Julian Grant placed his large hand on The Vault's head, carefully avoiding her wound as he gently rubbed it, smiling as he said, “So, as long as you’re alive, that’s my victory.”

The Vault looked at him seriously, raised her hand to take his away, and said with thoughtful certainty, “Thanks. Your comfort is pretty clumsy, but it’s actually quite heartfelt.”

Julian Grant: “……”

“But victory is victory. Being alive isn’t called victory, it’s just being in the game. Your kind of spiritual victory is so very Ah Q.” The Vault called out, “Brother Q.”

Julian Grant: “……”

Nothing else—just that hearing this made him want to hit someone.

He took a deep breath and resigned himself, “Fine. Brother Q it is. That’s a lot better than being called a creepy old man. At least I’ve been demoted a generation.”

“Much better.” The Vault rummaged around and pulled a piece of candy from her pocket, her voice weak as she said, “Pretty cool, actually.”

Julian Grant couldn’t help but laugh, “I’ll take that as a compliment. Thank you, little fairy.”

The Vault tried to unwrap the candy. Her fingers, scraped by tools after digging all night, weren’t very nimble, and after several attempts she still couldn’t tear open the tough plastic wrapper.

Julian Grant watched for a while, then couldn’t stand it anymore. He took the hard candy from her, unwrapped it, and held it to her mouth.

The Vault stared at him for a long time—so long that Julian Grant started to feel uneasy—before finally taking the candy into her mouth.

A sweet orange flavor spread across her tongue, then filled her whole mouth.

The Vault was restless even when eating hard candy, always liking to bite and crunch it.

Julian Grant looked away, glancing at the sky outside and sighing, “It’s already dawn. What a night it’s been.”

The Vault lifted her head, “I need to remove my IV. You go get the scans, I’ll wait for you at the door.”

Julian Grant: “Alright.”

When Julian Grant left the hospital with the things, he saw The Vault holding a piece of bread, squatting by the roadside feeding stray cats.

Because there was a mountain behind the hospital and a lot of foot traffic here, in spring and summer, many stray cats would pass by looking for food.

They weren’t very afraid of people, eating the food in front of them obediently with their heads down. Their cheeks puffed as they chewed, their fur was glossy, and they were hefty—each one had the imposing presence of a big orange tabby.

Julian Grant squatted down next to The Vault with his clothes in hand, reaching out to pet a cat, but the fat cat dodged nimbly. He withdrew his hand and laughed, “You’re pretty laid-back, huh?”

“Or maybe not?” The Vault said, “Maybe everything I do has a purpose you can’t imagine.”

Julian Grant chuckled, “So what’s your purpose now?”

The Vault thought for a moment, “To show off my kindness?”

Julian Grant nodded, “I think that’s pretty good. You should keep it up.”

The Vault put down all the food, clapped her hands, and stood up, “Let’s go back.”

Julian Grant asked, “Want me to take you home?”

“No. Wendy Ward’s mother doesn’t approve of her actions. Going home would just mean an argument,” The Vault said. “Better to go back to school.”

Julian Grant was surprised, “Is it really appropriate for you to go to school right now?”

The Vault asked, “Why not?”

Julian Grant hesitated, “Isn’t it a bit unsafe?”

“Wow…” The Vault opened her mouth in exaggeration, “Can someone like me, who’s a suicide risk, even have something as safe as safety?”

Julian Grant: “……” Can you talk properly?

The Vault waved her hand, urging, “Let’s go. Follow the boss, I’ll get you through this.”

The viewers in the livestream room, listening to their conversation, immediately got sidetracked. The atmosphere lightened, but the conversation had gone off the rails.

“Why does the vibe always turn into a comedy duo with these two? Do they ever consider the audience’s feelings when they auto-tune their banter?”

“Doesn’t affect my enjoyment. [doge]”

“I can’t ship this CP, mainly because both of their character models are just… too much. My imagination can’t handle it.”

“In real life, maybe their ages are reversed? I feel like the boss should be a very experienced old expert, and the young cop’s eyes and energy make him seem like a youngster. Is a sister-brother romance possible?”

“Can the boss still carry us to victory? Wouldn’t it be easier for the police to take over from here? She’s already at 99% suicide risk, maybe she should just find a quiet place to rest?”

“That moment with Quinn Sinclair just now really scared me to death. Damn, is San Yao filming a horror movie? I still haven’t recovered. And why is no one talking about the plot anymore?”

“The plot’s obviously hit a dead end now. My IQ’s been rubbed raw, I know my limits, I’ve decided to just follow the boss and win by lying down. What’s there to be nervous about?”

·

Julian Grant also really wanted to know what The Vault was planning next.

Ever since leaving the hospital, she’d acted very composed, not at all like someone troubled by lost evidence, and she hadn’t mentioned her next steps. Instead, she’d been glued to her phone the whole time, busy with something unknown.

Julian Grant watched her fuss all the way, finally unable to hold back, “What are you looking at?”

The Vault kept spinning her phone, replying in passing, “Identifying people by their watches.”

Julian Grant: “Huh?”

“Wristwatches,” The Vault said. “Luxury watches, you know. They’re way more recognizable than those ugly faces. Might as well have their names written on them.”

As The Vault spoke, her phone vibrated. She straightened it, opened a text message, and after reading it said, “Melanie Spencer invited me to her dorm.”

Julian Grant instinctively slowed the car, frowning, “Melanie Spencer?”

The Vault quickly typed a reply: “I said yes.”

“What does she want?” Julian Grant said seriously. “I suspect Yvonne Thornton’s death is connected to the two of them. They’re not innocent.”

“Doesn’t matter what she wants,” The Vault said. “Aren’t you coming with me anyway?”

Hearing this, Julian Grant actually felt a bit pleased, and nodded, “Of course.”

Julian Grant parked the car outside the school and walked with The Vault.

Classes were already in session, and the campus was quiet. Melanie Spencer’s old dorm building was even more deserted—not a soul in sight along the way.

The Vault stopped outside Melanie Spencer’s room and knocked.

Someone inside seemed to be waiting right by the door, quickly pulling the handle open.

The four people inside and out stared at each other.

The Vault hadn’t expected Quinn Sinclair to be there too. Melanie Spencer hadn’t expected her to bring a middle-aged man.

Melanie Spencer: “Dongyan, are you okay?”

Julian Grant stepped in front of The Vault, forcing Melanie Spencer back half a step.

The Vault pushed him aside and said, “I’m fine. He’s a police officer.”

Melanie Spencer looked at Julian Grant with hesitation.

Julian Grant asked, “Is it inconvenient?”

Melanie Spencer thought for a long time, then as if making up her mind, stepped aside and said, “It’s fine, come in.”

The door closed. The four of them each stood in a corner, keeping a psychologically safe distance.

The Vault looked around.

No wonder it was an old dorm building—the walls were mottled and peeling, and the floor tiles had changed color.

Melanie Spencer said softly, “I just wanted Xiaoxi to apologize to you. She was out of her mind when she hit you. I only found out this morning that she didn’t mean it.”

Quinn Sinclair stood to the side, hands clasped and still trembling. Her gaze was fixed on Julian Grant.

Melanie Spencer pleaded with Julian Grant, “Please don’t arrest her, it has nothing to do with her! I’m begging you.”

Julian Grant looked around at their faces, putting on a more approachable expression.

“No need to be so nervous. Do I really look that scary?” Julian Grant took out his badge, pinned it to his chest so the emblem faced them, and said, “Does this make you feel safer? The glory of socialism.”

The Vault shivered, “So cold…”

Melanie Spencer tugged at the corner of her mouth, but couldn’t manage a smile, ending up with an expression worse than crying.

Julian Grant got to the point, “Are the photos still there?”

“They’re still here, I didn’t let her delete them.” Melanie Spencer turned to the desk and took out a camera, holding it in her hands. She was so agitated that her fingers had turned white from gripping the edges too tightly.

The Vault asked, “Who are those people?”

Melanie Spencer numbly listed a few names, then added, “The principal doesn’t come often, but he sometimes participates and helps pick people. Two of them are school investors.”

The Vault went over and pressed her hand, helping her relax. She said, “I can let this go, but I want to know—why are you so afraid? Is it because of the photos, or because… you’re afraid someone will investigate Yvonne Thornton’s death? She definitely came to you before she died. At the time, she was with Quinn Sinclair.”

Quinn Sinclair finally spoke, her voice flat: “It was me. I accidentally pushed her off the rooftop.”