Everything happened too quickly.
Perhaps Zhu Qing’s swift flying kick was too forceful—before Butler Cui could strike, the entire B-team had already sprung into action, surrounding him in layers.
Zeng Yongshan, who usually gushed about romance films with starry-eyed idealism, showed no hesitation in the critical moment. Her police academy training kicked in as she executed a flawless elbow strike, driving her knee into Butler Cui’s lower back and pinning him firmly to the ground.
Hao Zai moved in perfect sync with her. Without even drawing his holstered gun, he whipped out handcuffs and locked them around the suspect’s wrists, gripping the back of his neck as he barked, “Still trying to pull a knife?”
Zhu Qing hadn’t read many novels. At most, she’d flipped through donated comics on the welfare center’s shelves as a child. Later, survival left little time for leisure. Moments ago, fragments of the original plot had flooded her mind—too fast to process, leaving her to act on instinct. Now, clarity returned.
In the original storyline, as the cannon-fodder side character, she was supposed to notice Butler Cui’s suspicious behavior before the Sheng family lawyer read the will. Lost in thought, the male lead’s voice would startle her, alerting Butler Cui… who’d then grab a fruit knife from a maid’s tray and charge. In that version, Zhu Qing threw herself in front of the male lead—only for the blade to pierce her heart, ending her short life.
Back in reality, Liang Qikai reacted the instant he was shoved aside. Realizing his words had exposed Zhu Qing’s suspicion, his expression shifted from shock to sharp focus as he blocked the first strike with a leather chairback.
This was the male lead’s canon characterization: gentle but far from weak, with a meticulously crafted arc of growth.
“Let go!”
“You’ve got the wrong person!”
Butler Cui’s roar snapped Zhu Qing back to the present.
His eyes bulged with rage, bloodshot from struggle, face flushed crimson as veins throbbed in his neck. Nearby servants screamed and scattered, still shaken.
Mo Zhenbang and several officers shielded Sheng Peishan throughout, ensuring the Second Young Miss remained unharmed.
Yet ever since the Sheng heir’s drifting go-kart left those words hanging in the air, her expression had tightened. Now, her gaze lingered on Zhu Qing, exhaustion etched in her eyes.
As for the proud little heir himself—from the moment he’d puffed out his chubby chin to confront Zhu Qing, to now with Butler Cui in shackles—he’d stayed tucked safely in her arms.
Amid Butler Cui’s ongoing bellows, that firm embrace felt familiar. Whether Sheng Fang ignored the chaos or simply didn’t understand it, his small frame stiffened briefly before he slowly lifted his head.
The first time the young master met this policewoman was outside the playroom. She’d effortlessly hoisted him by his collar—he’d assumed Daddy hired a bodyguard.
Later, they’d explored the security booth together, visited Connaught Sanatorium for clues… Even a child knew officers wouldn’t stay after solving the case.
But then Sheng Fang saw that email on his sister’s computer.
The boy couldn’t read much Chinese or English, but Marysa could. Her rapid chatter helped him connect the dots—including his sister’s mention of an obscure term:
Niece.
The studious young master already knew this meant family.
Now he stared up, hope and anxiety warring in his eyes, too afraid to ask aloud:
What if she says no?
—
The lawyer, experiencing such danger for the first time, set aside the late patriarch’s protocols. The will reading would have to wait.
Soon, sirens wailed as officers divided—some taking statements from staff, others escorting the suspect away.
Two police cars idled in tandem.
As Sheng Peishan passed Butler Cui in her wheelchair, she signaled the officer pushing her to pause.
For the first time, she truly looked at him.
“Why?”
Instead of answering, Butler Cui glared with near-bleeding intensity, cracked lips trembling as he rasped, “You’ll pay. Your whole cursed family will pay.”
This was a side of him Sheng Peishan had never seen.
She didn’t even know his real name. In her memory, he’d always been that silent, slightly stooped figure in the background.
Even now, she couldn’t process that a third party was involved. What secrets hid behind that unassuming facade?
When helped into the police car, she glanced back one last time at the estate that had been her prison—ten years from twenty-seven to thirty-seven, each day agony. No, longer than that…
Her grip tightened on the window frame before her eyes found Zhu Qing again.
Under sunlight, Zhu Qing stood with Sheng Fang on the villa’s pebbled pathway.
Earlier, her focus had been solely on Butler Cui—until the child appeared, puffing up with inexplicable pride… In this vipers’ nest, protecting him came first. His silly taunts barely registered then, and didn’t bear revisiting now.
Her mind was already consumed by the so-called original plot.
“Inspector Mo.” A young uniformed officer approached awkwardly. “The staff are terrified—that plump Filipina maid locked herself in the storage room. And this child…”
Zhu Qing looked down at the young master.
After Chen Chaosheng’s corpse was discovered in the study, many servants had quit. Today’s knife-wielding, gun-drawing chaos would likely drive more away—especially with Second Young Miss’s triple-salary promise now void.
Marysa’s patchy Mandarin failed her in panic, Cantonese devolving into gibberish. Convinced killers lurked everywhere, she’d barricaded herself. Even if coaxed out, she’d probably flee tonight.
Mo Zhenbang made the call: “Take the boy to the station for now.”
This perplexing case was finally coming into focus, with the truth seemingly within reach. Mo Zhenbang suggested taking Sheng Fang to the police station first to discuss the next steps.
The child, barely more than a toddler, was riding in a police car for the very first time. Any lingering doubts in his little mind were quickly overshadowed by sheer excitement.
The famed West Kowloon Serious Crimes Unit—he’d been dreaming about visiting it, and now, at last, he was on his way!
……
The young master of the Sheng family stepped into the West Kowloon Serious Crimes Unit, a place he’d seen countless times on TV. His round, wide eyes instantly lit up like two sparkling searchlights, eager to scan every corner of the room.
But when the officers saw the little boy bouncing around like an overenergetic monkey, they couldn’t help but sigh. They really should have insisted on bringing Marysa, the nanny, along—surely there was no safer place than a police station, right?
"Where’s Zhu Qing?" Uncle Li rubbed his temples, his head throbbing from the boy’s high-pitched chatter. "This kid listens to her. Get her to handle him!"
Sheng Fang, his chubby little fingers gently tracing the police badge, frowned at the officer’s words.
He didn’t listen to anyone.
Xu Jiale, ever the mischievous and quick-witted one, grabbed Uncle Li’s hands mid-temple-rub and playfully adjusted them to cover his ears instead.
Uncle Li, annoyed, shook him off and nearly gave him a smack on the head.
"Zhu Qing went to the forensics lab. She’s waiting for the test results on that cup of black tea and the fruit punch."
"Clever girl," Uncle Li grumbled. "Faster than a rabbit."
The woman he once called the "Ice Queen" was now being compared to a speedy rabbit—the contrast was so absurd that a few officers stifled their laughter.
Xu Jiale placed a photocopied document on his desk and tapped it lightly with his finger. "Mo Zhenbang and Little Sun are in the interrogation room. With this, he won’t have a choice but to confess."
Zeng Yongshan rested her chin on her hand. "I wonder if they’ve gotten Sheng Peishan to talk yet?"
"I’ll go check on Sheng Peishan," Uncle Li said, standing up.
"Uncle Li!" Zeng Yongshan called after him, pointing at the little boy spinning in his chair. "What about this little troublemaker?"
The office fell silent. Pretending not to hear was clearly the wisest move.
Fortunately, Liang Qikai, ever the reliable one, pulled out a lollipop from somewhere and popped it into Sheng Fang’s mouth.
With his mouth occupied by candy, the boy blinked innocently.
Instant transformation—from menace to angel.
Zeng Yongshan leaned in dramatically, studying the little master’s face.
Was this really the same kid who had just driven a flashy go-kart to block their way? What kind of magic did candy possess to turn a little tyrant into a sweetheart?
"You actually carry candy around with you?" Zeng Yongshan asked, as if she’d just discovered something groundbreaking.
"Rainbow lollipop," Liang Qikai explained. "Sometimes, during house visits, we run into crying kids. So I always keep some handy."
The newly transferred Officer Liang had always been the epitome of approachability.
Even the cafeteria aunties at the station would sneak extra shrimp into his fried rice, saying, "Young people need to eat more."
"Noted!" Zeng Yongshan grinned, her eyes curving into crescents.
Xu Jiale dragged out his words teasingly, "Ooooh—noted—"
Soon, the office erupted in a chorus of exaggerated mimicry.
Zeng Yongshan glared, hands on her hips, silently ordering them to shut up.
The group dissolved into playful chaos.
Liang Qikai shook his head helplessly before turning back to Sheng Fang.
Good with kids, he asked gently, "After eating this rainbow lollipop, will there be a rainbow in your mouth?"
Sheng Fang, maintaining his grumpy expression, scoffed. "Childish."
Zeng Yongshan smirked. "Brat, then give it back."
"?" Sheng Fang bared his teeth and took an aggressive bite of the lollipop.
A burst of laughter echoed through the room, lingering for a long while.
In that moment, the West Kowloon Serious Crimes Unit had transformed into the West Kowloon Kindergarten.
……
Inside the interrogation room, Butler Cui was visibly agitated.
Earlier, with his hands raised in surrender and surrounded by officers, he thought he’d heard the young master’s voice—claiming that the madam was his niece.
How many nieces could Sheng Fang possibly have?
There was only one possibility…
Whether it was true or just a child’s nonsense, Butler Cui had no way to verify.
He clenched his fists on the interrogation table, berating himself for acting impulsively and ruining everything.
Before long, Zhu Qing knocked on the door and handed Mo Zhenbang the forensics report.
The full toxicology analysis wasn’t ready yet, but the preliminary results confirmed that Sheng Peishan’s tea and Sheng Fang’s drink had been poisoned. For Mo Zhenbang, that was enough.
As the interrogation room door closed, Butler Cui instinctively leaned forward to get a better look at Zhu Qing.
Life wasn’t a TV drama—even if Sheng Peirong and this madam were mother and daughter, they wouldn’t look identical. But whether it was preconception or not, Butler Cui couldn’t help but see a faint resemblance to the young Sheng Peirong in Zhu Qing’s features.
The door shut firmly. Mo Zhenbang waved the report in front of Butler Cui before slamming it onto the table.
"The test results prove that Sheng Peishan and Sheng Fang’s drinks were laced with the same poison found in Chen Chaosheng’s autopsy report," Mo Zhenbang pressed. "You planned to send them both to join their father during the will reading on the hundredth day."
"You thought that, given Sheng Peishan’s status, a call from her lawyer would have the Commissioner himself rushing to bail her out."
Butler Cui had waited so long for this day—a day of great significance. His plan was almost successful, until the police intervened.
"Who would’ve thought so many officers would show up? You panicked, tried to cover your tracks, and that’s when you slipped up."
"You’re smart. You realized you were under suspicion immediately. And in that moment, you thought—this was your last chance. So you grabbed that fruit knife without hesitation…"
Mo Zhenbang paced the room, his shoes tapping heavily against the floor. "Isn’t that right?"
A muscle twitched near Butler Cui’s wrinkled eye, a flicker of resentment flashing in his dull gaze.
Mo Zhenbang gave a subtle signal, and Little Sun pulled out a file.
"Do you know Huang Ashui?" Little Sun flipped through the documents, his finger tracing the text. "Sheng Wenchang was meticulous about his staff. He hated hiring relatives. Being a driver for a jewelry tycoon—that’s a job people would kill for…"
Butler Cui’s breathing suddenly turned ragged.
"You deliberately created an opportunity for Huang Ashui by sending him to Sheng Wenchang’s side, thinking it would give father and son more chances to bond in the future. But who could’ve guessed—"
Here, Little Sun paused deliberately.
The slight tremor in Butler Cui’s fingers confirmed it—they had bet on the right lead.
Little Sun pulled a photograph from the thick stack of documents.
In the photo, a young woman held a little boy against the backdrop of a dilapidated fishing raft.
"Huang Ashui was born in 1955. His father was a crewman on a fishing boat. During a severe typhoon, the boat sank, and the news of his death followed. His mother, believing his father had perished, was forced to leave the raft and move ashore to make a living. From then on, it was just the two of them," Mo Zhenbang continued. "Now, tell us—how exactly did the Sheng family wrong you?"
Butler Cui’s tightly clasped hands had loosened at some point without him realizing.
Mo Zhenbang handed the old photograph to him.
The butler’s calloused fingers traced the image of his long-gone son, and tears streamed down his weathered face.
"I couldn’t find them…" Cui Fuxiang choked out. "They moved, changed addresses. Back then, there were no phones…"
The police investigation wasn’t mistaken. Everything traced back forty years.
That year, the fishing boat was declared missing. Cui Fuxiang, severely injured, was rescued by a passing cargo ship and sent for treatment. By the time he recovered and returned home, his wife and child were gone.
"At first, you worked as a laborer at the docks, asking around for any trace of them," Little Sun pressed on. "Then, by some luck, you met Sheng Wenchang. This Mr. Sheng was generous but superstitious—if he’d known you were ‘jinxed,’ he’d have taken back the job offer in an instant. So when you followed him into the Sheng household, you hid your past."
Still, Cui Fuxiang never stopped searching for his family.
By 1975, he finally learned that his wife had moved with their young son to Wong Tai Sin Lower Village.
The memories flooded back.
Back then, he’d been collecting rent for the Second Mistress in the tenement across the street—never realizing his family was right under his nose.
But when he eagerly anticipated their reunion, fate dealt him another cruel blow.
His wife had remarried, fallen ill, divorced, and passed away, leaving only their son, Huang Ashui.
After twenty years apart, Huang Ashui had grown accustomed to his name and refused to reclaim his father’s surname. On the surface, they were strangers… which gave Butler Cui the idea to send him into the Sheng household as a driver.
"The master had strict rules. Even after decades by his side, there was no room for favors. I couldn’t recommend Ashui outright, so I studied the master’s routes and had Ashui wait there in advance. I just wanted him to get familiar, but heaven seemed to be on our side—the car broke down in a storm, and Ashui happened to know his way around engines from working at a repair shop."
Cui Fuxiang explained that Huang Ashui, quiet and diligent, quickly earned Sheng Wenchang’s trust and was poised to become his personal driver. But then the timid Second Miss, bullied on her way to school, prompted Sheng Wenchang to reassign him as her chauffeur instead.
"Though they’re half-sisters, how could the Second Miss compare to the Eldest Miss? She was utterly useless."
Here, Cui Fuxiang fell silent for a long moment, his fingers tightening unconsciously—until he realized he was crumpling the precious photo and forced himself to let go.
"Later, I realized heaven would never favor me." His expression twisted into a bitter sneer. "That day, the little heiress went missing… They turned the Sheng estate upside down, and the only one unaccounted for was Ashui. Everyone assumed he’d done it. They rushed to the tenement address he’d listed on his employment records—only to find the place engulfed in flames. The fire was an accident… After it was put out, they recovered the charred remains of an adult, along with the little heiress’s shoe and jade pendant."
"They said infants are different from adults—their bones—" Cui Fuxiang faltered, struggling to recall.
Mo Zhenbang supplied, "Higher water content. They burn more completely."
"Right. The place was small, the fire fierce… The child must’ve been reduced to ashes. Any remains would’ve fused into the melted bed frame…" Cui Fuxiang nodded.
Only Huang Ashui’s body was retrieved from the wreckage, yet everyone believed the little heiress had perished too.
Cui Fuxiang pieced together these fragments from hearsay.
While Sheng Wenchang, Sheng Peirong, and Cheng Zhaoqian rushed to the tenement, he was left behind to console the Second Miss, who had returned from the music room in tears. She was only seventeen then.
He couldn’t bear to revisit the moment he learned his son had died in that fire.
Truthfully, he and Huang Ashui were never close. The boy had little to say to him, and even the rare, awkward utterance of "Dad" was followed by an uncomfortable scratch at the back of his head.
"I didn’t understand him," Cui Fuxiang admitted, closing his eyes. "I suppose poverty drove him to desperation. Since the master never made it public… What’s done is done. Let the dead rest."
Having lost his son, he couldn’t afford to lose his job. He pretended nothing had happened, though sleepless nights often jolted him back to that fishing raft twenty years prior—his gentle wife by his side, their mischievous Ashui laughing as they lifted him high. Those were his happiest days.
Mo Zhenbang tapped his pen lightly against the notepad.
No wonder Zhu Qing had noticed Butler Cui spoke of Sheng Peirong with regret but avoided mentioning Sheng Peishan. The resentment had festered for two decades—Cui Fuxiang blamed Sheng Peishan. If she hadn’t been so "useless," Huang Ashui would’ve remained under Sheng Wenchang’s watchful eye, kept in line by the shrewd patriarch. But such what-ifs were meaningless. Employers assigned drivers as they pleased; no one consulted the help.
After the little heiress’s death, Sheng Peirong blamed her father for not alerting the police, missing the critical window to save her.
Their relationship frayed until it snapped entirely. She and Cheng Zhaoqian moved out.
Later, the Sheng jewelry business flourished. They relocated to a mansion on the Peak, hiring more staff.
Sheng Peirong’s health declined until she entered a sanatorium. Sheng Peishan lost a leg in a car accident. Yet there were bright spots—Sheng Fang’s birth brought life back to the household, and Sheng Wenchang, heeding a fortune-teller’s advice, kept a low profile to preserve the newfound joy.
Such was life—a mix of fortune and misfortune, gains and losses. Nothing ever went entirely as planned.
Cui Fuxiang assumed he’d live out his days in the Sheng household.
But a hundred days ago, Sheng Wenchang and Qin Lizhu died.
"That day, I wasn’t feeling well and went to bed early. I woke up startled in the middle of the night and realized I’d forgotten to check the backyard, so I quickly threw on my coat and got up. To my surprise, at three in the morning, the light in Second Miss’s bedroom was still on."
"Second Miss was crying inside, and Second Son-in-Law was comforting her."
"I heard her say it was all retribution… that heaven was punishing her for losing her leg, her sister, and her parents."
Butler Cui’s hands clenched into fists again.
He remembered that day vividly—leaning against the door, listening to Sheng Peishan’s broken sobs.
The exact words of Second Miss Sheng were—
"You said the ones coming for revenge are Wang Ashui, and…"
Clearly, inside the room, Chen Chaosheng had desperately covered her mouth.
And outside the door, Butler Cui’s eyes were bloodshot, veins throbbing at his temples.
"She got it wrong, calling him Wang Ashui," Butler Cui’s voice was hoarse with fury. "My son was Huang Ashui! These rich people wouldn’t even spare us a glance, people like us!"
From that day on, Butler Cui began keeping a close eye on Sheng Peishan.
He discovered she had hired a private detective—but not, as other wealthy wives did, to investigate her husband’s affairs.
"Second Miss was actually looking into the whereabouts of the young heiress!"
"If the young heiress were still alive, how could Ashui have kidnapped her? What about that shoe sole and jade pendant? What do they mean?"
"And if the Sheng family hadn’t agreed to let Ashui take leave, why would he have gone back to the village? He wouldn’t have had to die!"
Little Sun’s pen scratched against the paper as he took notes.
By this point, Butler Cui’s motive was crystal clear.
He knew he would never uncover the truth—the Sheng family would never speak of it.
"You hated the Sheng family, and you hated yourself for never believing in Huang Ashui… Your son was wronged for twenty years, and you wanted them to pay with their lives," Mo Zhenbang said. "The first one you targeted was Chen Chaosheng."
"At my age, how many years do I have left?" Butler Cui sneered. "Let’s all die together."
He knew he lacked the power to uncover the truth of what happened back then. But the thought of his son, dead for twenty years, while he continued to bow and scrape, serving this hypocritical family with unwavering loyalty—
The hatred consumed him.
"What backbone does Second Miss even have?" Butler Cui said. "All these years, it’s been Second Son-in-Law cleaning up her messes."
His first attempt was the brake failure incident.
He tampered with the car skillfully, but Chen Chaosheng was lucky—he only crashed into a roadside barrier and survived. When the car was sent for repairs, the old mechanic dismissed it as just another quirk of the vintage vehicle… That first attempt had been flawless.
"The second time was the staged suicide scene?" Mo Zhenbang asked. "How did you know about He Jia’er? And where did you find that ring?"
Butler Cui replied, "I only poisoned his drink."
The poison slipped into Chen Chaosheng’s glass had been procured through an old dockworker friend from Butler Cui’s past.
That night, Second Son-in-Law worked late and asked for a drink. Butler Cui seized the chance to pour the lethal dose into the glass, then returned to his room to wait.
"What about the suicide note?" Mo Zhenbang frowned slightly.
"No idea," Butler Cui said. "The next day, when I opened the study door in front of all of you, I saw the note and the ring… I was just as surprised, but I couldn’t say anything."
Mo Zhenbang and Little Sun exchanged a glance.
A long-standing mystery had finally been solved.
Sheng Peishan insisted Chen Chaosheng had killed himself—but in reality, it was Butler Cui who murdered him.
Meaning the suicide note on the computer, and the ring engraved with He Jia’er’s initials…
Were the handiwork of Second Miss Sheng.
……
After finishing his lollipop, the young master of the Sheng family squirmed like an overexcited puppy, so the ever-patient Liang Qikai took him to the police canteen for a stroll.
Back in the Criminal Investigation Division office, the detectives from Major Crime Team B nearly dropped their jaws as they reviewed the confession.
"So, Butler Cui and Second Miss Sheng, acting independently, unwittingly created a perfect suicide scene? What a twisted coincidence."
"Second Miss Sheng really thought Chen Chaosheng killed himself to protect her, so she hastily forged a note and dug up that old ring?"
"Is this Second Miss Sheng naive or just plain ruthless?"
"Does that mean the young heiress’s disappearance back then… was also her doing?"
The more clues they uncovered, the more tangled the case became.
Butler Cui, enraged by his son’s wrongful death, had targeted Chen Chaosheng first, then planned to eliminate Sheng Peishan and Sheng Fang during the will reading. But he knew nothing about the skeletal remains in the fireplace.
Zhu Qing flipped through Butler Cui’s statement while cross-referencing Sheng Peishan’s records.
According to Butler Cui, Second Miss Sheng hadn’t always been the celebrated socialite the world saw.
As a child, she was the family’s shadow—overlooked, invisible. Her fate changed the year she competed in the Miss Hong Kong pageant. Shedding her youthful awkwardness, Sheng Peishan became graceful and poised, dazzling on camera. In Butler Cui’s words, it was the first time she proved herself, the first time the old master saw her in a new light.
That was when the radiant Sheng Peirong "fell," confined to the Canossa Sanatorium, while Sheng Peishan rose like a new star.
The turning point? Sheng Peirong’s daughter.
But what about He Jia’er’s case?
"It’s obvious—the skeleton in the fireplace and the young heiress’s disappearance are connected."
"To be precise, the young heiress’s disappearance," Uncle Li corrected from the doorway, cigarette in hand.
He stepped inside. "Sheng Peishan insisted on seeing the DNA report from her email. Ming is still at the Sheng residence—Mo Zhenbang already called and told him to fax it over."
Apart from Sheng Peishan and Butler Cui, no one had taken the childish "joke" of the Sheng family’s little one seriously.
But now, Uncle Li tapped Zhu Qing’s desk meaningfully.
"Sheng Peishan made it clear," he said, "there are things she’ll only say to you."
Zhu Qing pointed at herself. "Me?"
The entire CID office froze as if struck by a spell.
Just then, Liang Qikai returned with Sheng Fang in tow.
The young master carried a cup of "kiddie yuenyeung" bigger than his face—a canteen special, a sickly-sweet mix of Ovaltine and Horlicks no child could resist.
Zhu Qing, meanwhile, stayed silent, processing Uncle Li’s words.
The detectives’ eyes darted between the two—one grown, one small—comparing their strikingly similar faces.
No way… Was the rookie really the family’s long-lost niece?
……
Sheng Peishan waited quietly for that fax.
Perhaps from the moment she was led into the interrogation room, she knew there was no escaping the truth.
At this moment, she began recounting a story to the officers in charge of the interrogation, her voice slow and measured.
The year Sheng Peishan was born, her elder sister Sheng Peirong was ten years old.
"From a young age, I understood that my sister was different," Sheng Peishan said softly. "She was brilliant—her trophies covered an entire wall. Several times during Daddy’s meetings, she would push the door open and walk right in. When the board members teased her, she would confidently hold forth, discussing the appraisal of gemstone quality… My sister never faltered. Everyone said she was the true heir of the Sheng family."
Back then, Sheng Peishan was still an awkward duckling, yet to blossom.
Her father’s gaze never lingered on her. Even at family banquets, he would only glance at her briefly, knowing she could never command the room with eloquent speeches, before dismissively looking away. After all, what could a timid little girl possibly have to offer?
Her mother was too busy fending off her father’s glamorous mistresses, and during their rare moments alone, she would only sigh in disappointment, lamenting how Sheng Peishan fell short. In comparison, Sheng Peirong was exceptional—clearly the future of the Sheng family.
"Would an ugly duckling envy a swan?" Sheng Peishan lowered her eyes, answering her own question. "I didn’t. I only… admired her."
Admired her so much that she clung to the warmth her sister gave her.
It felt like home.
"She never treated me as a burden. When she went camping with her classmates, she took me along. She told me I wasn’t lacking in grace—I just hadn’t found my own stage yet."
"Even though we were half-sisters, she understood me better than Mommy ever did."
"When I was sixteen, my sister wore her wedding gown," she paused. "Her husband treated her well—gentle, considerate, looking at her as if she were the most precious treasure in the world."
To Sheng Peishan, such happiness was only natural.
Her sister always knew exactly what she wanted. How could she possibly misjudge something as important as this?
The following year, their daughter was born, nicknamed Coco.
Sheng Peirong hoped Coco would live a life as sweet as chocolate.
"Chocolate, huh?" Seventeen-year-old Sheng Peishan had remarked. "What a cloying name." Her sister had only laughed.
"I never knew babies could be so adorable," Sheng Peishan’s eyes softened with warmth. "I used to wonder if clouds were this soft too. When I held her gently, Coco would even smile…"
But gradually, they stopped seeing "her" at all.
Yet during that time, the house was filled with a happiness unlike anything before.
"Until—" Her voice finally trembled. "I lost Coco."
"Did you lose that child on purpose?"
Sheng Peishan’s face turned deathly pale.
How she wished she could have been the triumphant hero, miraculously finding the child, using the crisis to win the attention she had always craved.
Instead, it became a reckless prank spiraling out of control—a nightmare that haunted her relentlessly.
A knock sounded at the door—"Dudududu"—as an officer entered, handing over documents faxed from the Sheng family villa.
It was the DNA test report.
Sheng Peishan took it.
She already knew the result, but seeing it in black and white brought a strange sense of relief.
"Has Zhu Qing arrived yet?" Sheng Peishan asked. "What happened next… I want to tell her myself."
......
Little Sheng Fang still held the cup of iced milk tea in his hands.
Beads of condensation slid down, dampening his sleeves. It was so cold—so cold his tiny teeth chattered.
One by one, the rooms in the house emptied. The people dwindled, leaving behind an eerie silence.
At night, Sheng Fang would wrap himself tightly in his blanket, curling up like a snail in its shell. With only two hands, he could either cover his ears or his eyes—he wasn’t sure if he fell asleep out of exhaustion or fear.
Could I stay at my niece Zhu Qing’s place tonight?
The little "uncle" sat at his niece’s workstation, racking his brain for a way to convince her.
He tugged lightly at her sleeve.
"Oh! I have a magic piggy bank," the young master of the Sheng family offered eagerly, counting on his stubby fingers. "And I also have… have…"
The more he tried to charm her, the more he realized—
This is no good. Apart from money, I have nothing at all.
