My teacher is Bruce Lee, who dominated Hollywood.

Chapter 61 An Encounter with a Witch

Memphis, outside the Central South Gymnasium.

The torrential rain had stopped, and the Mississippi River had returned to its usual tranquility.

A Mexican taco shop, its signboard glowing a warm yellow, attracts passersby.

Today, the city is bursting with energy, as countless people from all over the United States gather here, eager to catch a glimpse of Elvis Presley at the concert.

Inside the store, Sylvester Stallone ordered a taco and was sharing it with his large dog.

His eyes were fixed on a color television set hanging on the wall.

At this moment, Elvis Presley's concert was nearing its end. He was sweating profusely as he sang, and his rhinestone-studded jumpsuit shimmered under the lights.

As the song ended, accompanied by the gentle melody of "Can't Help Falling in Love," Elvis took off the sweat-soaked scarf from his neck and walked to the edge of the stage with a smile.

The female fans in the front row instantly went wild, their outstretched arms forming a forest of longing, and their screams nearly lifted the roof off the stadium.

He casually tossed the scarf, which drew a white arc in the air before landing in the crowd.

The concert has finally come to an end, and next up is a charity fundraiser: to raise funds for areas affected by floods.

"Damn, that's handsome."

Sylvester Stallone laughed as he stuffed a large piece of taco into his mouth, then broke off a meat patty and fed it to Brooks at his feet.

"Hey buddy, if we could have this kind of treatment, you wouldn't be stuck here eating tortillas with me."

Books whimpered, seemingly unperturbed by the cheap dinner, and nuzzled affectionately against its owner's leg.

Along their westward journey, the man and his dog saw countless sights they had never seen before, and also heard about the Los Angeles ring match on the radio.

On the day of the final, they happened to arrive in Memphis.

So Stallone decided to stay here for the night and find a place to watch the live broadcast of the fight—and there happened to be an Elvis concert in town today, so even though he couldn't afford tickets, it would be nice to experience the fans' enthusiastic atmosphere up close.

However, he never expected to see the Chinese man who had guided him to Los Angeles in the ring!

Watching Qin Han kick the Japanese man away with three kicks and stand in the center of the ring, receiving cheers from the entire audience, Stallone felt his blood boil.

It turns out he was Bruce Lee's apprentice; no wonder he could single-handedly take down Polly's entire gang.

This is how a man should be!

In Stallone's mind, the image of the boxer named "Rocky" became more and more vivid.

After the ring ended, there was an unexpected surprise: the nationwide sensation concert in the adjacent stadium appeared seamlessly on the television screen, connecting with the ring match!

That night was definitely worth it.

Just then, a wind chime rang out, and the shop door was pushed open.

A young couple, wrapped in cotton-padded coats, walked in.

The two looked very plain, even somewhat impoverished—their clothes were clearly secondhand.

The husband wore thick gold-rimmed glasses, his hair was messy like a bird's nest, and he looked a little reserved.

His wife seemed much more excited; her cheeks were flushed red from the cold wind, but she couldn't hide the light in her eyes.

"I told you the union benefits this time were worth it, right?" She rubbed her frozen hands as she sat down at the table next to Stallone. "With our meager salaries, even if we saved for three years, we still couldn't afford an Elvis ticket!"

"Yes, it was worth the trip all the way from Maine." The husband took off his fogged-up glasses and wiped them. "Tabitha, did you see Elvis throw the scarf? All the women in the room went crazy!"

He put his glasses back on, and said with a wry smile, "If only I knew how to please women, maybe I could write stories that would satisfy editors instead of constantly receiving rejection letters."

Tabitha ordered two of the cheapest set meals and held her husband's cold hand: "Stephen, don't say that. You're very talented, you just haven't met someone who appreciates you yet."

"Talent?" The man called Stephen sighed. "Forget it. Women's minds are just too hard to fathom."

"The high school girl named Carrie I wrote is not like a witch with magic powers at all, but more like a doll that can only cry."

"I don't even know how she should behave at the ball. Should I be angry? Or afraid? Maybe I should just stick to teaching instead of dreaming of becoming a writer!"

Just then, Busch wagged its tail, came over to the next table, rested its big head on Tabitha's lap, and made a few whimpering noises.

"Oh my God!"

Tabitha was amused by the adorably ugly dog ​​and reached out to scratch its chin: "Hey there, big guy!"

Stallone quickly tugged at the dog leash: "Sorry, Booker is a bit too friendly, especially with pretty ladies."

"It's okay, it's cute," Tabitha said with a smile.

Stallone pulled Brooks back to his side and glanced at the bespectacled man with a dejected look on his face.

The conversation he had just heard gave him a sense of familiarity—he and he were the same kind of people, struggling between dreams and reality.

After a moment of silence, he said, "Brother, although I don't know what you've been through, the owner of this dog once said something that I think applies to you as well."

Stephen turned to look at the muscular man in the windbreaker, somewhat puzzled: "What did you say?"

"He said, life isn't about how hard you punch, it's about how hard you can take a punch and still keep going." Stallone pointed to himself: "Look at me, a lousy guy from Hell's Kitchen."

"But he took a liking to the story I wrote and gave me some money to go to Hollywood to find him."

"So I think you should hang in there a little longer. Who knows what the future holds?"

After saying this, he stood up, bid farewell to the couple, took Brooks' hand, pushed open the store door, and strode into the cold night of Memphis.

"Rat-a-tat-tat—"

The roar of motorcycles rose and faded into the distance, eventually being drowned out by a long string of wailing police sirens.

Stephen stared at the figure disappearing into the darkness for a long time before lowering his head: "But... I've already thrown those manuscripts in the trash."

Tabitha suddenly laughed, her eyes filled with tenderness.

She carefully took out a few crumpled sheets of paper from her old canvas bag and laid them flat on the table.

"I picked them all up, and I've looked at them all."

Stephen's eyes widened as he looked at the familiar words, his eyes reddening slightly.

"Honey, I think that person was right. You really should try again." Tabitha smoothed out the wrinkles on the paper, as if she were soothing her husband's self-doubt.

"That's a great start to the story. You don't understand what girls that age are thinking?" She took Stephen's hand. "It's okay! It's just a girl's mind, isn't it? I'll teach you! I was a high school girl once too."

"Believe me, Stephen. If you bring Carrie to life, this will be a story that will shake the world!"

Looking into his wife's trusting eyes, Stephen King felt a long-suppressed flame reignite within him.

"Even if you take a heavy punch, can you still keep moving forward...? I understand!"