Standing at the entrance of Wentworth Avenue, Hugo and Joseph noticed the striking differences from the Western world they knew. Instead of streetlights, red lanterns hung above. Instead of skyscrapers, low brick-and-tile houses lined the street. Instead of cafés and Western restaurants, there were Chinese eateries and tea houses. And instead of English letters, Chinese characters adorned every sign. It felt like a hidden paradise within the Western world, a completely different world just a street away.
Hugo and Joseph paused at the street entrance, and soon people began slowly gathering around. Everyone stood at a distance, whispering and pointing, and Hugo felt a strange sensation: it was as if he had stepped back into an older, stricter society. Like a widow caught violating her chastity paraded through the streets, or a defeated general returning in disgrace, or a criminal covered in blood crying out for justice—people didn't dare approach directly, yet gossiped and judged from afar, their expressions full of disdain. Nothing about this felt normal.
The feeling was both bizarre and absurd. First, this wasn't the ancient past, and Hugo wasn't a criminal. Second, roughly half the crowd were Asian, with plenty of Caucasian faces as well. So why did he feel so ridiculous, as if he were the center of attention? Perhaps it was the glow of the red lanterns, creating a surreal, time-warped sensation.
The growing commotion from all directions made Hugo and Joseph uneasy. They furrowed their brows and scanned the crowd, trying to figure out what was happening.
In truth, Wentworth Avenue was bustling that evening. Within sight alone were at least two or three hundred people, and beyond that, the street stretched out of view, filled with even more densely packed crowds. Yet at some point, the noise seemed to isolate itself around Hugo and Joseph, forming a sort of invisible arc—a separate world. Hugo was reminded of the 2013 TV series Under the Dome, where he and Joseph felt enclosed in a force field, while everyone else remained outside, whispering and pointing but unwilling to approach.
"Have I… lost it? Did my clothes disappear? Or am I covered in blood and don't even know it?" Hugo whispered to Joseph, turning his head slightly. He didn't want to seem self-important, imagining himself the center of attention—it was absurd. But that's exactly how it felt. People outside the "force field" were staring at him, countless gazes piercing him like arrows. Or… perhaps they were just clearing space for a street performance, and he hadn't realized it yet?
Joseph struggled to hold back laughter at Hugo's ridiculous ideas, but eventually, he burst out giggling. Then Hugo's next line silenced him.
"Or… have we transformed?"
"Transformed…" Joseph felt his mouth twitch. Hugo's imagination was truly boundless.
"You know, I turn into a vampire… and you're… some kind of bear-man," Hugo said with a playful grin, studying Joseph from head to toe.
Three black lines appeared on Joseph's forehead. "Why a bear-man? Not a werewolf?" he muttered, immediately regretting asking.
"Because you look like a bear. When have you ever seen such a fat wolf?" Hugo replied. Joseph could only silently admit he'd spoken too much. Now, all he wanted was to punch Hugo.
A month ago, Hugo and Joseph would never have joked like this. But now, they had grown close, truly good friends. Joseph regretted sharing personal family matters with Hugo, and even giving advice about his father-son relationship. Damn it!
Before they could process their thoughts, the crowd's behavior shifted again. Initially, people had kept their distance, forming a sort of empty "force field" around Hugo and Joseph. But now, some began moving forward, creating what looked like a tightening circle. One person stepped toward them, and the people on either side followed, triggering a chain reaction. The entire crowd slowly started to close in.
One spectator approached Hugo directly, and soon others followed in small clusters. Hugo barely had time to ask, "Are they going to fight?" before Joseph rolled his eyes. Suddenly, someone shouted:
"Hugo! Is that Hugo Lancaster?"
Hugo didn't know whether to answer. The crowd didn't give him a chance. "Yes! It's Hugo! Hugo!" The screams continued: "The superstar! The superstar is here!"
The crowd surged forward. Hugo guessed there were only about thirty people, but it felt like an army. The chant of "superstar" seemed to transform the spectators into a magnet, drawing more and more people toward them: fifty, a hundred, two hundred. Soon, Hugo felt as if he were a blob of honey swarmed by countless bees. Anyone with claustrophobia looking down from above would have fainted.
"What on earth is happening?!" Hugo thought, barely keeping up with his own mind. Moments ago, he and Joseph were walking leisurely down Wentworth Avenue, deciding on dinner. Now, they were the filling in a human sandwich—practically being crushed.
"Fans," Joseph said, the only explanation he could offer while trying to fend for himself.
"What?!" Hugo's first thought flashed back to the weekend premiere of A Few Good Men three weeks ago, when fans had surrounded him in the theater. Their enthusiasm had been impressive, but why was today so extreme? Had the world gone mad?
Yes. This world had indeed gone mad.
The people surrounding Hugo seemed like thousands upon thousands. He could feel countless hands reaching for him, and these hands were far from gentle. Some grabbed at his chest, others at his crotch—not a light touch, but hard, almost as if they bore some deep-seated hatred for him. Hugo was certain that the scratches on his chest and back weren't imaginary. The burning pain made him grit his teeth.
Joseph reacted instinctively, stepping in front of Hugo. This was technically the role of an assistant or manager, but since Hugo only had Joseph, the responsibility fell entirely on him: to protect his client. Joseph was physically stronger than Hugo, but their height difference was minimal—Hugo was a tall man himself. Joseph could only shield so much.
At that moment, Joseph was even worse off than Hugo. Most of the forward aggression was aimed at him. Someone even threw a heavy punch to his stomach, nearly making him vomit. Joseph began to suspect these weren't fans at all, but outright enemies. Several hands swung directly toward his head. Joseph stood six foot two—tall, but not extraordinary. Yet people still tried to reach his head. It was insane.
The surrounding crowd continued screaming, "Hugo! Ah! Hugo!" but over time, the chants evolved into, "Star! Ah! Star!"
Hugo could barely make out the words. His eardrums buzzed from the cacophony, and the pressure from all sides pinned him in place, immobile. Countless tiny screams and shouts drilled into his brain, making him feel as if he were about to explode.
The situation had completely spiraled out of control. The shouting, combined with the pressing crowd, became a constant chorus of piercing screams. Hugo suspected someone must have lost their balance and fallen, but he had no chance to process that. Every face in his view was twisted, shouting, "Autograph! Autograph!" It was like standing in the midst of Edvard Munch's The Scream, the faces stretching and twisting into a nightmarish panorama, erupting like volcanoes in front of him.
Individual strength was meaningless in the face of the collective. Hugo and Joseph had no hope of holding back the crowd. Joseph quickly turned and shouted in Hugo's ear, "Move!" He then shielded Hugo with his shoulder, and together they tried to find a gap in the mass of people. But the crowd was dense, impenetrable.
Seeing Hugo attempt to move, the crowd screamed even louder: "Autograph! Autograph!" as if the only way he could leave was to satisfy their demands. Hugo didn't have the energy for signatures—he could only pray that they escaped safely.
Using their combined strength, Hugo and Joseph fought their way through the human torrent. Initially, the crowd followed their movement, but as their speed increased, many lost track of their position, stumbling around like headless flies.
Hugo tugged at Joseph's arm, ducking slightly to hide his height within the dense crowd. He adopted a rugby-player's stance, pushing through with his shoulder to carve a path, forcing a way forward. Under the gaze of countless onlookers, they finally managed to escape.
When the crowd is small, all eyes can focus on Hugo. But in a massive crowd, if he deliberately keeps a low profile, the attention soon disperses, and he can disappear from view. Hugo and Joseph successfully slipped away, leaving the surging mass behind still searching for him. The shouts rang out clearly once more: "Hugo! Autograph! I love you!"—overlapping with screams, rising and falling like a chaotic tide.
....
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