In the United States, counties are a higher administrative division than cities, and there are more than a dozen Montgomery Counties across the country. The one Ryan was heading to is located in the southeastern part of Pennsylvania. Its name has nothing to do with the famous general from the Battle of El Alamein. It was named in honor of Charles Montgomery, who died in the Revolutionary War.
Mr. Scott's farm wasn't very big, around eleven acres. Perhaps due to the birth of his child, he gave it a playful and childlike name—Christmas Tree Farm!
"Hello, Mr. Scott. Is this Mrs. Andrea?"
As soon as he got out of the car, Ryan saw the manager waiting in front of a beautiful white wooden house. Standing next to him was a blonde woman.
"Ryan, welcome to the farm."
After introducing Pat Kingsley, Mr. Scott gently gave the boy a hug. He felt a bit emotional—this boy, who had been unknown just a year ago, had now become a bona fide superstar.
This kind of all-wood house had a unique charm in Ryan's eyes, especially with its strong rustic style. It was like country music—it made one intoxicated without realizing it.
"Wow, so cute!" Upon entering the living room, the first thing Ryan saw was a baby in a stroller blowing bubbles. "Can I go over and take a look?"
"Of course."
Ryan walked over to the stroller and blinked. The little one across from him actually mimicked him and blinked back.
"Hi, sweetheart, what's your name?" Ryan waved. The little one had a pair of sapphire-like eyes.
"Ah…ya~" Unfortunately, the little one clearly couldn't speak yet.
Ryan could only scratch his head and look to the other side. "Mrs. Andrea, is this a little gentleman or a little lady? Has she been named yet?"
"She's a girl."
"Oh." Ryan nodded, then pulled out a gift he had prepared in advance—a small string of red agate bracelet bought in Canada—and tucked it into the little girl's hand. "Sweetheart, this is a gift from Uncle Ryan."
The item wasn't expensive, so Scott didn't stop him. Everyone chuckled at Ryan's words.
The little girl didn't seem to appreciate it. As soon as the bracelet touched her hand, she tossed it to the ground.
"Hey, Taylor, that's not how a lady behaves." Mrs. Andrea laughed and picked the bracelet up, tucking it into the corner of the stroller.
"Taylor? So our little lady is named Taylor." Ryan had been wondering why the name sounded like a surname. The next moment, he turned to the manager talking to Kingsley and blinked. "Mr. Scott, if I remember correctly, your surname is Swift, right?"
"Ryan, that really hurts me." Scott pretended to be heartbroken. "You don't even remember your investment agent's name, my little superstar?"
"Of course I remember." Ryan laughed awkwardly. Could it really be such a coincidence? After thinking for a moment, he was pretty sure—ninety-nine point nine percent sure—why the name Scott felt so familiar.
"What's her full name?" Ryan asked, pretending to be curious.
"Taylor Alison Swift," answered Mrs. Andrea.
That confirmed it! Ryan sighed. He felt like the hand of fate was casting a shadow over his sky. Born in 1989 in Montgomery County, Pennsylvania, with a stockbroker father and sapphire-blue eyes—he was now almost certain that this little girl, not yet one year old, was the future country music queen from his past life.
Well, it wasn't that surprising. Just like with Nicole and Natalie, the celebrities he liked in his previous life always seemed to be sent into his new life by the hand of fate.
Little one, when you grow up, please don't date so much. Otherwise, you'll become the laughingstock of the world again. Ryan grabbed the tiny hand in front of him and gently shook it.
Who knew—this move irritated the little one. Taylor's lips quivered, and two tear pearls rolled down her cheeks. Then, an earth-shattering wail erupted, leaving Ryan at a loss.
"She's probably hungry." Mrs. Andrea smiled and carried the little girl into another room.
What followed, naturally, was a discussion about investments. Ryan didn't have many expenses at the moment, and with the fall of the Red Empire looming, the U.S. dollar would soon enter another round of devaluation. So it was better to invest. Although he only remembered the names of a few stocks, under Scott's operation, he had absorbed quite a few from the market. But his funds were limited—everything had to be taken slowly.
Besides, that wasn't his main goal. Investment was more about preserving value. Of course, if he could earn more money, who would complain?
Although he would love to be like the legends—wielding power over the markets, buying up shares in companies sure to boom in the future—from his current integration into Western society, he understood clearly that if he really tried to mingle with those kinds of people now, he'd be devoured without a trace.
Even in the future, if he wanted to do something, it had to start with the industry he was in. That was the only way to avoid becoming a rootless wanderer.
"Scott, have you ever thought of moving to Los Angeles?" After finishing the serious business, the group started chatting, and Ryan threw out a suggestion.
"Not at the moment. Even if we do move, it'll have to wait until Taylor's a bit older." Scott glanced at his wife and daughter inside the room, smiling happily.
"If you do consider moving, please think of L.A. first, okay? I think we could collaborate even more."
The beautiful rural scenery was incredibly charming. Rather than calling it a farm, Christmas Tree Farm felt more like a country amusement park. It had the same vibe as agritourism from his past life. The Scott family wasn't counting on farm income—they had moved here mainly to give their daughter a happy childhood.
Free from the hustle and bustle of the city, Ryan relaxed a lot too. Occasionally, he would sneak some carrots or mess with the vegetables on the farm—it was quite fun. Especially the countryside atmosphere gave him plenty of inspiration. Once, in just over half an hour, he composed an entire song. The Swift family was dumbfounded, and they began to understand this boy a little more.
"Hey, Taylor, see this? It's the most beautiful hydrangea. Call me Uncle, and I'll give it to you." Ryan held up a purple hydrangea in front of the cradle, shaking it back and forth. But the little girl, who could already say "Mommy" and "Daddy," wasn't having it. She stared at him with those blue eyes and refused to speak no matter what he said.
"All right, sweetheart, you win again." Ryan fixed the flower to the side of the cradle and picked up his guitar. "Want to hear a song?"
"Ya…ya…"
The little girl waved her hand. What she was trying to express—sorry, Ryan couldn't figure it out.
He gently strummed the guitar strings. The sound was soft and soothing. After a short prelude came the boy's increasingly mature singing voice:
"Kiss my baby, I will cross the mountains,
To find the missing sun,
To find the missing moon,
Kiss my baby…"
The gentle singing was full of warmth. The melody was more soothing than the version from his past life—clearly, it had been rearranged. As Ryan sang, the little girl in the cradle smiled, her watery eyes curving into crescents.
"Waaa~"
Suddenly, an ear-piercing cry erupted—louder than ever before. Mr. and Mrs. Swift rushed out of the house into the yard. Seeing Ryan helplessly holding the guitar, they looked at him with amused expressions.
After two days, they had come to realize something: their daughter seemed to be naturally at odds with Ryan. If she spent too much time with him, she would definitely start crying. But once she was taken away, she immediately brightened up.
"Am I really that bad? Was my singing awful?" Ryan muttered as he watched the little girl beam once she was taken away.
"No, no, Ryan, your singing is lovely." Scott gave him a thumbs up and asked curiously, "What song was that? I've never heard it before. It's not in English, right?"
"It's a Chinese song," Ryan leaned the guitar against the wall. "I think I'll go riding with Pat. Goodbye, little Taylor."
After spending three days at the Christmas Tree Farm, Ryan returned to Los Angeles. The filming of Home Alone was nearing completion, with only a few remaining scenes to be shot in the studio. In his free time, he began reviewing the script of Terminator 2, pondering his role.
Although he had vivid memories of that movie from his previous life, since the script wasn't written by him, Ryan didn't dare take it lightly. This was Hollywood, after all. Messing up even once could make it extremely hard to bounce back later—especially since he would be dealing with a full-blown tyrant of a director. That guy wasn't like David Fincher or Chris Columbus—he had no patience, and he definitely wouldn't go easy on him just because he was a kid.
"This is your new gig? A sequel to The Terminator?" Chris Columbus happened to spot the script Ryan was reading during a break.
"Yep." The movie's upcoming production had been widely rumored, so Ryan didn't mind admitting it. "It's likely starting next month."
"I really don't know what to say."
Director Columbus sighed. During the month of shooting, Ryan's performance had far exceeded his expectations. The filming schedule moved so quickly in large part thanks to Ryan consistently staying in top form.
Ryan smiled but said nothing. To be honest, this kind of slapstick comedy left him with little room to show his skills. But he couldn't deny—it was a very enjoyable experience. Shooting the movie felt more like a grand party than the heavy atmosphere of The Sixth Sense.
Despite his age, Chris Columbus still retained a childlike heart. No wonder he remained one of the best family film directors in Hollywood during Ryan's past life.