The police conducted a thorough verification of Song Junli's testimony.
The investigation revealed that the scar on his right hand was indeed caused by a lab accident fifteen years ago, when he was twenty-nine. The scar had remained with him ever since. This meant that the man with a scarred right hand Feng Ningyun witnessed eighteen years ago could not have been him.
When the investigative report was laid out on the table, the officers couldn’t help but feel disheartened.
They had not only investigated Song Junli but also every medical staff member with hand scars listed by the deputy director. Yet, no leads emerged.
"Boss, Feng Ningyun is a psychiatric patient after all. Her testimony lacks credibility and reliability—it wouldn’t even hold up in court..."
"Is it really worth spending so much time following this lead?"
Mo Zhenbang stood in front of the whiteboard, putting away the list.
"We can't rely on the fragmented memories of a patient," he said, turning to the team. "Let’s set this aside for now."
Uncle Li flipped through the case files. "We’ve already cross-referenced all employee records from Mingde and Weisheng Pharmaceutical, combined with the suspect’s physical description provided by Dr. Ye. Still, no breakthrough."
The whiteboard was covered with photos and clues, the faces of key figures both familiar and unfamiliar.
Zhu Qing stared at the photo of Ke Xiaobo, the high-ranking official who had fallen to his death, and suddenly spoke up. "During Song Junli’s statement this afternoon, he mentioned Ke Xiaobo. Back then, he wanted to make some extra money working under Dr. Ke but was turned down."
"This Dr. Ke, who fell to his death, was also a part-time physician for several welfare institutions. His death, the orphan’s sudden illness, and the Cheng family case all happened around the same time."
Zeng Yongshan straightened up and flipped through her notes.
"He casually mentioned that Ke Xiaobo was 'overwhelmed with trouble' back then. But after his accidental fall, no one pursued the strange deaths of the orphans."
Mo Zhenbang took the notes and skimmed through them, his frown deepening.
"All within eighteen years ago—even within the same month. The timeline is too coincidental," he muttered. "Dig deeper into these welfare institutions."
The briefing in the conference room was a brief respite. The meeting soon concluded, and Mo Zhenbang reassigned tasks before grabbing his jacket and heading out again.
The sound of hurried footsteps faded as the room emptied. Only Sister Zhen remained, tidying up the documents with a sigh.
"When will this overtime ever end…"
...
The police began visiting the welfare institutions that had worked with Ke Xiaobo.
Their first stop was the orphanage where the child had died suddenly eighteen years ago.
Time had passed. After nearly two decades, almost all staff had been replaced. After much effort, they finally tracked down the former head nurse, Auntie Lian, now gray-haired and frail.
Leaning on a cane and supported by her granddaughter, Auntie Lian shuffled unsteadily through the orphanage gates. She paused every few steps, catching her breath as her eyes lingered on the weathered walls with deep nostalgia.
Back then, orphanage management had been lax. The archives room, though large, held no records from that time. The only option was to rely on the elderly woman’s memories.
"I remember the child you’re asking about. A girl named Tongtong."
"That couple came to see her several times, always hesitating over her age. Tongtong was already seven—children that old struggle to bond quickly with adoptive parents like toddlers do."
"We’ve seen too many cases where older adoptees, unable to act cute or please, end up returned. It’s devastating for the child."
"But maybe fate had other plans. After much deliberation, they decided to take her home. All the paperwork was done—just one step left..."
Auntie Lian drifted into distant memories, her wrinkled hand resting on the table.
"Then, right after the routine check-up, the report came back, and Tongtong suddenly fell ill. She was gone in three days..."
Zhu Qing pressed, "Was the check-up done by Dr. Ke? What was wrong with the report?"
"Tongtong was diagnosed with an infectious disease—just like that, she was gone. The adoptive parents were furious, demanding answers from Dr. Ke. But days later, even he..."
"The matter was dropped. They weren’t her birth parents, after all—no grounds to push further."
"Such a shame. I still remember how happy Tongtong was when she learned she’d been chosen. Of all the children here, she was the brightest, always singing and helping the nurses care for the younger ones."
Zhu Qing asked, "Were there any other sudden illnesses among the children around that time?"
"No. But it was during a routine check-up for all the children—special arrangements because of the overseas adoptions—"
Zhu Qing and Mo Zhenbang exchanged sharp glances.
"You said all the children were being examined? When exactly?" Zhu Qing pressed.
"Hard to recall… It was winter, bitterly cold. The children lined up all day."
"Dr. Ke brought two nurses with him—worked from dawn till dusk."
Mo Zhenbang cut in, "Did you know those nurses? Were they regular staff here?"
"No, the orphanage couldn’t afford that. They were Dr. Ke’s people."
Zhu Qing continued, "What was the overseas adoption process like?"
Auntie Lian blinked at the officers. "A few foreign agencies came to select children..."
"Did any of the adopted children ever send back thank-you letters or photos?"
The old woman paused, thinking hard. "Now that you mention it… no. Did something happen?"
Mo Zhenbang’s voice darkened. "We need full records of all overseas adoptions from that time."
...
Leaving the orphanage, the police rushed to the next institution.
Hours later, they returned to the Yau Ma Tei Police Station with their findings.
"Record-keeping back then was a mess," Zhu Qing muttered, flipping through incomplete files. "These overseas adoptions don’t even have full documentation—just a vague 'International Children’s Association' listed, no contact details."
"Some of these orphanages don’t even exist anymore—either shut down or merged. Even the ones still operating are in terrible condition, let alone eighteen years ago."
Zhu Qing thought back to that time. She’d been too young to remember whether she’d undergone any check-ups.
Perhaps, in her childhood innocence, she had brushed shoulders with evil without ever knowing.
"For these children, surviving to adulthood is already a stroke of luck," Mo Zhenbang murmured under his breath.
As the truth drew closer, the atmosphere in the meeting room grew heavy, each face etched with solemnity. Mo Zhenbang gathered his thoughts, methodically listing out the new clues.
"Eighteen years ago, Ke Xiaobo was the head of Weisheng Pharmaceutical while also serving as the medical examiner for multiple orphanages. Suddenly, foreign adoptions began appearing—yet the agencies involved were shell companies with no traceable records."
"Around the same time, the Cheng family massacre occurred—Cheng Xinglang’s younger brother went missing, and Professor Yang’s wife and child were hastily sent abroad."
"Ke Xiaobo later fell to his death, the pharmaceutical factory collapsed, and nearly all records from that time were destroyed—including those of Lai Danhe, a nurse who once worked at Mingde Psychiatric Center. Her entire work history was altered or erased."
"All of this was to cover up something far darker."
Uncle Li took a marker and drew a bold question mark beside "foreign adoptions." "Where did these children end up? Tongtong’s case is unusual—she was already chosen by a local family, but Ke Xiaobo, unaware, proceeded with the foreign adoption process."
"If he had lived, the would-be adoptive parents might have pursued the matter, escalating it beyond control. The truth would’ve been impossible to explain."
"Those shady dealings had to stay buried. So, Ke Xiaobo had to die."
"Only his disappearance ensured no loose ends."
Liang Qikai stood and handed Mo Zhenbang a stack of logistics company documents.
"Wei Feng purchased refrigerated trucks exactly three months before the 'foreign adoptions' began. After the factory shut down, he vanished without a trace for two years."
Xu Jiale scoffed. "What do you think he was doing in those two years? The factory and logistics company were failing, yet he returned flush with cash, enough to relaunch a new business—"
"Seems everyone connected to that factory came out on top."
"The accountant now owns a chain of pharmacies. Even the assistants became major distributors of medical equipment."
"Funny how everyone tied to that place struck gold."
Zhu Qing quietly closed the case file.
"Maybe they all got a cut from the same black-market pie."
...
By the time Zhu Qing arrived home, it was deep into the night.
The threads of the case tangled in her mind. Professor Yang and Song Junli were under tight surveillance, Cheng Xinglang secured in a safehouse—this silent battle was like groping through darkness, every step on thin ice.
The only thing that made her smile was the human alarm clock that came with sunrise.
Before she could open her eyes, a warm little body launched itself onto the bed.
"Wake up! You’ll be late!"
Sheng Fang clung to her arm like a koala.
Suddenly, his niece—stronger than a weightlifter—flipped him over, dangling him precariously off the bed.
"One more word and you’re tossed out—"
Sheng Fang’s laughter filled the morning air.
Upside down, his chubby legs kicked wildly. "Qing-jie! Qing-jie! Put me back!"
Despite the plea, his sparkling eyes brimmed with mischief, grin stretching ear to ear.
After several rounds of this, Zhu Qing was wide awake.
"Qing-jie," Sheng Fang asked, "is living in the Yau Ma Tei apartment fun?"
"Not really," she admitted. "It’s just me."
She’d once been accustomed to solitude—eating alone, sleeping alone. But now, after knowing family, returning to that emptiness felt wrong.
The apartment near the Yau Ma Tei police station wasn’t home anymore—just a place to wash up and sleep.
Home was here.
Where her mother, Sheng Fang, and Aunt Ping kept the lights on, waiting.
"That’s because I’m not there," Sheng Fang declared. "Once I move in, it’ll be fun."
Zhu Qing chuckled at his confidence.
They made a pact: once the case closed, they’d return to Yau Ma Tei together. That apartment held too many memories—their disastrous cooking attempts, cartoon marathons on the couch, the notes left on the shoe bench reminding her to drink soup after late shifts...
"Promise?" Sheng Fang tilted his head up, soft cheeks dimpling.
Zhu Qing’s heart melted. She booped his nose. "Promise."
"Just us," he whispered conspiratorially. "No Mom or Aunt Ping."
"Say that louder?" she teased.
"Sheng Fang says—" Zhu Qing fake-yelled toward the door.
The boy scrambled to clamp a hand over her mouth.
"Mom’s a grown-up!" he huffed. "She can’t hog my niece!"
"Qing-jie, you have to keep your word."
With utmost solemnity, he hooked his pinky around hers.
Looking at this tiny, earnest face, the weight of the unsolved case didn’t feel so crushing.
Because beyond it lay something to look forward to.
Her phone buzzed. She deposited the wriggling Sheng Fang onto the mattress.
A text from Cheng Xinglang.
Sheng Fang peeked over her shoulder. "What’d Dr. Cheng say?"
"He finished the comics. Now he’s staring at the ceiling."
"Poor guy. Can he stay with us? Mom hired bodyguards."
Zhu Qing: "..."
"Little Sheng Fang, is that appropriate?"
The boy gasped at her tone. "No respect! I’m your elder!"
...
Days blurred into stakeouts, surveillance, chases—time slipping away in the tension.
Until a phone call shattered the calm.
Mo Zhenbang hung up and turned to the team. "Professor Yang’s condition worsened. He’s dying."
Almost simultaneously, another call came in.
Professor Yang’s wife, Tang Fanglin, had just re-entered the country—and requested police protection.
Mo Zhenbang alerted superiors. After urgent coordination, high command ordered her discreet retrieval and heightened hospital security.
That night, in the guarded ward, Tang Fanglin clutched her husband’s chilling hand, sobbing as the white sheet draped over his face.
Finally, trembling, she retrieved an encrypted hard drive from her bag and handed it to the officers.
"All these years, we've been living apart, and the days we've seen each other can be counted on one hand. Until last New Year's Eve, when he suddenly handed this to me. He said that if anything were to happen to him, I must deliver it to the police personally—to help with the investigation."
"I never opened it." Tang Fanglin wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes. "He said even I couldn’t look inside, or else... I’d be in danger too."
The tech team worked overnight to crack the hard drive’s password.
Inside, aside from a list of suspects involved in the case, there was also a self-recorded confession video by Professor Yang Zhengxiu.
"Eighteen years ago, Xinglang’s parents and I were close friends. They... were the best friends I ever had in my life."
"They stumbled upon a terrible secret... someone was using children from orphanages for organ trafficking."
"The kids were still young, and I was the only one they trusted. They gave me a backup of the evidence to keep safe."
He paused for a long moment, closing his eyes in pain.
"Not long after, they were killed, and Ke Xiaobo came for me."
"It was a high-profile massacre, reported in the papers. I never imagined the killer would be so brutal."
"I told him that if I died, all the evidence would go public in twenty-four hours. But that was just a bluff—I hadn’t actually set anything up. How could I drag my wife and child into this? As for the courage to go to the police... I didn’t have that either."
"But to my surprise, Ke Xiaobo actually backed off."
"This whole mess was Ke Xiaobo’s fault to begin with."
"He got sloppy, let Xinglang’s parents find clues, traces of the truth. He was afraid of exposure, afraid of losing everything. So he paid me off, tried to make me an accomplice."
"I took the hush money... just to survive."
In the video, Professor Yang suddenly choked up. "I sent my family away and stayed behind. All these years, I’ve been waiting... enduring the guilt, waiting for a chance to atone."
The officers stood before the computer screen, letting out quiet sighs as the footage abruptly ended.
"So the psychological report he submitted to the police was really meant to stop Cheng Xinglang from digging deeper."
"Professor Yang knew how deep this went. He knew Cheng Xinglang would never give up, just like his parents. So he faked that report to discredit Cheng’s testimony. But he never expected that walking into the police station would be what got him killed."
Mo Zhenbang pulled up the list of names.
The room fell silent as every officer held their breath.
Among the names were the late Ke Xiaobo, Wei Feng—owner of Fengsong International Logistics—and several other high-profile figures with prominent social standing today.
"Boss Mo!" Xu Jiale burst into the room. "There’s something off about Fengsong Logistics’ refrigerated truck records."
"Aside from the registered shipments of fresh goods, every so often, there’s an unregistered late-night delivery."
"The destination is always... an abandoned warehouse near the docks."
Mo Zhenbang slowly stood, his gaze sweeping over every officer present.
They all knew what this meant for the investigation.
"Request multi-department coordination," Mo Zhenbang said, his tone firm and resolute. "Upgrade this to a joint operation. It’s time to close the net."
The case was nearing its end. An eighteen-year hunt for the truth was finally coming to light.
......
Sheng Fang’s personal security team had been as idle as the little boy himself these past few days.
Though his eldest sister had hired them at great expense, Zhu Qing insisted he stay indoors until the case was resolved.
Given the connection to missing children, she wasn’t taking any chances.
"Qing-jie is way too paranoid," Sheng Fang grumbled, sprawled on the living room rug, fiddling with Lego bricks as he built tiny chairs for his toy collection.
"Maybe a little pillow too," he muttered, chubby fingers working diligently. Once the Lego pillow was done, he placed it on the carpet, turned, and carefully lowered himself onto it.
Just before fully lying down, he glanced back.
This time, he’d reinforced it—no sudden collapse like last time!
Sheng Peirong had also cleared her schedule to stay home with her little brother.
Though the kid kept complaining about boredom, there was one silver lining: no extracurricular classes.
With Sheng Fang stuck at home, his usual playmates were in school, and Zhu Qing was busy with work. The only one always free to chat was Cheng Xinglang.
Two idle souls, they talked about everything under the sun, their bond growing stronger by the day.
"Once we’re out of lockdown, let’s camp out for that limited-edition Transformers set," Cheng Xinglang suggested.
Sheng Fang flopped onto his back, chubby arms pillowing his head, legs kicking idly. "But my sister can just pre-order it for me."
"Where’s the fun in that?" Cheng Xinglang laughed. "Don’t you want the full experience? Sleeping bags, midnight snacks, the whole deal?"
Sheng Fang immediately sat bolt upright.
Camping outside a store? That sounded amazing!
Another first for the young master of the Sheng family. Just imagining it made his round cheeks flush with excitement.
"I’ll buy the whole series! Line them up across an entire wall!"
But then he remembered—Zhu Qing wasn’t exactly gentle with his Transformers.
"Oh yeah?" Cheng Xinglang’s voice was teasing. "What if she says no?"
"I’ll beg," Sheng Fang declared, flopping back down, phone wedged between ear and shoulder as he cupped his cheeks in his hands. "I’ll wear her down!"
"Think that’ll work?"
"Of course! Qing-jie can’t resist me!"
Unbeknownst to him, Sheng Peirong and Aunt Ping were eavesdropping from the kitchen doorway.
"Remember months ago, when we picked him up from school? His little friends were all talking about ‘breaking up the lovebirds.’"
"Half a year later, and he’s forgotten all about it."
They shared a quiet laugh.
Who’d have thought the kid would end up helping Cheng Xinglang instead?
Outside, rain began to patter against the windows.
Sheng Peirong watched the downpour, murmuring, "I wonder how Ke Ke’s doing. No news for days."
Since the covert operation began, Zhu Qing had been tight-lipped about the case, even coming home less often.
The only update was a text from three hours ago:
"All going smoothly."
"This rain..." Sheng Peirong whispered, staring through the glass. "When will it stop?"
......
With the decrypted list in hand, the police had already placed all named individuals under surveillance.
Investigations revealed that multiple orphanages had records of children being "adopted," though the adoption procedures were unclear and dubious. These parentless children were the easiest targets for criminal organizations.
Meanwhile, after days of surveillance and on-site reconnaissance, there was finally a breakthrough. Fengsong International Logistics suddenly canceled a shipment, only to resume it shortly after—clearly, the other side was growing restless.
Since this involved cross-border organized crime, the operation was now led by the Organized Crime and Triad Bureau (OCTB), with the Serious Crimes Unit assisting in the arrests.
When the team leader, Madam Yu, entered the conference room, Uncle Li instinctively straightened his collar and turned away, pretending not to care.
His ex-wife, Yu Jingying, said casually, "Never thought we'd be working together again after all these years."
"Except now you're the senior commander," Uncle Li smirked. "And I'm just a subordinate."
"You're no stranger to being a subordinate," Yu Jingying raised an eyebrow.
"Be careful. Don’t push yourself too hard," Uncle Li paused. "Just a few more years till retirement. Can’t afford any mishaps now—that’s how it always goes in the movies..."
"Li Jingsong! Say something auspicious!"
"Don’t worry, I won’t die." Uncle Li patted his chest. "I still carry the protective charm you gave me back then."
They exchanged glances and shook their heads, laughing.
Once, they had argued endlessly, but now, in this tense moment, all past grievances seemed trivial. Amid the heavy atmosphere, they found themselves laughing.
During the final briefing before the operation, all officers handed over their communication devices.
"I can’t take this anymore," Hao Zai complained. "Haven’t had a proper meal in days—just instant noodles every time..."
Little Sun chuckled. "Yongshan mentioned craving Yang Kee’s claypot rice the other day."
"Claypot rice?! If we’re eating, we’re going all out—seafood in Sai Kung! Mo Sir’s treat!"
"What? Mo Sir again... Even the highest salary won’t cover our appetites."
"Careful, or his wife will protest!"
The conference room erupted in laughter.
Only when Weng Zhaolin rapped on the table did the group gradually sober up.
"Once this case is closed," Weng Zhaolin scanned the room, "I’ll treat everyone to the best seafood in Sai Kung."
"But for now... it’s time to give the Cheng family justice."
At those final words, everyone straightened their backs.
"Yes, sir!" The team answered in unison, instantly shifting into focus—as if the earlier banter had never happened.
......
The abandoned pier was eerily quiet in the rain.
Officers lay in ambush at every corner, unable to tell whether the sound in their ears was the downpour or their own pounding hearts.
At 2 a.m., three old refrigerated trucks rolled in slowly.
Bright headlights pierced through the darkness.
The workers began unloading in silence, their movements practiced. But instead of fresh produce, sealed containers were being moved from the refrigerated units.
Wei Feng, clad in a black raincoat, jumped down from the cab, scanning his surroundings warily. Gone was the polished businessman from the photos or the affable merchant the police had tailed days earlier. His gaze was sharp as a blade, and suddenly, he frowned toward the shadows.
A low command crackled in the officers’ earpieces.
"Target confirmed."
Police swarmed in from all directions, shattering the pre-storm calm.
Wei Feng reacted instantly, rolling behind a truck.
Chaos erupted.
Amid the shouts, crashes, and struggles, several officers seized the chance to rush toward the rear of the vehicle.
Zhu Qing gripped the refrigerated container’s handle with both hands and yanked hard. With a dull thud, the door flew open.
Cold mist billowed from inside. Seven children lay curled in the far corner, seemingly unconscious.
Then—a deafening gunshot tore through the rainy night.
"Bang!"
The muzzle flash ignited, the echo lingering over the pier.
As if it would never fade.
......
The midnight storm raged on, relentless.
A bolt of lightning split the sky, jolting Sheng Fang awake. Groggy, he wriggled out from under the covers.
When he opened his eyes, he found himself at the foot of the bed. With a little roll, he tumbled all the way back to the headboard.
A sliver of dim light seeped through the door crack—Sheng Peirong and Aunt Ping were still awake, their hushed voices barely audible.
"This rain just won’t stop..." Sheng Peirong’s voice carried rare unease.
She paced, then paused again by the floor-to-ceiling window.
Sheng Fang’s little bicycle, carefully stored by Aunt Ping, leaned in a corner of the hallway.
"It’ll pass," Aunt Ping reassured gently. "The weather report says it’ll clear by morning. Then it’ll be sunny skies."
In the children’s room, Sheng Fang tossed and turned.
Half his body dangled off the bed, tiny feet kicking in the air as he practiced pedaling.
It had been so long since he’d ridden his bike—he couldn’t forget how!
Listening to the rhythmic "pitter-patter" outside, Fangfang hung upside down, deep in thought.
He’d never tasted rainwater before. Was it delicious?
Little Sheng Fang made up his mind—once Qingqing came home, they’d collect rainwater together.
Uncle and niece would both try it!
