"So, what exactly happened that day?"
Cautiously, Edgar couldn't hold back any longer and finally asked the question.
"Heh." Anson's lips curved slightly upward, a low chuckle escaping from deep in his throat. "Captain, you've worked hard. It's impressive that your curiosity lasted this long."
Seeing that Anson still had the mood to joke, Edgar's tense and frantic state calmed down a bit. He was about to reply, but Anson continued without pausing.
"I was on the road when I saw a strong man committing domestic violence, beating up a boy and his mother. I couldn't hold back, so I stepped in to help."
Just a few words, no background story, just simple and cold facts. Yet, Edgar was stunned.
"He was right there, in broad daylight, beating a child and a woman who couldn't fight back, as if they were trash."
"Bang."
"Bang."
Blow after blow, Anson calmly described the sound of flesh hitting flesh, but to Edgar's ears, it was like thunder.
"You know, when muscle collides with muscle, it makes a dull sound. Even if bystanders can't hear it clearly, those sounds seep into the victim's muscles and bloodstream bit by bit until they can't feel the pain anymore. All that's left is their dignity and pride slowly shattering."
"Some people say, why not fight back? Why not run away?"
"It's not about whether they can or not. It's because that violence has become a habit, deeply rooted in their soul, to the point that they forget how to escape."
"They just silently endure it all, almost believing in a daze that this is what they deserve."
Calm, measured, even with a faint smile.
Anson narrated quietly like this, but Edgar felt a chill down his spine. He tried to speak, but his voice caught in his throat, and he stood there like a fool.
"Sorry, I couldn't hold back."
Anson looked at Edgar, responding with a smile, ending his explanation.
"Ahem." Edgar cleared his throat, pulling himself out of his muddled thoughts, trying to stay calm and return to his role as a manager. "Anson, this was someone else's business. You shouldn't have interfered. Not to mention whether that man was armed or had other weapons, or whether he could have hurt you, you shouldn't have gotten involved."
"You should have called for help, you should have called the police."
"You shouldn't have put yourself in the middle of it."
Edgar noticed that Anson didn't respond. He just kept smiling, quietly looking at him.
Edgar felt awkward, "Anson, this is my professional advice. You are a public figure…"
Anson nodded slightly, "I understand, this is your job."
"But…"
"Everyone says the same thing. It's someone else's family matter, it's someone else's business. We should keep our distance."
"Until one day, a tragedy happens."
"We remain bystanders, we regretfully say, what a shame. Then we turn around and leave, continuing our lives, not knowing what kind of pain they went through, nor knowing when such a tragedy might happen to us."
Edgar was stunned.
This was a side of Anson he had never seen before—some fragility, some sadness, some struggle, not intense or dramatic, just a gentle tug on the heart, like a bitter darkness lingering at his fingertips, akin to smoke or mist. But precisely this calmness, without gut-wrenching or dramatic ups and downs, revealed a weathered weariness.
Now, Edgar finally understood what that hidden unique quality about Anson was.
However, he didn't have the time to sort through his thoughts carefully. He just stood there, staring into Anson's eyes, as if caught in a blue whirlpool, all his professional advice stuck on the tip of his tongue, unable to be spoken.
Anson's mind once again conjured up the boy's face.
He thought the memory had faded, just a brief encounter; yet he didn't expect the scene to remain so vivid—he even remembered those eyes.
"Captain, do you know about the nomads in the desert?"
"After night falls, they tie their camels to a tree with a rope. But when morning comes, they untie the rope."
"However, the camels don't run away."
"Because they remember the rope that tied them at night. Even if it's untied and they can't see it, it's like how we deeply remember the scars and pains of the past."
"In fact, everything is already over, long since becoming history. But the shadows of the past still hang over our heads, binding our ankles. Though invisible, that invisible rope keeps us in place."
"We don't dare, nor can we, run away."
The California afternoon sun lazily spilled down, warming the surface of the skin; yet, he couldn't help but shiver.
Looking at Anson, Edgar couldn't help but wonder:
What exactly has Anson been through?
Thinking seriously about it, even though Edgar had once entered the Wood mansion in New York, his understanding of the Wood family and Anson was still very limited.
Clearly, like everyone else, he had met this young man because of Anson's appearance, but it stopped there. He never truly got to know the soul beneath the surface. However, in their daily interactions, Anson's charm slowly revealed itself, surprising him each time.
Like an epic novel.
The beautiful cover and packaging often lead people to misunderstand, perhaps thinking the content isn't that great; but once you open the first page, you can't stop, irresistibly wanting to explore the story further.
Just like now.
Edgar tried to explore, but found nothing. A beat too late, he realized he had unconsciously been drawn in, even exposing his own true thoughts. Memories flooded his mind like a tide, inadvertently revealing his true feelings, which made him panic.
Edgar awkwardly averted his gaze, hastily covering up his fluster, "Did they… escape?"
Anson's lips curled slightly, "I don't know either."
Maybe, in that moment, they did run away. But Anson didn't know if, when night fell, they followed the rope back again.
Bitterness spread lightly on the tip of his tongue.
Sigh.
Exhaling softly, Anson pulled his thoughts back.
"Don't worry."
"If that man comes looking for trouble, threatening to expose everything, fine, we'll make a big deal out of it and get the law involved."
"I don't mind standing on the witness stand or the defendant's bench. I just hope I can help them cut that rope and tell them to run away."
There was a faint hint of a smile in his voice.
Edgar looked at Anson with a face full of helplessness. He had a rebuttal on the tip of his tongue, but it turned into a smile in the end. "If that really happens, I won't stop you, but I need you to tell me immediately. Eve and I need to be prepared, to be on the high ground from the start."
"Okay." Anson agreed swiftly and decisively.
That immediate response left Edgar speechless. He tilted his head back and let out a long sigh, "Ah, why do I feel like I've boarded a pirate ship?"
Anson picked up his teacup and took a slow sip of tea, his expression and actions clearly saying: it's too late now.
Edgar couldn't help himself; he burst into laughter.
At this moment, Anson unhurriedly changed the topic, "So, why did you come here today? If it was a small matter, you would have just called."
Edgar rolled his eyes, "Mr. Wood, that's assuming you're willing to carry your phone with you."