His muscles were lean and well-proportioned, with the outline of his pectoral muscles just beginning to show. Although his abdomen wasn't a clear eight-pack, it was firm and flat, with faint lines of muscle visible, full of the vitality and tension of youthful life.
He turned slightly, his buttocks shapely, and his legs long and strong.
He was estimated to be nearly 1.88 meters tall, with a well-proportioned frame, a natural clothes hanger.
Landon Williams' physique was indeed a gift from God, one might even say it was forcefully shoved down his throat.
"Sigh..." He let out a soft sigh, his mood complex.
If he had possessed such striking looks in his previous life, he wouldn't have struggled to land significant roles, only able to make a living as a Stuntman by relying on hard work and genuine Kung Fu Hustle.
"So, from now on, I am Landon Williams," he murmured in English to the stranger in the mirror.
His voice echoed in the small bathroom.
Landon turned on the faucet and splashed cold tap water on his face several times. The biting chill made him shiver, and the memories of the original Landon in his mind became clearer.
Especially the part about why he ran away from home and went to Hollywood alone, which made the current Landon speechless and once again scornful of the dissipated original self.
On his eighteenth birthday, he had a fierce argument with his rigid, wealthy father, Old Man Williams.
Landon didn't want to follow the path his father had planned for him: studying business at an Ivy League university, then joining the family business. He yearned for the starlight, freedom, and so-called "art" of Hollywood.
The two argued more and more fiercely.
Finally, Old Man Williams, furious, pointed to the door and roared, "Leave this house, and you'll never get even one cent again!"
And the hot-headed Landon, sticking out his neck, retorted with all his might, "I'd rather wash dishes in a Hollywood restaurant than take your stinking money! I'll prove it to you!"
So, he took the tens of thousands of dollars in pocket money he had secretly saved, drove a used ford explorer that he claimed to have bought with money from odd jobs, and, harboring a dream of stardom, headed west to Los Angeles, the "Dream Factory."
His beginning didn't follow the usual 'getting slapped in the face' plot. Landon, like a destined child, coincidentally caught the eye of Tracy, an agent from WMA, as soon as he arrived in Los Angeles.
Tracy valued Landon's unique blend of youthful innocence and rebelliousness, as well as his flawless face.
She signed him with almost no trouble.
In the past six months, thanks to Tracy's resources at WMA and Landon's good looks, the original Landon had actually lived quite comfortably.
His agent, Tracy, diligently found him many jobs: supporting roles in TV series with a few lines, modeling gigs, and even a few magazine inner page shoots with decent pay.
What was most enviable was that Tracy didn't arrange for him to entertain clients; she purely fed him resources.
What an enviable life!
Of course, his life wasn't as carefree as that of a rich young master before he turned eighteen, but the freedom of being completely free from family constraints made him feel that his future was bright.
At this moment, a thought flashed through Landon's mind: Should he go back and soften his stance with Old Man Williams? Wouldn't it be great to be a rich second generation who lies flat, retires early at thirty, and travels the world?
As soon as this thought arose, a strong surge of unwillingness and resistance welled up from the depths of his heart, almost making him feel suffocated.
"Alright! Alright!" he conceded to the air, "I'll go back and slap them in the face after I succeed! Is that good enough?"
The feeling of resistance indeed disappeared.
Landon shook his head helplessly. This speechless rich young master's dignity and rebellious mindset! He truly didn't know how good he had it.
Just as Landon was still feeling sentimental,
"Bang bang bang!" A knock on the door sounded, accompanied by a capable female voice: "Landon! Open up!"
By the sound of it, it was Tracy Miller, his agent.
He looked down at himself, wearing only a pair of shorts.
After a moment of hesitation, he grabbed the towel he had used earlier, loosely wrapped it around his waist, and walked over to open the door.
Tracy Miller, standing outside the door, was about twenty-five or twenty-six years old.
She wore a well-tailored women's suit skirt, outlining her curvaceous, explosive figure.
Tracy's makeup was exquisite, and her brown hair was tied into a neat bun at the back of her head, revealing a fair and slender neck.
Seeing Landon wearing only a towel, his upper body bare, with un-dried water droplets still clinging to his well-defined muscles, Tracy's gaze instantly became fervent.
Her throat unconsciously bobbed. Although the swallowing motion was subtle, it didn't escape Landon, whose observational skills were particularly sharp at that moment.
After Tracy's gaze greedily swept over Landon, it quickly returned to normal. She then squeezed past him and walked into the apartment, her high heels making a "clack-clack" sound on the old floor, as if she were returning to her own home.
She sat on the sofa, took a few documents from her briefcase, and patted the spot next to her: "Come here, it's business."
Landon walked over as instructed and sat down a little distance from her.
The sofa wasn't big, so the distance was almost negligible. He could clearly smell Tracy's perfume.
"These are a few gigs I've recently negotiated for you," Tracy said, handing him the documents in her hand, speaking quickly.
"There are two runway shows for fashion brands, scheduled for the week after next. There's also an inner page shoot for Marie Claire magazine, with good pay.
Additionally, there are two TV series audition opportunities: one for a terrorist role in 24 hours, with several episodes, and...
...the other is for an intern doctor role in er, with not many lines, but good screen time."
She paused, leaned forward, lowered her voice, and said with a serious yet slightly seductive tone: "Most importantly, it's an audition for a significant supporting role in a movie! Director Howard's A Beautiful Mind!"
A movie? A Beautiful Mind? Landon distinctly felt his heart quicken.
"I used all my current resources to get you this audition opportunity!" Tracy shoved a script into his hand.
"The role is Charles Herman, Nash's prodigal roommate, a figment of his imagination."
Saying this, she pulled out the noticeably thicker script from the bottom and handed it to Landon:
"This is the character script and a partial plot synopsis. Take a good look at it.
This role is very challenging; it portrays Nash's roommate during his Princeton University days. His personality is quite free-spirited, forming a stark contrast to Nash's reclusiveness.
There aren't many scenes, but they are very brilliant. I think if you perform it well, you'll definitely be remembered!"
Landon took the script, his fingers even trembling slightly from inner excitement.