Ms. Wang’s tone became more assertive, as if she had convinced herself. She said, “Do you know how terrifying the disease of poverty is? Those people have money and power—just a little that slips through their fingers is something others could never earn in a lifetime. How do you know they’re unwilling? Once you enter society, there will be rules like this all the same, and they’ll only be more cruel, more merciless. All your efforts will go unrewarded.”

As she spoke, she grew more and more resolute, her voice rising: “You’re naive, you don’t understand. Without opportunities like this, how could they get a guaranteed spot at university? How could they live? How could they study? How could they possibly have such a bright future? Even if you laid out the conditions in front of them and let them choose for themselves, they might still make this choice.”

Because it was so absurd, The Vault actually laughed: “What did you say?”

Ms. Wang pointed to her own chest and said, “I may sound harsh, but I’m speaking the truth! I’m definitely not the only one who thinks this way, and it’s definitely not a minority! Don’t meddle in things that aren’t your business, listen to me.”

“Really?” The Vault lowered her head and chuckled, her laughter full of irony. She said, “Do adults who’ve been through so much really enjoy forcing their so-called life lessons onto young people, watching those who were once sunny and positive become as lifeless as you, and then feeling proud and smug about it?”

Ms. Wang: “So you’re proud? You’re proud because you don’t understand society! You’re naive to the bone!”

The Vault asked, “Does maturity mean indifference? Does reality mean being right? In all of humanity’s long history of survival, what have we been fighting against? Isn’t it to avoid mutual assimilation and collective downfall? In your eyes, is it only the lucky who deserve to live?”

The Vault shook her head, feeling she couldn’t stay here any longer. She hoisted her backpack and slipped out from the side.

“Looks like we’re not suited to talk. I’m leaving.”

“If you leave, don’t come back!” Ms. Wang choked out, “Don’t threaten me, I’m telling you, Wendy Ward, you’re just a high school student, this has nothing to do with you, don’t get involved in this mess! Don’t go out and talk nonsense! Wendy Ward!”

The Vault didn’t look back. The only response was the heavy, decisive sound of the door slamming shut. Through the door, Ms. Wang’s hoarse wailing could be faintly heard from inside. The Vault closed her eyes.

When she reached the street, The Vault glanced at her suicide progress—a glaring red 99% hung in her vision.

…Thanks, they even left her one percent. How very considerate.

The Vault raised her hand and wiped her face hard. This time, she truly felt the urgency of someone with a terminal illness.

Having witnessed the argument just now, the atmosphere in the livestream room grew heavy, and even the jokers fell silent.

They could easily criticize Wendy Ward’s mother for being selfish, but after watching so many [Crime Case Analyses], they also knew that most people aren’t that noble. In many cases, harshly blaming someone doesn’t change the outcome, because the problem started with society itself.

“I’ve never seen the boss with that expression before.”

“The people closest to you hurt you the most. One careless move and it’s up to 99%—the rest is just a matter of a single thought. The system is really ruthless this time.”

“Are there no murderers in suicide cases? I think there are, and they’re even more chilling than in ordinary cases, because most people don’t think they’ve done anything wrong.”

“How many idealists are crushed by reality? And how much of that ‘reality’ is just the self-righteousness of so-called mature people?”

“But you can’t deny, what she said is a voice commonly heard in society. Good people often don’t get good results.”

“Those who’ve experienced misfortune are more afraid of trouble, of failure, of causing problems. That’s life.”

·

The Vault first went to a nearby hardware store and bought a small shovel, put it in her bag, and took a bus to school.

By the time she returned to school, the sky was already gray and gloomy. The Vault gripped her flashlight and headed to the vacant lot by the dormitory building that Nathan Sanders had mentioned, searching for the evidence she had buried.

When Nathan Sanders buried the photos, it was March. Now, it was already May.

The Vault looked at the indistinguishable wasteland before her, rubbed her neck, and muttered, “This is going to be a big project…”

She prepared herself for an all-nighter, but was still a bit nervous. Worried about running out of power, she brought three flashlights and two big boxes of spare batteries.

She set up a flashlight to the side, grabbed the small shovel, and started digging holes in various spots.

This area was sparsely populated, separated from the dormitory by a stinking ditch. Students almost never came here, so it was indeed a very safe place.

The Vault didn’t know how deep Nathan Sanders had dug, but guessed that, given her mental state at the time, she might have dug a big hole. So she carefully turned over the soil.

Night finally fell completely.

Tonight, the clouds were thick, the moon hidden behind them, casting not a trace of light.

The wasteland was empty and quiet. Looking up, she could see the distant mountains forming a black silhouette, silently occupying the horizon.

The night wind rustled through the shadows of the trees, mingling with the sound of cicadas.

The flashlight’s beam gradually dimmed, then brightened again after she changed the batteries.

When the time on her phone passed 1 a.m., The Vault finally dug up a fairly new-looking metal box.

Panting, she sat down in the mud without caring about her appearance and opened the box.

Inside was a used digital camera, along with its memory card and battery. There was even a portable charger thoughtfully included.

The Vault reassembled everything and tried it out, finding that there was just enough power left to turn on the camera.

After searching for so long, she was undoubtedly excited to finally find it. She opened the photo album and began flipping through the past, one picture at a time.

On the livestream, all that could be seen was a string of mosaics, but The Vault could see the original photos.

The photos showed various bodies entangled together, the girls’ faces all clearly visible. Some had dazed, unfocused eyes, some were conscious but in obvious pain.

But none of the men showed anything above their necks.

Being mentally prepared was one thing; seeing it with her own eyes was another.

The Vault’s pupils trembled from the shock of the raw images, her breathing grew heavy.

She licked her lips, forced herself to stay calm, hunched over to get a better look.

From the moles, body fat, bone structure, and other obvious features on the men’s bodies, she deduced that there were at least five people involved. Judging by the image formats, the photos were taken with different devices.

It seemed they even shared things among themselves—maybe through chat groups or other means. This kind of shared interest excited them.

After repeated crimes, people really do become bolder and bolder, until they go completely mad.

Their threshold for entertainment had risen to a terrifying level. To seek new thrills, they would look for new methods. If left unchecked, it would only lead to even more irreparable consequences.

The Vault listened to her heart pounding violently in her chest, her trembling hand steadily tapping to the next photo. In the middle, as expected, she saw Melanie Spencer.

That young, pretty girl who had once seemed a bit strong-willed now looked completely different in the photos.

This was the only person The Vault was familiar with in the game. She felt it was truly tragic.

The Vault was so absorbed that she didn’t notice the sound of footsteps—muted by the short grass and mud—until she caught a shadow in the flashlight’s beam out of the corner of her eye. The person was already right behind her.

The Vault shuddered all over, immediately stuffed the camera into her jacket, and quickly turned around—only to be struck on the back of the head with a stick.

“Ah…”

The Vault groaned, clutching her wound with one hand, the other still gripping the camera tightly.

She squinted, looking through the tears of pain at the shadowy figure who had suddenly appeared.

The dim yellow light of the flashlight flickered over the person’s pale face, all sorts of complex emotions gathering in their eyes, turning into a cold glimmer of tears.

“Quinn Sinclair…” The Vault gritted her teeth. “Are you crazy?”

“Give it to me.” Quinn Sinclair was crying even more pitifully than her, pleading, “Winter Gray, give it to me!”

The Vault said, “What you’re doing is wrong!”

Quinn Sinclair dropped the stick and lunged for the camera in her hand.

“Why are you still investigating? We agreed to let this go. If you keep going, a lot of people will die!” Quinn Sinclair burst out with surprising strength, prying open her fingers and struggling desperately for the camera. “I’m begging you, I’m begging you. Give it to me!”

“If you run away, no matter how many years pass, fear will always chase you.” The Vault looked at her deeply, her voice full of indescribable emotion. “Responsibility is sometimes a shackle, but also a kind of redemption. If you don’t shoulder it, you’ll never be free. Why can’t you be brave now? Why can’t you be a little braver!”