The Little Police Beauty of Hong Kong Inherits the Tycoon’s Young Heir Chapter 108

The abandoned pier at dawn was engulfed by a torrential downpour, the scene chaotic.

Faced with a transnational crime operation of this scale, the police had anticipated the possibility of gunfire during their final deployment. Even though Wei Feng’s sudden draw and counterattack were lightning-fast, the well-trained officers moved in seamless coordination. As gunshots tore through the rain-soaked night, Zhu Qing lunged toward the refrigerated truck, shielding the unconscious children with her body.

But Wei Feng wasn’t the only one armed.

Every second that followed stretched into an eternity.

Amid the gunfire, muzzle flashes crisscrossed and spread. Zhu Qing finally understood what her police academy instructor had meant—textbook cases were just theoretical references. Real combat offered no buffer. At this moment, her focus sharpened to a razor’s edge. While protecting the children, her gaze pierced through the rain, tracking every movement.

Uncle Li closed in on the container where Wei Feng was hiding.

The man raised his gun instantly.

"Uncle Li!" Zhu Qing shouted suddenly. "Watch out!"

A gunshot rang out. Her warning made Uncle Li twist aside just in time—the bullet grazed his arm, blood blooming across his civilian clothes.

He grunted in pain, his mind flashing through decades of police work like a revolving lantern. Once, he’d treated his CID job as nothing more than a stable paycheck, drifting through the days. But somewhere along the way, over the years, the rookie who’d just scraped by had hardened into the seasoned detective he was now. The belief in justice had seeped into his bones.

He remembered telling his ex-wife that TV dramas always got it wrong—cops nearing retirement were doomed to meet tragedy…

"Li Jingsong!"

Yu Jingying’s rare, frantic cry crackled through his earpiece.

As Wei Feng’s gun rose again, Uncle Li threw himself forward, locking both hands around the man’s wrist.

TV dramas were full of crap.

He refused to believe this was where his story ended.

The two men wrestled, locked in a brutal stalemate. Veins bulged on Uncle Li’s forehead as he gritted his teeth.

Wei Feng’s finger hovered over the trigger, unable to pull it.

Then an officer tackled Wei Feng from the side, sending the gun clattering to the ground.

The metallic click of handcuffs snapping shut marked the end of the bloody standoff.

The pier gradually fell silent, leaving only the steady patter of rain.

After the fierce gunfight, some lay wounded on the ground. In the distance, a fallen gangster lay motionless in a pool of blood. Medics arrived, carefully transferring the children one by one into ambulances.

Zhu Qing cradled the youngest girl in her arms, the child’s pale face buried against her shoulder.

"Sedative overdose, but vitals are stable," the doctor said.

The team gathered around Uncle Li to assess his injury.

Given the case’s transnational nature, CID’s role ended with the arrest. The Organized Crime and Triad Bureau (OCTB) would handle the interrogations.

Yu Jingying addressed her subordinates. "You all head back first. I’ll take him to the hospital."

Despite their exhaustion, the younger CID officers insisted on escorting Uncle Li.

Fortunately, it was just a flesh wound. Before leaving, Yu Jingying paused, watching him wince as the medics bandaged him.

"Think you’re still some young hotshot?" She eyed the gauze wrapped around his arm. "Going in like that."

The others tactfully dispersed, giving them space.

In the hospital corridor, every officer was drenched, mud-splattered, and drained. They wanted to tease Uncle Li about finally catching a break, but no one had the energy for jokes.

"Next time, don’t charge ahead like that," Yu Jingying said, her tone softer now.

Uncle Li grinned. "You’re the one who said I’d never make inspector. Now you’re telling me not to take point?"

In the past, this would’ve sparked another round of bickering.

But now, Yu Jingying’s gaze lingered on his hand. Uncle Li pulled out a faded, bloodstained protective charm and waved it in front of her.

"Told you this thing works," he said. "No lies."

Madam Yu turned her face away, though the corner of her mouth lifted.

In the corridor, the young CID officers regrouped, steeling themselves to return to the station and finish their reports.

With the case finally cracked, everyone could rest easy once the paperwork was done.

...

Using the encrypted list from Professor Yang’s hard drive, the police launched a sweeping operation, rounding up every suspect involved.

Cheng Xinglang’s parents had dug deep years ago, compiling exhaustive files that nearly exposed the entire syndicate. But they’d underestimated the group’s ruthlessness—to these criminals, human lives were disposable bargaining chips.

One by one, the names on the list were apprehended.

Even at 3 a.m., these men were impeccably dressed, their hair perfectly groomed. For them, this moment was just as crucial—they’d been waiting for Wei Feng’s "success" signal. Instead, they got cold metal cuffs.

Their expressions remained calm. One even adjusted his tie, murmuring to his assistant to call a lawyer.

It was less an arrest than a business hiccup.

The operation had been postponed days earlier to avoid tipping off the syndicate. But the trapped children couldn’t wait. At this scale, no transaction could be halted—the intricate web of interests bound every member together.

Tonight, these so-called elites had waited for Wei Feng’s "good news," just as they likely had for eighteen years or longer. Countless innocent children had been trafficked under this very system. But today, at least seven were saved and rushed to the hospital.

The Serious Crimes Unit B team handed the thick case files over to OCTB.

A collective weight lifted. This eighteen-year-old cold case was far more convoluted than any random serial killings. The forces behind it had been overwhelming back then—Cheng Xinglang’s parents, inexperienced against such odds, had stumbled blindly into the abyss.

"Professor Yang mentioned in the video that Dr. Cheng’s parents were gathering more evidence to expose the syndicate’s crimes," Little Sun said quietly. "They were so close… just a little more time…"

At 4:50 a.m., the CID office at Yau Ma Tei Police Station remained brightly lit, while the first rays of dawn pierced through the clouds outside.

Xu Jiale stretched lazily: "In my next life, I’d rather be a cow or a horse than a cop. At this hour, my parents are already heading out for their morning walk, and I’m still stuck here working overtime."

Weng Zhaolin emerged from his office, his face equally weary.

"Listen up, everyone. Take the next two days off, but keep your landlines, pagers, and mobile phones on. The Organized Crime and Triad Bureau might need us to provide additional information at any time."

"And Dr. Cheng’s paperwork can be processed now," Weng Zhaolin added.

Cheng Xinglang had been holed up in the safe house for days.

Zhu Qing’s phone screen still displayed his unread message, her gaze so intense it could bore a hole through the ceiling.

"Dr. Cheng must be asleep at this hour," Mo Zhenbang glanced at his watch. "Let the morning shift handle the paperwork later."

Zhu Qing shook her mobile phone. "He’s awake."

The latest message on the screen had been sent just five minutes ago, though its contents flashed by too quickly in the motion for anyone to catch.

"Then you go fill out the forms," Mo Zhenbang said.

Zhu Qing turned and walked toward the filing cabinet.

Xu Jiale, mid-yawn, muttered, "They’re checking in with each other? Why not include me?"

After all, the three of them had stayed up all night talking together.

Mo Zhenbang shot him a knowing look.

After all these years as a cop, the guy still couldn’t read the room.

"Since you’re so energetic," Mo Zhenbang said, "you can go with Zhu Qing to handle the paperwork."

"Huh?"

After completing the forms and finalizing the procedures, Zhu Qing took the keys to the safe house and walked out of the station with Xu Jiale.

The downpour had finally ceased, and daylight was breaking.

The dawn would soon dispel the gloom, ushering in true daylight.

...

By the time the safe house door swung open, Cheng Xinglang had already received their message and waited patiently.

Zhu Qing stood at the doorway, her jacket long discarded at the station after being soaked by the rain. Now she wore only a thin, slightly damp shirt, the cuffs still moist.

She hadn’t expected Cheng Xinglang to be waiting right by the door. Her steps faltered slightly, words unspoken, when a large overcoat settled gently over her shoulders.

Zhu Qing froze, enveloped in warmth, just as Xu Jiale shivered and protested.

"Dr. Cheng! I’m freezing too!" He rubbed his arms for emphasis.

Cheng Xinglang raised an eyebrow. "You won’t be cold once you’re in the car."

Xu Jiale thought for a second, then bolted for the vehicle.

Protocol dictated that the police escort Cheng Xinglang home first. But when Xu Jiale drowsily climbed into the back seat, he realized Cheng Xinglang had taken the driver’s seat.

Zhu Qing was already settled in the passenger side.

On the way over, Xu Jiale had dozed against the window, snoring softly by her ear.

Now, Zhu Qing could finally let go—no more thinking, no more mechanically following orders. She could rest.

Cheng Xinglang adjusted the rearview mirror and asked Xu Jiale for his address.

As Sheng Fang’s personally appointed chauffeur, he took his duties seriously.

Xu Jiale sprawled in the back, head against the window, too dazed to notice the unusual silence up front.

Only when the car stopped outside his apartment did Cheng Xinglang turn and ask, "Where does Zhu Qing live?"

"Kadoorie Hill," Xu Jiale mumbled, rubbing his temples in a sleep-deprived haze.

After pulling an all-nighter, his temples throbbed, every nerve misfiring, his brain barely functional.

It wasn’t until he fumbled for his keys that it finally clicked. He whirled around.

"You two—?"

The only answer was the roar of the engine.

Tires sent rainwater spraying as the car rounded the corner and vanished.

Xu Jiale stood there, his sluggish mind finally catching up. "Oh—"

...

Every suspect in custody was a prominent figure in society.

Even now, they sipped coffee with practiced elegance, awaiting their high-powered lawyers.

"‘Transportation’? Sorry, I don’t follow. What exactly are the police implying?"

"Every adoption procedure was fully compliant. As for why those specific children were chosen, I have no idea. Perhaps a clerical error at the welfare agency?"

"Officer, that’s hurtful. I donated the library at Sunshine Children’s Foundation, and now you’re accusing me of trafficking organs? Since when is charity a crime?"

These so-called elites, driven by greed, showed not a shred of remorse. Confident in the police’s lack of concrete evidence, they remained unshaken, their composure unbroken.

This time, they miscalculated.

The police had pieced together an airtight case. Wei Feng, who had resisted arrest with a firearm, became the first to crack.

"I’ll turn state’s evidence," he said. "You need my testimony."

Senior Inspector Yu Jingying slid a folder of crime scene photos across the table. "Start talking."

The photos depicted a grisly homicide scene—a house in Ho Man Tin eighteen years prior.

Wei Feng’s gaze lingered, his expression eerily calm. "Ke Xiaobo planned this from the beginning. Eighteen years ago, he brought us all in. Said it was a foolproof scheme—just needed to set up the logistics."

"Ke Xiaobo planted his people in orphanages and welfare homes. Kids with no parents? No one misses them. At first, he even faked thank-you letters from overseas adoptive families. Later, he realized no one cared, so he stopped bothering."

It was flawless—until the Cheng couple started digging.

"They were too sharp. Traced the medical records back to Ming Tak Psychiatric Center. Stuck their noses where they didn’t belong."

"Ke Xiaobo wanted them gone quietly—make it look like an accident. But then some lunatic escaped the asylum."

The patient was a deranged killer with no discernible pattern.

"When Ke Xiaobo found him, he made one offer." Wei Feng smirked, as if recalling a dark joke. "Kill the couple in white coats, and he’d walk free."

"After over a decade locked up, he’d do anything for freedom."

"How it went down?" Wei Feng shrugged. "Wasn’t there. Just know Ke Xiaobo said the guy had to go. But offing him the same day would’ve raised eyebrows. So two days later, during a police chase, a truck ‘accidentally’ flattened him."

"Where's the child?" Yu Jingying pressed. "Where's the other child from the Cheng family?"

Wei Feng chuckled as if she'd asked something naive.

"Madam, have you forgotten what business we're in?" he continued. "That kid was stuffed into a shipping container with the others. If there's a grave, weeds would've overgrown it by now."

Yu Jingying crossed her arms, her brow furrowing slightly.

"Madam, I’ve already confessed so much—doesn’t that count as cooperating for leniency?"

"I know more inside details, including overseas contacts. Could we—"

Yu Jingying cut him off. "So Lai Danhe’s case this time—your people did it?"

"It was Bao. He was at the docks earlier—didn’t you notice?" Wei Feng mimed a gunshot with his fingers. "'Bang.' Got shot dead on the spot by your officers."

Yu Jingying exchanged a glance with the officer beside her. The young cop nodded and hurried out of the interrogation room, returning less than a minute later to whisper something in her ear.

"We could’ve stayed hidden forever," Wei Feng said. "But who knew Cheng Xinglang would be just as stubborn as his parents?"

"He’s not a cop, yet he dug deeper than any of you pigs."

"That child health check back then—Lai Danhe and another nurse went with Ke Xiaobo. The other one died of illness ages ago, and Lai Danhe… we’d forgotten about her until Cheng Xinglang dug her up."

So Lai Danhe had to die.

They couldn’t stop Cheng Xinglang anymore—the teddy bear, the chocolates, the meticulously staged crime scene—all warnings meant for him.

"That kid’s as obstinate as his parents."

"Why not just kill him?" Yu Jingying asked.

"We don’t know how much evidence he’s gathered. It’s the digital age—emails can be scheduled. If he dies, the police would go all out, hounding us relentlessly. So we had to create chaos, replicate an old case, make it look like revenge—not transnational trafficking."

Finally, Yu Jingying asked coldly, "Where’s Lai Danhe’s daughter?"

Wei Feng leaned back in his chair, his tone casual. "Dead."

...

At dawn on Mount Kadoorie, a breeze carrying the fresh scent of rain-soaked grass swept through the car window.

Cheng Xinglang slowed the car, careful not to disturb the woman sleeping in the passenger seat.

Zhu Qing’s head tilted slightly, her breathing soft and even, long lashes casting faint shadows under her eyes.

She hadn’t slept well in days, but now, finally, she relaxed.

The car stopped in front of the villa.

Cheng Xinglang turned off the engine but didn’t wake her.

The tangled weight of clues in Zhu Qing’s mind seemed to lift, her brow smoothing as she slept peacefully.

Only when the car door clicked open much later did she stir, blinking against the sunlight.

Outside, her mother and Aunt Ping beamed even brighter than the morning rays.

"Auntie." Cheng Xinglang stepped out, nodding politely. "Aunt Ping."

So this was Dr. Cheng.

Sheng Peirong studied him discreetly, her gaze lingering on the men’s jacket draped over her daughter’s shoulders. Earlier, Aunt Ping had mentioned hearing the car pull up long ago—clearly, he’d waited for Zhu Qing to wake naturally.

A knowing smile touched Sheng Peirong’s lips.

"Dr. Cheng!"

A chubby little figure barreled out of the house and launched himself into Cheng Xinglang’s arms.

In the next second, the boy was hoisted into the air, tiny legs kicking excitedly.

"Qing-jie! Qing-jie!" Sheng Fang twisted toward Zhu Qing, his voice sweet and childish. "I wanted to drink rainwater with you, but the rain stopped!"

Zhu Qing rested her chin on her arm, lazily propped against the car window. "I drank enough last night."

Sheng Peirong’s eyes flickered between the three of them—Cheng Xinglang’s tall frame holding the child with practiced ease, Zhu Qing’s relaxed smile at the window.

Little Sheng Fang, momentarily distracted from his rainwater mission, blinked up at Cheng Xinglang with starry eyes.

"Dr. Cheng! Did they let you out too?"

"Yeah," Cheng Xinglang laughed. "Same as you."

Fangfang gasped. "Wow! Then I—"

"Wow, then you can go back to school," Cheng Xinglang finished for him.

The boy’s face fell instantly, his eyes widening in betrayal.

How could he say such a thing?!

"Put me down!" He flailed indignantly.

Zhu Qing collapsed against the window, laughing. "Hurry, let my uncle down—he’s got a school bus to catch."

"I don’t wanna talk to you anymore!" Sheng Fang crossed his arms with a huff.

Sheng Peirong nudged Aunt Ping, both women quietly observing, already planning to dissect the scene later.

In the courtyard, Sheng Fang’s protests and Zhu Qing’s laughter blended into something bright and alive.

Sheng Peirong smiled.

The weather forecast was right—after the storm, today really was a beautiful day.

...

After Cheng Xinglang left, Sheng Fang clung to Zhu Qing like a koala, wheedling shamelessly until she granted him a day off school.

"Little Master kept saying how much he missed kindergarten just days ago," Aunt Ping teased. "Now that Qingqing’s back, he changes his tune."

Only then did Sheng Peirong learn about her daughter’s harrowing night. No wonder she’d felt restless, her heart pounding for no reason.

When she heard Uncle Li had been grazed by a bullet, she gasped, dragging Zhu Qing closer to inspect her.

"I’m fine—bulletproof vest," Zhu Qing spun in a circle. "Not even a scratch."

Bulletproof vest?!

Sheng Peirong and Aunt Ping nearly fainted—this wasn’t a cop drama but real life-and-death danger!

Zhu Qing soothed them with a smile, only then noticing Cheng Xinglang’s jacket still draped over her shoulders.

It struck her—he hadn’t mentioned his brother at all.

He couldn’t bring himself to ask.

"Go shower first," Sheng Peirong patted her daughter. "Eat something before sleeping."

"I ate at the station."

Little Sheng Fang, still processing the gunfight scenario in his head, finally gasped. "Uncle Li can shoot guns?!"

"Of course," Zhu Qing called from the stairs. "Everyone in CID is brave."

Even her retreating figure radiated energy, as if last night had just been an exciting adventure.

Sheng Fang waited eagerly for Zhu Qing to shower and nap, keeping vigil by the living room clock.

"Big sis, big sis," he sidled up to Sheng Peirong, "when will Qing wake up?"

The human alarm clock was back on schedule, asking the same question every thirty minutes.

Every now and then, he tiptoed upstairs and peeked into Zhu Qing's bedroom.

"Our Qing is like a sleeping beauty," Fangfang said wistfully.

By 3 p.m., little Sheng Fang couldn’t hold back anymore and decided to take matters into his own hands.

Sheng Peirong quickly stopped him—her little brother was spoiled, but her daughter needed rest too, especially after staying up all night.

"Don’t go."

"But I need a nap too!" Sheng Fang declared with all the confidence of a child.

Clutching his tiny pillow, he slipped into his niece’s room.

The usually hyperactive young master of the Sheng family found a cozy spot and obediently lay down.

Fangfang was Zhu Qing’s number one fan, sticking to her like a little shadow.

Truth be told, kids aren’t always not tired—it’s just that there are too many exciting new things to explore. Compared to that, lying quietly in bed is downright boring, and he’d never willingly close his eyes. But now, curled up next to Qing, little Sheng Fang’s eyelids grew heavy, and he drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep.

Fangfang slept like a log, and when he finally opened his eyes again, not a single ray of sunlight peeked through the curtains—it was already dark outside.

He rolled over and sat up.

Qing was gone!

"Aunt Ping!" Sheng Fang scrambled out of bed barefoot, his little feet pattering across the floor. "Where’s Qing?"

Still groggy from sleep, the little boy looked utterly lost.

After waiting all day for Qing, only for her to vanish without a trace, he pouted, his lower lip trembling.

The aroma of food wafted from the kitchen.

Aunt Ping poked her head out, drawing out her words teasingly: "Qingqing went out…"

Sheng Fang blinked.

Once, twice—by the third blink, his eyes were shimmering with unshed tears.

"I’m right here."

Zhu Qing stepped out of the bathroom, already dressed to go out, and bent down to offer him her hand. "Come on, let’s go eat."

The tears vanished instantly as Fangfang’s chubby little fingers tightly grasped hers.

Passing the kitchen, Zhu Qing scolded, "Aunt Ping! Stop teasing him!"

Aunt Ping chuckled, stirring the wok, then glanced at the little boy who now strutted behind Zhu Qing like a proud little guard.

Sheng Fang beamed, lifting his round face triumphantly.

With Qing around, let’s see if Big Sis and Aunt Ping dare bully him now!

……

Officer Weng had promised to treat everyone to the best seafood in Sai Kung.

But since the case hadn’t officially closed yet, he was dragging his feet.

The younger officers couldn’t wait, so they organized their own celebration.

They found a street-side stall, pushed a few folding tables together—early spring evenings were perfect for sitting outside, enjoying the breeze.

"How’s Uncle Li doing?"

"Just a scratch, but he’s milking it at the hospital. Inspector Mo says he’s faking it so Madam Yu will visit more."

"Did Madam Yu go?"

"Heard she dropped by at noon!"

Laughter filled the air as dishes arrived. The group descended on the food like starving wolves, chopsticks clashing over plates.

Sheng Fang had his own plate of boiled shrimp—no competition here, a special privilege for the kid. His little hands worked diligently, peeling shells and dipping the meat in sauce before happily popping them into his mouth. Getting out of the house was a treat, and even the air tasted better—let alone sharing a meal with his favorite people!

The conversation shifted to the case’s progress.

The Organized Crime Unit was still digging. Word was Cheng Xinglang had gone in to give another statement that afternoon—meaning he’d finally learned the truth about his brother.

"A shipping container, drifting across the ocean… organs scattered piece by piece…"

"Eighteen years… I’d have lost my mind by now."

"How’s he holding up?"

"You’ll see in a bit."

Zhu Qing paused mid-bite. "You invited him too?"

Before anyone could answer, Cheng Xinglang appeared.

Sheng Fang spotted him instantly and dashed over.

His sauce-covered hands were dangerously close to Cheng Xinglang’s gray sweater when he suddenly screeched to a halt.

"Just kidding!" Fangfang tilted his head, grinning smugly.

Cheng Xinglang scooped him up. "So scary."

He walked to Zhu Qing’s side, casually shifting Fangfang’s tableware aside before taking a seat.

"Get some rest?" Cheng Xinglang asked.

Zhu Qing met his gaze, remembering the cold, clinical conclusion in the case file.

Eighteen years of searching, only to end with this brutal truth. Everyone had known, deep down, that this was the only possible outcome—his brother was long gone, whether in that container or some twisted twist of fate pitting siblings against each other.

Now, Wei Feng’s confession had confirmed the former.

The police had accepted it. The case was closing.

But what about Cheng Xinglang?

Had he accepted it?

Or was he just burying the pain under logic?

"You okay?"

"The truth isn’t complete yet," he murmured.

If the ending couldn’t be changed, at the very least, he’d piece together every last detail—every minute of what his brother had endured.

A burst of laughter erupted at the table.

"Where’s the lobster? This is weak!"

"Relax, save it for the real celebration when Officer Weng pays!"

"Chili lobster, steamed lobster, sashimi lobster—we’re ordering ten when it’s his turn!"