The sky hesitated and said, “Isn’t this not a good idea?”

Julian Grant immediately nodded. “This is a very bad idea! My mom told them you’re my girlfriend, and they still don’t believe it.”

The Vault said, “What’s so hard to believe about that?”

Julian Grant found this question difficult to answer.

After a while, The Vault finished thinking it through and said, “Then let’s go.”

Julian Grant almost cried out in surprise. He restrained himself and said, “Really? Then I’ll keep packing, okay?”

The Vault: “Mm.”

Julian Grant probed again, “So we’re leaving at noon today?”

The Vault couldn’t help but be surprised. “Are you in such a hurry?”

“I’m not in a hurry,” Julian Grant said, trying to cover it up. “It’s mainly my mom who’s anxious. She’s really impatient, you know?”

The Vault had met Mrs. Grant before. She was deeply impressed by the lady’s beauty and generosity, and those two qualities would never be off-putting in any situation. So she crouched down to help Julian Grant pack.

Author’s note:

Still not sure which story to start next. Maybe “Blazing Sun” or a xianxia (cultivation) one. We’ll see—starting in September, I’ll let you know then.

Chapter 128 Extra: Spring Festival 02

To meet Julian Grant’s parents, The Vault actually wasn’t nervous, because she found the two elders even more excited than she was.

When Julian Grant called to inform them he’d be coming home today, Mrs. Grant’s excited shout was so loud it could be heard clearly even without speakerphone.

Julian Grant felt no guilt about selling out his own mom. He put away his phone and smiled at The Vault: “If they give you a red envelope, make sure you accept it. The two of them have no other hobbies—they just love giving out money. That’s their way of showing goodwill.”

The Vault felt her blood pressure fluctuate just listening to this.

To be honest, she also liked being the kid who never grows up.

The Vault responded with a reserved “Mm.”

Julian Grant was afraid that talking too much about his parents’ likes and dislikes would put pressure on The Vault, so he chatted about random things along the way, and before they knew it, they’d arrived.

Julian Grant slowed the car, driving down the empty main road, and soon saw people ahead.

On both sides of the neighborhood entrance, a dozen young security guards in matching uniforms stood in two neat lines, at attention.

As Julian Grant’s car slowly passed, they saluted in turn, loudly welcoming them and watching as the two drove away.

The Vault couldn’t help but look on with the eyes of a country bumpkin. Only today did she realize that rich people could make coming home look like a coronation. It was truly eye-opening.

So maybe those gold-and-diamond toilets weren’t just a myth?

The Vault was so focused on this that she didn’t notice Julian Grant’s eye twitching as he tried to hold back his reaction.

…Are they crazy? Who on earth arranged this?

The head of security watched the car disappear behind the garden, then smiled with a sense of accomplishment—Little boss, this is as much as I can do for you!

Julian Grant parked the car in silence, took a deep breath as he got out, and silently prayed his parents hadn’t prepared any “surprises” for them.

He took The Vault by the hand to the door, unlocked it, and pushed it open.

As the door opened, The Vault saw Mr. Grant standing behind it. She didn’t know if he’d just happened to be passing by or if he’d been waiting there.

Mr. Grant was dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, even his hair neatly combed. He was handsome, bearing a fifty percent resemblance to Julian Grant, but his features looked more mature and serious.

The Vault discreetly sized him up, then glanced down at her own casual homewear, suddenly feeling embarrassed for not dressing more formally.

The Vault stepped forward and gave Mr. Grant a standard bow, politely saying, “Hello.”

Mr. Grant was taken aback by her formality, but he also bent slightly and nodded back, “Hello.”

The two of them shook hands like world leaders, solemn expressions and upright postures, as if they were about to discuss matters of state.

Mrs. Grant rushed over and elbowed Mr. Grant in the back, giving him a pointed glare.

Mr. Grant looked innocent.

Was this his fault?

“The Vault, you’re here! Oh, why bring gifts when you come home?”

Mrs. Grant warmly took The Vault’s hand and led her inside, giving Julian Grant a gratified look.

Who would have thought—her son had really made something of himself.

Mrs. Grant sat The Vault down on the sofa, sitting close beside her, while Mr. Grant was shooed to the other side.

Not knowing what else to do, she desperately piled fruit in front of The Vault.

The Vault wasn’t hungry and tried to refuse, but finally took an apple and held it, watching the latest melodramatic idol drama with her.

After the opening credits, Mr. Grant actually wanted to get up and leave, since he had zero interest in idol dramas with terrible acting, but he didn’t quite dare.

Before The Vault arrived, Mrs. Grant had repeatedly instructed him that for the first two hours after The Vault came home, he had to stay in the living room. It didn’t matter if he played on his phone or watched TV, but he absolutely couldn’t retreat to his study alone. Every day after that, he also had to spend at least half an hour interacting with The Vault.

It was the first time the daughter-in-law came home—he had to show her respect. No need to be overly warm, but at least don’t neglect her.

Mr. Grant thought this made sense and agreed.

At the time, he didn’t think much of it, figuring it would be easy to find things to talk about with The Vault; a few hours would pass in a flash.

Who would have thought Mrs. Grant took this so seriously, even making a list of entertainment options and filling up all of The Vault’s free time. Mr. Grant’s only choice was to passively participate, serving as the background for their conversation.

…He gave The Vault face, but his wife forgot to give him any.

Mr. Grant kept glancing at his watch, counting down the two hours. To make his presence known, he also had to chime in with awkward comments whenever Mrs. Grant called on him.

Julian Grant helped smooth things over, and seeing that the three of them, though struggling, were at least getting along, he relaxed.

As the show went on, Mr. Grant suddenly let go.

What’s so awkward about idol dramas? Nothing could be more awkward than sitting here himself.

Once he adopted this tolerant mindset, he actually found a new kind of enjoyment in the show.

So after two hours, he didn’t leave—he stayed.

His perspective on watching dramas became deeper and more professional; he learned to make free associations and join in the conversation, truly getting into the groove.

“A listed company that loses money for two years in a row will be marked ST.”

“This supposedly poor heroine’s apartment must rent for at least five thousand a month. That development is pretty nice—it just started getting popular a couple years ago…”

At this point, he finally thought of something he could do, and said excitedly, “Let me buy you an apartment, The Vault!”

The Vault didn’t react at first. “Huh?”

Her surprise was so obvious that Mr. Grant seemed to read something in it, nodded knowingly, and added, “No, wait, there are purchase restrictions now, so buying a whole building is a bit difficult. Better to just buy an expensive apartment—easier to handle as premarital property and it’ll hold its value.”

The Vault felt a pang of poverty and said awkwardly, “No need, I already have a place.”

“Sell that one,” he said. “I heard from Julian that the security at your place isn’t great. Oh… do your students need it? Why not just transfer it to them, and I’ll buy you a new one.” Mr. Grant was full of energy, standing up. “Any requirements? I’ll go check for you right now.”

The Vault was stunned by the directness of these rich people, and turned to Julian Grant for help.

He said they’d give red envelopes, but not apartments, right? Those aren’t the same thing, are they?

“Dad, Dad!” Julian Grant pulled him back down, half laughing, half exasperated. “Let The Vault decide for herself. You don’t need to worry about this.”

Mrs. Grant was dissatisfied. “Don’t make her live in that shabby place with you. Last time I visited, there was barely room for anything. Maybe The Vault would prefer a villa by the sea—have you even asked?”

The Vault quickly said, “No, I actually really like the place I’m living in now.”

Mrs. Grant was moved. “What a down-to-earth girl.”

The Vault echoed the sentiment. What a down-to-earth rich family.

“Don’t be shy,” Mr. Grant finally found his element and didn’t want to give up, continuing to persuade her. “This is the only thing Dad… Uncle can do for you. Whatever you want, just say the word—Uncle will make it happen!”

The Vault found this topic extremely bizarre, almost overwhelmed by the sugar-coated generosity of the traditional He family, and it was only when the housekeeper called them to dinner that the two elders reluctantly stopped their money-splashing.

After dinner, afraid the elders would bring up the apartment again, The Vault went straight to Julian Grant’s room. Considering that Mr. Grant could connect even a melodramatic TV show to premarital property, The Vault felt it was necessary for Julian Grant to tactfully express her refusal.