The crowd formed layer upon layer of concentric circles, leaving a small open space in the center, just about five meters in radius. The surging crowd rippled outward like waves, with the scattered open space resembling a white dot that stood out against the fan-shaped mass of shadows surrounding it.
It was a spectacular sight.
In the very center, four figures were methodically setting up their equipment, each person focused intently on their tasks, seemingly undistracted by the swelling crowd. Their attention was entirely on testing their instruments—
Just like yesterday in the subway station, but now they had speakers and microphones.
Clearly, the performance at the café entrance yesterday was a coincidence. The band members themselves hadn't anticipated attracting such attention, so they hadn't brought out speakers or other equipment.
However, it was precisely because of this that it proved the inherent charm of their music and the band's ability to improvise and control the scene. These unexpected events made things more interesting and exciting.
Pauline: Wow.
Pauline tried to find the right words to describe the scene before her and express how she felt, but after racking her brain—
She failed.
Wow!
Pauline gasped again. She was like an emotionless screaming machine.
How could this scene even be described?
When they came to Luxembourg Gardens, they had expected a street performance, maybe a small crowd of a dozen or so people at most. They imagined the two of them standing there foolishly, watching the whole performance, and perhaps even chatting with the band members afterward.
But when they arrived, they discovered that the scale of this crowd was no less than that of a concert.
Pauline looked around—
Three hundred people? Five hundred?
More.
In any case, the number of people within Pauline's line of sight exceeded five hundred.
With such a turnout, hosting a small concert wouldn't be an issue. And more importantly, people were still arriving.
Pauline's mind went blank, and she had just one thought at that moment.
"Camilla, are you sure?"
Camilla was just as stunned. What was going on?
She looked left and right.
Then Camilla saw a familiar face in the crowd, looking puzzled because she was absolutely sure she didn't know that person.
A beat later, after noticing more familiar faces, Camilla finally realized:
They were all people who had watched the performance outside the café yesterday afternoon. And now, like her, they all had friends with them.
It seemed that they were all on the same wavelength—
Camilla wasn't the only one.
The emotional journey Camilla went through last night played out in different apartments. They had all searched tirelessly online, trying to find information about the band. When they finally found the website, they were ecstatic, like Indiana Jones finding a treasure.
Even though they wanted to keep this treasure to themselves, deep down, a voice protested:
For a band this good, for music this compelling, it would be a shame if only they knew about it.
They wanted to find kindred spirits; they wanted to find others who shared their passion. They wanted to find more resonance in the music, to spark the faint glimmer of hope.
Because believing in dreams, in hope, and in the idea that life can have more possibilities is a lonely and arduous road; they needed to know they weren't alone in their struggle against endless pain and darkness.
And so—
This scene unfolded before their eyes.
One. Two. Three, four, five.
Dark circles under their eyes, yet no trace of fatigue on their faces—only excitement and joy, the thrill and happiness of gathering once more.
Looking up, they saw those faces—slightly unfamiliar yet vaguely familiar—nodding in mutual understanding and exchanging a glance that only they could comprehend.
And just like that, their spirits soared.
This was Paris.
On the surface, it appeared cold, aloof, arrogant, and proud. But at its core, it was brimming with hopeless romance and innocence, not just about love but also about art and life.
Then—
Camilla turned to Pauline. "Yes, I'm sure. Do you see that? That's Anson."
Pauline let out a long breath. "I recognize him too. Oh my God, that face was plastered on the outside of my office building for three whole months—no, six months. How could I not recognize him?"
"He's...okay, I'll admit, he's a charming guy. But, Camilla, who is the cellist?"
Pauline's eyes glowed with excitement. Now, she was fully into the scene, no longer feeling lost.
Camilla glanced over, her smile widening. "That's Miles. Let me tell you, the song Miles performs—wow, it's mind-blowing. But I won't spoil it for you. You'll see for yourself soon enough. He's full of charm too."
Pauline nodded earnestly. "Any man who dares to bring a cello out onto the street has to have some charm, right?"
Camilla couldn't hold back her laughter anymore, bending over with amusement.
"Ahem, testing. Testing. One, two, three."
Anson's voice came through the microphone, signaling they were finally ready. The next moment—
Roars, screams, whistles, and shouts filled the air, creating an electrifying atmosphere.
Anson's lips curled slightly.
"Uh, sorry, if you're lost, I can't help with directions. We're not traffic cops."
In French.
Those words were entirely in French. Despite being a bit choppy, it was indeed French, and it had a proper Parisian accent.
A pleasant surprise. The French audience erupted into cheers and laughter. With just a few short sentences, the atmosphere instantly heated up.
All eyes were now on Anson. No warm-up performance was needed; the audience was already primed and ready.
Anson shrugged lightly.
"Sorry, that's all the French I know. To avoid my bandmates thinking I'm talking bad about them, I have to switch back."
"You know, to English."
Hahaha, hahaha.
Laughter echoed.
Standing at the microphone, Anson seemed at ease.
"I just need to clarify, this is an August 31st Band street performance. I don't understand what's happening, but this crowd is way beyond our expectations. So, does anyone know how quickly Paris traffic cops respond? We might be missing some permits."
Laughter, applause, and whistles filled the air.
Anson maintained his serious expression.
"I just need to let everyone know, please don't get lost; but if you are, feel free to join the fun."
"So, let's not waste any time. Let the beat begin before the cops come to chase us away."
"Hey, this isn't an opera house. If you don't like it, you can leave at any time. But if you do like it, feel free to tip us."
As soon as he finished speaking, thunderous applause broke out.
Paris might be a city of art, bound by various formalities. You have to dress up for the opera house or fancy restaurants; but don't forget, Paris also cherishes street art—magic, painting, juggling. These street performances still thrive in this city.
And this scene was another example.