Little Sheng Fang was living happily in his Yau Ma Tei apartment, utterly enchanted by his new life.
He often received calls from Sheng Peirong.
Whenever the landline rang, he would plop onto the sofa, cradling the receiver between his ear and shoulder, his chubby little fingers twirling the coiled telephone cord.
"Big sis, big sis! Kindergarten is so much fun!"
"Yesterday, Teacher Ji took us on a field trip."
"We went to the Lions Nature Education Center. The insect exhibit had so many specimens!"
"Next time, I’ll make an insect specimen for you too, okay?"
Whenever he discovered something wonderful, Sheng Fang’s first thought was to share it with his family.
Sheng Peirong, recalling the cockroach pencil holder he’d once left on her bedside table, swiftly declined: "No, thanks."
"Qing-jie doesn’t want one either," Fangfang sighed dramatically.
Alas, his family had no appreciation for such treasures.
Insect specimens! How could they not be fascinated?
"We also planted little potted plants in class."
"Teacher Ji said the beans we grow will be edible!"
"And when summer comes, we’ll have a water balloon fight!"
He chattered excitedly, jumping from kindergarten tales to police station adventures—carefully avoiding any mention of going home.
"If you don’t come back soon, you might not see me for a while," his sister issued an ultimatum. "I’m going on a business trip for several days."
Fangfang replied sweetly, "Big sis, have a safe trip."
Sheng Peirong didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
The little rascal even added that he’d make time to come home and have dinner with her someday.
"Don’t bother."
Yet that very evening, Sheng Fang and Zhu Qing appeared at her doorstep in Kadoorie Hill.
Fangfang clung to his sister. "Big sis, you’re just saying that because you’re mad."
His voice was sticky-sweet with childish charm: "You must miss me and Qing-jie sooo much!"
...
After that, Sheng Peirong became swamped with work, rarely home herself, and had little time to mind her little brother and niece.
Thus, Aunt Ping became the household’s sole idle member, her daily mission reduced to punctually meeting the school bus and escorting the young master safely to Yau Ma Tei Police Station.
The routine felt familiar—like old times, except now she lived in Kadoorie Hill instead of Mid-Levels. Back then, it was Madam who disliked interruptions; now, it was the little tyrant who guarded his alone time with his niece.
After all these years, Aunt Ping still enjoyed the best living arrangements.
Sometimes, she envied herself.
The school bus driver, Uncle Hu, had long since decoded the young master’s quirks and always had new tricks up his sleeve.
Now, he’d honed a hawk-eyed vigilance, keeping close watch on the boy.
At the bus stop, Uncle Hu firmly held Sheng Fang’s small hand.
Unless a family member appeared, he wouldn’t let go.
"I won’t run off," Fangfang assured him, shrugging as best he could with his hand trapped. "You can trust me."
Minutes ticked by until Aunt Ping finally came rushing over, breathless.
"The minibus was late today," she panted. "I almost missed you."
Fangfang tilted his head, studying the flustered Aunt Ping.
What happened to her usual composure?
On the way to the police station, Sheng Fang tirelessly reminded Aunt Ping to skip the minibus next time.
"Take a taxi!" The little boss declared grandly. "Expenses covered."
Aunt Ping just smiled, letting his words drift in one ear and out the other.
Taxis were expensive—no sense being wasteful.
Fangfang’s after-school routine followed a well-worn script.
Upon arriving at the CID office, he’d make rounds, chatting with colleagues—partly to stay updated on police affairs, partly to offer morale boosts. Though far from a leadership position, he’d already absorbed Inspector Mo’s knack for empathy, determined to become a considerate superior one day.
Rumor had it Sir Liang recently enrolled in a police psychology course.
Every evening before clocking out, he’d stack up textbooks and embark on his "scholarly pilgrimage." Inspector Mo fully supported this self-improvement—though it meant redistributing some of Sir Liang’s tasks to others.
"No way!" Hao Zai groaned at his desk. "These reports give me a headache."
Liang Qikai turned to Xu Jiale.
Xu Jiale waved him off: "Unless you’re treating me—"
Fangfang couldn’t resist bouncing up: "I can help!"
The CID office erupted in laughter.
After socializing, Sheng Fang would march straight to the Senior Inspector’s office for in-depth parenting discussions.
They were an unlikely pair, trading improbable wisdom, always sparking fresh insights.
Fangfang’s mother had been an ultra-high-risk pregnancy case. Though he’d been in utero during the ordeal, that didn’t stop him from playing the seasoned expert for Weng Zhaolin.
"It’s really tough," Fangfang said gravely.
Aunt Ping, a quasi-nutritionist, had encyclopedic knowledge of postpartum meal plans. Fangfang relayed her advice verbatim, cementing his status as Weng-sir’s favorite consultant.
"What was that ingredient you mentioned?"
"Is that a medicinal recipe?"
Fangfang always received VIP treatment here. Now, he even got dibs on the genuine leather swivel chair.
He spun gleefully, tiny hands gripping the desk until dizziness struck.
Across from him, John scribbled notes furiously.
"Anything else? Think hard," Weng Zhaolin urged. "You’re more professional than those clueless folks outside."
Fangfang modestly waved a hand.
Beyond maternal care, he was also a childcare savant.
After all, Fangfang was a child himself. He knew exactly what kids loved and loathed, dispensing expert guidance to help John prep for fatherhood.
This little boy carried the weight of adult worries on his small shoulders.
"About the—" Weng Zhaolin began.
Thud. Fangfang hopped off the chair. "Time’s up!"
Hands clasped behind his back, he announced: "Next stop!"
At four years old, Sheng Fang now enjoyed special privileges from Zhu Qing: unfettered freedom to roam Yau Ma Tei Police Station—so long as he didn’t leave the premises.
He strolled through the halls, nodding hello to every familiar face.
When Sheng Fang ran into Sister Rachel from the Traffic Police Department again, he covered his little mouth with his hands, grinning sweetly with eyes curved into crescents. During that director’s love-suicide case, Inspector Sheng had spotted her secretly dating Little Gao from the reporting room at the cinema entrance. Following their agreement, Sheng Fang kept his lips sealed, faithfully carrying out his duty of secrecy. Every time he saw them, he would make this signature gesture, while Little Gao and Sister Rachel would exchange knowing glances, blinking as a silent thank-you.
But this time was different.
Sister Rachel crouched down and placed a hand on his small shoulder. "We’ve broken up."
Sheng Fang tilted his head, studying her expression.
She still looked radiant, her face full of carefree ease, the corners of her lips curled in a smile.
Sheng Fang, not entirely understanding, said, "Congratulations!"
Sister Rachel was taken aback at first, then couldn’t help but chuckle as she ruffled his little head. "Thank you."
In the world of adults, there were always too many puzzles Sheng Fang couldn’t unravel.
When something was truly beyond his comprehension, he didn’t force it. Instead, he turned and skipped off cheerfully, wandering all the way to the Forensics Department.
Inside, Cheng Xinglang had just finished a toxicology test, changed out of his lab coat, and was chatting with a colleague.
"Dr. Cheng!"
After calling twice with no response, Sheng Fang’s little voice grew louder.
"Cheng—Xing—Lang—"
Cheng Xinglang turned to see the round little troublemaker standing at the stairwell, shouting his name.
Now that Dr. Cheng’s status had been elevated, Sheng Fang had upgraded his form of address too.
The little elder had started mimicking Zhu Qing’s tone, calling him by his full name.
"Who’s acting all high and mighty here?" Cheng Xinglang lightly flicked his forehead with a finger.
Thunk.
"Not a hollow head after all."
"Solid inside!" Sheng Fang proudly lifted his chin. "Smart little person!"
"Kid," Cheng Xinglang advised sincerely, "you really shouldn’t call yourself a ‘little person’ anymore."
......
Sheng Fang’s tiny bicycle had finally been moved to the Yau Ma Tei Police Station.
Since the bike would get in the way, it couldn’t be parked prominently downstairs like the imposing police vehicles. Instead, it had to squeeze into the storage room in the hallway, lined up with the other children’s bikes belonging to officers’ families.
But this did nothing to dampen Sheng Fang’s enthusiasm.
Riding around the spacious area outside the station was no challenge for little Sheng Fang anymore. The next moment, he and his bike were hauled off to the back alley by Dr. Cheng.
The alley became Sheng Fang’s newly unlocked territory—a place covered in sprawling graffiti murals, soon to be demolished.
Having neglected his bike for so long, the little vehicle seemed to throw a tantrum now. Every time he started pedaling, Sheng Fang wobbled precariously, struggling to keep his balance and nearly tumbling face-first onto the ground. Luckily, Dr. Cheng always intervened at the last second, steadying the bike and saving Sheng Fang from a flat-faced fate.
By the time Zhu Qing arrived, Sheng Fang was still locked in battle with his bicycle.
Cheng Xinglang’s patience seemed inexhaustible, playing with him from dawn until dusk.
Finally regaining his rhythm, Sheng Fang grew steadier and bolder, embarking on mischievous little adventures.
He discovered a new route—a steep slope. His chubby legs pedaled furiously, but the wheels barely inched forward before sliding back down, stubbornly unconquerable.
If pedaling wouldn’t work, he’d push instead. Sheng Fang hopped off and began trudging up the slope, his tiny figure huffing and puffing as he climbed. Once seated again, his excitement was practically overflowing.
"Whee—!"
As he zoomed down the slope, he gleefully kicked up his little feet. "Wow!"
Ever the little prankster, Sheng Fang pretended to wobble the handlebars. "Qing-er, Qing-er, I’m gonna fall!"
"That’d be great," Zhu Qing said. "Break a front tooth, and Jin Bao, Yesi, and Juan will laugh at you."
This actually scared the little boy.
Even kindergarteners had their pride. He slammed on the brakes, stopping with a flourish.
Sheng Fang pondered deeply. "Then they’ll—"
"Laugh their baby teeth out?" Cheng Xinglang seamlessly finished.
Reassured, Sheng Fang went back to pushing his bike up the slope.
If everyone lost their teeth, it’d be fine.
The setting sun stretched Sheng Fang’s shadow long behind him.
He pedaled in circles, completely absorbed, until lap after lap, he turned to check on the adults—only to catch them sneaking ice cream behind his back!
On the alley’s stairway, Zhu Qing and Cheng Xinglang each held an ice cream.
Soon, Sheng Fang plopped down beside Qing-er.
"None for me?"
Like a magician, Dr. Cheng produced a third ice cream.
Eating ice cream was always better together!
Lately, Cheng Xinglang had started house-hunting.
It was time to say goodbye to the old villa filled with childhood memories.
When his brother returned, they’d have a new home bathed in sunlight—not one forever trapped in the past.
"You searched for him for eighteen years," Zhu Qing turned to him, eyes smiling. "This time, let him come find you."
"How long will it take?" Sheng Fang nibbled at his ice cream.
"Who knows," Cheng Xinglang chuckled. "He was never as quick-witted as me."
Zhu Qing and Sheng Fang chorused, "Braggart Lang!"
Under the glow of the setting sun, the three of them ate their ice cream, gazing at the vibrant graffiti covering the alley walls.
The graffiti was wildly imaginative, its vivid colors bursting with life.
"It’s so beautiful. Why tear it down?"
"Tear down this wall, and you’ll see an even better view."
That same evening, Agent Wang welcomed a new client to his real estate shop on Nathan Road.
An old customer—young master Sheng—had referred him.
Agent Wang grinned ear to ear. "Mr. Sheng! The usual iced lemon tea, no tea?"
Ever since meeting this wealthy uncle-nephew pair, his luck had been golden.
Money just kept rolling in!
......
For Zhu Qing and little Sheng Fang, the biggest challenge of living alone remained the same as before: food.
Back when they were still apartment-hunting, Sheng Fang loved imagining himself in a tiny apron, wielding a spatula like a pro, with Qing-er as his sous-chef, assisting him.
But reality in the kitchen was harsh. Pots, pans, and seasonings all had minds of their own, leaving them utterly bewildered. His dreams were mercilessly crushed.
Truthfully, Sheng Fang had long been ready to surrender—and so had his niece.
Yet whenever she remembered her duty to raise this little troublemaker right, Zhu Qing would rally herself anew.
"Never give up!" Zhu Qing chanted.
Sheng Fang pumped his fists. "Never give up!"
Uncle and niece marched to the market with Aunt Ping’s old grocery basket, brimming with determination.
They weren’t exactly skilled shoppers.
Sheng Fang consoled Qing-er, "Everyone has their strengths. We’re already amazing at solving cases!"
Luckily, the market vendors were all old friends of Aunt Ping’s. Recognizing the young master’s familiar face, they eagerly stuffed extra goodies into their bags.
"Young master brought his niece shopping? Take more, take more!"
By the time they headed home, their arms were laden with bags—practically a steal.
Zhu Qing didn’t need to worry about washing the vegetables at all.
There’s no child who doesn’t love playing with water, and Sheng Fang washed the greens until they sparkled, his little face brimming with pride: "Clean and shiny!"
But the moment the stove was lit, the uncle-niece duo descended into chaos.
They stood helpless before the wok and clay pot, the ingredients refusing to cooperate, behaving nothing like their obedient selves under Aunt Ping’s skilled hands.
"How does Aunt Ping do it?" Zhu Qing sighed, staring at the rebellious contents of the pan.
"We can’t give up!" Sheng Fang raised his tiny arms in determination.
Zhu Qing echoed, "We can’t give up!"
They called Aunt Ping, hoping for some cooking wisdom.
But the call went unanswered—she was probably locked in her own kitchen battle with flour and dough. Even when alone at home, Aunt Ping would always find ways to whip up delicious treats, crafting delicate dumplings or fluffy barbecue buns to stock their freezer, ensuring the two never had to settle for a haphazard breakfast.
"Qing, how did it turn out like this?"
The once-pristine greens now looked as miserable as their cooks.
They exchanged glances.
"What do we do?"
"Let’s just give up."
In the end, they dialed a familiar number—
"Cheng Xinglang, save us."
Half an hour later, their savior arrived.
The kitchen buzzed with activity as Cheng Xinglang took charge, while Zhu Qing and Sheng Fang hovered around, "helping" in their own counterproductive ways.
Cheng Xinglang ladled a spoonful of rich pork bone soup from the clay pot, its aroma filling the room.
He held the spoon to Zhu Qing’s lips, his slender fingers steadying the bottom. "Taste it."
She took a careful sip.
Sheng Fang, never one to be left out, bounced on his tiptoes. "My turn! My turn!"
Cheng Xinglang chuckled, scooping another spoonful and crouching to the child’s level.
Sheng Fang puffed his cheeks, blowing on the soup until every wisp of steam vanished.
A smart kid always takes care not to get burned.
Three dishes and a soup later, a sad plate of overcooked greens still sat on the table.
Waste was unacceptable, and Dr. Cheng was here to teach that lesson.
He picked up a bite and chewed thoughtfully.
"Mmm—"
"Is it good?"
"Not bad. Want to try?"
The duo wasn’t fooled. They propped their chins in identical skepticism, shaking their heads in unison.
"We’re not falling for that."
"There’s plenty more in the kitchen," Zhu Qing grinned, eyes crinkling. "Feel free to take some home."
Cheng Xinglang turned to Sheng Fang. "Look at her."
Ever the fair mediator, Sheng Fang scooted closer to him. "Qing, stop bullying him!"
---
Sheng Fang’s birthday, like Zhu Qing’s, arrived with the rejuvenating breath of spring.
She had never imagined birthdays could feel so warm—now she understood the joy of companionship and well-wishes.
Pinching Sheng Fang’s round cheeks, she made a promise: every year from now on, she’d celebrate with him.
"You have to sing ‘Happy Birthday,’" he reminded, grinning. "Did you learn it yet?"
Zhu Qing studied the bright-eyed little boy and felt a sudden pang.
Year by year, Sheng Fang would grow into an amazing adult, but she wasn’t in a hurry. She wished time would slow down, letting him bloom gently, surrounded by love, making up for every hurt the original story had dealt him.
Unlike his occasionally scatterbrained aunt, Sheng Fang knew his birthday date by heart. He’d marked it on the calendar, counting down the days, and now tugged at Zhu Qing to help draft invitations for his friends.
Earlier, they’d enthusiastically camped out on the floor for a day, only for Zhu Qing to wake up sore and Sheng Fang complaining about his "achy head." They’d retreated to their beds that night—but for invitation-writing, the floor was non-negotiable.
Spread before them was an array of colorful markers. Sheng Fang pursed his lips in concentration, carefully selecting hues for each friend’s card—a gesture of sincerity.
Every name was his own handiwork, crafted with painstaking care.
"Jin Bao gets gold!"
The child’s name was replaced by a chubby golden ingot doodle, whimsical and bright. Sheng Fang flicked the edge of the card, admiring how it shimmered.
Yesi’s name proved trickier.
Luckily, Sheng Fang’s chosen English nickname was delightfully simple. A few strokes of the marker, and it was done.
"YES?" Zhu Qing blinked.
Then came Juan. Both froze.
Sheng Fang drew a single squiggly line. "This okay?"
"Too lazy…"
Undeterred, he bent over the card, covering it in layer upon layer of curls.
Zhu Qing stared, guilt creeping in as she pictured Juan’s elegant mother holding the card, utterly baffled.
Then inspiration struck. She added four bold letters beside the squiggles—
ICAC!
This was, after all, an invitation for Juan, the ICAC kid.
"Done." Zhu Qing snapped her fingers.
The crisp sound made Sheng Fang gasp. He grabbed her hand, inspecting it with awe.
How’d she do that?
Who knew Qing had such cool tricks up her sleeve?
---
The police station had been quiet lately, and kindergarten was blissfully homework-free. For Sheng Fang, the only downside was thrice-weekly tutoring sessions—on those days, Aunt Ping handled pickup while Zhu Qing went on dates.
The rest of the time belonged to just the two of them.
Living in their Yau Ma Tei apartment, Sheng Fang made a thrilling discovery:
Qing had forgotten to enforce screen time limits!
Every evening, the TV flickered to life.
Sheng Fang would haul a bag of chips to the coffee table while Zhu Qing fetched juice from the fridge, both collapsing onto the couch to savor the quiet night.
Mostly, they watched cartoons.
But when those ended, prime-time dramas became the backup plan.
Crime procedurals were their favorite.
Sheng Fang would curl up, clutching his feet, face solemn, while Zhu Qing crunched chips cross-legged. They’d compete to guess the killer first, dissecting clues with mock gravity, even eyeing the whiteboard as if ready to map out evidence—though neither ever moved to actually do it.
Of course, crime dramas weren’t exactly child-friendly. Sometimes, a sudden gruesome shot would flash onscreen—
Fortunately, Zhu Qing’s hand always managed to cover his eyes perfectly the moment the eerie sound effects kicked in.
"Brave madam!" Sheng Fang’s vision was plunged into darkness, not even a sliver of the TV screen visible through her fingers. "Never misses a beat!"
As for the romantic scenes, Sheng Fang watched them with vague comprehension, though he was long accustomed to them.
Young couples—he had those around him too.
But Fangfang was still young, and there were moments when the plot left him puzzled.
This time, as the TV blared with a classic dramatic line, he turned to Zhu Qing.
"Qing-jie, what does ‘better to have given birth to a piece of char siu than you’ mean—?"
Zhu Qing suddenly realized—could this line from the drama leave a shadow on the little one’s tender heart?
After a moment’s thought, she broke it down for him in a way a child could understand, explaining the meaning of the line from every angle.
Her words were nothing if not earnest.
By the time she finished, it felt like an eternity.
Sheng Fang swallowed hard, his little voice brimming with longing: "Qing-jie, I want to eat char siu."
