During the half hour of sitting quietly, Qian Cangyi's eyes were on the screen, but his attention wasn't really there; he was pondering the meaning of Hell's Movie.
He had some guesses in his heart, but none could be verified; moreover, he suspected that he might never understand the significance of Hell's Movie, because the gap in levels was too great between them, and perhaps even the basic conditions for "understanding" were absent.
As the time reached the point he had set in his heart, he sighed lightly, closed the computer, stuffed the phone into his pocket, then turned to the coat rack, donned a cool white coat, and opened the door to walk out. Although it was not yet the appointed time, he still wanted to go out for a walk to slightly alleviate the depression in his heart.
Sometimes, he doubted that he was merely an actor.
