The Vault stood up and took a step back.

“Since Harry Forrest is about to be released from prison, she hopes everything can be left behind, even if there’s no so-called truth—it doesn’t matter. After so many years of running around, she’s realized that obsessing over something with no result might waste the rest of her life. Harry Forrest is still young, only 26. Ten years is a long time, enough for many people to forget what happened back then. She thinks maybe everything can start over.”

Fatigue makes people compromise. The truly despairing thing is that, after finally choosing to compromise, one finds that the ending waiting for her is still the same.

Julian Grant sighed, “For the unfortunate, fate is a maze.”

You never know when you’ll suddenly turn a corner. You think you’re heading toward a shortcut to the future, but you don’t realize it might just be a trap set by a hunter. Even if you face every twist and turn with trepidation, the exit may be in the opposite direction from where you’re headed.

“I’ve never thought that so-called starting over is an optimistic idea. At its core, it’s just a one-sided escape.” The Vault let out a cold laugh and said, “But in this world, cowardice isn’t a mistake. For Logan Carter, that’s the best outcome for her, and I can understand. But for some people, it’s only just beginning. Water that’s nearly boiling—how could it possibly calm down just because she wishes it so?”

Julian Grant looked at her back, bathed in the morning light, and asked, “What kind of person do you think Harry Forrest is?”

The Vault thought for a moment, lifted her head, and commented, “Harry Forrest is a lopsided genius. His grades were always mediocre in school, but that’s because the school didn’t offer courses suitable for him, and he didn’t like the academic atmosphere—he lacked motivation to study, drifting through each day. He was the type in class who livened things up, liked to stir the crowd, but wasn’t annoying. Everyone has someone like that around them. But actually, his spatial reasoning ability was outstanding, far beyond the average person’s. That’s why, later on, he was able to evade all surveillance and escape the police’s tight encirclement without any planning.”

The Vault said, “I never had direct contact with him. You ask me what kind of person he is—aside from an academic assessment, I can’t give you an objective answer. Because everything I know about him comes from Logan Carter. And I suppose you wouldn’t accept Logan Carter’s evaluation of him.”

Julian Grant: “Why did you take him on as a student back then?”

The Vault said, “Harry Forrest saw me in a scientific journal, was curious about me, and wrote me a letter with a probing attitude, but I never received it. Later, he asked his mother to help deliver the letter.”

The Vault’s voice trailed off as she spoke.

She recalled the first time she saw Logan Carter.

By then, she had already started living independently, but without adult guidance, her days were rather rough. In that harsh and miserable environment, she learned and grew, discarding everything she considered unnecessary, becoming a weirdo in the eyes of the public.

Sullen personality, cold attitude, unkempt, messy and gloomy.

Few people approached her, and even fewer cared about her. The polite small talk of social etiquette was the greatest kindness she could get.

She had seen fear and disgust in countless people’s expressions, and she didn’t like them either.

At that time, Logan Carter stood at her door, holding a letter, humbly waiting. Every so often, she would raise her hand and knock again.

The stairwell window in the dormitory building was wide open, and at night, the temperature dropped sharply.

The Vault didn’t open the door out of empathy for Logan Carter, but rather out of annoyance at being disturbed.

When she opened the door, she saw Logan Carter’s face—clearly young, yet already lined with wrinkles—first light up with surprise, the fatigue on her face dissipating, then turn to astonishment as she looked The Vault up and down for a long time. Clearly, she hadn’t expected her son’s so-called “Professor at A University” to be a girl who looked much younger than her son and was obviously malnourished.

The Vault waited a moment, and when she didn’t speak, coldly moved to close the door. Logan Carter, in her haste, wedged her hand in.

The door pressed hard on her fingers, and Logan Carter cried out in pain, but managed to stop The Vault from shutting her out.

The Vault looked at her coldly, trying to discern her true intentions.

“It’s nothing, don’t be afraid. I just zoned out for a second—the door caught my hand, that’s all.” Logan Carter, gasping from the pain, stuffed the letter into her pocket, freed one hand to press her swollen knuckles, and gave The Vault a friendly smile. She asked, “Is there no adult at home with you?”

The Vault tilted her head. For the first time, she saw on a stranger’s face an expression that was awkward, ingratiating, kind—hard to describe.

She sensed a sincerity in this woman that was different from others.

Her instincts were never wrong.

That’s why she didn’t drive this woman away.

“Let me help you tidy up your room,” Logan Carter said. “Did you forget to take out the kitchen trash? I think I smell sewage.”

The Vault stayed silent, moving aside just a little.

Logan Carter entered and found the situation even worse than she’d imagined. With her hands in her pockets, she accidentally kicked a pile of takeout boxes, and the mess inside was even worse than at the door. She turned to look at The Vault.

The Vault asked, “What are you doing?”

Logan Carter looked her over, reached out to tug at the collar of her T-shirt, and smiled, “I’ll go buy you a couple of shirts first. What kind of clothes do you like?”

The Vault’s lips moved, and she raised her eyebrows, unused to the gesture. She read happiness on Logan Carter’s face, making her think it was her own illusion.

“Anything is fine,” The Vault said at the time. “Whatever.”

·

Julian Grant’s heavy voice interrupted her thoughts. He asked, “So you met his mother back then?”

“Yes.” The Vault curled her lips. “She was very good to me. Her daughter went to college, got married before graduating, and grew distant from her. Her son was in prison and couldn’t be with her. She was lonely and wanted to feel needed. She was a gentle person by nature. Unfortunately, her life experiences made everyone who knew her refuse to accept her gentleness. I happened to look like someone who needed care, so she transferred her motherly love to me.”

It was for Logan Carter’s sake that The Vault accepted Harry Forrest as her student and earnestly guided him.

At first, she had no special feelings for the student she never met—she just thought this could offset Logan Carter’s “nanny fee.” She didn’t like owing people.

But Logan Carter taught her a lot as well.

This middle-aged woman was always chattering, never running out of things to say, showing her care in every little thing.

She subtly influenced The Vault, becoming a turning point in her otherwise monotonous life, even giving her a sense of family.

Under her influence, The Vault began to become more presentable, more polite.

She learned that clothes should be washed and changed often, that layering T-shirts wasn’t the right way to dress, that life needed quality, and that keeping clean was a good habit. She learned that optimism is an attitude, humor is a virtue. She even read collections of jokes from China and abroad on her recommendation.

Though they never really came in handy.

The Vault’s voice drifted on the wind, each word clear.

“She tried so carefully to find a balance, to live peacefully in this fragile and volatile world.

“But more than four months ago, her daughter died, and her son once again became a brutal murderer. All the evidence proved he was a vicious, unforgivable person. So she killed herself too.”

A person who had lost her faith, carrying unbearable pain, left this world.

Julian Grant glanced at the date on the tombstone—all bright red, April 3rd.

That was the day Harry Forrest was wanted citywide by the police.

“She called me before she died and said, ‘I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have let you teach my son.’” The Vault’s smile was tinged with pallor. “I thought her apology was baffling. There’s no way I could judge the past based on what happened in the future. And people shouldn’t evaluate the process solely by the outcome. I don’t believe what I taught led Harry Forrest astray, and I don’t regret it. If I’d taken a moment to encourage her more, maybe she could have held on.”

Julian Grant looked at The Vault’s bloodless lips and her thin figure that seemed about to be blown over by the wind, and felt a strange, indescribable bitterness.

The sunlight sweeping over the mountaintop draped her in a translucent golden robe.

For the first time, Julian Grant felt so strongly that this person—she was just like everyone else.

She wasn’t calm, nor was she cold. She just habitually faced the world with silence.

Not showing her joys and sorrows to others didn’t mean she was indifferent.