This high dive—if you don’t choose the right posture, you can get hurt by the surface tension of the river. The moment of contact, Julian Grant felt a sharp pain all over his body and instinctively wanted to let go of his hands. But after plunging into the water, he was immediately soothed by the gentle, soft liquid.

All the screams and shouts faded away upon entering the river; the only thing that remained clear was the sound of the water.

Julian Grant held his breath and, using the current’s momentum, swam forward.

The stone dragged him down to the bottom of the lake, helping him avoid the tools and sightlines of the rescue workers.

After swimming several meters, Julian Grant let go, allowing his body to slowly float upward.

Clutching the stone and jumping into the river was just The Vault’s way of showing her determination to die; she never intended to sink with the stone for real.

Julian Grant looked up at the transparent, shimmering blue light on the lake’s surface, wondering what The Vault might be thinking at this moment.

Quinn Foster had said that The Vault was an extremely calm person, always viewing things from the perspective of maximizing her own interests.

So, she needed time—for the news of her falling into the water to spread across the internet, and for everyone to assume she had already perished. Only then could she stimulate the public’s sensitive nerves, expand the impact of the incident to a new level, and make the most of her “death.”

Therefore, she would try to swim until she was utterly exhausted before coming ashore, avoiding the optimal early search area for rescue, prolonging the “battlefield,” and making it harder for people to find her quickly.

As a result, the actual rescue range, based on the current’s speed, was much smaller than it should have been.

Julian Grant kept swimming forward, carried by the current. This way of swimming wasn’t actually strenuous and saved a lot of energy.

Gradually, Julian Grant began to smell a stench in the water, somewhat like sewage from kitchen waste. The river was no longer clear, and more murky debris appeared in the water.

There must be a pollution source ahead, affecting this tributary.

Julian Grant surfaced and took a deep breath, spitting out all the river water that had gotten into his mouth.

He didn’t believe The Vault would be willing to go this far, coming here just to drink a bellyful of filthy water.

Heh, after all, she was such a calculating woman.

A little further ahead, the current would noticeably slow, and the river would narrow considerably. If someone wanted to be washed ashore by the current, this would be a good spot.

Julian Grant trusted his instincts, swam toward the bank, and climbed out of the water.

He scraped his face with his hands a couple of times, then covered his ears, trying to get his dulled hearing to recover as quickly as possible.

Once the ringing and muddled feeling passed, he heard a faint meowing, not sure where it was coming from.

Julian Grant wrung out his clothes as he continued walking forward.

The mud at the riverbank, softened and loosened by the water, was now wet and mushy. People had already searched this area, leaving behind many footprints. The tracks were all jumbled together, making it impossible to tell what they originally looked like.

Julian Grant panted heavily, constantly scanning his surroundings.

The Vault wouldn’t have run too far or hidden too well; that would make people suspect she was deliberately faking her death for attention. She would probably stop somewhere in the middle of a path, collapse as if she couldn’t go on, and wait for someone to rescue her—drawing a perfect ending to this performance.

The meowing grew a bit clearer.

Julian Grant frowned and followed the sound, walking to the base of a bridge pier up ahead.

There was a pile of uncollected garbage here, some trampled into the mud, some stacked to the side. The stench mixed with the swampy smell, making it hard to approach.

He skirted around the garbage dump and, not far away in a patch of overgrown weeds, saw a black figure lying on the ground.

The Vault had collapsed in a very hidden spot, her body covered by grass. If not for a particularly bold cat standing on her head and meowing rhythmically at Julian Grant, he might not have spotted her at all.

Julian Grant’s heart started pounding as he ran over. The stray cat, seeing him approach, puffed up its fur, then leapt aside and fled in panic.

“Wendy Ward!”

Julian Grant shouted loudly, but moved very carefully. He turned The Vault over to check her injuries.

The wound on her forehead had become gruesome from soaking in the river for too long, leaving pale bloodstains all over her face. It seemed to be infected, and her body was feverish.

“The Vault?” Julian Grant reached for her breath, but his fingers were so cold he couldn’t feel anything, so he patted her back and called again, “The Vault?”

The Vault coughed, her brows furrowing deeply. Though her eyes didn’t open, she clearly showed she was still alive.

“That cat…” The Vault rasped with difficulty, “kept stepping on my head.”

She was already trembling with anger: “I’m so pissed off!”

Julian Grant burst out laughing, and after he finished, said to her, “Serves you right!”

His laughter provoked The Vault, who struggled to open her eyes and glared at him.

Julian Grant picked her up and staggered toward the riverbank.

When passersby saw them, they froze for a few seconds before realizing what was happening and started screaming:

“Found her—”

“Wendy Ward is found—over here! Ambulance!”

Cries of “found her” spread from person to person, echoing into the distance, some even tinged with hoarse sobs.

Enthusiastic citizens quickly drove up to them, urging the two to get in so they could be rushed to the hospital.

The media, arriving hot on their heels, only managed to snap a few blurry shots of Julian Grant getting into the car. They chased after the vehicle with their equipment, shouting, “Is she still alive? Is Wendy Ward still alive?”

Julian Grant stuck his hand out the car window, flashed a victory “V,” and shouted back, “She’s alive!”

“Ah—good!!”

Cheers erupted one after another, and even strangers couldn’t help but high-five and shout in celebration.

This scene was clearly captured on camera.

Reporters quickly uploaded this uplifting news, along with a few blurry photos, to the internet.

It was undoubtedly the most heartening news in recent times, sweeping away the previous gloom and giving special power to the name “Wendy Ward.”

Soon after, the media connected live to interview Julian Grant, learning about the crucial cat that had stepped on her head during the rescue. They were excited and included it as a key detail in their reports.

With the tension gone, netizens regained their energy to joke around.

“I declare, from now on, besides stepping in dog poop for luck, there’s also cat-stepping-on-your-head luck! [doge]”

“That police officer uncle is so cool, jumping straight into the river to search! If I were younger, I’d marry him.”

“How did she get washed so far? Her wounds look all soaked and rotten—is she really okay?”

“Waiting for the hospital’s update. We should all be grateful, otherwise we’d live with guilt forever. As for those scumbags from No. 1 High, let them rot in jail!”

“I’m crying on the spot. It’s so good that kind people can survive.”

·

When The Vault regained consciousness again, she was already lying in a hospital.

A crowd of people stood around her, a dense, dark mass.

There were reporters, police officers, students from No. 1 High, and Ms. Ward.

Ms. Ward gripped her hand tightly. When she saw her open her eyes, she collapsed by the bedside, sobbing uncontrollably: “Dongyan, I’m sorry… my good daughter, it’s all my fault!”

The Vault squeezed her fingers, then turned her gaze to the other side.

Led by Hugo Spencer, a group of students looked ashamed and nervous under her gaze. Hugo Spencer opened his mouth, hesitated several times, and finally mustered the courage to speak. He looked like he was about to cry, and led everyone in a deep bow, saying loudly, “I’m sorry! You don’t have to forgive us… we really are sorry!”

The Vault tugged at the corner of her mouth, then finally looked at Julian Grant standing at the back of the crowd.

Julian Grant smiled knowingly and said, “Don’t worry. The pushover you picked really is a pushover. After his audio editing was exposed, and after he said things he shouldn’t have in your video, his mental defenses nearly collapsed. We started with him, probed indirectly, and smoothly obtained useful testimony and some group chat records. Now we can clearly identify the crimes of that group. Once all the evidence is sorted, they’ll be getting a permanent residence in prison. As for their reputation, it’s completely gone.”

The Vault nodded, then remembered something. When she tried to speak, she found her throat was hoarse and it was hard to make a sound.

Julian Grant understood and pointed toward the window.

The Vault looked over and saw Quinn Sinclair and Melanie Spencer standing side by side outside the glass, smiling and waving at her.

Their smiles were bright, the light refracting through the glass and blurring their faces.

The Vault looked at the two of them and smiled gently.

At that moment, the system’s clearance prompt sounded. When the countdown ended, the two players were ejected from the instance, the livestream screen went black, leaving only a single line of text introduction.