Lily Bennett watched for a while, then opened the food delivery app.

To be fair, this movie was only above average. Western horror films are always like this—no psychological pressure, just torrents of blood and explicit scenes.

But all of this is based on her living in a normal world.

...If she were transported into a horror movie version of "The Phantom of the Opera," that would be much scarier than any East Asian horror film.

After all, in East Asian horror movies, as long as you don't offend the supernatural, you can basically stay safe.

But in the world of Western horror films, there are far too many ways to die.

A brother at home who doesn't talk much; a mother who had an affair; going camping in the wild; having a picnic in the park; attending a party with your boyfriend and sharing a kiss.

Any of these could be a reason to be hunted by a maniac.

The more Lily Bennett thought about it, the more her skin crawled.

She would never again say that Western horror movies aren't scary.

How peaceful her previous life must have been, to actually think being chased by a maniac wasn't frightening!

It took Lily Bennett a long time to barely calm her panicked heartbeat.

Even if Eric Carter wore a mask, could sing, do ventriloquism, and perform magic tricks, he wasn't necessarily the Phantom of the Opera, and certainly not the horror movie version of the Phantom.

Besides, what if she had landed in the original novel?

...It didn't seem to make much difference.

The male lead in the original was also a lunatic; if the heroine didn't end up with him, he would blow up the Paris Opera House.

The musical's male lead seemed a bit more normal, but actually wasn't—he hypnotized the heroine, kidnapped her, and nearly hanged her fiancé.

The only difference was that he didn't plan to blow up the opera house, but if pushed, who knows.

Lily Bennett could only comfort herself that her name was Polly Clark, and this wasn't the Paris Opera House but a circus, with no connection to "The Phantom of the Opera" at all.

Even in the worst-case scenario, even if Eric Carter really was the Phantom, he wouldn't blow up Paris for her.

Thinking of this, she closed her eyes peacefully.

The next day, just as dawn was breaking, Lily Bennett woke up—the body seemed to have a stable biological clock. She sat up groggily, took out her gold pocket watch for a look—it was only half past five.

She was about to lie back down to sleep when she suddenly jolted upright and stuffed the gold pocket watch back into her chest binder.

The first aid kit was still outside. She had wandered around the tent for ages yesterday and still hadn't found a good place to hide it, so in the end, she had to bury it in the dirty laundry pile.

But that was clearly not a long-term solution.

She had to find a better place, one that didn't smell sour.

At this moment, people outside were waking up too, and countless noisy sounds flooded in—roosters crowing, birds chirping, footsteps, the sound of chopping wood, coughing, heavy spitting, and water being poured into the boiler.

Lily Bennett took a deep breath, put on her coat, and walked out.

Outside, the fog was thick, everything shrouded in golden morning mist. The air was filled with a sour mix of tobacco and sweat, along with the greasy smell of leftover food from the night before. Half-dried spit spots dotted the ground everywhere.

In no time, Lily Bennett felt like her clothes were being dirtied by the air.

She secretly resolved that, whether or not she could go back, she had to leave this place—go somewhere clean.

Suddenly, a burst of cheers and whistles came from ahead. No wonder she hadn't seen anyone after walking for so long—they were all gathered up front, clapping.

The manager stood among the crowd, his arm around a tall, thin man, laughing and talking loudly. Behind them sat a plain-looking woman.

Her face was waxy pale, dressed in a blue satin dress with a lace bow at the collar, as if she had accidentally put on a doll's clothes. The skirt was lifted onto her knees, revealing—four legs.

Each leg was clad in striped stockings and red shoes, which looked rather eerie.

The manager ignored the woman's pallor and patted her wheelchair kindly: "Thank God, Emily Foster has found her biological brother—remember what I said? We're all here because we were abandoned by our families."

"Mike's mother, my sister, gave me five thousand francs and entrusted him to me—we all know what that means. His mother didn't want him anymore," the manager said. "Emily Foster was someone I picked up at the train station. Polly Clark's mother was insane and almost stabbed a pen into his eye."

He smiled, "Even someone as uniquely gifted as Eric Carter was rejected by his own parents."

"But I promised, if one day you find your own family—or someone willing to take you in—you can leave at any time. I won't force anyone to stay."

As he spoke, he turned to look at Emily Foster: "Right, Emily Foster?"

Emily Foster didn't speak, her face sealed as if with wax.

But the manager acted as if he'd received a positive answer, happily announcing that there would be a party that night to celebrate Emily Foster finding her family, and promised to invite a band to play dance music for everyone.

Everyone cheered excitedly, clapping and stomping their feet.

Lily Bennett had wanted to take this opportunity to observe the circus members more closely, but the little boy from yesterday squeezed in front of her and called out:

"Polly Clark, the manager asked me to go with you to the warehouse to move some things!"