Hollywood Road

"Murphy Stanton, found guilty of illegal trespassing and negligent injury, fined $200,000 and sentenced to twelve months in prison..."

The side door of the Chino State Prison in California opened, and Murphy Stanton, along with his companion Ross, stepped out. Breathing in the free air for the first time, Murphy's thoughts drifted back to a year ago. He might be the unluckiest reborn person in the world. Having come to Los Angeles from the other side of the Pacific Ocean, he didn't see the legendary glamour but instead a huge tragedy—he had been arrested by the LAPD, faced multiple charges, and was eventually convicted, spending nearly a year in California State Prison.

"What are you thinking about?"

The person walking out of prison with Murphy was a typical Latino, strong and muscular. He raised a tattooed hand to pat Murphy on the shoulder, pointing to a car parked by the roadside. "Come on, our ride is here."

The prison was far from the city, making it hard to catch a ride. Murphy nodded and followed him to the car. Two men standing by the car immediately smiled flatteringly at Ross and opened the back doors for them.

Murphy got in the car with Ross from opposite sides. The car started and headed towards Los Angeles, fifty miles away.

The car moved quickly, especially once they got on the highway.

After a year in prison, Murphy's demeanor had become somewhat tough. In a men's prison, someone like him, who wasn't bad-looking, had to become strong enough to protect himself.

"What's your next move?"

Ross withdrew his gaze from the window and looked at Murphy. "Why not join me, Murphy? I promise, dollars and hot chicks..."

"Ross," Murphy interrupted, shaking his head. "Do you want me to sell drugs and guns with you? I don't want to go back to prison."

He spoke without reservation. Given their camaraderie built in prison, there was no need to hide anything. Murphy exhaled deeply and said with absolute certainty, "I'll earn my dollars, and I want the hottest movie stars. My future is in Hollywood!"

"Poor guy..." Ross patted his shoulder again. "Haven't you woken up yet? You don't even have a house anymore; it was seized to pay your fine. How will you make it in Los Angeles? Murphy, tens of thousands of people come to Hollywood every year chasing dreams. How many succeed?"

Even though he was just a soon-to-be graduate from a mediocre film school on the other side of the Pacific, Murphy had studied Hollywood, the center of the film world. He knew Ross wasn't exaggerating; the reality was much harsher.

Countless people come to Los Angeles, but how many achieve fame and fortune? One in a thousand? One in ten thousand?

Murphy knew how tough this path was. The question was, if he didn't take this path, what would he do? He was just a student from a low-tier film school, skilled only in filmmaking. Returning to Los Angeles in 1999 and spending a year in prison, his only choice was the film industry. Otherwise, would he really join Ross in selling drugs?

Ross's point was also very realistic.

Murphy looked out the window at the quickly receding scenery. Memories of what happened when he arrived in this world came flooding back.

Though he had accepted the fact that he came from across the Pacific and became this twenty-year-old Murphy Stanton, he had no way to express his frustration since coming here. Especially the change in identity and language; it was maddening at first. Merging with the original owner's memories was also unpleasant, like having another person's thoughts crammed into his brain, as if someone were stirring his brain with a hand.

The only consolation was that, over the past year, Murphy had mostly resolved his language and adaptation issues.

Shaking his head, which felt swollen, sore, and torn, Murphy sighed inwardly. His previous life was already quite miserable, but his current situation was clearly worse.

In the merged memories, Murphy Stanton had been a freelance journalist, which was a euphemism for an unemployed person with no fixed job. He survived by selling random footage to local TV stations. The words "poor and destitute" best described his financial situation. Aside from that, he had no skills. The only thing he had going for him was his familiarity with Los Angeles, having grown up there. Otherwise, he couldn't have done such work.

"Born in a Los Angeles slum, parents died in a car accident due to alcoholism..."

Seeing Ross deep in thought beside him, Murphy muttered to himself, recounting the original owner's history. "Dropped out of public high school at sixteen; worked as a lawn mower for a month, only to get hay fever; became a car mechanic, but was fired for damaging a customer's car; tried to sell drugs on the streets of Los Angeles but chickened out; stole manhole covers and airport fence nets, but luckily woke up in time and didn't get caught..."

"You've had a tough life."

Murphy repeated the phrase he had muttered to himself most often in the past year. Compared to his current situation, his previous life seemed much luckier. He had been a soon-to-be graduate from a mediocre film school, merely facing the prospect of unemployment after graduation. But now, how would he survive?

The previous Murphy was undoubtedly a greedy fool. Murphy admitted he was also greedy but would never have done something so foolish as to land in prison.

Back then, as a so-called freelance journalist, he took a job from a private detective agency to photograph media mogul Sumner Redstone's personal life. He trespassed into Redstone's private residence, got caught, and accidentally injured a British director visiting Redstone, causing a head injury. Originally, he could have gotten off with a fine, but Sumner Redstone, feeling humiliated, pressured the LAPD, leading to Murphy spending a year in prison.

A year in prison was no joke. The scars on Murphy's body were proof. If not for meeting Ross, a local big shot, his time there could have been even worse. More importantly, his first year in this world had been completely wasted.

The previous Murphy was undoubtedly a fool who got caught up in a fight far beyond his level and ended up as a pawn.

These were the consequences of the previous Murphy's greed and choices, but now Murphy had to bear the brunt.

Murphy admitted these experiences were self-inflicted. The British director he injured reportedly suffered lasting effects, but he found it hard to reconcile that he had to pay for his predecessor's mistakes.

Especially Sumner Redstone, who directly sent him to prison. Murphy remembered clearly that due to Redstone's pressure on the California judicial system, he not only ended up in prison but also had his house in Los Angeles seized to pay the fine.

Because of his harsh prison experience, Murphy held a grudge against Redstone. However, he knew clearly that Redstone was an untouchable giant, far beyond his current capability to deal with. A giant like that might glance at a sword-wielding dragon slayer, but he wouldn't even notice a bare-handed vagabond like Murphy.

A year ago, Murphy was still a somewhat naive student. A year in prison had taught him how harsh and cold the world truly was.

For a small person like him, even basic survival wasn't easy.

The car finally reached Los Angeles. Instead of stopping in the suburbs, it drove straight into the city center. Murphy, born and raised in Los Angeles, had an understanding of the Greater Los Angeles area. Like most places in the country, the city center represented not prosperity but poverty.

If Murphy were to evaluate it, he'd say this country is a paradise for the rich and hell for the poor.

"Murphy, really not considering my offer?"

Ross spoke again. Sometimes, bonds formed in prison were solid. "Hollywood isn't what you think. And for people like us, it's hard to find work."

Climbing any ladder was tough. Hollywood was Murphy's long-term goal, but his immediate goal was survival.

In simple terms, he needed to make money to live.

He was currently penniless and had no idea where his next meal would come from.

"No, Ross." Murphy didn't want to waste more time in prison. He shook his head again. "If I can't make it, I'll come to you."

Selling drugs and arms wasn't the right path for Murphy.

"Turn right up ahead..."

Remembering the route, Murphy instructed the driver, "I'll get off at the next intersection."

Though his house had been seized, his freelance office, which was a simple conversion of his aunt's apartment, could serve as his home.

The car stopped by the intersection. Murphy grabbed his bag and was about to get out when Ross stopped him. Ross pointed to the guy in the front passenger seat and ordered, "Give me your phone and wallet."

The guy hesitated but handed over a Nokia phone and a black wallet. Ross took them, tossed the phone to Murphy, and checked the wallet, handing Murphy over two hundred dollars.

In the past, Murphy would never have accepted it, but faced with reality, he had no choice. He hesitated briefly, then took the money and phone. He nodded to Ross and said to the front-seat guy, "Thanks, man. I'll pay you back soon."

Murphy got out of the car and looked back at Ross. Ross had moved to the window nearest Murphy and shouted, "If your Hollywood dream doesn't work out, don't forget you've got a friend in me."

He lowered his voice slightly. "If we team up, we could dominate the downtown drug and underground gun market..."

"Just wait!" Murphy stood tall by the roadside, his brown hair

 shining in the sunlight, radiating confidence. "Ross, you'll soon see Murphy Stanton's name all over America."

Ross didn't believe it. "That'll be the day you get a nude photo of Sumner Redstone."

The car slowly drove away from the intersection. Murphy shifted his gaze from the receding car to his surroundings. The buildings were old, dilapidated, and crowded—a typical slum.

This was where he would live and survive.

Despite his grand ambitions, Murphy knew that his immediate concern wasn't the distant Hollywood but how to survive now.