Anson froze, staring blankly at the checkbook in his hand.
In his previous life, his father had vanished just like this, disappearing without a trace.
Denial. Anger. Arguments. Despair. Acceptance. He had gone through all those stages, trying to make excuses for his father, trying to hold onto a sliver of hope in the face of adversity, trying not to be completely consumed by darkness, but in the end, he failed.
Because his father never reappeared.
Now, holding the checkbook in his hand—just fifty pages, light as a feather, yet it weighed heavily on his chest—he thought he would feel joy, happiness, and a surge of strength. But reality was filled with bitterness.
He couldn't help but start worrying about his father—
The bank had already rejected his father's loan application, and now his father was applying for a checkbook. Would this get his father into trouble? His father mentioned there were twenty-five dollars in the account, but where did that money come from? Should he trust his father?
His mind was a storm of conflicting thoughts.
He stood there, frozen, staring blankly at the checkbook in his hand, inadvertently revealing a trace of confusion.
In front of the monitor, Steven subconsciously held his breath, afraid to disturb the scene before him. Christopher was right in front of him, yet he couldn't take his eyes off Anson.
It wasn't sorrow or joy, struggle or disappointment, but a bitterness that was hard to describe, gently pulling at his heart. A faint warmth and happiness swelled in his chest like cotton candy.
So, acting really did have power.
"There are fifty checks here, Little Frank. This means that from today on, you're part of their little club."
Old Frank stood behind him. Unable to see Little Frank's expression, he had no way of knowing what was on his son's mind. But he could still tell that Little Frank was distracted. Pressing lightly on his son's shoulders, he gently brought the boy's attention back to reality.
Little Frank turned to look at his father.
But his expression had already returned to normal. Carefully masking his emotions, the corners of his mouth lifted as he regained the spirit of a sixteen-year-old. A smile slowly spread across his face.
"I've joined their little club."
Old Frank nodded slightly. "With checks, you have everything."
Little Frank turned back, continuing to flip through the checkbook in his hand. "It even has my name on it."
One by one, he watched his name appear in black print, feeling a bit strange.
Old Frank smiled. "A meteoric rise."
Little Frank lowered his voice and murmured, "A meteoric rise."
Hehe.
A soft laugh escaped his throat, but it dissipated like smoke. He quietly stared at the checkbook, the corners of his mouth slowly settling, his gaze on the checkbook gradually dissolving.
A mix of conflicting and powerless emotions flickered in his deep blue eyes.
He didn't speak, nor was there any dialogue, but the light in those eyes filled the room with a profound stillness, allowing thoughts to soar freely in the realm of imagination.
They could feel a storm approaching, the world teetering on the brink, yet they clung desperately to this fleeting glimmer of hope, refusing to let go. Over and over, they convinced themselves that this was hope, this was the turning point, everything would get better, and their worries wouldn't become reality—they should stay positive and optimistic.
But in the brief moment when a smile appeared on his lips, his gaze and soul froze—
He became lost in thought.
As if at that moment, the cold grip of reality slowly took hold of his heart.
In those blue eyes, there was only a void.
What could he, a boy who had just turned sixteen, possibly do to change anything?
Helplessness and fear began to cloud the focus of his gaze.
The entire set fell silent.
Even the faint sound of air moving seemed to disappear.
"Cut!"
It wasn't until Steven spoke that the stillness was broken.
There was the sound of long breaths being let out, the flow of air stirring, but it quickly subsided, quietly retreating into the depths of the mind.
Steven was no exception.
He had a brief moment of daze because, in those eyes, he saw his former self. He had gone through all of that, faced those same confusions, those same conflicts and vulnerabilities, thinking no one would ever understand.
But he was wrong.
Steven couldn't help but look at Anson again, savoring that gaze—
It turns out, a single glance can indeed hide an entire world.
Steven was startled by his own thoughts. He wanted to capture that gaze again, to leave room for Little Frank to reveal his psychological changes.
However, Steven managed to stop himself just in time, quashing that impulse.
It wasn't that Anson wasn't good—in fact, Anson's performance was outstanding. The way he played off Christopher's emotions managed to convey such depth; but precisely because of this, Steven knew when to stop.
Steven was never good at capturing those brilliant flashes of acting. That wasn't his strength; he focused more on the audiovisual experience of the film. From that perspective, he shouldn't let the performance disrupt the narrative flow.
Especially in a commercial film.
Everything needs to be just right. If you don't understand moderation and balance, it could turn into a disaster.
Anson's performance just now was excellent, really excellent. The camera had already captured it, so Steven knew not to push further, to let this scene end in that state.
Steven's experience showed as he managed to restrain himself in time, but he couldn't help but admire Anson's performance. It was indeed a revelation.
"The freshness of youth mixed with the maturity of hardship"—is that even possible?
Whew.
Steven let out a soft breath. He knew the entire crew was waiting for his orders. He quickly composed himself. "This angle is good. Let's move to the next one."
One take!
In the narrow room, glances were exchanged. Such a challenging scene being completed in one take was rare, even for Steven's crew. But strangely, no one found it odd. Their gazes were filled with more awe and excitement, an uncontrollable joy.
And Anson?
He was slightly dazed, feeling a faint sense of exhaustion. Even though filming had ended, he still seemed a bit out of it.
It was hard to imagine—he hadn't done any aerobic exercise, yet he felt tired, as if he could sense his energy being drained, though he couldn't quite describe it.
Then, a voice called out from ahead.
"Anson!"
Anson quickly looked up, following the sound, and immediately saw Steven's calm face. He thought Steven was focused on the next camera setup, so he hurriedly gathered his thoughts and refocused.
Steven paused for a moment.
"Your performance just now was outstanding."
With that, Steven gave a thumbs-up but didn't linger. He turned and got busy with the crew, and Anson noticed several crew members also smiling at him and giving him a thumbs-up. Though no words were exchanged, he could feel the change in the atmosphere.
A bit of lightheartedness, a bit of excitement.
Anson was momentarily stunned, not quite sure how to react, when Christopher patted him on the shoulder. "Great job, keep it up."
A smile lingered at the corners of his mouth for a moment, and then it finally spread.
So, this is what acting feels like?