The Legendary Actor

"Too late, too late."

Renly glanced at the clock on the hall wall, letting out a mournful cry. Although today's audition didn't have a specific time slot, auditions were accepted from 9 in the morning until 6 in the evening. However, had he not worked until 4 in the morning last night, and if his alarm hadn't failed to wake him up, he should have been among the queue now. Who knew if the people lining up for auditions today would fill up the entire theater.

Just then, his phone rang abruptly, playing the rich and melodious melody of Bach's Unaccompanied Cello Suite. Though it flowed gracefully in the golden sunlight, for Renly, it only added to his agitation. He picked up the phone, glanced at it, then tossed it into his backpack. He grabbed the keys from the table by the door, seized his skateboard, quickly left the room, leaving behind a resounding "bang" as the wooden door groaned in protest.

He rushed downstairs, raising his hand. A yellow taxi swiftly pulled over by the roadside. The only advantage of being late was avoiding the rush hour. Otherwise, in this vast city of New York, there were countless taxis, but not a single one to hail in an emergency.

"Broadway Avenue, Sixth Street," Renly shouted, then opened the car door as the taxi immediately revved its engine.

The phone in his backpack persisted in its endeavor, its moonlit river-like melody relentlessly calling to Renly. He lifted his chin, tidying his unruly hair in the rearview mirror. His chestnut brown wavy hair stubbornly stretched and contorted as his slender fingers threaded through it, coaxing them into alignment. He then buttoned up the top button of his shirt, ensuring his attire was immaculate. Only then did he finally breathe a sigh of relief.

"Hello, this is Renly Hall." Renly answered the phone swiftly.

"Renly, just what are you doing? You must understand that refusing my calls is incredibly impolite." A voice on the other end sounded dignified and elegant yet stern.

Without difficulty, Renly could conjure the person's image in his mind. A white lace blouse paired with coffee-colored straight-cut trousers, a spotless sky-blue suit jacket lay on the table in front of her, along with today's The Times. Next to it, there was a fragrant aroma of red tea and pastries.

"Mother, you should be aware of the time difference between us. It's 10:30 in the morning here." Renly slowed his pace, his speech measured and poised, exuding gentlemanly manners with a hidden trace of mockery, a counterattack veiled in elegance.

On the other end of the line was Elizabeth Hall, Renly's mother in this lifetime. She resided in London, across the Atlantic, running an art gallery situated on Piccadilly Street, not far from Somerset House.

"Are you telling me that you've just woken up?" Elizabeth's voice slightly elevated, carrying an air of authority, "You shouldn't allow yourself to live so recklessly. You're well aware of that." Renly pursed his lips, a hint of disagreement flashing in his eyes, though he had no intention to retort. They had argued enough, there was no need to repeat it endlessly.

Seemingly realizing this, Elizabeth took a deep breath, readjusting her emotions before speaking again, "I understand your dreams of becoming an actor. After careful consideration, your father and I believe that we should give you a chance to showcase yourself, to at least prove your talent. So, purchase a plane ticket to return to London today. "Hamlet" is set to be performed again in the West End next March. We've secured a role for you."

"What? "Hamlet"?" Renly's eyes lit up. As one of Shakespeare's four major tragedies, the play's reputation was undoubtedly resounding. To become a permanent member of the cast would be an incredibly rare opportunity.

However, after the initial surprise, Renly began to question. Throughout his life, his parents had never supported his dream of becoming an actor, let alone express such a strong opposition. So why this change of heart today? He had been in New York for three months now. Even if they were changing their stance, the opportunity had already passed. Was there something particularly special about today?

"Are you serious?" Renly's brows furrowed involuntarily. "What happened to your bias against the acting profession? Aren't you worried that if I become a true actor, there will be no turning back? Don't you fear that I'll spend my life constantly seeking opportunities, begging for jobs, exposing my private life under the spotlight, entertaining others with myself, and becoming a topic of gossip over tea? As an actor, I'll forever be a plaything for others! Forever a joke! Elizabeth Hall, you should know that our family name holds much more nobility than this!"

With a casual tone, he managed to belittle someone so thoroughly, without using any offensive words, causing anger to quiver through one's veins. But for Renly, he had long grown accustomed to all of this.

"Give me the phone." A commanding voice came from beside him, growing closer, until a resolute and robust voice reached his ear. "You should know, this is your last chance."

It was his father in this lifetime, George Hall, a fallen nobleman from the UK, the current holder of a hereditary baron title, working at Barclays Bank, responsible for managing the family trust fund of this prestigious household.

"I've already arranged everything. You will join the cast of "Hamlet" as Laertes. Whether you're in the first cast or the second cast will depend on your skill." George's stern voice carried no warmth, issuing orders with an uncompromising tone. "This play will run for three months in the West End of London. Once those three months are over, you will return to Cambridge University to complete your studies. We will arrange your future career for you."

So that's how it was.

They had already arranged everything, giving him three months to pursue his dream, then expecting him to dutifully return to the trajectory they had set for him. This was their idea of compromise, anticipating his joyful acceptance and his grateful worship towards them.

However, he didn't want to, and he couldn't.

"No!" His response was brief yet forceful. Renly once again asserted his stance firmly.

"What? Have you gone mad?" George's voice didn't erupt, but rather grew even heavier, and the anger simmering within it began to bubble. "We've allowed your ridiculous request, given you three months to achieve that foolish goal, and yet you're not satisfied?"

"I want to become an actor, a real actor." Confronting his father's coercion, Renly didn't falter in the least. His eyes sparkled with a radiant light, "I will relentlessly strive towards this goal. Even if the finish line is a bottomless abyss, I will never regret it."

"Heh." A bitter laugh, born of rage, rolled in George's throat, "Should I call you naive or foolish? You should know that worldwide, there are a million, if not eight hundred thousand, people aspiring to become actors. But how many of them truly reach the pinnacle and achieve greatness? Five hundred? Or eight hundred? Everyone believes they're special, everyone thinks they're a genius, everyone considers themselves unique, but let me tell you, they're not. They aren't, and neither are you. There aren't that many geniuses in the world, nor are there that many miracles. You're just a fool daydreaming, your chance of success is close to zero!"

"This is my dream." Renly spoke each word deliberately, like a lighthouse in a storm, on the brink of extinguishing, yet unbreakable.

"A dream that will never come true!" George stated coldly, indifferent to the fact that the person on the other end of the line was his own son. He relentlessly attacked, "You're not a genius, never were! A true genius knows how to assess their talents, how to find their place, and above all, how to distinguish between giving up and persevering. You're not that, you've never seen what a real genius is like. You've been surrounded by countless geniuses your whole life. So you should understand that stubbornly persisting is foolish. It's not only wasting your time and energy, but it's also a hindrance to everyone around you. You're not foolish, you should at least know when to give up."

Faced with his father's torrent of condemnation, Renly didn't respond. He simply listened, silent like a statue, as the ultimatum from across the Atlantic sounded, "Did you hear me? You don't have the talent for performing. You should give up! If you don't know how to give up, then it's time for us to give up on you. So come back to London, participate in the performance of "Hamlet". This is my concession, and it's your last chance."

After finishing his one-sided conversation, George didn't wait for Renly's response. He hung up directly, and the "beep beep beep" busy tone hammered into Renly's ears like a war drum, shaking the world.

Renly let out a sigh, his gaze fixated on the bustling scene outside the window, lost in thought. An ultimatum: today, after three months in New York, he finally had his first audition opportunity, yet it also marked the family's final ultimatum.

He understood his father's authority; George was a man of his word. Even though for the past three months, he had relied solely on his own hands, not accepting a single penny from his family, he knew that today's ultimatum was different. It likely signified their abandonment, their complete exile of him. Even if not expelled from the family, the distance would be insurmountable.

Perhaps, as George had said, knowing when to give up was a sign of intelligence. But does giving up on dreams, on freedom, equate to giving up on life? In his past life, he had chosen the conventional, the ordinary path. In this life, would he continue to tread the same path?

No, he refused! God had given him a second chance, and this time, he wouldn't let it slip through his fingers!