"A sense of purity, a sense of simplicity."
"You can feel endless passion from everyone here. They genuinely love movies. It's not just about box office numbers or salaries. Every movie carries someone's memories and emotions. They're willing to spend time and energy to dig deeper, enriching their inner world while also bringing movies and art closer to life."
"Even those Americans living in Los Angeles, when in Cannes, are no longer just praise machines like puppets; it's as if they finally have souls."
Hahaha.
Scarlett's casual joke made Anson burst into laughter.
Anson looked at Scarlett, "So which puppet, Pinocchio or the Mad Hatter?"
This time, it was Scarlett's turn to laugh, "Pinocchio? I guess. Oh God, imagine a group of Pinocchios with their noses growing longer, flattering each other—that scene?"
Scarlett wasn't the only one who shuddered; Anson did too. The mental image!
Scarlett looked at Anson's wide eyes and laughed wildly.
Her bright and carefree laughter echoed under the Cannes night sky. Clearly, the night belonged to the movies and was far from over.
Tonight, the Cannes beach film screening was showing a classic black-and-white movie from Hollywood's golden age, Letter from an Unknown Woman.
This film, released in 1948 and adapted from the novel of the same name, tells a story of unrequited love. For him, it was just a fleeting night of pleasure, but for her, it was a love that marked her whole life.
Such romantic films are often seen in Asian cinema, but in Western movies, love portrayed with such subtlety, depth, and sadness is rare. Perhaps that's why this film has a unique place in cinematic history.
As the screening ended, the crowd on the beach was visibly melancholic, the French lost in the emotions of romantic love.
However.
"...No, I can't. When I like something, I just like it. If I don't, I'll say it. I hope to be straightforward. I can't hide my feelings, let alone for a lifetime," Scarlett said firmly, shaking her head, her whole body showing resistance.
Anson chuckled, "Maybe it's not your style, but at least you can appreciate the beauty behind such a story."
Scarlett thought for a moment. "No."
Anson laughed again.
Scarlett said frankly, "What? You told me tonight that we should be bold in expressing ourselves, right?"
Anson raised his hands in surrender, "Of course, you're right. The world looks different at different ages."
Scarlett glanced up at Anson, "Are you teasing me for being too young?"
Anson smiled, "Isn't that a good thing?"
Scarlett stared at Anson for a moment, then couldn't help but smile, "Let's say it's a good thing. Who can refuse youth? Thank you for walking me back tonight."
Her words trailed off, as if she had more to say but didn't.
The night breeze stirred, the soft, ambiguous glow fell on them, sketching out their silhouettes. Slowly, the night between them faded, and their fingers brushed against each other, sending a subtle spark through the air, their heartbeats growing louder.
Scarlett looked at Anson, hesitant, a bit impulsive. Her gaze unintentionally flitted to his lips, and she quickly looked away, trying to cover up her thoughts.
Thump, thump.
Her heart pounded.
Just as Scarlett hesitated, Anson moved closer, completely enveloping her in his presence, and she felt as if her heart would explode.
Closer, even closer.
They were so near now that she could feel the warmth of his skin, overwhelming her reason, driving her to the brink of madness.
Anson's deep voice, rich and a bit husky like a cello playing in the night, broke the tension. "Goodnight, teenage girl."
The next second, Anson turned and walked away.
Scarlett's ears flushed bright red. The cold night air rushed in, surrounding her. Wide-eyed, she watched his back, unable to believe what had just happened. "I'm nineteen! Nineteen!"
Anson's voice echoed down the hallway, "No one can refuse youth, right? Haha, hahaha."
Scarlett: ???
Laughter echoed in the hallway as Scarlett stood there, a breath caught in her throat.
But as she gathered her thoughts, she suddenly realized she hadn't hidden her feelings well, and Anson had already seen through her. Watching his retreating figure, she called out loudly, "So, you're the one who's afraid, right?"
Her words made Anson turn to face her, but he kept walking backward, "Shh. Let what happens in Cannes stay in Cannes."
Scarlett paused. Is this a "Cannes holiday"? A smile crept onto her lips, and she watched Anson's figure disappear down the hallway before she turned to her room. As the moonlight spilled through the window, she couldn't help but run to the balcony and look out.
Waiting. Waiting.
And then, she spotted Anson walking down the street. The night was a bit chilly, and Anson shrugged his shoulders, walking with a light step.
The street was a bit deserted, but a few fans were still lingering with beers, loudly discussing movies in Italian, their enthusiasm evident in their lively language. The mood was soon interrupted by a grumbling voice in French.
Anson glanced at the quarreling Italians, then continued walking, eventually disappearing into the night.
Scarlett stood there quietly, watching him until he was out of sight. Even then, she didn't leave, but instead looked up at the moonlight that bathed all of Cannes.
Tonight, Cannes was more beautiful than ever.
The excitement of the film festival continued, from morning to deep into the night, with no end in sight. Everywhere, the passion of the audience could be felt.
Carl Rivet soon heard all kinds of rumors on the streets of Cannes:
Anson was seen at such-and-such screening, watching a particular movie; Anson was spotted waiting in line for another film; Anson was at the market screening, collecting film brochures—on and on it went.
If someone had told Carl these rumors five days ago, he would've been skeptical—
Is this just a grand show?
A PR stunt, a performance, a way to market his public image?
Otherwise, why would Anson be so high-profile? The entire Cannes was talking about him, and he was intentionally showing up in all these public places to be seen?
It wasn't that Carl was overly suspicious, but in the entertainment industry, things are not always what they seem. Actors contacting journalists or paparazzi, staging photoshoots, and deliberately creating gossip or news—that's commonplace in the industry.
But actually being in Cannes, standing on the street and seeing with his own eyes, Carl knew it was real.
All of it was real. That's just Anson—a free spirit who doesn't bother defending himself and simply lives as he pleases.