**Chapter 13: The Truman Show**

"The day is coming to an end..."

"As it does every day..."

"He is on his way. His steps are numerous, filling up other places..."

"You are on your way, and this place, gradually emptying, yields to the void..."

"She is no longer here..."

Sorry, it's not that Anson was speaking incomprehensibly; rather, it was James and Seth who were speaking in a language that made no sense, with profound and obscure lines mixed with inexplicable Latin and French. This left Anson questioning his sanity—

Could it be that after crossing over, the language pack needed an additional patch?

The issue was that Anson could understand every word individually, but when they were put together, they made no sense, leaving him completely baffled by what the actors were performing. With no buildup or explanation, the opening scenes came crashing down like a wave, leaving everyone disoriented.

On stage, two actors stood at the left corner, both facing the same direction, conversing in a cold and aloof manner. One would interrupt before the other finished, and then the first one would interrupt again before the second finished, like some kind of juggling act.

Then.

James, ghost-like, silently crossed the stage from the back, expressionless, with vacant eyes, as if lost in the world of *A Chinese Ghost Story*, completely detached from everyone else.

This…

Anson glanced down at the theater program—

*Void*.

In small print at the bottom left corner, barely noticeable:

Two hours and thirty minutes with no intermission.

Anson wondered if his artistic sensibilities weren't refined enough to appreciate the creative intent of James and Seth. Where was the promised toilet humor?

But when he turned his head.

Chris was already nodding off, with a shiny drool line sliding down from the corner of his mouth.

Judd had pulled out two hamburgers and was wolfing them down, trying not to be noticed. After each bite, he hid the burger in the shadow of the seat in front of him, slowly chewing with his mouth closed.

A producer had placed his phone on his lap and was playing *Snake*, one hand propping up his chin as if he was fully engrossed in the performance, but his eyes were glued to his phone.

A journalist was studying the water stain pattern on the seat as if it were a masterpiece left behind by Michelangelo.

As for the agent?

His fingers flew across the phone's keyboard, too busy to stop even in the theater. Whether he was dealing with matters related to tonight's play or another actor's work was unclear, but his thumbs never stopped moving.

Is this really okay?

What Anson didn't know was that performance art is still art, even if you don't understand it.

In Hollywood, not all casting directors trust casting agencies; they often rely more on their instincts and inspiration. So, they continuously watch films, TV shows, and plays, searching with their own eyes. Even though it may seem clumsy, they always manage to discover true gems.

Some directors do this too—Quentin Tarantino, Joel and Ethan Coen, Noah Baumbach, and others, including some top producers.

They often frequent cinemas, theaters, opera houses, and other venues, not limited to any specific art form. Whether it's a box-office hit or an obscure experimental play, they are willing to offer their support through action, genuinely loving their work and enjoying it to the fullest.

At the same time, they hope to discover hidden gems.

Because of this, James and Seth's experimental drama received support from their agent.

Who knows?

Maybe a producer or casting director might see the play, recognize their potential, and give them a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity?

Or perhaps the play could help them build an image and reputation as serious artists, spreading through Hollywood and leaving a good impression on producers?

Snore.

Chris leaned back and let out a soft snore, his mouth wide open. Suddenly, a muffled sound came from the direction of the stage, waking him up. He quickly wiped his mouth, sat up straight, and hurriedly opened his eyes to look at the stage, his sleepy expression revealing his complete disorientation.

Not just Chris—Anson, who had been watching the entire time, was also clueless about what was going on.

Seth, holding a guitar, sat at the front of the stage, like an overindulgent Cupid, starting to play and sing. The spotlight fell on him.

It seemed like this was a very important scene, but why it was important, what made it important, and why it was presented in this way, no one knew, and no one dared to ask.

But!

When the performance ended and the lights dimmed, applause erupted instantly.

Clap, clap, clap.

That was the signal.

One second, everyone was busy with their own activities—sending texts, reading newspapers, snacking on chips, or propping their heads up while secretly dozing off.

The next second, they all woke up simultaneously, stood up in a flash, and, with beaming faces, looked at the stage, offering enthusiastic applause.

In ones and twos, gradually, the entire audience in the theater stood up and clapped.

Their expressions and gestures were as if they had just witnessed a masterpiece.

Of course, Chris and Anson were no exception.

It was Anson's first time in such a situation, but he only hesitated for a moment before standing up and clapping at a leisurely pace while observing:

Watching the faces of those fully immersed in their performances, tears welling up, praising endlessly, each one as skilled as the actors on stage.

This scene was far more entertaining than tonight's play.

Chris finally shook off his drowsiness. Noticing Anson's gaze, he looked around and couldn't help but recall the conversation they had before setting out. He glanced back at Anson, and the two exchanged a knowing look. Unable to hold back, Chris almost burst out laughing on the spot.

With great effort, Chris barely managed to control himself.

However, in the next second—

A figure in front of them raised both hands high, clapping vigorously and shouting, "A masterpiece! A masterpiece!"

As he shouted, he choked up, quickly wiping a tear from the corner of his eye with his right hand, and then immediately resumed clapping.

The scene was so close, so genuine.

Pfft.

Chris was on the verge of losing it, quickly lowering his head, but his shoulders still shook uncontrollably.

Anson was no exception, but he managed to keep his composure, watching the scene unfold as if he were enjoying a pantomime.

In his previous life, he had seen fangirls weep over the stiff performances of young idols; the scene before him was just child's play by comparison.

Indeed, entertainment is a cycle. Despite the vast Pacific Ocean separating them, the essence of the entertainment industry on both continents is the same.

At this moment, Anson's peripheral vision caught sight of a figure diagonally in front of him—

With a look of utter bewilderment and disbelief, the person scanned the surroundings, their eyes filled with shock, conveying emotions that needed no words:

Could it be that I'm not watching the same play as everyone else? Am I the one who's crazy, or has the entire audience lost it? What on earth is going on?

That expression was reminiscent of "The Truman Show," where Truman finally realizes he's living in a world of actors in a fake reality—extraordinarily compelling.

So, there were still some sane people in Hayworth Theatre this afternoon.