Only then did Sheng Fang realize he had been squeezed out by Doctor Cheng.
He sat at the edge, his short little arms unable to reach the boiled shrimp or Qing Zai.
Determined to reclaim his spot, Sheng Fang pushed back between the two of them, his round little head bumping against Cheng Xinglang. He frowned and let out a low grumble.
He muttered something indistinct.
Cheng Xinglang poked his puffed-up cheek and teased, "What's that 'hmph hmph'? Are you a little pig?"
Laughter erupted throughout the bustling street food stall.
The clinking of glass beer bottles rang out crisply as colleagues cheered for the boss to bring out a few more cases of beer. In this rare moment of relaxation, the tension that had gripped them for days finally began to ease.
As the gathering broke up, a slightly tipsy Xu Jiale draped his arm over Cheng Xinglang’s shoulder, joking, “You don’t want to offend your uncle, that never ends well!”
Not far away, Zhu Qing gazed at the tall figure bathed in moonlight.
Cheng Xinglang leaned in slightly to chat with Xu Jiale, a lazy smile playing at the corners of his mouth. It reminded her of what Professor Yang had said—he seemed almost too normal. Was this normality the result of extreme self-control, or did it come from a truly strong heart?
At the entrance of the street food stall, everyone said their goodbyes. Those heading the same way shared a taxi. Tomorrow was another day off, a rare break after days of relentless, round-the-clock work where every minute was stretched thin. Their pace had never stopped, and now, suddenly having time to rest felt almost unfamiliar.
ᶜʰᵘⁿʳⁱ
One by one, they muttered uncertainly about what to do for fun.
Hao Zai made a phone-call gesture and shouted, “Inspector Weng, someone can’t get used to the holiday, call him back to work!”
“Hey hey hey hey—”
“No snitching!”
The laughter and noise drifted away on the breeze.
Streetlights cast long shadows on the ground. Sheng Fang began his favorite game of stepping on shadows, hopping between the overlapping silhouettes of his niece and Doctor Cheng.
Zhu Qing voiced the question weighing on her mind: “Why do you say the truth isn’t complete yet?”
That afternoon, Cheng Xinglang went to McDonald’s to supplement his statement.
His notes and the clues he had uncovered conflicted with the suspect’s testimony. Like pieces of Tetris that didn’t fit snugly, they were haphazardly stacked, leaving lingering doubts.
“All children eligible for organ transplants must undergo strict medical examinations, but my brother wasn’t selected.”
Zhu Qing pondered for a moment. “If the criminal gang had randomly snatched a child and shipped them overseas in a container, then Tongtong’s case wouldn’t have been such a headache for Ke Xiaobo. It was because the medical examination met the criteria that Tongtong had to be sent away, which triggered the subsequent disputes.”
Cheng Xinglang nodded. “And then there was the murderer who escaped from the psychiatric hospital and was later recaptured... At that time, Ke Xiaobo was dealing with both Tongtong’s adoption dispute and the search for the escaped patient. When did he have the energy?”
“How could a psychiatric patient carry out indiscriminate killings, yet precisely target my parents?”
And then there was Ke Xiaobo’s death.
“An accident? I don’t buy it.” His voice dropped lower. “Even eighteen years ago, Mingde Mental Health Center wasn’t a place just anyone could wander into. An outsider sneaking into the hospital to commit murder? Wei Feng never mentioned that.”
Pedestrians strolled along the street in small groups, leisurely taking their time.
The streetlights cast their glow on the faces, sometimes bright, sometimes shadowed.
Just like the elusive truth, flickering in and out of sight.
Sheng Fang was still busy stepping on shadows with his little legs moving non-stop. He needed to shift and adjust his position until the shadows stretched long and tall under the streetlights, transforming into the biggest, most magnificent adults—like giants or the mighty Lion King.
But just as he was having the best time, he suddenly tripped, his chubby body losing balance, his small face about to hit the ground.
In that instant, two hands reached out from either side, firmly lifting him up.
Under the dim yellow streetlamp, the shadows of the three intertwined, casting a warm silhouette.
Sheng Fang’s little legs dangled in the air. “Is this a swing?”
His tiny feet kicked excitedly, showing no trace of fear.
He felt completely safe.
He knew that Qing Zai and Doctor Cheng would protect him.
“Want to swing a little higher?”
“Yessssss!” he shouted with delight.
Amid the laughter, Cheng Xinglang turned his head and caught Zhu Qing’s eyes sparkling with a smile.
For a moment, all the heavy worries and mysteries were set aside. At least for now, he was not alone.
It was on this gentle night that Zhu Qing’s clear voice whispered in his ear,
“Cheng Xinglang, do you want to keep investigating?”
……
Today, little Sheng Fang’s mood was as bright and clear as the sky after a storm.
Sheng Peirong and Aunt Ping were listening to the sounds of the nephew and uncle entering the house.
Although Sheng Fang was always bouncing around, those who knew him well could tell just how much fun he had by the way he bounced.
The two women had spent the day chatting about gossip, their faces still glowing with satisfaction.
At this moment, Sheng Peirong and Aunt Ping were talking about how she would return to work tomorrow, and that the younger brother had to go back to school, so Aunt Ping would be home alone again, feeling a bit lonely.
“It’s been lively for days, and I’m still not used to the quiet,” Aunt Ping said with a smile. “I’m planning to try out some new recipes at home. When you come back, you’ll get to taste something fresh.”
“What?” Sheng Fang’s keen ears caught the keyword in their conversation. “I have to go to school tomorrow?”
“Of course,” Zhu Qing ruffled his hair. “You got off easy today.”
Sheng Fang grumbled softly in protest.
Off easy? It was clearly him who stayed home to keep Zhu Qing company, yet she had slept until it was dark!
“You drooled in your sleep too,” Zhu Qing teased.
Sheng Fang tilted his round, chubby face and retorted, “No, I didn’t!”
Sheng Peirong and Aunt Ping watched the two of them, both puffing with mock anger, as they went upstairs one after the other.
In the blink of an eye, it was as if nothing had happened—they were as close as ever again.
The uncle and nephew had slept from dawn till dusk, and now they looked full of energy.
Even counting sheep couldn’t help them fall asleep—they could even count an entire meadow full of lambs.
Suddenly, Sheng Fang remembered something important and ran back to the children’s room to return the notebook to Zhu Qing.
Inside was her schedule for beating kids.
Zhu Qing thought back for a moment but couldn’t even recall why she had written that sentence in the first place.
“Why was I going to beat you?”
“Maybe Qing Zai was in a bad mood.”
Zhu Qing squinted her eyes.
That innocent little face of his was yet another newly mastered trick.
“If you can’t remember it, it means it’s not important!” Sheng Fang cleverly changed the subject, standing on tiptoe and patting her shoulder like a little adult. “You should remember useful things from now on.”
“These are all useful,” Zhu Qing said, flipping open the notebook to prove her point.
The notebook was filled with details about various cases.
The suspicious contact lenses in the lovers’ suicide case, the unusual distribution of rigor mortis in the Wei Huasheng case, behavioral analysis of copycat criminals in the latest case… Whenever the investigations hit a dead end, she would pore over these notes again and again.
As she quickly flipped through the pages, a drawing caught Zhu Qing’s attention.
It was painted by Feng Ningyun at the Jianuoan Sanatorium.
The painting depicted two figures seen from behind.
Feng Ningyun had hidden in the shadows, witnessing the perpetrator of the indiscriminate murder case from years ago, along with a man whose hand and forearm bore a twisted scar.
Later, Mo Zhenbang thought it unwise to rely too heavily on clues provided by patients, so this lead was temporarily abandoned.
“Is this a clue too?” Sheng Fang asked curiously, pointing at the painting. “Two adults with short hair.”
“Adults…” Zhu Qing suddenly froze.
She immediately dialed Cheng Xinglang’s mobile phone.
“We’ve been comparing male employees from Mingde and Weisheng Pharmaceutical, but what if it’s a woman?”
“What if it’s a woman who doesn’t even appear on the pharmaceutical company’s employee list?”
There was a brief silence on the other end.
“So…” Cheng Xinglang’s voice came through, “we need to re-screen female medical staff who worked at Mingde eighteen years ago.”
Sheng Fang looked at her niece’s sparkling eyes and proudly puffed out his little chest.
With his chubby little hands cupping his round cheeks, it was as if he was holding a dazzling star.
“A lucky star!”
…
Before the truth, there was still a veil of mist, and Cheng Xinglang would undoubtedly continue investigating.
But this time, he wouldn’t be searching alone.
Early in the morning, Sheng Peirong spread Aunt Ping’s homemade jam on some toast when the sound of a car pulling into the courtyard drifted in.
“Doctor Cheng’s here to pick us up!” Sheng Fang’s little feet dangled excitedly before he hopped down from the high chair with a “plop.”
“Mom, we’re leaving now.”
As Sheng Peirong stood up, she only caught a glimpse of the uncle and nephew’s hurried retreating backs.
“What’s going on?” Sheng Peirong stood frozen in place. “Isn’t Keke on vacation?”
Aunt Ping peeked out from the kitchen, equally puzzled. “No idea…”
The car drove out of Jiaduoli Mountain; first, they had to drop Sheng Fang off at kindergarten.
The little one thought grown-ups’ plans were really unreasonable.
When Qing Zai wasn’t at home, he couldn’t go to school. Every day, he would squat on the lawn in the courtyard, almost giving a name to every single blade of grass. But now, Qing Zai finally had some free time. This little kid had somehow become a busybody, having to rush to kindergarten on time every morning!
Sheng Fang, sitting in the back seat, tried all sorts of tricks—soft pleading, stubborn persistence, even pretending to be asleep by lying back in his seat, puffing out his cheeks and making “gurgling” snoring sounds.
But none of it worked. The cold-hearted madam remained unmoved.
“The first one who needs backup will find you, but you’ll have to wait until after school.”
The car had already stopped in front of Weston Kindergarten.
With no other choice, little Sheng Fang dragged his heavy footsteps and slowly got out of the car.
At the school gate, Yesi and Jinbao shot over like two little rockets.
They hadn’t seen Sheng Fang for a long time. Kids express their excitement and joy in the most straightforward way—clustering together in a tight hug, their little faces pressed closely against each other.
Zhu Qing turned around and reopened the car door.
Through the window, little Jinbao saw Sheng Fang’s motorcycle driver.
The confident little boy raised his hand above his head and waved at him.
The three kids entered the school gate together.
“Where are they going, Fang?”
“Investigating a case,” Sheng Fang replied.
Yesi tilted her head and asked innocently, “Why didn’t they take you? Aren’t you a police officer?”
Sheng Fang froze for a moment; his little brain spun wildly, unable to answer.
“Break up for one hundred minutes,” the young master Sheng declared coldly, his short legs moving nonstop as he walked ahead alone.
“Fang, how long is one hundred minutes?” Yesi asked from behind.
“Let me calculate.” Sheng Fang didn’t even look back. “One hour and forty minutes.”
“That’s so long! Then I’ll go find someone else to play with—”
……
The Jianoan Sanatorium used to be half a “home” for Zhu Qing. Now, since Sheng Peirong’s rehabilitation course wasn’t yet complete, the medical staff there all recognized her, making her comings and goings naturally smooth.
In the garden, the warm sunshine gilded the plants and trees with a golden edge.
Today, Rongzi Mei wasn’t here.
When Zhu Qing showed her ID, the nurse in charge of caring for Feng Ningyun nodded as usual. Recently, this female police officer had been visiting Feng Ningyun often, and the patient didn’t resist her presence.
Feng Ningyun sat in a wicker chair, basking in the sun.
Her mental state fluctuated, but the diagnosis reports over more than twenty years clearly stated that this patient was not aggressive. For this reason, Jianoan was willing to admit her.
Compared to a psychiatric hospital, this sanatorium had a much gentler atmosphere.
Although there was still dedicated full-time care, it wasn’t as strict as Mingde Hospital, where even going outside for fresh air had to follow a fixed schedule.
Zhu Qing and Cheng Xinglang were still here for the person noted in their notebook—the one who offered “candy.”
Back when Feng Ningyun’s illness had only been a few years old, she had been sent to Mingde’s Saigon Specialized Branch. The management there was strict. When Feng Ningyun escaped from her ward, the distance was too far; not only had they failed to see her face clearly, they hadn’t even caught a glimpse of her profile.
“Are you sure it’s a man or a woman?”
Feng Ningyun’s eyes were unfocused.
“Could you hear what they were talking about?”
She slowly shook her head.
They had made a special trip just for this “answer.” Yet, investigations often went like this—endless, seemingly futile efforts that might catch a fleeting clue or yield nothing at all.
Cheng Xinglang flipped open his notebook, standing quietly beside her. “Do you still remember the color of the scar on the arm?”
His tone was gentle, his voice much softer than that of Officer Mo Zhenbang.
Feng Ningyun no longer looked as panicked as she had when facing Mo Zhenbang, but the clues she provided were still very limited.
“Purple, red…” Feng Ningyun murmured softly, furrowing her brows, “Like earthworms.”
Cheng Xinglang’s pen paused on the paper.
“Red and purple—that’s too vague,” Zhu Qing said. “Eighteen years have passed. Maybe a new wound covered the old scar, or perhaps there was some scar removal surgery. Using this as a key piece of evidence would be difficult.”
As they left, the sunlight was just right.
Zhu Qing watched Cheng Xinglang’s back.
Over the past month, the clues he had uncovered had already pushed the case forward, yet he remained persistent.
“Cheng Xinglang,” she suddenly spoke up, “You know the hope is slim.”
His footsteps halted at the entrance of the rehabilitation center.
Perhaps hope was indeed slim, and all efforts might be in vain, but holding onto an obsession for eighteen years—saying ‘give up’ would take more courage than continuing the search.
“I know,” he replied, his voice as resolute as ever.
…
After leaving the Jianoan Rehabilitation Center, they drove back to the Yau Ma Tei Police Station.
The CID office was still staffed with officers working overtime. When Zhu Qing came in, someone handed her a stack of photocopied documents.
“Is this the information you asked for on the phone just now?”
“The man shot dead at the pier, A Bao, has been fully investigated by the Organized Crime and Triad Bureau. His autopsy results and the footprints at the scene match perfectly.”
“Also, during a visit to a wholesale market in the Western District, the owner confirmed that he had bought that kind of soft-centered chocolate. There are very few chocolates like that on the market now. The owner hadn’t planned to restock it, so he remembered clearly that A Bao specifically asked for that brand. Plus, A Bao looked so fierce that the owner had a very vivid impression of him.”
“Chocolate…” Zhu Qing repeated softly, exchanging a glance with Cheng Xinglang.
The serial killer from years ago had long died in a car accident. Wei Feng was confirmed by the Organized Crime and Triad Bureau not to have been at the scene during the crimes. So how did A Bao know that a specific brand of chocolate was left at the scene? The police had never publicly disclosed this detail.
“There was a third person present back then.”
“The same shadow Feng Ningyun saw.”
This matched Cheng Xinglang’s initial theory.
At the time, he thought that the person who killed the parents and the one who took away the younger brother might not be the same individual.
The police station cafeteria was crowded at noon. Zhu Qing and Cheng Xinglang carried their trays, searching for a seat.
After the meal, they returned to Cheng Xinglang’s office.
Since his return to the country, he had not yet completed his reinstatement procedures.
For now, this place had become their exclusive workspace, the desk piled high with files from the Mingde Mental Rehabilitation Center.
The two sat facing each other, heads bent over the files. The office was so quiet that the only sounds were the soft rustling of paper under fingertips and their gentle breaths.
Cheng Xinglang’s gaze inadvertently flicked across.
Their eyes met in midair.
“Bang—”
The office door was pushed open.
Ben propped himself against the doorframe. “Not working but still hogging the office?”
Cheng Xinglang tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Bensir, you here to collect rent?”
“No, no.” Ben raised his hands in surrender, and as he closed the door, he couldn’t resist teasing, “I’m pretty considerate, you know.”
Copies of files were spread across the desk. Feng Ningyun’s testimony had become their only direct lead.
Zhu Qing’s fingertip paused on the work records of the deceased, nurse Lai Danhe.
“All the scars have been verified,” she frowned. “Besides the assistant, Deputy Director Zong also cooperated by having other staff assist in the verification, but—”
Her gaze landed on the blurred signature at the bottom right corner of the nurse’s work record, and her voice abruptly stopped.
“What’s wrong?” Cheng Xinglang looked up.
“Look at this ‘Song’ character,” Zhu Qing pointed at the signature. “‘Song’ and ‘Zong’ are easily confused.”
Cheng Xinglang leaned forward and scribbled a messy “Zong.”
The same radical, over time, the handwriting had become blurred, the lower part almost illegible.
The signature on the deceased nurse Lai’s work record, Feng Ningyun’s description of the short-haired figure, the medical staff who worked at Mingde eighteen years ago...
All the clues finally pointed to one person.
“The Deputy Director of Mingde Mental Health Center,” Zhu Qing raised her eyes. “Zong Zhuoxian.”
…
Zhu Qing strode quickly down the corridor, clutching the freshly organized files.
Twenty minutes earlier, she had finished reporting the latest findings over the phone. Now, pushing open the CID office door, she saw several colleagues who lived nearby already gathered there.
“Better to come back and work on the case than just lazing at home,” Liang Qikai said.
“Working so hard, but there’s no ‘Best Diligence Award’ at year-end,” Mo Zhenbang joked.
“Afternoon tea’s all that matters,” Xu Jiale arrived in a rush. “These past two days, I’ve only been drinking the soup my old man made. Not even allowed a sip of cold water. No idea where that old codger picked up his health tips.”
Laughter erupted in the office.
“Uncle Li’s life is the best—he’s recovering comfortably in the hospital with people taking care of him.”
“That was just a minor external injury. He wouldn’t have even batted an eye before.”
“Now that someone cares, it’s a whole different story!”
Zeng Yongshan looked up from the case files. “Isn’t that normal? Like when a kid falls but doesn’t cry until a parent sees it, then suddenly bursts into tears.”
Amid the jokes, the officers never stopped working.
Although the case had been handed over to the Organized Crime and Triad Bureau, Mo Zhenbang was known for his unorthodox methods, and his subordinates shared his temperament. Since the CID had initially taken on the case, they insisted on seeing it through to the end, determined to clear up any remaining doubts.
On the computer screen, an officer pulled up a file photo.
In the picture, Zong Zhuoxian sported a neat short haircut.
"Eighteen years ago, she was already working at Mingde's Saigon Specialized Hospital campus, though back then she wasn’t yet the deputy director."
"She used to have short hair, but now it’s grown long."
As the investigation deepened, another crucial piece of information surfaced.
"Zong Zhuoxian and Wei Feng both lived in Dingping Village, Yuen Long, when they were kids—just two alleys apart."
"Later, her parents went into business, and she moved several times, with her household registration constantly shifting, which is why only the latest address was recorded."
"Close friends, then?" Xu Jiale raised an eyebrow. "Someone like Wei Feng wouldn’t cover up something like this without a special connection."
The files continued to unfold—Zong Zhuoxian’s career path, marital status, and childbirth records...
"Three years after marriage, her husband died suddenly from a heart attack, leaving behind their young daughter, Huo Xiaoyu."
The records pieced together Zong Zhuoxian’s life story.
Until one detail silenced everyone.
"Her daughter, Huo Xiaoyu, suffers from the same hereditary disease as her father."
"The only thing that could save the child was a heart transplant. Zong Zhuoxian waited thirteen months before finally finding a matching donor."
"The records show that the heart meant for her daughter was, at the very last moment, reassigned to someone else."
"That year, her daughter was only six."
Mo Zhenbang slowly closed the file. "After that, she began trafficking children’s organs."
"That night eighteen years ago—it might not have been a mentally ill person losing control at all."
"It was Zong Zhuoxian herself who guided that madman to Cheng Xinglang’s home—and she was there the entire time."
Mo Zhenbang ordered, "Check the missing children database from the past eighteen years, and all pediatric cases handled by Zong Zhuoxian."
"Focus on filtering all medical transfer records related to Zong Zhuoxian." Zhu Qing stood up, eyes glued to the data. "But what about the scar? I’ve met her—Zong Zhuoxian doesn’t have any scars on her hands."
…
Outside the CID office, Cheng Xinglang leaned against the wall, waiting.
As a directly involved party, Doctor Cheng was supposed to recuse himself from the case.
But Mo Zhenbang made an exception, allowing him to participate on the condition that he remain calm.
"Doctor Cheng, you know the rules."
"Notify the O unit," Mo sir instructed the officers. "Tell them we’re heading to Mingde."
Several police cars sped out of the Yau Ma Tei Police Station.
Mingde Mental Health Rehabilitation Center was heavily guarded, and the police’s sudden arrival quickly reached Zong Zhuoxian’s ears.
When they stormed into her office, it was already empty.
At the center of the desk sat a framed photo of mother and daughter.
The little girl with braided pigtails clutched a teddy bear, nestled in the arms of a younger Zong Zhuoxian.
"Except for the bow tie on the chest, and the toy my brother was holding..." Cheng Xinglang said in a low voice, "they’re almost identical."
The officers immediately took a closer look.
Zong Zhuoxian’s daughter, Huo Xiaoyu, also had a similar toy.
A nurse entered carrying medical records and placed the files on the deputy director’s desk.
“Officers!” the head nurse hurried forward. “Hospital regulations forbid unauthorized entry into medical staff offices without formal procedures. If there’s an urgent matter, please register first in the reception room.”
At that moment, a nurse who had just set down a medical chart noticed a photo frame on the desk. “Strange, how did a new photo suddenly appear?”
Deputy Director Zong Zhuoxian was always gentle and patient with patients and staff alike but never spoke about her personal life.
This nurse, who came and went daily to organize files in the office, had never seen this group photo before.
Just as she was puzzled, the police suddenly demanded sharply, “Where is Zong Zhuoxian?”
Startled, the nurse trembled and instinctively replied, “D-Deputy Director Zong… I think I just saw her heading to the rooftop.”
Before she finished speaking, the officers rushed toward the rooftop.
Zhu Qing hurried up the stairs, taking two or three steps at a time, when suddenly her phone rang. As she climbed higher, the signal weakened.
She had to stop at the landing. “What? I can’t hear you clearly…”
The iron door to the rooftop was violently thrown open.
Zong Zhuoxian sat on the edge of the rooftop, not even turning her head.
“I’ve stopped eighteen years ago. Why won’t you let me be?”
Cheng Xinglang’s breathing grew heavier as he stared at that figure.
“Where is my brother?”
Finally, Zong Zhuoxian turned around, a mocking, cold smile curling on her lips.
“You want the truth? Fine. Your brother’s ‘parts’ haven’t been tampered with.”
“But he died even earlier than those children in the shipping container.”
“You’ve been searching for eighteen years…” Zong Zhuoxian paused, “Only to find a corpse.”
Cheng Xinglang’s breath caught.
The truth from eighteen years ago—some of it had been revealed by Wei Feng, but the deliberately erased parts were now filled in by Zong Zhuoxian.
Back then, she was the mastermind; Ke Xiaobo was merely an assistant.
“Let me start with Ke Xiaobo,” Zong Zhuoxian said, nodding toward the spot beside her. “We were standing right here. He couldn’t even handle the small stuff. If the orphan’s foster parents kept digging, no one would be safe.”
“It was right here—I took a step forward, he stepped back, lost his footing, and fell. That’s all there is to it.”
“As for your parents—” her voice was shredded by the howling wind atop the building, each word deliberate and heavy, “They ruined my plans. Good people? Good people never live long.”
Zong Zhuoxian thought of her husband and daughter.
They were good people too, kind-hearted, yet fate had not smiled upon them.
Mo Zhenbang asked, “You ordered that madman’s serial killings?”
“Cao Xiangbao? I trained him myself. Medication, withdrawal, then medication again…”
“As long as I gave him a little sweetness, a glimmer of freedom, he’d do anything.”
Feng Ningyun recalled how that madman from Mingde was always given candy.
But in truth, it wasn’t real candy—it was medicine.
“I was the one who let him go that day. If Mingde was really that easy to escape from, everything would have fallen apart long ago.”
“The training had specific triggers—wearing glasses, being tall and thin, even an ordinary briefcase could set him off into a frenzy. Cao Xiangbao was, from the start, an extremely violent and disturbed individual…”
“The people killed earlier were just a prelude; the real target was your parents.”
As Cheng Xinglang had said, the killer’s “indiscriminate” and “precise” murders were inherently contradictory.
And the murder pattern that had eluded discovery for eighteen years was actually Zong Zhuoxian’s conditioned reflex training imposed on Cao Xiangbao.
After Cao Xiangbao escaped, every victim he killed in the early stages was an “accident,” until finally, under Zong Zhuoxian’s guidance, he found the Cheng family.
The plan had succeeded perfectly.
Zong Zhuoxian never worried he would lose control because she was always right behind him.
If he ever strayed off course, she would help him find the right direction.
“That night, I followed behind him, watching as he charged madly into your home.”
“One stimulus after another led him to the Cheng family’s doorstep, his bloodlust reaching its peak—he targeted you first.”
“You collapsed, unaware of everything.”
“Your parents clung desperately to his pant legs, dragged along the ground. They begged… no, they cried out in desperate pleas.”
Cheng Xinglang stared fixedly at Zong Zhuoxian.
Her white coat fluttered in the wind as she recounted every detail of that night, savoring the sight of his mental unraveling.
With each repeated retelling of those gruesome scenes, the faint fragments of memory buried deep within Cheng Xinglang’s mind began to sharpen.
In his recollection, he lay on the ground, warm blood flowing endlessly from an unknown wound.
In a daze, he saw two shadowy figures in the hallway, accompanied by faint footsteps.
A sharp pain stabbed at his temple.
“Your younger brother was incredibly quiet—almost as if he didn’t exist. He hid in the wardrobe the entire time, and only at the very end did we discover him,” Zong Zhuoxian continued in a soft tone. “When I opened the wardrobe door, he was trembling all over.”
“Your brother is just like my daughter—timid.”
“My daughter, buried alone underground, would be scared.”
“So, I invited your brother to be her companion, to keep her company.”
“Buried alive.” A smile curved Zong Zhuoxian’s lips. “I shoveled the earth on him, one shovelful at a time. Every time the soil fell on him, he cried out loudly. He called for ‘Dad, help me! Mom, help me! Brother, help me!’”
The faces of the officers around them changed drastically; their fists clenched so tightly their knuckles turned white.
Cheng Xinglang had pursued the truth for eighteen long years. Even if the ending was inevitable, it shouldn’t have been laid out before him in such a bloody, brutal way.
“Take him away!” Mo Zhenbang shouted.
Two officers immediately stepped forward, attempting to escort Cheng Xinglang out.
But his feet remained rooted to the spot.
Cheng Xinglang stared straight at Zong Zhuoxian, his gaze darkening, bloodshot veins spreading slowly across the whites of his eyes.
"My daughter is very obedient," Zong Zhuoxian's voice softened. "Why are you being so unfair to her? She just wants to live—she only wants to live... If that's the case, then I will make sure all the children go with her in death. Donors, donors... let these organs become nothing more than commodities. After all, they can't save those who truly need them!"
Zong Zhuoxian's eyes darkened with coldness. "In the end, when the earth completely covers your little brother, he will never make a sound again."
As she spoke, she suddenly threw her arms wide open and leaned backward.
The move was so sudden that several police officers immediately lunged forward, shouting, "Stop her!"
"Where is he?" Cheng Xinglang was faster than anyone, grabbing her wrist firmly. "Tell me clearly!"
At that moment, he caught sight of the grotesque bulges writhing on her arm as she struggled.
They weren’t scars, but twisted veins, purple and red like writhing earthworms.
Severe varicose veins—despite having undergone surgery, they had relapsed.
Cheng Xinglang’s pupils contracted sharply.
All the buried memories exploded open at once, flooding back like a tidal wave.
It was this very hand.
That night, the desperate pleas of their parents gradually faded, until silence swallowed the entire house.
The murderer, Cao Xiangbao, was still—
ᶜʰᵘⁿʳⁱ
Pacing anxiously in the living room.
Zong Zhuoxian crouched down and gently parted the collar of her brother’s shirt—
Cheng Xingyu.
It was the name tag that the kindergarten required parents to sew onto every undershirt.
Her gaze dropped to the small teddy bear tightly clutched in his arms, and for a fleeting moment, her expression softened.
At that moment, the trembling little boy noticed that his brother’s eyes, half-open in the pool of blood, were almost discovered.
He immediately used his small body to block Zong Zhuoxian’s view, obediently saying, "Auntie, I’m being good."
Cheng Xinglang’s temple throbbed violently.
He clearly remembered how Zong Zhuoxian’s varicose-veined right hand had hovered in the air for a long moment.
Finally, she gently took his brother’s hand.
All the memories came flooding back.
That hand was incredibly gentle, free of any malice as it led Cheng Xingyu away. The boy didn’t struggle at all—he followed her quietly, only to save his brother’s life.
Cheng Xinglang even heard Zong Zhuoxian whispering absently as she stroked his brother’s cheek.
"Xiaoyu, Xiaoyu..."
Professor Yang’s psychological evaluation report confirmed that dissociative amnesia was real.
Cheng Xinglang had not failed to see.
Every scene from that night eighteen years ago had been witnessed with his own eyes. But the pain was too overwhelming—his brain had locked it all away.
Then, suddenly, Zong Zhuoxian, suspended high above, unleashed a terrifying force and broke free.
Her body arched backward, falling from the heights.
She closed her eyes as if finding release, recalling the last words she had spoken to that child—
"Live on for my little Yu."
But she was taking this secret with her.
Leaving it as a wound Cheng Xinglang would never be able to heal.
Cheng Xinglang lunged toward the edge of the rooftop, his fingertips barely catching the corner of a white coat.
The officers’ cries of alarm rang out—but it was already too late by half a step.
Zong Zhuoxian’s body fell straight down, the dull thud of impact echoing from the ground.
Cheng Xinglang’s world suddenly fell into silence.
Just like that night eighteen years ago, when all sound seemed to vanish.
“Cheng Xinglang!”
Zhu Qing’s call came from far away, as if through a haze.
Cheng Xinglang slowly turned around and saw her running toward him, holding up her mobile phone.
The next second, he suddenly reached out and pulled her into his arms, burying his face into the hollow of her shoulder.
Zhu Qing froze, feeling his body trembling.
In the distance, the wail of sirens and the rush of ambulances grew louder, while the crowd downstairs shouted back and forth.
“Cheng Xinglang,” Zhu Qing whispered softly in his ear, “the records from the International Medical Organization show that eighteen years ago, Zong Zhuoxian sent away a six-year-old boy.”
Cheng Xinglang’s arms tightened suddenly. Everything around him blurred and faded into the distance, leaving only her voice ringing crystal clear in his ears.
Her hand hovered in midair before gently settling on his back.
“He’s still alive. He’s still alive…”
……
At the end of the school day, little Sheng Fang came out of kindergarten carrying his backpack, glancing around.
He looked left and right.
No sign of Qing Zai, nor Doctor Cheng.
But Uncle Hu by the school bus had already anticipated that the little troublemaker was about to stir things up again, and was keeping a close eye on him.
Sheng Fang dawdled, reluctant to get on the bus. His small hands were hidden behind his back, his toes tapping lightly on the ground.
Quickly thinking of a plan, his gaze shifted toward a nearby figure.
A Juan’s mother was walking over, holding A Juan’s hand.
Sheng Fang immediately ran up, looking up with his innocent little face. “Auntie, can I borrow your phone?”
A Juan’s mother smiled and crouched down, pulling her phone out of her bag to hand it over.
She then turned to her own child and said, “See? Fang Fang is brave and polite.”
Just as her son was about to turn away in protest, she added with a smile, “Just like our A Juan!”
Little A Juan was easy to please, his mouth instantly stretching into a grin.
Meanwhile, little Sheng Fang expertly pressed the numbers he had already memorized.
He pressed the phone to his ear and spoke in a soft, childish voice.
“Hello, I’m done with school.”
“Do you need backup, Fang Fang?”
