Chapter 8 — Evidence That Doesn't Lie

He looked at me, his voice raspy and strained.

"Van, my mother knows everything now. She was so furious that she had to be hospitalized."

"I see."

"She has always looked at you like her own daughter. Could you, for her sake, drop the lawsuit against me?"

This person truly lacked even a shred of integrity. I stared at him in utter disbelief.

"Lu Cheng, at this point, are you still trying to use elders to pressure me?"

His eye sockets turned red.

"I am not. I just… I truly regret what I did."

"Do you regret hurting me, or do you regret that it didn't succeed?"

His expression stiffened instantly. Deep down, I already had my answer.

"Lu Cheng, do not call me Van anymore."

"We are not that close."

He stood frozen, as if someone had just struck him across the face. I did not spare him another glance. From that day forward, I blocked every single method of contact. Social media, phone numbers, emails—everything was erased. The childhood friendship that had spanned over a decade ended right there.

The recording for the school anniversary speech took place a week later. This time, the school organized the event with the utmost formality. There were no livestream malfunctions, nor was there a "package of evidence" that suddenly emerged. There was only a clean stage, bright lights, and the faculty and students seated in the audience. Before I went on stage, Professor Tran Tri Vi came to the backstage area to visit me. Today, she wore a dark blue cheongsam and looked to be in high spirits.

"Are you nervous?"

I smiled. "Much less than last time."

"That is good." She patted my shoulder gently. "Remember, no one can ever steal the work that a person has truly put in themselves."

A sharp sting bloomed in my nose. "Professor Tran, thank you."

If she had not stood up for me that day, things might not have turned out so smoothly. But she waved her hand dismissively. "You saved yourself. You sent the emails, preserved the system logs, created bait files, and dared to stand on stage to demand the evidence be checked. I only helped you bring the situation back in line with the regulations."

I looked at her and nodded earnestly. I kept those words etched in my mind for a long time. Others can lend you a hand, but the only thing that will sustain you forever is the path you have paved for yourself. The host called my name. I took my notes and stepped onto the stage. This time, the giant screen lit up as intended. The first slide was a photo I had taken in front of the elementary school in Binh Thuy town. The sunlight fell on the children's faces, bright and vibrant like a small sea.

"Respected professors, alumni, and fellow students. I am Lam Van from the School of Journalism and Communication."

"Today, what I want to speak about is not a polished project result."

"It is about the real children and the real problems I witnessed during my rural survey."

The auditorium was deathly quiet. There were no doubts, no jeers. I spoke of the little girl who had to borrow her neighbor's phone every day just to attend online classes. I spoke of how the teachers in the town taught the children to distinguish rumors from facts in short videos. I spoke of the moment we handed out survey forms, and a group of children gathered around to ask, "Is university very far away?" By the end of the speech, my voice caught.

"Education is not about pulling a child into the spotlight."

"It is about helping them see the road ahead, even when they are in a place devoid of light."

When the applause erupted, I saw Tran Tri Vi in the front row, nodding softly. My academic advisor was wiping away tears. After the speech concluded, the official school website posted the full video. Finally, the comments section was free of vitriol.

"This is exactly what an excellent student representative should look like."

"To be slandered and remain so calm—I am truly impressed."

"Academic achievement is the easiest thing to steal, but those who work truly hard will always possess confidence."

I read these comments but felt no great surge of excitement. I simply breathed a sigh of relief. When the deadline for postgraduate recommendations passed, my name stood firmly on the final list. Recommending body: School of Journalism and Communication, Jiangcheng University. Recommendation status: Approved. The names of Lu Cheng and Hua Thanh Le had vanished. I heard that there was a massive fallout in the Luc family, and Hua Thanh Le had moved out of their home. These rumors came to me through my classmates. I did not ask, and I did not care.

Later, the legal proceedings progressed smoothly. They issued a public apology and compensated me for the damage to my reputation. The statement of apology remained on the school's website for seven days. Every word felt like a long-overdue settlement. Before graduation, I returned to Binh Thuy town for another survey. The mountain road was still bumpy, and the old pagoda tree in front of the school gate remained standing. The little girl had grown taller; she hugged her notebook and ran over to call me 'Sister.' I crouched down and asked her, "Do you still want to go see the university?"

She nodded with all her might. "I do!"

I smiled and patted her head.