The school bus cabin buzzed with chatter as children chattered away like little chatterboxes, their tiny mouths never pausing. Master Hu played children's songs, the cheerful melodies blending with the kids' excitement about heading home, making the tunes feel even livelier.
Yesi's voice grew louder beside Sheng Fang's ear.
"You believe that?"
Sheng Fang tilted his head. "Why wouldn’t I?"
Yesi’s skepticism made Sheng Fang realize she was a silly little kid. She even scrunched her nose, asking if he really believed it!
His niece was a police officer—she never lied.
"I’ve solved lots of cases," Sheng Fang explained patiently. "The police station can’t function without me!"
He gave Yesi plenty of examples. When his niece tracked down a deaf-mute witness at the Temple Street night market, he was there. When she infiltrated a spiritual healing group by pretending to be someone’s son, he was there. And when she danced like a plump swan at the ballet studio, he was the one who went undercover to help… The older cases were a bit fuzzy, but he was definitely Zhu Qing’s lucky charm. With him—her little officer—around, solving cases was twice as easy.
"Fangfang, it’s 'a breeze,' not 'twice as easy,'" Yesi eagerly corrected.
"Really? Then it’s a breeze!"
Sheng Fang spoke with such confidence.
Yesi went from turning her head away in disbelief to slowly wavering, until finally, she was completely convinced, her eyes sparkling with admiration as she circled back to her original question.
"Can I go to the Yau Ma Tei Police Station with you?"
"No, Ah John doesn’t let kids into our department," Sheng Fang refused flatly. "And I’m not going there to play."
Yesi used to think Sheng Fang was an amazing friend.
But now, at the wise age of four, she spotted the flaw in his logic: "You’re a kid too."
Sheng Fang waved his little hand dismissively.
This conversation was going nowhere. Time to drop it.
As the school bus turned into Yau Ma Tei, Sheng Fang raised his chubby hand. "Uncle Hu, I want to get off here!"
The school bus followed a fixed route, with Master Hu safely delivering each child home at the same stops every day. At each designated spot, he would wait until a parent arrived to pick up their child before driving off again.
Sheng Fang had long noticed that many parents had no sense of time. Officially, school ended at 4 PM, but he often got home much later—all because they had to wait for others.
Today, it was the other kids’ turn to be delayed—because young Master Sheng insisted on getting off in Yau Ma Tei with no one there to meet him.
Without a mobile phone, Master Hu had no choice but to take Sheng Fang to the nearest payphone.
Before stepping off, Master Hu suddenly asked, "Kid, do you remember your niece’s phone number?"
"You don’t know?" Sheng Fang looked up at him. "Aren’t you a grown-up?"
Master Hu scratched his head.
Sure, he was an adult, but he wasn’t a phonebook. Did he really have to memorize every parent’s number?
"I really don’t—"
Before he could finish, eager little voices chimed in, racing to supply the answer.
"It’s 999!"
"The emergency number is 999!"
...
Zhu Qing hurried out of the Yau Ma Tei Police Station.
Earlier, she’d been too busy to step away. Flipping open her phone’s contacts, her finger hovered over a name before slowly pulling back. In the past, Cheng Xinglang’s name had always been near the top, easy to dial, and he’d never turned her down.
Now, five months after his departure, the distance between them only made his memory sharper.
This case was connected to the Cheng family.
In their limited time together, Cheng Xinglang had never spoken about the past. He always wore a careless smile, as if all his pain had been sealed away with the case files. But Zhu Qing had seen the newspaper clippings he kept—meticulously organized by date and year in his folders. For someone as easygoing as him, why would he hold onto them unless it still haunted him?
Lost in thought, Zhu Qing reached the school bus stop.
Master Hu stood by the roadside, holding Sheng Fang’s hand.
"Sorry for the trouble," she said with a slight nod.
Sheng Fang looked up at his niece, heart swelling with pride.
Aunt Ping always said Zhu Qing had grown softer—and it was true. In the past, she’d scowled at everyone. Since when did she apologize for something as small as wasting someone’s time?
"Don’t worry about it," Master Hu waved it off. "Just wanted to make sure the little one was safe. But next time, give us a heads-up, alright?"
Sheng Fang grinned innocently—until his niece’s icy voice cut in.
"There won’t be a next time," Zhu Qing assured. "I’ll beat him when we get home."
Sheng Fang blinked.
Did he hear that right?
Normally, he’d double-check. But this time, he stayed quiet, obediently trailing Zhu Qing toward the station, pretending nothing had happened.
"If Aunt Ping isn’t there to pick you up next time," Zhu Qing warned sternly, "you are not getting off in Yau Ma Tei. Understood?"
Sheng Fang pouted. "Yeah, yeah."
"You got a problem with that?"
In no time, Sheng Fang was inside the CID office.
He immediately latched onto Weng Zhaolin like a lifeline.
"Ah John! Look at her!"
The uninvited little guest was promptly parked beside Weng Zhaolin.
Somehow, Weng’s office had become an unofficial daycare. The two of them—one big, one small—stared at each other, but it was oddly harmonious.
Sheng Fang’s detective instincts were spot-on. There was a new case today. Weng Zhaolin was swamped, while colleagues murmured in hushed tones. Sheng Fang craned his neck, pulling out a notebook from his backpack to jot down his own "investigation notes."
"What’re you writing?" Weng Zhaolin leaned over.
The kid had drawn a tiny fist-pumping cheerleader.
Little Uncle was rooting for Zhu Qing!
Inside the CID office, officers pored over files at their desks.
A new lead had shifted the investigation’s direction.
The old case file was massive.
Zhu Qing’s fingers brushed over a page—an eighteen-year-old missing person notice from the newspaper. The photo showed an eight-year-old Cheng Xinglang in a hospital bed, finally out of danger after emergency treatment. A reporter had done a feature on him, hoping to find his missing younger brother.
Back then, he’d been too young. He couldn’t even remember what color clothes his brother had been wearing—only fragments. Like how quiet he was, how he favored his left hand, how he always slept clutching a teddy bear.
"It's confirmed that the younger brother is left-handed," Zeng Yongshan pointed out the key detail.
"Cheng Xingyu..." Xu Jiale murmured the unfamiliar name. "Eighteen years have passed. By now, he’s probably changed his name—might not even remember it himself."
"Aside from Xinglang, this child is the only surviving direct relation," Uncle Li said with a frown. "Eighteen years is enough time for a six-year-old to grow into an adult."
"Judging by his brother’s genes, the younger brother should easily reach six feet one," Xu Jiale tried to lighten the mood.
No one responded to his joke.
Xu Jiale sighed and fell silent.
The police worked strictly on evidence. Whoever the killer was, their job was simply to bring them in.
But if the real culprit turned out to be the brother Cheng Xinglang had been searching for over eighteen years... As a child, Xinglang had clawed his way out of darkness once. It hadn’t been easy then, and now, facing it again—not only would he struggle to endure it, but even his colleagues couldn’t bear the thought.
"This case isn’t just about Dr. Cheng," Mo Zhenbang closed the case file and spoke up abruptly. "That couple didn’t die for nothing, and the missing girl must be found."
"Whether it’s been eighteen years or twenty-eight, as long as they’re still in Hong Kong, we’ll dig them out."
...
On a rare late-night shift, Sheng Fang trailed behind the officers like a little shadow, even enjoying the takeout box meal with gusto.
"How was the missing person case from eighteen years ago investigated back then?" Xu Jiale asked.
"We used the most basic methods," Uncle Li replied. "Door-to-door inquiries, searching through park trash bins, even questioning homeless people on the streets."
"But it was just a six-year-old child. If someone intentionally hid him, how could we have found him?"
"That madman back then was thoroughly investigated. He had no relatives or friends—who could he have entrusted the child to?"
"Given the killer’s unstable mental state, what kind of rational arrangements could he have made?" Zeng Yongshan bit down on her disposable chopsticks. "If the brother’s perception was twisted as he grew up, it makes sense that eighteen years later, he’d recreate the 'ritual,' replicating childhood memories."
"Even the chocolate he loved as a kid is part of the replication."
Sheng Fang clutched his little notebook, scribbling earnestly.
Sleepiness refused to come. He remained on standby, alert as if he could slap on a police badge and rush to the scene at any moment.
At exactly nine o’clock, the long-awaited crime scene investigation finally began.
Little Sheng Fang didn’t slow them down at all, keeping pace with Zhu Qing. When it was time to get in the car, he clambered in with hands and feet; when it was time to get out, he hopped down with a thud—his energetic demeanor making him seem like a full-fledged member of the team.
The night market behind Zhengqin Building was just starting to buzz.
Zhu Qing and Zeng Yongshan questioned each vendor while Sheng Fang stood on tiptoe, holding up photos.
"No memory of them."
"Too many people come by every day—how could I remember?"
As they reached the corner, an elderly man at a fruit stall suddenly spoke up: "Officers, are you asking about Mr. and Mrs. Bao?"
His stall stood out among the food vendors, unusually tidy.
"You’re asking the wrong crowd," the old man said. "Mrs. Bao never bought greasy street food. She was a nurse—always told her daughter it was unhygienic."
Zhu Qing and Zeng Yongshan stepped closer.
"Grandpa," Zeng Yongshan asked, "have you seen their family recently?"
"Mrs. Bao bought some oranges a few days ago."
"Just her?"
"Just her." The old man lowered his voice, pointing to the alley behind his stall. "But afterward, a tall man spoke to her over there."
"What did he look like? What did they talk about?"
"How would I know?" The old man shook his head. "He wore a mask and hat—couldn’t even see his face. He left quickly."
"Which day exactly?"
"Last Saturday," the old man said firmly. "My grandson came over for dinner that day, so I opened late."
According to Lai Danhe’s daughter’s statement, three days ago—on that same Saturday—the deceased had suddenly contacted her.
In that call, the victim said that if anything happened to her, her daughter should take her sister and leave immediately.
Now, the officers suspected that the appearance of the mysterious man had made her sense death approaching.
On the drive back, discussions in the car ebbed and flowed.
This case weighed on everyone’s minds.
Sheng Fang sat in the back seat, swinging his short legs.
After hearing the adults mention Dr. Cheng all night, it finally dawned on him. "He’s back?"
"Not yet," Zeng Yongshan ruffled his hair. "His course can’t just end whenever. Didn’t you calculate it last time? He’ll be back in spring."
The car fell silent for a moment.
Spring was the season of rebirth. They could only hope that by then, the winter’s chill would have completely given way to the vibrant warmth of spring.
At home, Zhu Qing headed straight for the study.
Her computer screen flickered to life, fingers hovering over the keyboard before finally typing.
With a twelve-hour time difference, it would be ten in the morning where he was.
Outside the study, Sheng Peirong and Aunt Ping were urging Sheng Fang—who had worked so late—to wash up.
"What case was so urgent?" Sheng Peirong asked offhandedly.
Aunt Ping added, "Everything was fine when he left this morning."
Sheng Fang, mouth full of toothpaste foam, mumbled, "Dr. Cheng’s family case."
Sheng Peirong froze. "What?"
Sheng Fang pressed a chubby finger to his lips. "Case confidential. No comment."
Truthfully, he didn’t know the specifics either.
But playing the part of a dignified officer? That feeling was absolutely thrilling.
...
The next morning, before all the CID officers had arrived, a few morning newspapers were already scattered across the desks.
Zhu Qing flipped one open—the front page featured a photo of Zhengqin Building’s crime scene.
Bathed in dawn light, the high-rise loomed behind several residents, their faces frozen in fear by the camera.
"Weng Zhaolin dropped these off this morning," Liang Qikai said. "Didn’t say a word—just left."
Zeng Yongshan sighed. "Silent pressure."
Hao Zai chimed in, "We’re racing against the media now. If they realize this is a repeat of an old case..."
Mo Zhenbang stepped forward. "It’s not about waiting for the media to find out. The police have to announce it first."
He scanned the room. "You’re underestimating this case. Do you know what’s most terrifying about an old case resurfacing?"
The office fell dead silent.
"It’s not one or two lives lost," Mo Zhenbang’s voice dropped. "It’s indiscriminate killing—victims will keep appearing, one after another."
As he finished, his gaze drifted unconsciously toward the phone on his desk.
These past two days, nothing scared him more than the sudden, shrill ring of that phone.
At nine in the morning, the investigative teams split into action.
One team was tasked with tracking down the packaging of the soft-centered chocolates found at the crime scene, scouring every supermarket and shop in Hong Kong that still sold that particular brand. Another team focused on retrieving surveillance footage around Zhengqin Building, searching for the conspicuously tall man with distinctive features.
Uncle Li led Zhu Qing and Hao Zai straight to Jianuo'an Sanatorium to review recent visitor logs.
Zhu Qing recalled the figure she had glimpsed earlier.
Back then, she had been accompanying her mother, Sheng Peirong, to a rehabilitation session. As she fastened her seatbelt before leaving, her eyes had caught a fleeting silhouette. It was just a momentary glimpse—distorted by the reflections on both the car window and the sanatorium's glass—so she had dismissed it as a trick of the light.
But what if Cheng Xinglang’s brother had indeed appeared?
Could those familiar eyes, partially hidden beneath a mask, belong to Cheng Xingyu, who had been missing for eighteen years?
The police car pulled into the garage.
After hours of cross-referencing records, Hao Zai frowned, flipping through his notebook.
"We’ve verified all the patients' relatives and scheduled visitors for that day. Nothing suspicious."
As a top-tier sanatorium, Jianuo'an had always maintained strict security. Sheng Peirong had lived there for over a decade without being discovered by anyone—even Pei Junyi had repeatedly hit dead ends. So how had this person slipped through?
"Could it have been a staff member? A cleaner, or someone delivering medical supplies?"
The guard suddenly remembered something and pulled out a separate logbook. "What about medical equipment engineers? They’re registered separately from regular visitors."
He handed the logbook to Zhu Qing.
Her eyes dropped to the entry:
"Huanheng Medical Equipment Co., Jiang Yi."
"The timing matches," Zhu Qing noted. "Can we pull up the surveillance footage?"
The footage soon appeared on the screen.
A blurred figure in dark workwear, face obscured by a mask and cap, walked casually toward the elevator. A nurse had let him in.
"Technicians come quarterly to service the equipment," the guard explained. "Arranged by Doctor Wang."
The police verified the details with Doctor Wang, who confirmed the routine maintenance. The nurse on duty that day also reported nothing unusual.
"Was anyone supervising him during the repairs?"
"No… We’re not trained in equipment maintenance. As long as the machines were fixed, that’s all that mattered."
With this lead, the police headed to Huanheng Medical.
"We do schedule quarterly maintenance at Jianuo'an," the HR manager confirmed after checking records. "But this quarter’s visit isn’t due yet, and…" She looked up, puzzled. "We don’t have an employee named Jiang Yi."
The officers noted the discrepancy and pressed on.
By 3 p.m., Zhu Qing sat at her desk, replaying the surveillance footage.
The footage froze on the mysterious man’s figure.
He kept his head down, expertly avoiding every camera angle that might have captured his face. The sanatorium, prioritizing patient privacy, had minimal surveillance—giving him ample time to move undetected.
The timestamp showed he had lingered in a blind spot for twenty minutes.
Plenty of time to accomplish something.
"What was he really doing there?" Zeng Yongshan muttered, staring at the screen.
Zhu Qing shook her head and rewound the footage again.
By evening, a new email notification flashed on her screen.
Cheng Xinglang’s reply was brief—just four words:
Be careful.
Zhu Qing stared at the message.
The police had just issued a public warning, emphasizing the killer’s brutality and the high likelihood of another attack. Panic had already begun spreading.
The investigation pressed on, but leads remained scarce.
At dinner in the precinct canteen, forensics specialist Ben joined the team. "Any progress?"
A round of headshakes followed.
"Any updates from Dr. Cheng?" Xu Jiale asked.
"Dr. Chan couldn’t reach Cheng Xinglang," Ben said between bites of his sandwich. "But his professor sounded relaxed—said the research report isn’t finished, so he’s not coming back yet."
The colleagues debated the situation.
In a way, Cheng Xinglang being abroad was a blessing. Given the killer’s possible identity and the deliberate replication of the Cheng family case, staying overseas kept him out of immediate danger. The psychological toll would need time to process—perhaps it was better for him to learn the full truth only after the case was solved.
"Special protection detail?" Ben chuckled. "It’s good he’s staying put. No idea how he’d react otherwise…"
After finishing his meal, Ben left with his coffee.
The officers resumed discussing the case.
Less than forty-eight hours since the murder, the police had only fragments:
The killer was male, tall, left-handed, and had left behind a specific brand of chocolate wrapper—though no DNA was recovered. The crime scene’s eerie resemblance to the Cheng family case pointed to Cheng Xingyu, but concrete details about the suspect remained elusive.
With the investigation stalled, the only lead was the victim Lai Danhe’s final phone call to her daughter.
Officers combed through Lai’s bank records and work history, but the nurse’s life had been straightforward, with no apparent ties to the Cheng family or Mingde Psychiatric Center.
Leaving the canteen, Zhu Qing called Sheng Peirong.
"I figured you wouldn’t make it home for dinner," Sheng Peirong’s amused voice came through, faint radio chatter in the background. "I already told Aunt Ping to cook less."
"You’re out?" Zhu Qing caught the sound of a car engine.
"At rehab," Sheng Peirong replied. "Still in the car."
"You’re being unusually obedient today."
"Cheeky," Sheng Peirong laughed. "Just like Sheng Fang."
Hanging up, Zhu Qing’s thoughts returned to the surveillance footage.
The intruder hadn’t been there for equipment repairs. The police had checked every patient file—nothing.
Then another possibility struck her.
Could there be a new patient, not yet added to the system?
The idea sent her speeding back to Jianuo'an Sanatorium.
As she stepped out of the car, she spotted Uncle Nian waiting outside for Sheng Peirong’s session.
"Working this late?" Uncle Nian smiled.
"Some official business," Zhu Qing replied tersely, her gaze fixed on the main building of the sanatorium.
She entered the lobby, passing the spot where the man had once lingered in the hallway, then turned to glance at the security camera.
The footage only captured a blurred figure from behind—he knew the surveillance blind spots all too well.
"Miss Zhu?" Nurse Dai walked by, surprised. "Here to see your mother? She's in the rehabilitation room."
"Nurse Dai, have there been any new patients admitted recently?"
"Well..."
Zhu Qing flashed her badge. "We're investigating a criminal case."
Nurse Dai paused, then chuckled. "I almost forgot you're a police officer."
She led Zhu Qing to the records room and pulled up the list of newly admitted patients.
"These are the patients admitted in the last six months."
Zhu Qing skimmed the names, her eyes stopping at a familiar one.
Feng Ningyun.
In the case of the true and false Lin Tingchao, Feng Ningyun—Rong Zimei's birth mother—had once lived under the alias "Pan Meng" at the Mingde Mental Rehabilitation Center's Sai Kung branch.
Now, she was here.
Nurse Dai knew little about Feng Ningyun's situation and pulled up her detailed file.
"Ms. Feng was transferred here from Mingde Mental Rehabilitation Center as a special care patient. We mainly take in general cases, but we do have a dedicated wing for psychiatric patients requiring continuous professional care."
"What was the reason for the transfer?"
"The file states 'improvement of care environment.' Her daughter believed a place like Mingde wasn’t conducive to her recovery."
Zhu Qing read further and found another familiar name—Rong Zimei’s adoptive mother.
After inheriting the family business, she had likely moved both her birth and adoptive mothers here for easier visits.
Zhun Qing said, "I need to see Feng Ningyun."
"I'm sorry," Nurse Dai hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "We’d need official investigation documents. Otherwise, we can’t disturb the patient."
……
Following protocol, Zhu Qing couldn’t act without authorization.
She had no choice but to leave the Jianuo'an Sanatorium for now and apply for an expedited special order.
Feng Ningyun, Rong Zimei’s birth mother, had lived at Mingde Mental Rehabilitation Center for over twenty years.
And that was also where the killer who murdered Cheng Xinglang’s parents had once escaped from.
How had they uncovered this?
Zhu Qing pieced together the clues as she drove through the night.
Lost in thought, her car wound through the quiet mountain roads of Ho Man Tin and stopped in front of a small Western-style house.
According to old case files, this was Cheng Xinglang’s home.
Once a house for a family of four, now only he remained.
Cheng Xinglang stubbornly stayed. Some said he refused to leave in hopes of finding overlooked evidence; others believed he was simply waiting for his brother to return.
Zhu Qing stepped out of the car. The night breeze no longer carried the biting chill of winter.
The house, long deemed haunted, stood desolate at the mountain road’s bend, radiating loneliness.
Behind its closed doors, the crime scene seemed to materialize—bloodstains smeared across the floor, a sight so horrifying even an outsider couldn’t forget.
Cheng Xinglang rarely came back, preferring to stay at the Yau Ma Tei Police Station office.
Only on New Year’s Eve would he prepare a reunion dinner and sit alone at home, as if time had never passed.
Her phone rang abruptly.
"Zhu Qing, where are you?" Zeng Yongshan’s voice came through the receiver. "The investigation request has been submitted."
"Also, the criminal psychology team just released their assessment. From the soft-hearted chocolate wrappers to the little girl’s missing teddy bear, to the unnaturally tidy room… This could be the fixation of someone who witnessed the tragedy firsthand. The killer displays clear antisocial traits and may revisit the crime scene."
"The boss suspects Dr. Cheng’s brother might return. They’re deploying officers to surround the house in Ho Man Tin."
Zhu Qing’s eyes flicked to a second-floor window.
"I’m already here."
Mo Zhenbang’s voice cut in. "Withdraw immediately."
Before she could respond, footsteps sounded behind her.
"That’s a dangerous individual!" the call warned.
Zhu Qing spun around, her hand flying to her holstered gun.
The footsteps on the gravel were light but unmistakable. As she turned, a figure slipped into an alley.
Her fingers tightened around the gun as she gave chase.
The alley was narrow, the streetlights dim. Unfamiliar with the area, Zhu Qing quickly lost sight of her target.
She stopped, holding her breath, listening for movement.
Images of the brutal crime scene flashed through her mind—cold bodies, splattered blood, an antisocial killer…
And—
Zhu Qing turned back toward the silent house.
And… the whispered "Happy New Year" at the stroke of midnight, as one year bled into the next.
Suddenly, the scattered puzzle pieces snapped into place.
"Cheng Xinglang."
Her voice was soft but firm.
"Come out."
A long silence followed.
Then, from the shadows, a figure emerged.
He lowered his mask and removed his cap, revealing a familiar face.
Even his mentor in the U.S. had helped cover for him.
In truth, Cheng Xinglang must have discovered something. He’d returned a month ago, quietly pursuing the dangerous truth alone.
They stood facing each other in the dim alley, barely a step apart.
He stayed still, then slowly smiled.
How could he still smile?
"I knew," Cheng Xinglang said, taking half a step forward. "You’d be the first to find me."
……
Sheng Peirong returned home, still muttering to herself.
"That Coco, coming to the sanatorium without even saying hello."
"If Uncle Nian hadn’t told me, I wouldn’t have known she’d visited."
Sheng Fang didn’t look up, focused on his Lego. "Big Sis, you’re so nagging. Young people should prioritize their careers."
Sheng Peirong ignored him, turning to Aunt Ping. "This morning, Coco woke up, skipped breakfast, and rushed straight to her computer."
"Yes, yes!" Aunt Ping nodded vigorously. "I’ve never seen Qingqing like this before."
Under the bright moonlight, the two fell into gossip.
Aunt Ping started first.
"During the kindergarten recital, Qingqing’s car broke down. One call, and that handsome doctor rushed over without a word. The next day, he even fixed her car!"
"When Qingqing was hospitalized with a broken collarbone, he was there whenever she called."
"And that time she accompanied you for surgery. None of us could help, but that doctor prepared a stack of medical notes and waited downstairs before dawn to drive her to the airport."
Sheng Peirong added, "When I was hospitalized in Berlin, they talked on the phone every day."
"He even bought so many toys for the little master. So thoughtful!" Aunt Ping continued.
"I always thought they…"
"Just wonder what Coco really thinks—"
Sheng Fang naturally joined the conversation: "No feel at all!"
"What does that mean?" Aunt Ping adjusted her reading glasses.
Sheng Peirong pressed in surprise, "Coco said that to you herself?"
"It was on TV," Sheng Fang replied calmly.
Seemed like he’d used the right line again.
"Little brother, this isn’t up to you," Sheng Peirong said.
Aunt Ping leaned closer.
What does the young master’s English phrase mean?
The eldest sister and Aunt Ping were still whispering among themselves.
Sheng Fang proactively ended the gossip session, focusing instead on assembling a delicate little LEGO stool.
His round little body plopped onto it like a tiny giant.
With a snap, the stool vanished, leaving only scattered pieces on the floor.
Bending over to search, Sheng Fang sighed in his tiny, mournful voice: "Poor quality."
