“I don’t know why my wife never gets proper rest. Just look at those tired dark circles under her eyes—it must be because the students at Ashford University are too much trouble. [Sigh]”

“My darling is way too thin, she should have come to [Crime Analysis] earlier. This game may not have much else, but at least it makes it easy for me to send her money.”

·

This turn of events clearly exceeded the limits of the paid posters’ imagination.

They’d taken the money, but couldn’t just stop working. After surveying the public opinion, they had no choice but to grit their teeth and keep arguing:

#This society is hopeless. Even people with such twisted values can have fans. As long as you’re good-looking, nothing else matters, right?#

The Trident netizens, backed by the students of Ashford University, quickly regained their fighting spirit and fired back with sarcastic comments.

“Did she do something so heinous and unforgivable that you have to hate her so much you wish her dead?”

“What, teachers are supposed to take the blame for their students becoming criminals? Did the criminal’s family demand to be jailed? If even non-relatives aren’t implicated, why should the teacher be held responsible? Is she supposed to screen every student to see if they’re scum before teaching them? So being a teacher is a high-risk job now?”

“To be honest, the income Trident makes from streaming is probably ten or even dozens of times what she’d make teaching. If she wants to participate, she can—why can’t she pursue a better quality of life? Does it have to be for Harry Forrest?”

“Even if it is for Harry Forrest, what’s wrong with that? Is it so bad for a teacher to believe her student is innocent? Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Calling it ‘whitewashing’ is really an insult to the word. I reviewed her performance in several game instances—she never said a single good word about Harry Forrest, nor did she ever try to sway the audience in his favor during her streams. In the escape instance, her methods were even more extreme and dangerous than Harry Forrest’s. How is that whitewashing?”

“Harry Forrest must be loaded, he hired so many people to clear his name. After all, the game instance was made by Trident, approved by the officials, and the clues were found by the players themselves. With that much influence, is his real identity actually the crown prince of Trident? [Shocked]”

“If Trident really had a crown prince, I’d be a fan for sure.”

“Enough, enough, the paid posters are about to die of anger because of you guys. [Cold trembling and crying]”

Right after, all sorts of evidence were brought out.

#The Vault clearly resigned voluntarily, only leaving after teaching for a semester. There was no dismissal involved.#

#Ashford University’s official account has formally debunked the rumors. [Image] The Vault only taught two small classes, and demand far exceeded supply—every year students fought to get in, and private transfers of spots started at a thousand yuan. Where’s the so-called bad reputation? This is such an easy thing to verify—do the paid posters think netizens are idiots?#

#Offering a big reward! Looking for any videos of the big shot teaching at Ashford University, or participating in events, or even research presentations! The whole “looks-obsessed” thing is just slander—I’m just suddenly interested in science.#

This farce—or perhaps carnival—continued late into the night without ending.

Eventually, the paid posters gave up completely and left the field. With no opponents, the netizens remained just as enthusiastic.

They always seemed to find ways to entertain themselves.

Julian Grant had to write a report that night and hadn’t checked the Trident forum. Because his subordinates kept pestering him, he finally got so annoyed he just blocked them.

By the time he finished all his analysis reports and sent them off, it was already midnight.

Julian Grant leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes to rest, and only then unblocked his employee.

As soon as the connection was restored, that seemingly tireless young man immediately called, so quickly that Julian Grant was startled, suspecting the guy had planted some kind of virus in his phone.

“Boss—something’s wrong, something’s really wrong!” The young man’s anxious voice came through, so fast he could barely catch his breath. “Why did you block me, tell me why! Look at the mess now—what are we supposed to do?”

Julian Grant’s forehead veins throbbed. “You have three seconds.”

The young man instantly switched gears: “The Vault got doxxed.”

“What?” Julian Grant’s tone changed at once. He stood up. “And then?”

“Tonight, someone exposed The Vault’s workplace, identity, and home address,” the young man choked out. “And then she, and then she…”

Julian Grant held his breath.

The young man said, “And then she drove all the Trident netizens crazy!”

Julian Grant snapped, “What did she do? Be clear!”

The young man took a deep breath, but finally couldn’t hold it in and burst out laughing.

“She’s so beautiful—beautiful and smart, Trident’s top star player. As soon as her photo was posted, a bunch of people started fighting to have her babies!” The young man laughed wildly. “It’s been years since Trident had a player this talented. The guys on the forum already have her promo posters and support slogans ready. I even made a video for her—want to see it?”

Julian Grant felt like his heart was about to explode. He let out a cold laugh, gritting his teeth: “Are you looking to die? Still want your bonus?”

The young man shouted, “Who told you to block me? I wanted to share this with you first thing, but you blocked me! Now there’s a whole bunch of random love rivals, and I missed my chance to play the hero—look at you…”

Julian Grant couldn’t take it and hung up, though this time he didn’t block him.

Not long after, the young man sent a text.

[Checked the IP—it’s probably a water army from an MCN company. No idea how The Vault offended them. I’ve sent the evidence to your email, pass it on to her. No need to thank me, after all, I’m a top ten employee!]

Seeing that The Vault’s address had been exposed, Julian Grant worried she might be in danger. He hesitated, wondering if he should call her, when his phone lit up again.

[I’ll give it to you tomorrow, it’s too late—missy needs her sleep.]

Julian Grant: “??” Are you trying to teach me how to date or what, you little brat?

Author’s note:

Told you, there’s no angst [lalala]

Employee: I’ve suffered too much.

Chapter 56: Calling the Police

The Vault was tossing and turning.

She’d always been a light sleeper—even the slightest noise could wake her. In the deep of night, as she drifted in and out of consciousness, she heard the faint sound of footsteps in the air.

At first, the footsteps echoed below in the hallway, pacing up and down, finally stopping on her floor.

The Vault thought it was just a late-returning resident who would soon leave after finding their way, since it was already 2 a.m. But after a brief silence, more strange noises started up outside, along with deliberately hushed voices.

When your senses are dulled, it’s easy to let your imagination run wild—especially at midnight.

The Vault turned on her bedroom light, sat up, and leaned against the headboard, trying to make sense of the odd sounds and connect them to possible images.

She counted carefully—there were several different objects colliding, the sloshing of some kind of liquid, and then a rough scraping sound, as if something was scratching at the wall, bits of plaster falling with a soft rustle.

The sound of scraping the wall was so close, so real, it felt like only a wall separated her from it. Finally, the curious The Vault snapped back to her senses.

…Was there a pack of huskies here to tear her house apart?

The Vault got out of bed, went to the computer room, turned on her computer, and checked the surveillance video from the camera above her front door.

In the dim hallway, lit by a yellow motion sensor light, four or five people were standing at her door, hard at work.

Because of the camera angle, the wall wasn’t visible, but judging by the mess on the floor and the paint bucket kicked over to the side, it was easy to imagine what they’d been up to.

The Vault let out a laugh of disbelief, stretching her neck and cracking her joints.

On the monitor, two of them were sturdy men and women in their thirties, and two were elderly couples with white hair, probably over seventy.

The Vault logged into the WeChat police reporting platform, sent the video and her address, and reported that someone was attempting an illegal break-in late at night.

The other side responded quickly, saying they’d dispatch officers as soon as possible and told her to stay in a safe room and wait for the police.

The Vault grabbed a broom from the balcony, gripped the long end in front of her to test its weight, then, barefoot, went to open the door.

As she pulled open the security door, the young man was bent over fiddling with her lock, about to shove something inside. Caught off guard by her sudden appearance, he didn’t even have time to hide his shocked expression.

The Vault raised an eyebrow, stepped back, and asked, “Who are you?”

The four of them froze for a moment, but didn’t try to run.

The Vault tilted her head and saw the pattern drawn on the back of the door. They’d written her name in red paint, and below it a huge character for “death,” along with several obscene slurs.

The paint hadn’t dried yet, and red liquid was dripping down in long streaks. With the atmosphere, the lighting, and the scene, it was truly a bit terrifying.