Sheng Fang followed Zhu Qing through several transfers on minibuses until their final bus rounded a few bends and entered Wong Chuk Hang.
Outside the window, the cityscape flashed by. The little boy pressed his face against the glass, peering past the dull, weathered buildings before tapping the window.
"Is that Ocean Park?"
Zhu Qing followed his gaze.
At this hour, the giant Ferris wheel stood motionless mid-air, its vibrant lights long extinguished.
Hong Kong Ocean Park was too close to the Wong Chuk Hang Police School.
Every summer night, the joyful screams from the amusement park and the playful melodies would drift into her dormitory on the wind, seeping through even when the windows were tightly shut.
"Have you been?" Zhu Qing asked.
"No," Sheng Fang shook his head, his nose still pressed to the glass. "What about you?"
Zhu Qing didn’t answer.
The answer was obvious—those carefree sounds of laughter were so close, yet always just out of reach. What surprised her, though, was that even a pampered young master from a wealthy family would gaze longingly at the park, watching with such cautious yearning.
"We’re here," she said, standing up and signaling for Sheng Fang to follow.
Wong Chuk Hang Police School didn’t recognize summer breaks. Trainees underwent rigorous 26 to 36-week programs, training relentlessly rain or shine before directly entering the police force upon graduation.
The training grounds were empty now. Zhu Qing led Sheng Fang along a familiar path, her strides brisk.
She was used to walking alone, her steps always large and never pausing for anyone.
Young Master Sheng’s legs were short—no matter how wide he stretched them, he still had to jog to keep up.
The moonlight cast a pale glow over the campus, stretching their shadows long across the ground, always just a little apart.
The distance between them felt like an awkward, unspoken companionship.
As a rare guest, Sheng Fang had imagined what his niece’s home might look like.
Maybe small—but he hadn’t expected…
This small!
Maybe a little shabby—but he hadn’t expected…
This shabby!
"I told you not to get your hopes up."
Zhu Qing’s current dorm was in an aged auxiliary building. The structure had seen better days—once used as temporary quarters for rotating instructors, it had gradually fallen into disuse after newer dormitories were built, its location too far from the main training area and its facilities far too outdated.
After graduation, with nowhere else to go, the school had made an exception, allowing her to stay here until she could secure official police housing.
"People actually live here?" Sheng Fang stood frozen at the doorway, his face scrunched up in disbelief.
Though the young master of the Sheng family was usually spoiled and bratty, a little tyrant begging for a scolding—at this moment…
His eyes were wide, his expression one of pure, unguarded shock. His disgust was so genuine, so earnest, that it was almost jarring—as if the scheming, ruthless villain from the original storyline had nothing to do with him.
"Take it or leave it," Zhu Qing moved to shut the door.
Before it could close, Sheng Fang squeezed through the gap. "I’ll stay, I’ll stay!"
Inside, a wave of stifling heat hit him like a physical blow. He stood frozen, utterly dumbfounded, feeling like he was about to melt into a puddle.
Oh no, I’m going to cook alive.
The cramped dorm held a rusty bunk bed, its old fan creaking as it spun, the noise grating on his nerves. Sheng Fang was convinced this place was hotter than a steamer. By the time he turned to Zhu Qing, already halfway to becoming a melted mochi, she had splashed a basin of water onto the floor in a futile attempt to cool the room.
A few cold droplets landed on the back of his hand.
He shook his head again, heart aching. What kind of life is my niece living?
Beside the bunk bed, a small desk was cluttered with work documents. Notes filled the margins of her notebook, so dense they threatened to spill off the page.
After the brief respite, Sheng Fang quickly returned to his steamed-dumpling state.
"I want a bath," he declared, as if it were the most reasonable request in the world.
For a child so young, he was surprisingly particular.
At home, all it took was one word, and Marysa would draw his bath immediately. The water temperature had to be checked multiple times with a thermometer, toys lined up just so—rubber ducks floating in bubbly formation, awaiting his command.
But now…
Zhu Qing gave him a flat look.
"The communal showers are at the end of the new dormitory hallway. They just finished night training—try not to get trampled on your way there."
Sheng Fang crouched in the coolest corner of the room, staring at her in horror.
My niece is heartless!
……
In the end, Young Master Sheng’s grand bathing plans were thoroughly dashed.
He didn’t even get to shower.
"I stink," he lamented.
There were no silky pajamas here, no baby shampoo—not even a towel of his own! His niece tossed him a plastic basin, telling him to just cup some water in his hands and scrub himself down as best he could.
The child tried to scoop water with his tiny hands.
But his fingers were too small, the gaps too wide—the water slipped through before he could even splash his face.
The little master stared at his empty palms, his lips trembling.
This is the worst day of my life.
Zhu Qing, too, was learning something new.
This spoiled brat doesn’t even know how to wash his face?
When Sheng Fang finally clambered onto the lower bunk, the bedframe groaned in protest.
The heat made extra blankets unnecessary. Sprawled on his back, shirt riding up, he finally felt a sliver of relief—until he jolted upright, clutching his stomach.
"No!" He yawned, but his tone was firm as he lay back down, tugging his shirt into place.
I can’t expose my belly in front of a girl!
With a little smack of his lips, the young master closed his eyes, his breathing gradually evening out.
Outside, the cicadas’ song grew louder as the night deepened.
Zhu Qing hunched over her desk, finishing the report due to Inspector Mo tomorrow. Names filled the page—He Jia’er, Sheng Peirong, Cheng Zhaoqian—each one a silent sigh.
When she reached the final line, her pen hovered over the period.
This case is really coming to an end.
The alarm clock on the desk read 1:00 AM.
A thought struck her—could those lying unconscious in hospital beds still feel the passage of day and night? That faded green notebook, worn pale from Sheng Peirong’s endless waiting, recorded the slow crawl of time.
At first, Zhu Qing had treated this as just another case.
But now, she could no longer see it that way.
A rustling sound came from the bed.
The little boy turned in his sleep, scratching his cheek absently—leaving behind a fresh mosquito bite on his fair skin.
The old window screen had holes, and summer nights brought swarms of insects. Zhu Qing pulled the window shut, sealing it tight.
Earlier, at the CID office, Inspector Weng had mentioned that most of the Sheng family’s staff had already left.
Especially the maid Marysa, who refused to stay no matter what, terrified that she might become the next corpse discovered in a luxury hillside mansion.
Chen Chaosheng was dead, Sheng Peishan had been arrested, and the media scrambled to cover the sensational story. The more reputable news stations parked their vans outside the Sheng family’s gate, delivering polished, diplomatic soundbites. Meanwhile, the unscrupulous paparazzi were practically disguised as deliverymen, ready to storm the villa’s gates.
The fluorescent lights glared harshly.
Zhu Qing suddenly realized that such blinding brightness didn’t disturb the child’s sleep at all. It wasn’t a nuisance—instead, it made him feel safer.
Zhu Qing grew curious.
Had she, as a child, ever been afraid of the dark in unfamiliar places?
She had assumed not.
Growing up, she had feared nothing.
But looking back now, she understood that courage wasn’t innate. In the orphanage, during those long nights, she too had huddled in corners, seeking the faintest glimmer of light.
It was just that, with time, Zhu Qing had forgotten those helpless moments.
The old fan creaked as it labored on, blowing out nothing but warm air.
The child’s breathing grew slow and steady.
She shook her head in amusement. Even in this sweltering heat, the little furnace slept soundly.
……
Sheng Fang woke up on a stiff, unforgiving bed, his limbs aching as if they no longer belonged to him.
The morning sun burned against his face, forcing his eyes shut.
Like a soft little bun, he stretched drowsily before sliding down from the metal-framed bunk bed.
Last night, Sheng Fang had only felt a vague unease about his uncertain future. But now, that indistinct dread had sharpened into something clearer.
Where would he go?
Seeing the child’s drooping head, Zhu Qing assumed he was still half-asleep.
She packed up swiftly, locking the door behind her as she called out, “Hurry up.”
The little one lagged behind.
It took Zhu Qing a moment to realize she had walked too fast again. She turned back.
Within the next couple of days, the law firm would reschedule the reading of the will.
Reporters from Hong Kong’s major newspapers had already set up their cameras, ready to capture the expression of the billionaire heir. But no one knew that, at this moment, under the scorching sun, his small face was blank with confusion—just an ordinary, lost child.
As Zhu Qing watched his dejected figure, the original plot from her dream resurfaced in her mind.
In the original novel, she had been a cannon-fodder side character, sacrificed to take a blade for the male lead. With almost no prior setup, her death inexplicably turned her into his white moonlight, a mere tool to advance the plot.
After her exit, the romance between the male lead and female lead gradually unfolded. Initially, the male lead had been indifferent to the sunny, radiant female lead. But a case unexpectedly brought them closer.
It was the soon-to-occur "Red Dress Serial Murders on a Rainy Night." In that tragedy, the female lead—Zeng Yongshan—lost all her family and suffered severe injuries herself, leaving deep psychological scars that nearly ended her police career.
That tragedy bound the fates of the two protagonists together.
The male lead helped her heal, spending twenty years mending the wounds in her heart…
Until two decades later, when they reunited to solve a high-IQ crime that shocked all of Hong Kong.
The criminal—
After his death, the police retraced his life.
Orphaned as a child, his second sister imprisoned for murder, his eldest sister wasting away on a sickbed until her last breath.
He inherited billions alone, with no guardian. Social welfare, private schools, twisted foster families—everyone circled this parentless child, feigning concern while greedily calculating how much they could profit from his guardianship. Throughout it all, the only true victim was him.
No one knew at which point the villain’s life had twisted into darkness.
But in the end, he became the textbook definition of a criminal genius.
In the story’s finale, justice prevailed—he was gunned down by the police.
But now, he still stood in the sunlight.
Sheng Fang tilted his fair little face up, eyes clear and innocent, and asked, “Can I buy you a building?”
