In the past, journalism believed that the backlash of public opinion would only affect public figures. But with the comprehensive development of the internet, the definition of public opinion has become increasingly broad, and the definition of public figures has become increasingly vague. The damage from backlash has also spread, and even ordinary individuals can become targets of attacks.
In other words, harm will not stop. The range of perpetrators and victims is expanding, no longer limited to paparazzi and celebrities.
Escape?
There is nowhere left for them to run.
In this regard, Anson is pessimistic because he has experienced the violence of social media—overwhelming and pervasive. However, at the same time, Anson is also optimistic because he has been through countless trials and has experienced rebirth from the ashes. He knows he is stronger than they are.
Winona looked at Anson, her pupils slightly trembling, unsure if she understood what Anson meant. "So, are you saying we should just surrender?"
Anson shook his head and didn't rush to speak. Instead, the corners of his mouth slightly lifted. That faint smile naturally conveyed a sense of confidence and composure, along with a hint of mischievous cunning. "No, I mean we face them head-on."
Winona was taken aback.
Anson continued, "What do the paparazzi want to see? They block you, chase you, and invade your life with their cameras as weapons. Essentially, they want to catch you in a moment of lost composure."
"Your embarrassment, your fear, your vulnerability, your breakdown—the crazier, the better. The more sensational, the better. That's their real goal."
"In the whirlpool of negative events, your exhaustion and despair become their weapons against you. Your sadness and pain become entertainment for the masses."
"But what if you don't play along?"
"You remain calm and composed. You're poised and gracious. You continue living your life as usual. You don't get stuck in negative emotions or stay stagnant. When others are trying to laugh at you, you've already moved on."
"In that case, you won't attract any interest. At most, people might mock you for being cold-blooded or robotic. But the point is, no one is interested in a robot's daily life because it's just a bunch of 1s and 0s."
Pfft.
Winona didn't even realize it herself, but despite the dire circumstances, she actually managed to laugh. Looking at Anson, a smile naturally crept onto her lips, and the gloom over her head seemed to quietly dissipate.
The smile remained on her lips, but Winona couldn't help feeling nervous. She glanced back at the tent entrance, and the lingering fear surged again, causing her brows to furrow with a sense of loss. "It's easy to say, but how could it be that simple?"
Anson understood that everything is like this. It seems easy to talk about in theory, just a matter of moving your lips. But once you experience it firsthand, you realize those pains, those struggles, those hesitations, aren't so simple.
Anson thought for a moment. "Why don't you come out with me?"
Winona's first reaction was to shake her head. "No, I can't drag you down with me." She shook her head again. "You've already helped me a lot today. I can't pull you into this mess."
Anson looked completely calm. "How do you know I'm not using you?"
Winona's expression visibly stiffened.
The scars from being hurt have never truly faded.
But Anson didn't avoid her gaze. He looked back at Winona openly.
Actually, in Anson's view, this was just a small effort. He needed to leave here before the fashion wolves and tigers pounced and began tearing things apart. Compared to Edgar, Winona was clearly a better shield. Helping Winona was also helping himself—
This is called mutual assistance.
Winona stared into Anson's eyes, wavering for a moment.
Anson had indeed helped her a lot today, but her instinctive reaction to the hurt made her begin to doubt the entire process. Even though her rational mind told her it wasn't necessary, the pain deep in her soul still tugged at her gently.
Then, Anson made a welcoming gesture.
Caught between hesitation and indecision, Winona finally took hold of Anson's left arm. Anxious and uneasy, she took steps toward the exit once more.
Closer.
Closer still.
"Relax. Smile. Just like you're preparing to dive, hold your breath in advance and meet the challenge with perfect poise."
Anson's voice sounded in her ear. It was only then that Winona realized she had tensed up again. She then heard a playful tease.
"Just think of me as an oxygen tank. It's not deep diving, but you still brought an oxygen tank. A bit of over-preparation, wouldn't you say?"
Winona couldn't hold it in and let out a chuckle, her smile fully blooming.
Rustle.
The tent flap opened. Though Paris' sunlight wasn't particularly bright, the flash of cameras flooded in immediately, instantly engulfing Anson and Winona.
Click.
The smile was frozen in that moment.
It all seemed meticulously planned, like a performance. However, Winona's smile was so natural that it seemed to light up the whole world. When they looked at Anson's easy-going demeanor, the scene before them seemed so genuine and seamless that even the paparazzi were stunned.
This… doesn't feel right, does it?
Anson didn't rush to leave. Instead, he paused at the entrance of the tent and looked around. Although the number of media personnel wasn't as overwhelming as it had been at the beginning, the long lenses and cameras still seemed quite menacing.
Then, he noticed some figures dressed casually, ready to move at any moment, mixed in with the crowd—paparazzi, clearly.
Anson looked over and leaned slightly toward Winona. "Is it them? Familiar faces?"
Winona instinctively averted her gaze. "Don't look at them."
Anson understood that if they deliberately provoked the paparazzi, it would probably end in mutual destruction. But there was no need to avoid them either. With composure, he observed them openly. "Winona, what do you think? How long has that paparazzo been in the business? Was he a journalist before becoming a paparazzo, or a photographer?"
Winona: ???
Most people are like this—when facing a vague, massive, imposing concept, they tend to feel fear because individual power is always too insignificant. But if faced with a specific image of an independent individual, that fear can be effectively controlled.
The paparazzi are like this.
Imagining yourself facing a group of paparazzi, an unknown number of them as a group, they represent a ruthless approach filled with endless possibilities.
But imagine facing a thirty-year-old man worried about balding, who likes pizza and fries with an extra-large amount of ketchup, who often spills ketchup on his pants while clumsily staking out in his car—a specific image like this is not so scary.
After all, paparazzi are people too.
Anson lifted his chin slightly. "I think he just has a simple crush on a certain actress, maybe even an obsession, and then he imagined himself getting close to her. That's why he became a photographer and later turned paparazzo as a career."
"Who do you think his favorite actress is?"
Following Anson's gaze, Winona looked over. The dark, menacing figures slowly became clearer, and her thoughts were drawn in. "Um, Audrey Hepburn?"
Wait a minute, why does this seem a little off?