enveloped by Renly's presence. The shock and despair were so intense that he couldn't even meet Renly's gaze.

Upon reflection, Andrew realized his own performance hadn't been up to par. His evasion of eye contact had been too obvious, and his actions had appeared awkward. This didn't align with his character's role as a doctor. Given the chance for a second take, Andrew naturally felt elated. But now he couldn't help but wonder, why did Renly refer to the previous performance as "terrible"?

Andrew opened his mouth, hesitated, wanting to ask Renly if there were issues with his previous performance. However, he didn't know how to broach the subject. Just as he hesitated, the assistant director's voice reached his ears, signaling that filming was about to start. Renly was tidying up the script, and Andrew temporarily pushed aside his thoughts, straightening his posture and preparing for the scene.

Renly adjusted his posture, letting all emotions settle. He entered a state of complete tranquility. Then, the corners of his lips lifted ever so slightly.

This was an ordinary day, after all. He had come to the hospital to inquire about the results of his previous examination. He only had some mild back pain and trouble sleeping. Maybe he could get a prescription from the doctor to aid his sleep. But then he thought of Kyle. If he got a prescription, Kyle would undoubtedly be overjoyed. This way, he could openly get the medication he needed.

He was at ease, even contemplating spending the afternoon in the park after the examination, or perhaps surprising his girlfriend Rachel at her workplace later.

The pamphlet in his hand was quite amusing. For the first time, he realized medical conditions were filled with so many incomprehensible terms. It felt like he hadn't learned English at all, even though he relied on words for his livelihood. From this perspective, were medical students more adept than those in the literary department? It was a bold hypothesis.

"Action!" Jonathan's voice resonated through the room.

His gaze still lingered on the promotional pamphlet in his hand. The doctor entered the room, and he courteously stood up to greet them. However, the doctor seemed uninterested in responding, their focus fixed on Renly's medical report. After sitting down, they took out a recording device and began uttering a series of peculiar terms. Unintelligible, still unintelligible.

His gaze drifted slightly to the upper left corner, as if a dialogue box could pop up above his head. "Do doctors always speak so profoundly? What happens when doctors go on dates with regular people?"

Then he retracted his gaze and earnestly looked at the doctor again, attempting to listen for a while. However, he was left with question marks. His eyes moved to the upper right corner again, and a comic-style dialogue box appeared once more. "He said blood and urine tests were normal, so why is there such a lengthy explanation afterward?"

His peripheral vision caught the doctor's ceaseless mouth moving, words disappearing, leaving just an opening and closing mouth. It seemed like some droplets of spit might spray into the air. Suddenly, it felt a bit awkward. He didn't know what was happening and what the doctor was doing. Had he misremembered the timing? Was the doctor currently in a private office?

"Uh..." a low sound escaped his throat as he tentatively raised his right hand, attempting to capture the doctor's attention. Unfortunately, it failed. He pursed his lips, slightly leaning forward and shaking his right hand, cautiously lowering his head to meet the doctor's gaze. Finally! The doctor noticed him.

The doctor paused the recording. The question in his mind slipped out, "I'd like to ask, what brand is the recording device?" As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized his mistake. He slammed on the brakes urgently, his expression turning somewhat awkward. His gaze discreetly left the doctor, circled around, waiting for the awkwardness to dissipate. Then he cleared his throat and treated the topic as concluded.

"Sorry, I just didn't quite get that," he inquired curiously, a polite smile on his face. He expressed regret for his impulsive behavior earlier. "Is there something wrong with me?"

Andrew lifted his eyes, glanced briefly, and caught a flicker of friendly curiosity in the other's eyes—a polite and sincere curiosity, akin to a newborn exploring a new world. This made Andrew involuntarily lower his gaze, let out a soft sigh, then raised his head again, shifting his computer screen to give a more detailed explanation.

In his peripheral vision, Andrew once again caught the upturn of those lips and saw a hint of confusion and testing in the depths of those deep brown eyes. "So sorry." He found the situation a bit absurd and even chuckled at himself. "I still am not getting it..."

Andrew felt a touch of impatience, perhaps even a hint of cruelty. He lowered his head and succinctly said, "It's a malignant tumor." That was the conclusion—no embellishments with medical jargon, no complex explanations of medical principles. In simple terms, it was a malignant tumor.

Then Andrew saw a smile rising deep within those deep brown eyes, and he found it a bit absurd, a bit humorous, a bit speechless. It even softened his entire countenance, as if he had just heard a joke, "Tumor?"