Wise elder

Hugo rubbed his slightly throbbing temple and sat at the staircase from the second floor to the first floor. He had originally intended to go downstairs to throw away the trash, but he saw a group of paparazzi waiting at the entrance of his house through the window. This made Hugo hesitate, and in the end, he stopped at the staircase. He sat directly on the steps, gazing down at the paparazzi wandering outside the window, lost in thought.

Over the past week, Hugo had been harassed by reporters to the point of fear, and he had been having a recurring nightmare for the past few days. In the dream, he stood in an empty playground, surrounded by countless dark camera lenses rushing towards him, as if countless spiders were swarming up. Even without the flashlights, Hugo felt suffocated, and his intense fear of crowds made his whole body break out in goosebumps. Behind each of those lenses was a face, but he couldn't see any features. They were like the Dementors in the Harry Potter series, with nothing visible beneath their hollow hats. These black voids seemed to absorb all of Hugo's joy, draining him of all his emotions, and then he was surrounded by countless lenses, as if ants devouring an elephant, consuming him completely.

In the nightmare, Hugo struggled and fought, trying to get rid of those lenses and break free from the confines of the dream, but he always failed. It was only after he was completely engulfed by the lenses that he would wake up from the dream, drenched in sweat. This greatly affected Hugo's sleep quality, and he felt mentally exhausted.

Hugo had always known that becoming a celebrity meant being surrounded by the spotlight, where every move and action of a public figure would be scrutinized under a microscope. He thought he was mentally prepared for it, having enough resilience to deal with everything. Even when faced with Anthony's provocation, Hugo quickly calmed down and thought of a solution.

But Hugo had underestimated the power of the media. During this period, the speculations and tracking regarding the recent drama had nearly torn apart Hugo's life. The reporters were like leeches, once they touched Hugo's skin, they wouldn't leave without having their fill of blood, which made him suffer immensely. Hugo tried various methods—silence, anger, reasoning—but none of them had any effect. The reporters were relentless. Hugo's supposedly resilient nerves had been enduring a fiery test, and the invasion of the nightmares made him afraid to face the camera, afraid to face the reporters.

Just like now, seeing the reporters outside, he didn't even dare to go downstairs to throw away the trash. It was truly ridiculous.

Hugo wanted to curl his lips into a mocking smile, mocking his own incompetence and weakness, but he found that he didn't even have the strength to smile, not even a sarcastic one. He rubbed his temple, which was twitching uncontrollably, feeling as if there were a group of little people banging on drums in his head. The muscles in his back tensed up, forcing Hugo to lean against the wall. He closed his eyes, hoping to alleviate the terrible headache a little bit.

"Get up! Don't block the way," a grumpy voice came from behind. Hugo didn't need to open his eyes to know that it was Ernest Lehman, who lived on the second floor.

Hugo wanted to open his mouth and say something, but he suddenly didn't feel like speaking anymore. Lately, he had said too much in front of reporters, to the point where talking now felt burdensome. It was truly ridiculous. Hugo let out a soft snort, expressing his disdain for himself.

"Are you going to die? If you're going to die, do it outside. Don't dirty this hallway," Ernest poked Hugo's back with a hard object. Hugo guessed it was Ernest's cane, and the pain in his sore body made him feel like he was falling apart.

Ernest's words were truly harsh, and Hugo was feeling miserable. He couldn't help but snap in irritation, "Don't worry, I won't die before you."

Hugo turned his head angrily to look at Ernest, expressing his dissatisfaction. Although this movement caused his head to throb as if it were about to explode, Hugo strongly suspected that he might have caught a cold, which was just wonderful. But at this moment, Hugo didn't have time to worry about his head. His hazy vision saw Ernest in front of him.

Ernest was wearing a thick coat that seemed to engulf his frail body. The wrapped scarf covered most of his cheeks, but it couldn't hide the signs of aging on his forehead and around his eyes. The layers of wrinkles were so distinct, and Ernest's cloudy eyes now appeared blurry, as if that glimmer of light could disappear at any moment.

Hugo realized that compared to himself, Ernest was the one closer to the realm of death. Although he didn't know how old Ernst was exactly, he looked at least seventy years old. His previous words had been a bit excessive, which made Hugo stunned for a moment before sighing, "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that." Hugo turned his head back, twisting his sore bones. "I'm in a bad mood, but I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I apologize."

After finishing his words, Hugo took a deep breath, trying to adjust his restless mood, preparing to stand up. "Sorry, I'll get up now." Hugo knew that he was sitting on the stairs, blocking Ernest's way.

However, Ernest's cane tapped Hugo's shoulder, indicating for him to sit down. Ernest's grumpy voice said, "Don't worry, even though I'm very old, I'm healthy. I might even outlive you. Who knows, maybe one day you'll overdose and die."

The old man's words were merciless, making Hugo unable to help but laugh lightly. "Ernest, I know you don't like me, but there's no need to curse me."

Ernest snorted, "I'm not a wizard. Cursing you has no impact whatsoever. Why, are you worried that I'll personally end you with a knife? Too much hassle." Ernest's irritable voice caused a weary smile to form on Hugo's tired lips. The old man had quite a sharp tongue. "Seeing your dejected and spiritless appearance, could it be because of those cawing crows outside?"

Hearing Ernest describe the reporters in such a way, Hugo couldn't help but smile and nod, "Yes, their clamor gives me a headache."

"So useless," Ernest gave Hugo a disdainful look as if he were scorning a mastiff defeated by a cat. It made Hugo feel a vein popping on his forehead. Then he saw Ernest slowly sit down beside him. Hugo glanced at the ground, and opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by Ernest directly. "Being scared by reporters, you really are useless. They're no ancient dragons and fire giants, after all." Then Ernest sat down.

Looking at Hugo's astonished expression, Ernest seemed quite at ease, placing his cane on his knee. "I remember you're in the movie business, right?" Hugo nodded in a daze. He hadn't expected that Ernest would engage in a conversation with him. This was the most normal interaction he had with Ernest in the past year, which was truly unexpected. "The media is a part of your job. You need to use these crows for publicity, and at the same time, these crows need to use your influence to make a living. It's a mutually beneficial relationship. Why be afraid of them?"

Ernest glanced at Hugo with a clear sense of disdain. "Those crows are annoying with their incessant chattering and clucking. They have both good and bad things to say, positive and negative. If you listen to all of them, you'll just end up feeling irritated. Why bother making movies? Just sit there and listen to their nonsense all day."

"I..." Hugo attempted to defend himself. He didn't spend all his time reading journalists' comments, but Ernest didn't give him a chance. "Tsk, don't deny it. If you don't care about those crows, why are you sitting here like an idiot?" Ernest gestured with his cane towards the garbage bag beside Hugo, causing his cheeks to flush.

"It's just like no one is perfect. No one can win everyone's favor. If you want to be universally loved, then money is your choice, preferably in the form of checks." Ernest's coarse words scraped against the blackboard like sandpaper, harsh and unpleasant, yet the comedic effect was remarkable, making Hugo unable to hold back a chuckle. "Do you actually think you're perfect?"

Hugo quickly shook his head, denying it.

"Good, at least you have some self-awareness." Ernest smacked his lips and looked at Hugo's restrained expression. Then he continued, "So, those crows will surely have both good and bad opinions about you. When each film comes out, those self-proclaimed professionals, who are actually just self-serving, will have both praises and criticisms. How to filter out their opinions, how to interpret their remarks—that's what matters most."

Hugo listened attentively. Although Ernest's words were crude, they contained truths. "When someone says you're good, why are they saying so? Is it genuinely because you're good, or just flattery? And when it comes to criticism and condemnation, what's the reason behind it? Is it sincere feedback pointing out your mistakes for your own good, or just attention-seeking gibberish? You must distinguish the underlying meanings behind all this noise and ignore the useless stuff."

In fact, Hugo already knew these truths, but his understanding had been too vague before. It was only through this incident that he truly experienced them. Now, with Ernest's reminder, Hugo's mind gradually became clearer.

"Most importantly, don't let these crows' words affect your mood. If someone says you're good, don't get overly excited, and if someone says you're bad, don't feel dejected. That's beneath you. Remember, they are just crows, and you are yourself. Staying true to yourself is what matters most." Ernest said with disgust, once again revealing his disdain towards Hugo. "If you can't learn this in this industry, you might as well hide in your mother's embrace."

Hugo couldn't hold back a burst of laughter, and it escaped his lips. Finally, he could show his genuine smile. But in Ernest's eyes, it was incomprehensible. "What's so funny? Did a woman appear?" Ernest even cooperatively looked around, despite the simple action being incredibly humorous in this context.

"No, no, there isn't. It's just..." Hugo's gaze fell on the stairs. "You sat on a piece of chewing gum. You were aware of it, right?" He had wanted to remind Ernest earlier but was interrupted.

Ernest stared at Hugo with a stiff expression. After about two seconds of hesitation, he spoke, "Of course!" Then he lowered his head to look at his own pants and muttered under his breath, "I'm going to kill this guy..."