Global Film Emperor

Chapter 366 Reason
The two parted on bad terms after their argument. Lu Ze chose to go back to his bedroom to rest. He was so angry from the fight with Mickey that he had a throbbing pain in his temples. He fell asleep about ten minutes after returning to bed.

Mickey changed his clothes and went out. He originally wanted to go out and have some fun as planned, but in the current situation, Kesha would certainly not go with him. After waving his hand in refusal, he went back to his room with Lucas, leaving Mickey alone to go out and disappear to who knows where.

He knew that Lu Ze meant well, and he also knew that if the movie were to be released, it would definitely cause a huge stir, and the controversy among movie fans would overwhelm him. But if he were to actually film the beautiful things that people wanted to see, he wouldn't be Mickey.

He wants to touch the wound, no matter how difficult the situation, and he will never give up showing the public what he has seen because of fear of public opinion. He wants to make changes, even if it is just a tentative change, otherwise this place will remain stagnant and will never change.

He understands that he is just a director, and there is not much he can do, so he can only use his works to shout out, even if the world is deaf and only he can hear his cries. At least he has made an effort, and that is enough.

He wanted to express so much in this film, but he just wanted to make it, and no one could stop him.

……

"Another one, no mint, just freshly squeezed lime juice, no lime slices, extra ice."

"What's wrong today? You haven't been drinking alone since 'The Effect' was released. What happened? Why didn't Lu Ze come with you?"

As Mickey requested, Depp poured whiskey into the glass where water droplets had condensed on the rim, swirled it gently, squeezed in a few drops of lime juice, and placed it on the bar. Seeing Mickey's flushed face and somewhat distressed expression, Depp struck up a conversation once he had some free time.

"It's nothing, I'm fine, have another drink."

"Dad, don't give him any more alcohol. Look how drunk he is! Mickey, what number is this?"

A slender hand pressed down on the rim of the glass, speaking to Mickey with a hint of reproach. A finger stood in front of him, attracting the attention of the already drunk Mickey.

"Elena~ Long time no see, you've become even more beautiful, I really mean it. I heard you're filming a sitcom, how's it going? Is filming going smoothly? If you encounter any difficulties, feel free to come to me, I know almost all the British directors..."

Now that she has officially entered the entertainment industry, Elena can no longer go without makeup like she did when she was a bartender. Now, her long blonde hair is permed, her makeup is somewhat glamorous, her clothes are very trendy, and her skin has probably been well-maintained, with a radiant glow of collagen that a girl her age should have.

"Me? Not bad. Filming has wrapped up, so I'm unemployed now. I just need to wait to see myself on TV. But what about you... what happened?"

Mickey snatched the bottle from Depp and poured himself a drink. Seeing her father's helpless expression, Elena didn't dwell on it too much. Since he was unhappy, it wouldn't hurt to have a few more drinks. The most important thing now was to understand why he was so negative.

"Elena, if you had to choose between your wishes and your friends, what would you choose?"

"So you had a fight with Mr. Lu? First of all, I would consider whether this wish is very important to me. Judging from your expression... it must be very important. But I don't think you need to choose between a wish and a friend, right? If he is really a good friend, he should do his best to help you fulfill your wish."

"But the price of fulfilling my wish is a bit too high, perhaps a bit too high... He only stopped me from fulfilling my wish because he wanted me to be affected. It seems I shouldn't have asked you, a little girl, for advice, since you don't understand the situation. Anyway, it's late, I should go."

"I send you."

"No need, it's not safe for a girl to come home alone at night, especially a pretty one... I'll just take this half-bottle of wine with me, oh fuck..."

As the hands of his watch gradually pointed to twelve, Mickey took out some money from his pocket and placed it on the table. He then put half a glass of whiskey and ice into his mouth. Perhaps he had frozen his brain when he bit into the ice, because he clutched his head and groaned in pain. Ignoring Elena's outstretched hands to help him up, he staggered away from Lionheart Bar.

At midnight, there were few vehicles on the streets of Liverpool, as this street was not a bar district and no young men and women lingered there anymore.

As a coastal city, the climate is inevitably changeable. Before he knew it, snowflakes began to fall. The temperature at the end of February was so low that it was almost bone-chilling. He could only hold the bottle of wine close to his chest, wrap his body tightly in his coat, and warm the half-bottle of liquid that brought him happiness.

Under the dim streetlights, his stomach suddenly spasmed, causing discomfort throughout his body. His throat tightened, and his stomach contracted, squeezing out food. Finally, he leaned against the streetlight, bent over, and began to vomit, the alcohol and the pizza he had eaten that evening leaving his body.

I wiped the drool from the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand, blocked one nostril and exhaled forcefully, blowing out the frozen snot from the other nostril. My fingers inevitably got some snot on them, so I just wiped them on a lamppost.

"Uh~ Fu·ck... Fu·ck... Fu·ck!"

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. The dim light could still penetrate his thin eyelids to illuminate his eyes. He spun half a circle in place. When he vomited, his tear ducts were stimulated, and tears flowed from the corners of his eyes. He wiped them away with the end of his palm, but his expression was unusually painful and ferocious. Perhaps... these tears were not a reaction to vomiting.

Deep-seated soul-deep pain is a necessary condition for an extreme pessimist. He is dangerous, he knows it himself, and suffers from it every day. He has thought about getting rid of it, but the inspiration born from the torment brings him glory, so he hesitates and repeats it endlessly.

He had considered using certain drugs or other things to alleviate his worries, but countless negative examples warned him that these things would not give him any inspiration, but would only turn him into a fool who could not take care of himself. So he could only endure it, get drunk when he reached the critical point, sleep soundly, and continue the next morning.

He works in the arts and wants to express his thoughts, so he deserves this suffering. A person with a positive outlook, even if working in the arts, wouldn't experience this kind of torment; it's entirely his own doing. "Sir, are you alright? Do you need help?"

A man with sallow skin and sunken eyes came over to help Mickey. This man was not Asian; he was probably from the Middle East. And Middle Easterners appearing in Britain... needless to say.

"I don't need it, get out of here!"

"No, no, sir, I'm very willing to help you, such as taking you home, and all you need to do is pay me a certain fee. What do you think?"

A large hand grabbed the man's collar. Mickey's bloodshot eyes were filled with a volatile, unapproachable aura as he impatiently looked the man up and down. The man could only raise his hands to show his innocence.

"So you mean you can't leave without money? Since when has Britain been the territory of you refugees? I'm warning you, if I want to know, I can find out which refugee camp you live in, how many people are in your family, which thug is protecting you, whether you were harbored or smuggled, and even which damn ship you came on. Remember! Nobody will bother with the life of a refugee who doesn't even have an ID card. If you don't want your whole family to be fished out of the sea by a fishing boat tomorrow, or if they can't be fished out, they'll just be fish food, then get the hell away from me! Or before you mess with me, go ask around in Liverpool and find out who Mickey Taylor is, that son of a bitch, Boss Zha."

Mickey shoved the man away, wiped his hands on his coat as if disgusted, lit a cigarette, and turned to leave. But he hadn't gone two steps when the man grabbed his sleeve from behind. And from the alley he came out of, five or six men with hostile eyes appeared.

“You may have a lot of influence in Liverpool, but my family is dead. One shell blew my wife and my children into the air, but I still have to live. So... if you don’t want to lose your life for a little money, then hand over all your money. Your life is worth more than my worthless life.”

A sharp dagger gleamed white, its tip pressed against Mickey's coat. Six men emerged from the alley, surrounded him, and reached into his pockets.

“You can take the valuables, but he'd better not get hurt. I don’t want to make a big deal out of this, and I believe you do too.”

The streetlights behind them cast long shadows that stretched all the way to the feet of the refugees. A half-smoked cigarette was thrown on the ground, sparks flying. The smoke mixed with their breath condensed into visible gas in the low temperature and rose into the air. Lu Ze was followed by two burly men with cigarettes in their mouths, looking eager to try their luck, who were walking quickly toward them.

Seeing that the three men were burly, they really didn't want to fight Lu Ze and his group head-on. There was no need for it. They were just trying to rob some money to buy food and drink. If they actually stabbed someone, let alone kill them, even if they just injured someone who seemed to have some influence, they would be in deep trouble.

“We’re just here to get a meal, of course we won’t hurt this gentleman, but if you come any closer, we might not be able to. We’ll leave after we get the money.”

"Did I fucking say you could leave?!"

The wine bottle, already warm from being held in her arms, was smashed horizontally onto the head of the man holding the knife. The bottle didn't break, but the man fell to the ground with a thud. This wasn't a sugar-coated wine bottle used in a movie; such thick glass probably wouldn't break even if it splattered a person's brains out.

Mickey only decided to fight back after seeing Lu Ze and the other two arrive. The Russian brothers need no introduction, their size speaks for itself. Lu Ze even chased and fought more than a dozen refugees in France by himself, and could take on more than a dozen people at once without any problem. This time, four against seven is a piece of cake.
Indeed, that was the case. Lu Ze reacted very quickly, having already prepared for a conflict. The trash can next to him had a double-layered structure. With a yank of his hands, he pulled up the trash can with the lid on and threw it directly towards the refugees, hitting one of them on the head.

But the main characters in this conflict were clearly not Lu Ze, but the two burly Russian brothers. The two of them were so small that they could barely eat. They were like frail refugees, no different from fighting a chick. Even if the other side had weapons, their big leather boots, which resembled military boots, could still kick someone's intestines out with one kick.

Then, he grabbed the collar and ripped open the cheap cotton coat, scattering cotton everywhere. The cloth was then wrapped around the refugee's head. Accompanied by shouts of "Sukabrit," he launched a fierce punch at the bridge of the nose.

Mickey hit one, and Lu Ze and the other two took on two each. All four of them were unharmed, while the refugees could only groan in pain on the ground.

Lucas crouched down, wiped the blood off his hands, rummaged through the refugee's pockets to retrieve Mickey's stolen belongings, returned them to Mickey, then looked at the small cut on his fist from the zipper and kicked him in the head again.

"Are we just going to let them lie here? Or call the police and let them handle it."

European countries currently share a very consistent attitude towards refugees. Last time, Lu Ze beat up more than a dozen refugees in France, but he was not held accountable. This time, Mickey, a British citizen, has also become a victim. As long as they are not killed, the four of them will probably be released from the police station in less than an hour.

"Why call the police? Give them a hand and pull them into the alley. I told you, don't fucking mess with me. You've got guts. Come on, let's keep playing."

Kesha and Lucas were a bit tipsy, having drunk quite a bit that night. Without hesitation, they dragged the group into the dark alley. The seven of them lay huddled together, barely able to turn over, accompanied by soft moans of pain. It looked truly miserable.

"Is this really necessary? Let's just forget about it."

Since he was no longer able to move, continuing to beat him would not be self-defense but violence. Lu Ze frowned, grabbed Mickey's arm, and tried to dissuade him.

"Are you pitying them? Don't think that way, because they've definitely robbed others before. You don't need to pity these people at all, because they won't be grateful to you. You were born in China, so you don't understand. They'll do anything illegal. Nobody doesn't hate them. When the sun sets and the veil of humanity is removed, people won't treat them as rationally and gently as they did during the day. Just like what they did here when night fell, we'll also retaliate with disdain and inequality. As for why......"

"Find the answer in 'Rebirth'..."

"..."

(End of this chapter)