Hollywood: The Greatest Showman

Chapter 100: Near Death

"Drink." Renly suddenly sucked in a breath of cold air, as if a vampire coming back to life, he sat up straight, his voice hoarse in his throat, almost inaudible, "Get... out..." Only a vague sound remained, but his hands and feet were incredibly strong, wildly striking any object that came near, the powerful indiscriminate attacks causing everyone to keep their distance.

Jose was almost scared out of his wits, his eyes circling with fear, scrambling to flee; the others weren't faring any better, panic setting in as they scrambled backward, colliding with each other, the whole room in chaos, like an Asura hell. The coffins parked around remained silent, offering no help in this moment.

Matthew's cheek was struck hard, but he couldn't care less about himself, firmly gripping Renly's arms, trying to calm him down, to no avail. The indiscriminate attacks continued unabated, accompanied by thunderous force. "Renly!" Matthew exerted his last ounce of strength, shouting towards Renly.

The powerful sound vibrated in the air, and Renly's movements suddenly froze. He stared blankly at Matthew, breathing greedily, almost choking on the fresh and cold air in his eagerness, coughing violently, unable to stop, as if his lungs were about to burst.

Matthew looked around, trying to hand over a bottle of mineral water, but Renly's pupils suddenly contracted, instinctively stepping back, his hands reflexively entering a defensive stance, ready to attack any approaching object. Matthew had no choice but to raise his hands to show his innocence, then stopped moving, causing Renly's attacks to slowly cease.

"Cough, cough." Renly coughed again a few times, finally catching his breath, unconsciously scanning his surroundings, his lifeless gaze trying to find a focus, but to no avail. A glimmer of light slowly lit up in his deep brown eyes, but before it could fully light up, they closed again, and he lay back down, as if all his strength had been drained, all breath silenced.

Matthew stood dumbfounded, suddenly at a loss for what to do, looking around trying to figure out what had happened, but the chaotic scene offered no clues. "Renly? Renly? What's wrong? Are you okay, Renly?" He was so anxious that he even reached out and shook Renly a few times, hoping for a response.

"Too noisy." Renly slowly closed his eyes, his right hand weakly lifted, then drooped down, "Always so noisy. Can't you see, I'm exhausted, depleted of energy, and need to rest?"

Matthew hesitated for a moment, then chuckled helplessly, shaking his head gently. This was Renly, the Renly he was most familiar with, back to his usual self. The heart that had been hanging high fell heavily back into his chest, and he let out a long sigh. Only then did Matthew realize that his back was soaked with sweat, feeling unexpectedly drained.

Turning his head, Matthew said to Rodrigo, "I think we need a doctor and some food."

Rodrigo was completely stunned, standing there at a loss for what to do. Matthew had to repeat his request, and then he nodded, "I'll take care of it right away." These were tasks for the producer, but in the small crew of an independent film, Rodrigo wore multiple hats as director and producer, so there wasn't much fuss about it.

Matthew's gaze returned to Renly. Although Renly kept his eyes closed, the gentle rise and fall of his chest indicated he was breathing. "You're a lunatic, you know that?"

A faint smile curved Renly's lips, but it quickly faded due to exhaustion. "Thanks for the compliment."

Eight hours. Renly had been worried he'd sleep too soundly, but these eight hours had turned into a nightmare of life and death. In absolute darkness and silence, fear consumed vitality and hope like a festering sore, slowly devouring life. At some point, he truly believed his life was about to end, believed the Grim Reaper had found him again, believed he would be buried alive in a wooden box in the desert.

The deep despair that penetrated his marrow rendered language feeble and powerless. Even though he had faced death once before, even though he had lived two lives, he still couldn't easily face it. Darkness slowly ate away at vitality, hope was extinguished bit by bit, and despair spread relentlessly, the bone-chilling cold of the Grim Reaper's scythe piercing every pore. The more intense the struggle, the heavier the disappointment; the more fierce the resistance, the more cruel the despair.

Imagination was always too pale; only those who had truly experienced it could understand its taste. Observers could only observe.

Initially, watching movies like "127 Hours" and "Buried," he felt deeply conflicted and excited, almost tortured as if he could feel it too. But only after experiencing such a predicament did he understand that the pain, the agony, the despair, were indescribable, and observers could never truly comprehend.

More importantly, different people experiencing the same fear tasted it differently. He believed that at the brink of despair, the images in the minds of Aron Ralston of "127 Hours," Paul Conroy of "Buried," and himself would be different.

He knew his attempt was crazy, dancing on the edge of a knife, a slight misstep could ignite everything, possibly ending his second life, a perfect example of bringing trouble upon oneself; yet, he had no regrets. If given another chance, he would make the same choice.

Because he had felt it—the fear and cruelty of being buried alive, the despair and anger of awaiting death, the resentment, regret, helplessness, and grievance within Paul. The blurred boundary between reality and illusion tore his soul in half, the pain reaching such an extreme that even his voice couldn't escape, giving him a true taste of being in a desperate situation.

He needed this experience; otherwise, his acting would always be proper, precise, restrained, and suppressed, following the framework imposed by acting schools, simulating and speculating emotions. But such acting lacked a soul, lacked his own and the character's soul, lacked the soul that gave the character a sense of reality and uniqueness, a soul that wandered between the virtual and the real, indistinguishable.

However, these were matters for later.

After narrowly escaping death— even if it was an experiment, even if everything was arranged by himself—the exhaustion came rushing like a tide, his physical strength completely depleted. This was even more exhausting than surfing for three hours; his energy was completely drained, he didn't even want to think about where he was. He just wanted to sleep well, breathe the air, and enjoy life.

He fell into a deep sleep like this, the world quieting down once more, but this time, the world had light, warmth, and safety.

Renly was awakened by Matthew's call. He turned over, covering his head with the blanket, ignoring him, but Matthew didn't give up. He simply brought a cup of coffee to the bedside and started to enjoy it leisurely. The rich aroma of coffee filled the room in no time, and Renly's stomach couldn't help but growl.

Though his eyelids were still heavy, he couldn't resist opening them, seeing through blurry eyes a fresh steak, a portion of mashed potatoes, some blanched broccoli, and a simple Caesar salad. "After finally surviving, to eat such terribly disgusting food, I suddenly feel hopeless about life." He said, but still picked up the knife and fork, preparing to eat.

The waiters and Rodrigo standing at the door were at a loss, but Matthew couldn't help but chuckle at the side.