บท 455: Seeing the light
"People are always like this, craving to understand the future, yet fearing it at the same time,"
Renly smiled lightly as he quipped.
"If they knew in advance that failure was inevitable, how many would still be willing to try? If they understood from the start that their efforts would be in vain, how many would forge ahead with no regrets? The answer is very few.
Most of the time, people are often bound by the so-called future—afraid of failure, repulsed by idleness, driven by utilitarianism—ultimately choosing to stand still or to completely change course. But Renly isn't 'most people.'
He won't choose to give up before trying; he won't retreat before making an effort. If he's afraid of failure, then at the very beginning, he would have made different choices. He could've followed his family's plans, choosing an easier and simpler path. Yet he still chose this road.
The allure of the future lies in its uncertainty—it can follow history or change it. The true results are only known after personal struggle.
The awards from the 83rd Oscars still followed the course of history and weren't altered by the appearance of Renly, this little butterfly. However, these outcomes meant little to Renly.
Looking at Rooney before him, Renly chuckled lightly and teased, "So you left because 'The Social Network' lost?" Renly's mood remained unaffected, not disappointed nor regretful.
Rooney's gaze fell on the corner of Renly's mouth, and involuntarily, her lips curved upwards as well. She responded with a question, "What do you think?"
"Sorry, forgive my rudeness. I forgot we're discussing the Oscars," Renly didn't provide a direct answer, instead, he engaged in self-deprecation with a relaxed demeanor. However, his calm tone, no matter how it was heard, seemed to mock the unchanging and decaying nature of the Oscars, just like Rooney's words earlier.
Rooney burst into laughter, causing Renly's eyebrow to arch slightly in puzzlement. While Renly's earlier words were humorous, they shouldn't have led to such hearty laughter from Rooney—it seemed like she was being overly flattering.
Rooney turned her head to avoid being too impolite with her laughter, but her shoulders continued to move without restraint. After regaining some control, her laughter subsided a bit. She turned back around, her eyes still harboring a bright smile. Her entire expression had softened, "I'm sorry, my focus was a bit scattered just now. Honestly, your head is very eye-catching now; it's trying to snatch all the attention."
Renly lifted his eyes, looking upwards. Though he couldn't see his own head, the chilly sensation wasn't compromised. It reminded him fully: The night wind was strong, be careful not to catch a cold.
A faint smile tugged at the corners of Renly's mouth too. He raised his right hand and lightly touched his forehead. The unfamiliar and sharp sensation of his hair, now gone, made his eyebrows lift slightly. It was clear he was still adjusting to this earth-shattering change.
This simple gesture, coupled with the expressions at Renly's eyebrows and corners of his mouth, caused Rooney's smile to widen once again.
Renly before her was so familiar yet so foreign. The cold blue moonlight bathed his shoulders, traces of an unreceded smile lingering on his cheeks. Yet, hidden behind, there was... a tinge of sorrow and loneliness. The essence of solitude settled between his brows, even the moonlight softened.
Rooney had a vague sense of understanding about what the bald head truly signified.
"So, you really don't care about the Oscar statuette?" Rooney had her own conjectures deep within her, but she still asked, her gaze fixed on the man before her. After a momentary pause, she revealed a playful smile, "Or is it that you know this outcome wouldn't change even if you attended? So, you deliberately chose not to go, at least from a publicity standpoint, you can stand undefeated."
Direct, sharp, incisive, and even slightly aggressive. No one could forget that just a few days ago, the reporters were condemning Renly for resorting to any means for publicity. Everything was a trap for hype, which ignited a storm of public opinion. But now, Rooney was throwing such questioning out in her own way, without concealment.
Renly wasn't angered; he simply shrugged with a smile, without any intention to explain or respond.
Such a nonchalant posture seemed to disdain it entirely, leaving Rooney somewhat helpless.
However, Rooney wasn't one to give up easily. She didn't press further, but instead, she met Renly's gaze seriously. Her determined gaze remained fixed on him, as if saying, "I won't easily give up without getting an answer."
Renly chuckled softly, "What if I told you that I actually really wanted to attend the Oscars, would you believe me?"
The corners of Rooney's eyebrows lifted slightly, clearly not believing.
But Renly shrugged his shoulders again, smiling as he said, "I'm serious." This answer completely stunned Rooney. She could tell that Renly wasn't joking.
Without pausing, Renly continued, "It's just that there's something more important."
A simple sentence, devoid of any extra embellishments, straightforward and clear. Yet, it was like a huge bell, ringing in Rooney's ears, deafening her, causing waves of emotion and a cascade of thoughts.
Tonight at the Kodak Theatre, Rooney had never found a sense of belonging. She constantly felt out of place, to the point where she eventually fled.
She thought it was because she resisted being labeled as a commercial entity. She thought it was because the Oscars were no longer a simple film event. She thought it was because the distribution of the golden statues was no longer a contest of skill but a game of PR... But in reality, it wasn't exactly that, or more accurately, it was because of that, but not solely because of that.
The important aspect was never the Oscars themselves, but the manner in which one appeared at the Oscars.
If it was top-tier veterans like Meryl Streep or Daniel Day-Lewis, delivering splendid performances, walking the red carpet at the Oscars, welcoming their own praises, earning their own affirmation, basking in their own spotlight, then the Oscars would be the grandest, most authoritative, and most solemn stage for display worldwide.
If it was idols and pretty faces like Kim Kardashian or Robert Pattinson, perhaps even without any substantial performances, appearing at the Oscar ceremony solely for exposure, like a beautifully wrapped gift box presented under the spotlight, being offered up for sale, then even if it wasn't the Oscars, any other award ceremony would be equally tasteless.
What Rooney resisted wasn't the Oscars, but herself.
Because in the film "The Social Network", her performance was far from outstanding. Forget about a nomination; she couldn't even be called a supporting role. So, her attendance tonight had turned into a full-fledged reality show, her exposed gaze making her appear like a cheap commodity. But if the next time she delivered a top-tier performance and received a nomination, she would appear at the Kodak Theatre with a proud demeanor, receiving her own applause.
Just like Renly.
Performance was everything and all was related to performance.
Renly's performance in "Buried" was already outstanding enough. He could have confidently walked onto the Oscar stage, bathed in the baptism of the spotlight. But Renly was absent, solely because the performance in "50/50" was more important. Originating from performance, concluding in performance, changing through performance, returning to performance. Everything was inextricably linked with performance.
The Oscars were important. Performance was more important.
Suddenly, Rooney understood the reason for Renly's absence and her own reason for leaving. The entire world seemed to brighten up in an instant. The fierce winds of late-night Seattle no longer seemed harsh; instead, they became beautifully stirring.
Once again, her gaze fell upon the bald head of Renly. Lost in thought, her eyes shimmering with brilliance, that sense of joy resembled the gently fluttering wings of a butterfly, ready to take flight.
"I believe you've made the right choice." A smile appeared on Rooney's face, not showy but resolute. All her anxiety and superficiality gradually settled, and she finally felt the solid ground beneath her feet again.
"Heh." A deep chuckle surged within Renly's chest, like a melody resonating between a cello and a bass drum. "The reporters might not necessarily agree with your perspective."
"The key is, do you care?" Rooney didn't hesitate at all, gazing at Renly with an ambiguous smile as she spoke.
Though a question, her tone was decidedly certain. Her determined gaze met Renly's face, carrying a hint of warm temperature. Then, she saw the smile at the corner of Renly's lips bloom like the rising dawn, unfolding bit by bit, radiantly beautiful.
Even without words, Rooney knew her answer was correct. The previous question was, and this one was too.
Lifting her head, the ink-black night sky over Seattle was sprinkled with countless stars, as if a basket of starlight had been overturned, filling the entire sky. It reminded Rooney of that night with Ted Stilley, the night about movies. She liked nights like this.
On the way to the Sunset Tower Hotel, she had chosen to leave, purchasing a departing flight ticket. This was the wisest decision she had made in the past few months.
Withdrawing her gaze, Rooney earnestly inspected Renly's bald head. Her calm mind surged with thoughts, countless creative ideas erupting like a geyser. After a silence that lasted through the afternoon and evening, it was finally rekindled, regaining its vitality. "Tell me about your performance tonight. I think it's much more exciting than the boring awards ceremony."
Rooney was a bit excited, struggling to maintain the calm of her voice, but her bright eyes revealed her inner excitement. It wasn't just about the bald head; there was also the sense of loneliness and bitterness between Renly's brows. She didn't know the details or the cause and effect, but she knew that behind his composed expression, there must be an incredibly captivating story.
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