Matt refused to stand up.
It was embarrassing, truly too embarrassing, a mix of frustration, depression, absurdity, and sha. But more than anything, he was at a loss for words, his mind filled with questions that he couldn't answer.
Bang! Bang bang bang!
Matt pounded the ground hard a few tis.
Taking deep breaths, and then more deep breaths, the rapid breathing betrayed his confusion and embarrassnt, which made the onlookers struggle to hold back their laughter.
But just as a smile started to creep up on their faces, Matt suddenly jumped to his feet, spinning around and storming up to Anson. He looked fierce, as if he was about to devour soone, glaring at Anson with a nacing intensity. The tension in the air was palpable, but in the next mont, Matt broke into a smile.
"How exactly did you do that?"
When in doubt, ask.
Anson chuckled in disbelief.
But Matt was lost in his thoughts, with countless questions swirling in his mind. Before Anson could respond, Matt continued, "Wait, you've been here for more than just a short while, haven't you? Have you been training here for a year? No, maybe two years? Could you reach that level in two years? Or even longer?"
"Five years? Ten years?"
"No, no, no, not ten years. How old are you? Ten years would be ridiculous. So, two years? Three years?"
The first half of his questioning was aggressive, but the latter half turned into a mumbling monologue. The confusion in his eyes, on his face, and in his words was impossible to hide. He looked like a mathematician trying to solve the Goldbach conjecture, more serious and focused than a scientist.
Anson rembered reading an interview where Matt claid that most of the action scenes in *The Bourne Identity* were perford by him, and that he underwent more than six months of professional training for the role. Anson hadn't believed a word of it—
Publicity. It was all just a publicity stunt.
Anson himself had a background in journalism and had spent ti on film sets, so he knew that it was all just for promotion, much like when Natalie Portman claid she didn't use a body double for the dance scenes in *Black Swan*.
All lies.
In Hollywood, stunt doubles are an eternally overlooked group. When it cos to box office earnings and awards, all the credit can be given to the actors, as part of a grander narrative.
It's not that Anson believed Natalie didn't train for her role or that she wasn't dedicated or hardworking. He was sure she trained, but mastering a skill as specialized as ballet requires five to ten years of training. Even a prodigy couldn't showcase top-level skills after just half a year or a year of training. In such a short ti, actors can only manage to create the illusion of expertise.
But that's okay because it's just a movie. There's no sha in relying on professional doubles to help.
However, denying the value of stunt doubles isn't fair.
Hard work and training are one thing; respecting the expertise of stunt doubles is another. The two shouldn't conflict.
Anson himself wasn't exempt from this.
For his role in *Spider-Man*, he trained hard, pushing himself to be ready for the demanding scenes. But he wasn't going to turn down help from professionals. So high-risk scenes genuinely require specialized skills to ensure the best outco.
There's no need to deny that.
As for what the studio says in its promotional material, it's not worth taking too seriously.
But now?
Seeing Matt before him, looking like a mad scientist, full of curiosity, excitent, and determination—not only eager but also focused, with a spark of intellectual fervor in his eyes—Anson's thoughts wavered slightly. Perhaps Matt really did perform many of his stunts, just like Jackie Chan or Tom Cruise.
A smile crept up the corners of Anson's mouth.
Anson shook his head gently. "No, I'm not a professional. What I just did was just basic skills."
Matt was completely stunned. "Basic skills? You call those moves basic skills?"
Suddenly, Matt turned to look at Nick, clearly not believing Anson's words.
Nick, with his usual FBI face, nodded. "Those were indeed basic skills." Matt gasped, "But his performance was far from that of a beginner, Matt. There's no need to worry about it—he's just being modest."
Matt turned back to Anson, who was smiling innocently, and finally realized:
He had been deceived by Anson's appearance!
But then, thinking it over, he realized he had done the sa thing, trying to fool others with his own image. In the end, it was like a con artist eting a swindler, and he had to admit defeat.
"Alright, I deserved that."
"I thought you underestimated , and I could easily win; but in fact, I was the one underestimating you, and I made a fool of myself."
Matt rubbed his nose in frustration, pulling a grimace. Even though it was his body that had taken the fall, he acted as if Anson had just landed a heavy punch on his face.
Anson waved his hands repeatedly. "Please, underestimate as soon as possible. I really am just a beginner, only two months in, still a rookie."
Matt blinked. "Two months?"
Anson: "Two months."
Nick looked over at Zhang Sheng. "Two months?"
Zhang Sheng almost rolled his eyes but managed to control himself, smiling instead. "Two months."
Matt: …
Nick: …
The air was silent, utterly quiet.
Then, Matt finally snapped out of it. "I want to sign up. Now. Imdiately. What do I need to do? Anything, I'm ready."
Anson's calm voice drifted over, "First lesson of life: don't sign contracts so hastily, or by the ti you realize it, you'll be scrubbing toilets."
Nick's mouth twitched.
Zhang Sheng struggled hard to hold back his laughter, but he managed to keep his composure as he looked at Matt.
"We're a martial arts school, offering open classes and accepting many students, so it's not that exaggerated."
"If you want to enroll, it's not difficult. Just co every day and practice the horse stance, holding it for at least thirty minutes each ti, for a full week. If you can do that, you've passed."
"It's not hard, really, it's not hard at all."
After speaking, Zhang Sheng didn't linger. He turned around, hands behind his back, and strolled out of the room like an old official.
As soon as he turned the corner, his deanor completely changed. The composed figure switched to muttering in Chinese, dropping the profound mask he had worn.
"That showy stuff is all flash, no substance, falls apart with a gust of wind."
"Do they think this is so tourist attraction? Co in, change into so training clothes, snap a picture to show off to their friends, and then leave in a hurry. It's all because of that taekwondo studio down the street, letting in a bunch of posers. What were they thinking? Don't they have any other options for Halloween?"
"Ah, Wuxi, it's my turn now, you just…"
The sound of the door closing cut off the rest of his grumbling, and the echoes in the stairwell faded back into silence.
But.
For Matt and Nick, it made no difference—they couldn't understand a word anyway.
Only after the sound disappeared did Matt turn to Anson. "Is that really it? Is it really that simple? Just practice the horse stance every day?"
As he spoke, Matt started mimicking the stance—
His posture was far from correct, not even resembling a proper squat.
Anson glanced at Matt, his smile reaching his eyes, and nodded lightly in confirmation. "Indeed, one week, every day, thirty minutes, and that's it."
"Haha." Matt laughed heartily. "Simple, couldn't be simpler. Let's start right now. Nick, can you ti ?"
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