Actor in Hollywood

Miles Anderson was feeling a bit dejected.

Since childhood, he had studied classical music, specializing in the cello. He had achieved modest success in the classical music world, winning some competitions and even performing on the stage of Carnegie Hall. Though not the best of the best, he had a promising future with a visible path in the classical music field.

But Miles was always contemplating that classical music shouldn't be so highbrow and inaccessible, limited to a small group of people who appreciated it in isolation from the world. Young people should also discover the beauty of classical music, and classical instruments should be integrated into the current era, becoming something familiar and widely accepted by the general public.

Times are always advancing. They shouldn't abandon tradition, but they also shouldn't cling to it, refusing to move forward.

Whether classical or pop, it's all music, all melody. Neither is inherently more noble or more artistic than the other.

Miles found a group of like-minded friends who shared his musical dreams. They believed they could change the world and culture with their efforts, hoping to blend classical instruments like the cello, violin, and harp into pop music, leading a new musical direction.

Unfortunately.

It seems now that he was too hasty. After two whole years, they were still struggling financially. Their music remained unnoticed, and the high cost of living in New York was suffocating the band members.

He didn't blame the band members for breaking down because he lived at home. Though his parents didn't understand or support him, at least he didn't have to worry about rent or living expenses. But the other band members weren't so fortunate. In this harsh society, they needed more support.

Miles couldn't help but think that maybe it was all his fault. Maybe without him, the band could have found their opportunity and realized their dreams over the past two years. Maybe he should never have proposed such an idea in the first place. Maybe it was just his wishful thinking.

He felt both guilty and disheartened.

Miles' heart sank as he wanted to apologize but didn't know how to start. Any words he could think of seemed like a sly excuse.

"Sorry, could you play one more song?"

A voice came from directly in front of him. Miles suddenly looked up, his heart jumping to his throat, and then he saw a face with a smile.

Instinctively, Miles glanced at the other two band members, looking at them with hope but not daring to speak.

Lily Watkins, with a deep breath, gathered her long red hair back behind her and said, "Sorry, the performance is over."

Miles' eyes instantly dimmed.

But Lily didn't notice, nor was she in the mood to. She turned to face forward, forcing a smile, "The performance is over for today."

Standing in front of them was a young man, a bit unexpectedly. He didn't seem like the type to stop and watch a street performance. After all, in this concrete jungle, everyone appeared busy—so busy that they didn't have time to stop, let alone enjoy a street performance.

The man smiled, "Just one song. Just one. It won't take up too much of your time."

Beside him, Connor Jenks, who was preparing to dismantle the drum kit, paused. With a few freckles on his nose that made him look honest and kind, he spoke gently, "Lily, just one song."

"Did you forget our original intention? To play music for anyone who needed it. Now, there's someone who needs it."

Lily was taken aback, her shoulders slumped. She glanced at Miles, who remained silent but couldn't hide the expectation in his eyes, feeling both annoyed and helpless, "Even if I'm willing, we don't have a guitar or a lead singer. So, what should we perform? An instrumental piece?"

All eyes turned to the abandoned guitar lying nearby.

The atmosphere was a bit bitter.

Unexpectedly, a voice came from beside them, "If you don't mind, I could join you."

Rustling sounds ensued as all three looked toward the man standing in front of them.

The smile on the man's face was light and bright, "Wood. Anson Wood."

The three of them exchanged glances, momentarily forgetting to respond. Exhausted and anxious, their brains slowed down, and no one knew how to react.

Anson didn't rush forward, still standing in place, "I was just listening. You're trying to integrate the cello into the melody but haven't found the right way yet, correct? I have an idea. Would you be willing to give it a try?"

Connor's face lit up with surprise as he glanced at Miles. He could immediately sense Miles' eagerness, though it was restrained by guilt, preventing him from speaking up.

Miles simply couldn't bring himself to ask them to try again.

But Connor couldn't hold back. He called out, "Lily!"

Lily hesitated, not wanting to be the bad guy, but her mind was a mess, full of frustration. She couldn't hold it in any longer. "We've tried."

"More than once or twice."

Lily, too, was a bit disheartened.

"It's not that we don't work well together or that we lack talent. In fact, we've tried countless approaches and practiced countless times, but…"

"I think we're too ahead of our time. The public still can't accept it."

"Ha."

"Linkin Park has just shown the market that rap can be a part of rock, and here we are, already eager to integrate classical music into rock. Who are we kidding? This is too ahead of its time. No one in the current market is ready for it."

"Do you know how long Linkin Park struggled in obscurity?"

—Anson knew.

That was a fact.

Seven years. From the moment Chester Bennington joined the band to this year when Linkin Park finally started to get noticed—seven long years.

In fact, even now, Linkin Park hasn't truly "made it." They're still facing setbacks, constantly hitting walls. After being repeatedly rejected by record labels, they defiantly released their single "One Step Closer" online, which unexpectedly sparked a lot of discussion.

The Yahoo! music forums received thousands of comments in just a week, catching the attention of Warner Bros. Records, which eventually signed them.

Currently, Linkin Park is still preparing their debut studio album, which hasn't been released yet.

In other words, the general public still has a long way to go before fully embracing musical change.

But at the same time, Anson knew that change was already happening. From Linkin Park to Norah Jones, the world's music landscape was quietly shifting.

Maybe if they slightly adjusted their focus—not making the cello the centerpiece—people wouldn't immediately associate it with classical music and be bound by stereotypes. Instead, they might gradually appreciate the charm that a classical instrument like the cello can bring. Things could turn out differently.

Of course, Anson didn't have all the answers. He couldn't be sure if his ideas would work in the year 2000—

But at the very least, it was worth a try.

The Anson from his previous life, the one who was rebellious and wild before the age of 25, seemed to be waking up little by little.

Anson shrugged lightly. "If you've already tried ninety-nine times, then what's one more? It's only another thirty minutes, after all."

"Before you decide to give up, give yourselves one more chance with just thirty minutes. I believe a dream is worth that."

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

A ray of sunlight broke through the heavy clouds, piercing through the concrete jungle and illuminating a small, unremarkable corner of the city. Life seemed to have hope again.

Lily stared at the man in front of her, stunned. Almost instinctively, she nodded. "Okay."

(The fourth update.)