Chapter 20 — Global Livestream, Her Dress Shows My Name

Even if the speaker is not turned on. But viewers can still hear it faintly.

“Stop playing!”

“Stop the livestream now!”

“Stop it now!”

Ha Mat's face completely lost control. She frantically wanted to turn off the livestream. But it was too late. Because right at that moment. The official account of the International Society for the Preservation of Textile Culture published a new announcement. Officially opened an investigation against Chu Minh Vien. Temporarily freeze all achievements, awards and related academic status. Initiator of investigation: 17 co-signers. The first name appears clearly on the screen. Second name. Chung Ngoc Hoa. Third name. I'm someone whose graduation time was delayed by two years. Fourth name. Someone who quit his job. Fifth name. Someone who teaches art in high school. Seventeenth name. It's a name that shakes up the entire design industry. A retired academician. The person who was Chu Minh Vien's teacher. Until now. No one can save him anymore. She looks emaciated, fragile, pitifully weak. That's the look that Ha Mat is best at. Just for a short time. The livestream room was flooded with hundreds of thousands of people. She started to speak.

"I know there's been a lot of talk online these days about me and Ha Tinh."

“I've always been quiet.”

“Because I don't want things to get worse.”

“But today I have to speak.”

“Because if I don't say it, perhaps there will be truths that no one will know forever.”

She stopped. Gently squeeze the bridge of your nose. It's like trying to hold back tears.

“Ha Tinh and I are college friends.”

“Also each other's best friends.”

“Since first year, we have drawn sketches together, discussed designs together, and stayed up all night doing homework together.”

“A lot of works were indeed completed by both of them.”

“As for the words that appeared on the tuxedos at Fashion Week…”

“I really don't know what happened.”

“But I can understand Ha Tinh's mood.”

“Perhaps she felt her contributions were not recognized.”

“That's why I chose such an extreme way.”

The comments section immediately divided into two camps. One side cursed her for acting. One side kept typing:

“I love Ha Mat so much.”

“She's so pitiful.”

Ha Mat continued.

“But there is one thing I must clarify.”

“People say I stole Ha Tinh's design.”

“That's not true.”

“Our design ideas inherently have many similarities.”

“Because we studied with the same teacher.”

“Influenced by the same sources of inspiration.”

“That cannot prove who stole from whom.”

Her voice began to tremble.

“I admit.”

“Maybe I'm not the most talented person.”

“But I'm also not a useless person who knows nothing.”

“Since childhood I have loved design.”

“My grandmother is actually an artist in the village.”

“I didn't make that up.”

“I also have my own inspiration.”

“Have your own aesthetic.”

“There are things I persistently pursue.”

Speaking of this. Tears fell from her eyes. The two words "so sorry" almost covered the screen. On the other end of the line. To Niem was so angry that he burst out laughing.

“Really good acting.”

“Oscar owes her a golden statuette.”

I don't continue watching. Because I know exactly what she will say next. She will say she never did it hurt me. All misunderstandings are due to “lack of communication”. She will say she hopes I can appear and talk directly to her.

“Sit down and talk clearly.”

She will say.

“If I have truly hurt Ha Tinh, I am willing to apologize publicly.”

Every sentence and every word is carefully calculated. There is only one purpose. Put yourself in the position of proactive mediator. If I refuse. I will become unreasonable. If I agree. The whole thing will turn into:

“A misunderstanding between two close friends.”

Big things become small. Small things become nothing. After I die. She did the exact same thing at my funeral. Everyone said:

“Ha Mat is so kind.”

"The design was stolen but still said to help the other party."

But this life. I'm alive. I don't have to respond to her. Because seven more days. Laboratory test results will be published. That report would prove that: The hidden dye on the tuxedo was a proprietary formula. Does not exist in any public database. The person who invented that formula. There is only one person. How well can Ha Mat act? It is also impossible to derive a chemical formula. I turned off the livestream. Then call Tan Lang.

“Tan Lang.”

“Are you safe?”

“I moved to another friend's house.”

“Chu Minh Vien's people couldn't find it.”

“Help me with the last thing.”

“You used to be in charge of Chu Minh Vien's email, right?”

“He never changed his password.”

“Using the same password for over ten years.”

"Is there a letter in his mailbox with Luc Ngan about falsifying the plagiarism assessment?"

Tan Lang was silent for a few seconds.

“I've seen it before.”

“The mailing time is about two months ahead of the hearing.”

“The content is to discuss how to make that appraisal.”

“And what reason would you use to force you to confess?”

“Did you save the screenshot?”

“But I'm not sure if I can use it.”

“Anyway, I took it upon myself to look at his letter.”

“You don't need to make it public.”

“Please send me the encryption.”

“Let me handle the rest.”

“Tan Lang.”

“Waiting for everything to end.”

“I will help you review your graduation thesis.”

The other side was silent for a long time. When opening your mouth. His voice was so soft it was almost inaudible. The call ended. I sit in front of my desk. Open the computer. Chain of emails back and forth between Chu Minh Vien and Luc Ngan. The entire process of falsifying the plagiarism assessment report. If these were released before Fashion Week. No one will believe it. Because at that time. I am a "copycat". Whatever I say will only be considered sophistry. But now it's different. Everyone is looking back at the whole thing. Complete email record. Test report from the laboratory. Tan Lang's denunciation documents. A five-year chain of evidence compiled by To Niem. Four lines of evidence. Closing little by little. Like four strings stretched in the air. But at the final intersection point. There's only one person left. Chu Minh Vien.