Chapter 5 — Evidence That Doesn't Lie

Although it was widely acknowledged that she was the younger sister of Lu Cheng, the way she uttered the word "brother" carried a tone of excessive, lingering intimacy. Lu Cheng lowered his voice, snapping at her:

"Thanh Le, stop talking nonsense."

The more anxious he became, the more his guilty conscience betrayed him. Tran Tri Vi looked toward the staff member.

"Check that plagiarism report again."

The school anniversary organizing committee contacted the library’s plagiarism detection system. Within minutes, the results were generated. The report’s serial number did not exist, and the testing agency was not one recognized by the university. The timestamp on the document read nine-fifty-eight this morning. In other words, this report could not possibly prove that Hua Thanh Le had possessed the draft beforehand; in fact, it was not even a legitimate document. Following this, the crowd turned their attention to the certification letter allegedly written by the project supervisor. The supervisor stood up immediately.

"This signature is not mine," he declared. "I have never written this confirmation letter. Lam Van is the one in charge of this project. All registration documents, final reports, funding receipts, and the original survey forms are archived at the academy. Hua Thanh Le has absolutely no grounds to claim that this project belongs to her."

Hua Thanh Le’s legs turned to jelly, and she nearly collapsed into her chair. Lu Cheng still attempted to weave a defense.

"Even if there is a problem with Thanh Le’s documents, it does not prove that Lam Van is completely innocent! She could have obtained Thanh Le’s presentation beforehand…"

I looked at him, suddenly feeling how pathetic he truly was. Even at this stage, he was still desperate to smear my reputation.

"Lu Cheng," I called his name. "Have you forgotten that you personally stated just a moment ago that the files in the backstage system were uploaded via my USB drive? Now, the system logs clearly show that you used your own account to delete the official file, only to insert a different USB to replace it. Are you trying to clear my name, or are you just digging your own grave?"

Lu Cheng clamped his mouth shut. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. Someone in the audience muttered in disgust: "The student body president is leading the charge to frame someone else. This is beyond ridiculous." "A moment ago, Hua Thanh Le was crying so hard I almost believed her." "It has to be about the direct admission quota. She’s ranked third, and Lam Van is first. It’s all making sense now."

The academy leadership immediately announced a suspension of the anniversary ceremony. The livestream was cut, but the internet was already in an uproar. The first half of the video, where I was labeled a plagiarist, was still circulating, but the second half, which turned the tide, was beginning to cause a massive stir. A backstage conference room was cleared out. Lu Cheng, Hua Thanh Le, myself, and the relevant faculty members were detained. Tran Tri Vi sat at the head of the table. Although she was no longer an active staff member of the university, no one dared to underestimate her. The vice dean’s expression was ghastly.

"The nature of this incident is grave. The academy will immediately report this to the inspectorate and the university’s Academic Affairs Office."

Lu Cheng’s voice was hoarse. "Teacher, I admit there were procedural errors, but I never intended to harm Lam Van."

Hua Thanh Le began to weep as well. "I was just so afraid that my hard work would be stolen that I lost control of my emotions."

I laughed upon hearing this. "Your hard work?"

I placed my phone on the table and opened my cloud storage. "This is a video of me conducting surveys in Binh Thuy town last summer." In the footage, I was drenched in rain, wearing a soaked t-shirt as I stood in a dilapidated classroom teaching children how to identify misinformation online. "This is the history of how I organized the surveys." Over a thousand survey forms were visible, each with photographs, serial numbers, data entry logs, and timestamps. "This is the email correspondence between the supervisor and me." Every detail, from topic selection to interview outlines, was documented in full. "Hua Thanh Le, where is your hard work?"

She bowed her head, capable only of sobbing. Lu Cheng suddenly spoke up: "Van Van, is there really a need to be this relentless?"

I tilted my head to look at him. "When you pinned the label of plagiarist on me in front of the entire school, did you think you were being too relentless?"

His face went rigid. "When you told me not to keep a copy of my own work, did you ever imagine this day would come?"

The room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. My academic advisor suddenly lifted his head. "Lu Cheng told you not to keep a copy?"

I opened the text messages on my phone and handed it to him. The message was still there: "The school anniversary computer only accepts the student council’s unified format. Give me your USB and don’t keep a backup yourself to avoid version conflicts."

The vice dean’s face turned completely dark. The intent behind those words was blatantly obvious. In a standard equipment check, no one would ever request that a presenter not keep a backup of their work—unless, of course, they were terrified that I would produce the original to prove my innocence. Lu Cheng rushed to explain: "I was just worried that having too many versions would interfere with the presentation."

Tran Tri Vi asked coldly: "Then why did you delete the official file that had already been uploaded from her drive?"

Lu Cheng could not answer. Hua Thanh Le suddenly clutched her chest. "I don’t feel well…"