On the way back to the police station, the atmosphere in the car was lively.
Xu Jiale patted the back of the driver's seat and teased, "Boss, now that we’ve cracked a decade-old cold case, shouldn’t you treat us to a Wagyu feast to celebrate?"
"We should wait until the boss gets a promotion and raise!" Zeng Yongshan laughed. "How about our usual spot at Wing Kee for abalone rice instead?"
Zhu Qing was about to speak—
"The whole team goes together," Mo Zhenbang said, steering the wheel with one hand as the car turned onto Nathan Road. "No matter how big the case, nothing beats abalone rice."
The tension that had weighed on the officers for days finally eased, the pressure in their hearts dissipating.
"Who knew the case would break so fast? Once forensics and the coroner submit their reports, we can close it."
"Thinking back now, when Bo Bo died, Sheng Peishan insisted we stay and investigate. For Chen Chaosheng, that must’ve been like slow torture. Murder—and he held out this long before cracking. That’s some mental toughness."
"Hold on, let me check this." Mo Zhenbang’s pager beeped. He signaled and pulled over to the curb.
"Is it the missus checking in?"
"The missus doesn’t have that kind of pull—must be his daughter!"
"I’m taking notes. Next time we’re at Mo Sir’s place for hot pot, I’ll tell the missus!"
As Zeng Yongshan and Xu Jiale bickered, Uncle Li took the chance to reminisce about how "cheesy" Mo Zhenbang was when he was courting his wife.
When Mo Zhenbang returned, he carried several bags of piping-hot egg waffles, their sweet aroma instantly filling the car.
"Nobody’s in a rush, right?" Mo Zhenbang said. "My daughter wanted egg waffles from Wah Wong Café."
Aside from Uncle Li, everyone in Team B was young. Though Mo Zhenbang wasn’t much older, as their leader, he’d gotten used to treating them like kids.
Each got a waffle, effectively silencing Zeng Yongshan and Xu Jiale. Zhu Qing accepted hers too, nibbling small bites as the buttery fragrance melted on her tongue.
Mo Zhenbang lived in the alley behind the Yau Ma Tei Police Station. As he carried the waffles upstairs, Xu Jiale’s muttering drifted through the car window.
"This afternoon, we were at Hong Kong University digging up old photos of He Jia’er, then got called back—who’d have thought we’d still score abalone rice tonight?"
Xu Jiale pulled a photo from the evidence bag.
It was a group shot displayed in the journalism department’s showcase, with He Jia’er as an outstanding student representative.
"The Hong Kong News Rising Stars Program? That’s a big deal—even the souvenirs were gold-plated. Must’ve cost a fortune… He Jia’er had such a bright future." Zeng Yongshan sighed. "How could Chen Chaosheng promise her a luxury villa in Mid-Levels? The guy was living off Second Miss Sheng, eating and spending on her dime!"
"He was a fraud! Always wearing that fake smile around Sheng Peishan… Of course he’d grovel to a billionaire heiress."
"Zeng Yongshan, you’re such a Monday-morning quarterback!"
Zhu Qing’s fingers still traced the edge of the photo, her brow furrowing. "Does this man look familiar to any of you?"
Several heads leaned in.
"This man," Zhu Qing pointed to a figure in the corner. "I feel like I’ve seen him before."
"Glasses, suit, middle-aged academic type… HKU’s law and journalism departments are full of guys like that!"
Zhu Qing adjusted the photo against the sunlight. "Can I hold onto this for now?"
"Take it. We’ll return it to He Jia’er’s parents after closing the case," Xu Jiale tossed her the evidence bag. "Assuming forensics doesn’t need it for records."
…
The next morning, Inspector Weng appeared punctually at Team B’s office door.
He strolled in humming, his shoes polished, suit crisp, radiating cheer—a stark contrast to his demeanor days prior.
"Well done. Solving this skeletal remains case in 48 hours is impressive."
"I heard you already had a celebration last night? Then I won’t splurge on another."
Among the team, the younger officers stayed silent while Uncle Li busied himself counting floor tiles.
Mo Zhenbang forced a polite smile, exchanging pleasantries with Inspector Weng.
Zeng Yongshan whispered to Zhu Qing: "Weng Zhaolin’s the stingiest. Every penny saved from celebrations goes into his luxury watch collection."
The Sheng family skeletal case had gripped the entire department, pushing forensics and the coroner’s office to work overnight. By dawn, the final reports were submitted.
The poison in the bottle matched traces from the scene, and all fingerprints pointed solely to Chen Chaosheng.
Now, the case was nearing its end.
Most officers drifted to the break room to chat, but Zhu Qing remained at her desk.
Piles of documents covered her workspace, each file aligned with meticulous precision.
When Mo Zhenbang called her in to discuss her dorm application, her thoughts were still on the case.
"Sir, doesn’t this case… feel too straightforward?"
Mo Zhenbang chuckled.
Newbies always overcomplicated things. Some cases were just this simple.
"Not every criminal’s a mastermind. Most are just dumb crooks."
"I used to overthink too," he said, the voice of experience. "But the suicide note, prints, witnesses—"
"But yesterday, Sheng’s kid mentioned Chen Chaosheng’s suitcase was packed, like he was planning a trip."
"Kids say anything. Maybe he was torn between fleeing and killing himself?"
Zhu Qing frowned slightly.
She’d met Chen Chaosheng a few times. Would a man that calculating really end his own life?
"Sir, I’d like to revisit the scene."
Just then, Inspector Weng called from the hallway: "New girl! Free? I need you to—"
Zhu Qing shot Mo Zhenbang a rare pleading look.
She’d never clasp her hands cutely, but the slight purse of her lips screamed "Save me."
Mo Zhenbang covered for her: "Zhu Qing’s helping me with urgent paperwork."
She bolted, nearly tripping over the doorframe in her haste.
Mo Zhenbang shook his head.
First playing obedient, now acting pitiful. Troublesome. Every one of them.
…
Zhu Qing still wanted answers.
A decade later, He Jia’er’s former classmate, Zhong Rujun, now worked at the university.
The gilded nameplate on her office door—"Zhong Rujun"—gleamed under the hallway lights.
"Please sit, Madam." Learning Zhu Qing’s purpose, Zhong Rujun slid a newspaper across her desk.
The Hong Kong Evening News had identified the Sheng case victim. The headline still grabbed attention:
Top Student’s Tragic Fall: Bones Cry for Justice in Portland Street.
"Jia’er was so bright. When I first came from the mainland, my Cantonese was terrible—she’d cheer me up with her broken Mandarin."
"She won the president’s scholarship twice… If not for—"
Speaking of those days, Zhong Rujun’s gaze fell.
She and He Jia'er were roommates, but due to her introverted nature and difficulty in socializing, the two had always maintained a polite distance.
"Dating? Never heard of it."
"Jia'er... she even takes notes analyzing plot structures when watching romance films. It's hard to imagine her being associated with topics of love."
"By the way." Zhu Qing placed the yellowed keepsake photo on the desk.
In the photo, a spirited young woman in a crisp white shirt, a pen tucked in her chest pocket, faced the camera with a vibrant smile blooming at the corners of her lips.
He Jia'er's father claimed that nightclubs made money too fast, and his daughter couldn’t resist the temptation of designer handbags. Chen Chaosheng, in his suicide note, wrote that she had accepted many gifts, growing increasingly greedy, pressuring him for a commitment.
Yet now, Zhong Rujun's eyes reddened—
"Her dream was to become a war correspondent, to let the world hear the voices of the weak."
Zhu Qing pointed to a silhouette in the corner: "Do you recognize this person?"
"Professor Cheng?"
"He passed away from illness three years ago. Even on his deathbed, he was still asking about his daughter’s whereabouts. It’s heartbreaking..."
With the fragments of memory pieced together, Zhu Qing finally understood why the figure had seemed familiar.
He was Cheng Zhaoqian, the Eldest Son-in-law of the Sheng Family, who had appeared in a family portrait taken when the hillside villa was completed.
The property manager, Uncle Lin, was spreading rumors again.
Professor Cheng had already passed away—how could he have moved to Shek O with Sheng Peirong?
"Did He Jia'er and Professor Cheng ever cross paths?"
"Professor Cheng wasn’t a teacher at our university, though he once gave a lecture here. Any connection with Jia'er? Probably not."
...
By the time Zhu Qing rushed back to the Sheng residence, it was already evening.
Butler Cui: "Madam, is there something else about the case that needs clarification—"
"No." Zhu Qing remained expressionless. "Your young master left his toy at my place."
Minutes later, Zhu Qing stood outside the third-floor nursery door, gently knocking on the slightly ajar door.
The young master was playing with building blocks on the carpet. When he saw her enter, he narrowed his eyes warily.
"Do you know where your eldest sister lives?"
The little master’s face was as round as a steamed bun, and when he raised his eyebrows defiantly, it looked like folds forming on the bun: "You couldn’t find out?"
The eldest daughter of the Sheng family kept her whereabouts secret, and the address registered in the police files had long been outdated.
Zhu Qing sighed deliberately: "I forgot you’re just a kid. Asking you is pointless."
"Who says? I know!" Sheng Fang nearly bristled, then mimicked an adult’s posture, clasping his hands behind his back to negotiate. "Unless you take me with you."
Zhu Qing stared at him for two seconds before replying bluntly, "Let’s go."
Sheng Fang’s eyes lit up as he bounced after her: "Where’s your car parked?"
Zhu Qing: ...
Young Master: ?
She! Didn’t! Have! One!
