Since meeting his niece, Sheng Fang had gained a new perspective. Her trousers were washed until they faded, she settled for a single barbecue pork bun as dinner at the police station, and her journey home involved waiting endlessly for minibuses, switching from one to another, taking forever to reach her destination—if that cramped little place could even be called a home.
The old dormitory at Wong Chuk Hang Police School was practically uninhabitable.
To shower, she had to trek all the way to the bathrooms in the new dormitory building. The shared toilet at the end of the old dormitory’s hallway was no better, with flickering lights that sometimes cut out entirely, accompanied by the eerie hum of faulty wiring—terrifying.
Sheng Fang had grown up in a luxury mansion on the hillside. The entire third floor was his playground, and as long as he didn’t wander outside, he could even race a go-kart around the backyard, drifting through multiple turns. The little boy stretched out his short arms, mentally measuring, and concluded that Zhu Qing’s so-called "steamer" of a home was barely half the size of Marysa’s room.
So, Sheng Fang decided to buy his niece an entire floor.
That way, she wouldn’t have to struggle so much. A three-hour round trip on minibuses? With that kind of time, she could’ve flown to Singapore!
Young Master Sheng had only one thing in abundance—money. Lots and lots of it.
His only worry was whether the upright police officer would accept such a lavish gift.
With that thought, Sheng Fang tilted his little face up, nervously watching Zhu Qing.
If she refused the offer, then he’d—
"Really?" Zhu Qing narrowed her eyes, casually replying, "You mean it?"
Young Master Sheng’s mouth fell open into an "O," all his prepared speeches stuck in his throat.
The minibus arrived, and the queue of passengers shuffled forward.
Before Sheng Fang could react, his mouth moved faster than his brain, piping up in his childish voice, "There’s a condition!"
The morning minibus stop was noisy, bustling with people. Zhu Qing boarded with the crowd, the little boy clinging close behind. The wind whistled past his ears, mixing with footsteps, chatter, and the roar of the engine, drowning out the words he’d mustered all his courage to say.
He shouted with all his might, but his voice was lost in the clamor.
Frustrated, the little boy kicked at a pebble by his feet.
What he’d wanted to say was: If I buy you a floor, will you promise not to leave me behind?
He didn’t want to be abandoned again.
"Seat available!" The minibus driver honked impatiently, holding the door open. "Hurry up!"
"Jordan, right?" The conductor collected fares. "Hold tight!"
Passengers settled in, a few grannies chatting about today’s market prices. Just before the folding door slammed shut with a metallic clang, Zhu Qing yanked Sheng Fang aboard, gripping a hanging strap as the bus lurched forward.
Finally, Young Master Sheng understood why his niece had agreed so readily.
Zhu Qing had truly known hardship. This was her everyday life—never a moment to linger in sleep, always rushing from one ride to the next, sometimes walking extra blocks just to save on fare.
A stable place to call home? That was a luxury she couldn’t refuse.
But even though she hadn’t rejected his offer, she hadn’t taken it seriously either.
Sheng Fang clenched his tiny fists.
He would buy it for her!
……
By the time they squeezed through three packed rush-hour buses and finally stood outside the Yau Ma Tei Police Station, Sheng Fang had missed his best chance to negotiate terms.
The little boy had painted a grand real estate dream for Zhu Qing, yet here he was, empty-handed and with a stomach growling like a symphony—as if begging his niece to take the hint.
With the child’s belly protesting loudly, Zhu Qing had no choice but to take him to the station canteen. Only when ordering did she remember—she’d been so busy the past two days, she’d forgotten to pack lunch. Normally, she’d bring her own meal, prepping extra portions from the cheaper Wong Chuk Hang Police School canteen, splitting it into two and storing the second half in the fridge overnight.
Truthfully, Zhu Qing’s life was already better than before. As a civil servant, her salary wasn’t low, but she hadn’t even completed her first month on the job—her paycheck was still a distant promise.
The canteen auntie recognized the boy from yesterday, when Liang Qikai had brought him in. She’d had the kitchen whip up a special "child’s yuenyeung" for him, and the little gourmet still remembered how delicious it was, swallowing hard at the memory.
"What’ll it be, kiddo?"
Sheng Fang stood on tiptoes, squinting at the menu.
Sheng Wenchang valued education, and no matter how mischievous the boy was, he never skipped his private lessons. His literacy training paid off—though he didn’t know every character, he could piece together enough to order without a hitch.
"One ham macaroni!"
"Soft or al dente?"
"Soft! And scrambled eggs on toast!"
"Runny eggs, then? Toast slathered in butter?"
"And chicken nuggets, plus an iced lemon tea." The little boy sounded like a seasoned diner. "Less sugar in the tea."
The cashier chuckled.
Zhu Qing raised an eyebrow. "That hungry?"
Young Master Sheng was used to having endless options at home, where Sister Ping would cook a full spread, letting him pick and choose his favorites while ignoring the rest.
But here? No one indulged him. The kid was at the mercy of the menu.
"Cancel all that." Zhu Qing scanned the chalkboard menu. "Two pineapple buns and a hot milk."
Before Sheng Fang could protest, his niece was already striding toward a corner table with a plastic tray of breakfast.
The canteen was packed during the morning rush, officers wolfing down meals before heading out. A TV played morning news as Zhu Qing nibbled her pineapple bun, reviewing last night’s report.
Sheng Fang perched on a plastic stool, his short legs dangling.
The little gourmet caught flaky crumbs from his bun, wedged in a slice of chilled butter, and waited patiently for it to melt before taking a bite—all while swinging his feet and sipping hot milk.
By the time he finally started eating, Zhu Qing was already scribbling corrections on her report.
"That’s no good," Sheng Fang chided in his best grown-up voice. "Chew slowly. No work during meals."
The boy’s attempt at sternness was undercut by his soft, babyish tone—especially as he stuffed his cheeks with pineapple bun, looking up with a comically serious frown.
Zhu Qing ate like a rocket, devouring meals in record time, never letting trivial routines slow her down. But now, though she’d finished, she was stuck waiting for Sheng Fang to leisurely drain his last drop of milk.
"Can you hurry up?"
"Qing." Young Master Sheng Fang set down his milk glass and spoke with grave sincerity, "Solve cases quickly, but eat slowly."
A burst of laughter erupted from the table of uniformed officers behind them.
Sheng Fang grabbed a tissue, wiped his mouth with exaggerated formality, straightened his little back, and announced, "Alright, let's go."
...
Mo Zhenbang was the head of Team B. He had never been one for strict rules, and his team had inherited his rebellious streak. Their superiors had warned him countless times, but with their high case clearance rate, no one could really do anything about them. But now, bringing a child to work as a newcomer was pushing it too far.
Superintendent Weng had just been outwitted by the Sheng family kid the night before and hadn't had a chance to settle the score. Now, this guy was walking right into his line of fire.
Adjusting his suit jacket, Weng cleared his throat and said sternly, "This child—"
Before he could finish, the other officers jumped in.
"Sir, the boss said we have to keep the Sheng kid under close protection."
"This little guy is the heir to the Sheng family fortune. Most of the staff at the Peak villa have already run off. If we send him back now, you think we won’t make headlines tomorrow?"
"We're about to close the case. Can’t afford any slip-ups at the last hurdle."
Their words completely cornered Superintendent Weng Zhaolin.
The new female officer stood quietly at the back of the crowd, while the Sheng kid smirked at him, even having the audacity to stick out his tongue.
Weng gritted his teeth.
Mo Zhenbang’s team was even more troublesome than the man himself. The newcomer had barely been here a few days, and they were already shielding her?
After collectively shooing Weng away, Zeng Yongshan slipped over to Zhu Qing’s side.
Sunlight streamed through the CID office window, casting a warm glow on Zeng Yongshan’s face.
The original female lead of this story had a smile that curved her eyes into crescents, radiating infectious cheer—she was the literal sunshine of Team B. Until that one case shattered her life, leaving behind a girl whose eyes would never sparkle the same way again.
"Don’t worry," Zeng Yongshan reassured her, patting her shoulder. "The kid can stay here safely until the case is officially closed."
Zhu Qing’s gaze snapped to the desk calendar.
The original storyline’s timeline was too vague. She couldn’t remember the exact date of the Red Raincoat Serial Murders, and she frowned, straining to recall.
"Yongshan," she suddenly asked, "Has next month’s duty roster been posted yet?"
"Huh?" Zeng Yongshan turned to look for the schedule. "Let me check..."
...
"Zhu Qing, perfect timing." Mo Zhenbang poked his head out of his office. "Go to the forensics department and pick up the case closure report. Also, grab Chen Chaosheng’s autopsy report—we need to compare the poison in the drinks with what Cui Fuxiang used."
The moment he finished speaking, Sheng Fang’s eyes lit up.
Mo Zhenbang had said Zhu Qing was "perfect timing" precisely because of the young master. Yesterday, the kid had visited the station for the first time, eager to explore, but everyone was too busy to babysit. Now, Mo Shazhan had the perfect excuse to let Zhu Qing take him to forensics.
The officers had teased the little troublemaker yesterday, trying to scare him with tales of the morgue, but the young master was fearless, marching ahead of Zhu Qing without hesitation.
"Sir," Zhu Qing said, "If there’s nothing else this afternoon, I’d like to visit the Canossa Convalescent Home."
This case had been a rollercoaster, full of twists and turns. No one could’ve guessed that Team B would stumble upon the biggest coincidence—the missing heiress of the Sheng family, gone for twenty years, was actually their newest recruit. Everyone understood. Zhu Qing might seem composed, but with her biological mother lying in a hospital bed, it was only natural she’d want to visit after being unable to go last night.
Mo Zhenbang approved her leave without hesitation. Meanwhile, the little master, hands clasped behind his back at the end of the hallway, was growing impatient.
"Are we going to forensics or not?"
Zhu Qing tilted her chin in the opposite direction. "It’s this way."
"..." Sheng Fang didn’t bat an eye, silently turning around to follow. "Then let’s go."
...
The forensics department was located in a separate two-story building behind the main police station.
With her badge displayed prominently, Zhu Qing and her tiny companion moved through without issue.
Passing through a metal door and down a corridor, Sheng Fang pointed at the "Forensics" sign on the wall. "This is it."
Casually, he peeked into the stairwell below. "What’s down there?"
"The morgue."
The words themselves weren’t scary. What stung more was his niece’s icy, monosyllabic indifference!
The forensics office door was slightly ajar. Zhu Qing knocked lightly and stated her business.
"Doctor Ye is on extended leave—skiing with his wife."
"The Sheng family cases have been transferred to Doctor Cheng."
The officer turned to rummage through the cluttered desk, then hesitated. "But... the drawer key is with Doctor Cheng. He’s been at the main lab the past couple days. If it’s urgent, you can go to this address. I’ll call ahead for you."
He handed Zhu Qing a business card with the government lab’s main location.
The Sheng cases were in the final stages, pending only the forensics report. The young master, thrilled to run an errand for his niece, returned grinning ear to ear.
"Mo Shazhan said we can go to the lab!"
Small in stature but big in spirit, the kid practically bounced with excitement, treating the daytime trip like an adventure.
At the Ho Man Tin government lab, Zhu Qing pressed a finger to her lips before pushing through the glass doors, signaling Sheng Fang to stay quiet.
"Shh!" Sheng Fang nodded vigorously—loudly—drawing glances from the lobby.
Zhu Qing mouthed an apology and clamped a hand over the kid’s head.
Like a game of whack-a-mole, the little troublemaker instinctively ducked, finally falling silent.
Zhu Qing approached the front desk with the business card.
Doctor Cheng was here for fiber analysis on a separate dismemberment case, and no one knew exactly where he was. Directed to a second-floor waiting room, Zhu Qing lingered at the doorway, scanning the area.
Sheng Fang let out a long-suffering sigh.
He’d told her before—his niece needed to learn to relax.
"Wait here," Zhu Qing turned. "I’ll check his pager number."
Sitting idle in the waiting room was a waste of time.
Downstairs, she stopped a lab technician, only to be led right back upstairs.
"You mean Doctor Cheng is in there?" Zhu Qing stood at the waiting room door as electronic beeps sounded from inside.
At the far end, sprawled on a couch with his legs propped on the coffee table, a man swayed lazily to the rhythm of a handheld game.
The white lab coat was casually draped over the back of the chair as he lounged on the sofa, fingers deftly maneuvering the buttons of the latest handheld Tetris game. The screen's glow illuminated his face, his short hair sticking up with a couple of unruly strands, making his eyes appear even brighter.
Meanwhile, little Sheng Fang curled up on the soft couch. His small face was tense, but his gaze was unmistakably glued to the game screen. The tiny child's hair brushed against the man's black T-shirt, accentuating the breadth of his shoulders.
When three rows of blocks vanished simultaneously in the game, the man's lips curled into an unconscious smirk—smug.
"Doctor Cheng," a lab technician knocked twice at the door, "Madam from the Major Crimes Division is looking for you."
"Want to play?" He turned to the unnamed child beside him. "Loser buys soda."
Sheng Fang had seen every novelty under the sun.
His eyes were practically glued to the screen, yet he still managed to sound aloof. "Not interested."
Unfazed, the man tossed the game onto the sofa and said to Zhu Qing, "Madam, the key isn’t with me."
Sheng Fang stared at the unfinished game on the screen, his gaze lingering until it met Doctor Cheng’s amused smile—
Like he was deliberately teasing a kid!
The little one scowled and turned his head away.
Zhu Qing: "It’s not here?"
"The forensics team tried calling you, but couldn’t get through." Doctor Cheng shrugged.
Meanwhile, Sheng Fang’s eyes remained fixed on the game, his expression solemn—
Nieces and nephews, technology changes lives. A pager is really important.
---
After the mix-up was cleared up, Zhu Qing returned to the police station, where the forensics colleague who had handed her a business card earlier apologized profusely.
She submitted the report to Mo Zhenbang and, as originally planned, headed to Jianuo'an Sanatorium.
Little Sheng Fang was utterly unfazed—his niece would definitely take him along.
"Why?"
"Because you hate awkward silences."
This was Zhu Qing’s first time meeting her mother.
The youngest Sheng heir’s only impression of his eldest sister, Sheng Peirong, came from the family portrait at home. When he finally saw her lying in the hospital bed, the child thought he’d walked into the wrong room. He didn’t recognize his sister, staring for a long time before cautiously asking,
"Why…" Sheng Fang tilted his head, puzzled. "Does she look different from the photo?"
Zhu Qing had seen Sheng Peirong’s pictures many times. In them, she was always radiant, her sharp eyes brimming with confidence, as if she had boundless energy. But now, years of depression had dulled her spirit, and a sudden bout of myocarditis had left her comatose. She had lain in this bed for years, kept alive only by a ventilator…
Zhu Qing couldn’t help but recall that day when Butler Cui mentioned Sheng Peirong standing in the pouring rain, clutching an empty urn.
Had she looked this haggard back then too?
Fate had been cruel to Sheng Peirong.
Now, her eyes were closed, her face pale, her once-lustrous black hair dry and splayed across the pillow. Zhu Qing couldn’t reconcile this frail figure with the iron-willed businesswoman of public renown. Nor could she imagine, as Butler Cui had described, this same woman gently stroking her forehead, humming lullabies over and over.
What did those lullabies sound like? Zhu Qing felt a pang of disorientation.
She didn’t know if comatose patients could hear the outside world.
Rumor had it that for years, Sheng Peishan would sit by her sister’s bedside, reading newspapers aloud.
In the original storyline, Sheng Peirong would succumb to a lung infection years later. The child who had been missing for two decades would remain only in her memories until her final breath.
Zhu Qing lowered her eyes. "Is there any hope she’ll wake up?"
The sanatorium nurses were baffled by the recent upheaval in the Sheng family. The news was full of reports about the arrest of the gentle and kind Second Miss Sheng, with endless speculation swirling outside. Now, the youngest Sheng heir had arrived, bringing along the woman from last time—Marysa?
The head nurse distinctly remembered the little boy calling her that a few days ago. Now, this "Marysa" was inquiring about Sheng Peirong’s condition.
"It was sudden myocarditis. Her heart stopped during resuscitation. Though she survived, the damage…"
"A few days ago, her fingers moved slightly, but then she went still again. It was likely just a spinal reflex, unrelated to regaining consciousness."
"Dean Luo said the chances of Miss Sheng waking up are slim, but medical miracles do happen."
"What can we do?" Zhu Qing asked.
"Talk to her when you can, like Second Miss Sheng—" The nurse cleared her throat, awkwardly skirting the topic. "Discuss things she cares about. It might stimulate her awareness."
For years, Sheng Peishan had sat by her sister’s bed, tirelessly reading to her. Yet in the blink of an eye, she had been taken away by the police. The truth behind the wealthy family’s drama was murky even to them, let alone outsiders.
After hurriedly explaining the care routine, the nurse pressed the call button lightly. "I’ll check on other patients. Press the bell if anything comes up."
Zhu Qing sat stiffly by the bed, wanting to mimic Sheng Peishan’s newspaper readings, only to find the bedside table bare.
She didn’t know what to say. Just as Sheng Fang had predicted, the two of them alone would indeed lead to an awkward silence.
The head nurse’s footsteps faded away.
Zhu Qing struggled for words, but nothing came.
Only the steady beeping of the monitor filled the room.
Tick. Tick.
Then Sheng Fang suddenly had an epiphany—
"Big sister!"
"Open your eyes and see who’s here!"
The head nurse’s footsteps halted abruptly.
"?" Zhu Qing was stunned, immediately clamping a hand over the child’s mouth.
Last night, when the original male and female leads had done the same, the young Sheng heir had been furious. Today, however, he gave Zhu Qing special treatment—letting her cover his mouth without complaint, simply turning his head to continue calling out.
"It’s Keke! She’s here!"
"Big sister, your daughter Keke has come home!"
The head nurse’s ears perked up.
Others at the nursing station craned their necks, trying to eavesdrop.
Sheng Fang’s nursery TV was practically on 24/7. Even if he hadn’t paid close attention to Cantonese soap operas, he’d absorbed enough tropes to deliver a dramatic, tear-jerking reunion scene. Zhu Qing’s mind buzzed—there was no stopping him.
"The daughter you searched for half your life!"
"Keke has finally returned—"
Only when the little one finally ran out of steam, slumping against the bed to catch his breath, did the tirade pause.
After regaining his breath, he took a deep inhale, ready to launch another round—then suddenly tilted his head at his niece in confusion.
"Niece," the curly-haired toddler asked innocently, "why is your face red?"
Zhu Qing coolly raised both hands, pressing the backs of them against her flushed cheeks. "Enough talking," she said.
...
The case officially entered the closing process, and everything was finally settled.
What was once a good family had ended up torn apart. When discussing the case, the officers couldn’t help but sigh. Some wondered whether the car accident Sheng Peishan had been involved in years ago had been an elaborate trap set by Chen Chaosheng—perhaps tampering with the brakes or secretly encouraging her to drive drunk. But that incident had happened a decade ago. The evidence had vanished along with the scrapped vehicle, and Chen Chaosheng was now dead. This speculation would forever remain an unsolvable mystery.
Butler Cui learned the full story behind everything. Twenty years ago, his son, Huang Ashui, had needed a sum of money to leave the Sheng family and open his own auto repair shop. That dream, hidden deep in Huang Ashui’s heart, had never been shared with his father. As for the money—before he could even get his hands on it, he had lost his life. Now, looking back, Cui Fuxiang could only see it as a cruel twist of fate. His gaze grew distant as he muttered to himself, asking why...
From the very beginning, it hadn’t been a dead end. That accident could have been avoided.
Zhu Qing and Zeng Yongshan handed the photograph from the Xiangjiang News Rising Star Program to He Jia’er’s parents.
This was the first time they had seen this picture. He Jia’er was radiant, her confidence frozen in time by the camera. The banner at the event bore a slogan about journalists pursuing truth—strikingly prominent, just as He Jia’er had emphasized to Sheng Peishan before her death: the bottom line for journalists was the truth.
Zhu Qing told them that He Jia’er had never been dazzled by luxury handbags, nor had she ever sought shortcuts.
Father He was overcome with regret. It was all because of that one fateful decision to step into a casino years ago—he had ruined his daughter’s life. If He Jia’er hadn’t been forced to repay his gambling debts, she would never have ended up gathering information about the Sheng family at a nightclub, and none of what followed would have happened.
Mother He, meanwhile, silently traced her daughter’s bright smile in the photograph, taking a long time before she found her voice again.
"War correspondent..." Mother He’s eyes were aged yet hopeful, as if clinging to a final lifeline. "Officer, what is a war correspondent?"
Later, Zhu Qing explained it to them.
The poor old woman listened intently, and once she fully understood her daughter’s dream, tears glistened in her eyes.
"I’ll just tell myself my child is working as a war correspondent," the old woman said.
She would pretend He Jia’er was somewhere in the world right now...
Giving voice to the voiceless.
With the case closed, the officers of Team B were still trying to coax the stingy Inspector Weng Zhaolin into treating them to a Wagyu beef dinner with sake.
Meanwhile, the young master of the Sheng family hadn’t yet been properly settled. For the past two days, he had been following Zhu Qing to and from work. Perhaps aware that he shouldn’t cause trouble for his niece, Sheng Fang behaved well at the police station—though he couldn’t help shaking his head when he heard the officers joking around.
Wagyu beef and sake? Meh. Nothing special. He’d rather have canned luncheon meat with fried egg rice from the station canteen, plus a Cream Soda with fresh milk—to go!
While blending in with the West Kowloon Serious Crimes Unit, Sheng Fang had more important things to do during the day besides being a well-behaved little boy who didn’t cause trouble for his niece.
Sitting on a swivel chair, his short legs dangling in the air, he held a marker he’d swiped from the whiteboard in the meeting room and made notes on the real estate section of the newspaper.
A promise was a promise—he was going to buy his niece an apartment.
Sheng Fang scooted over to Liang Qikai. "Inspector Liang, what about this place?"
Liang Qikai glanced at the newspaper, taking in the carefully polished promotional images of the property.
"Peng Chau in the Outlying Islands? Nice environment."
Uncle Li chimed in, "It’s good, but you’d have to take a ferry to get there."
The little master’s face scrunched up, and he drew a big X over the listing with his marker.
Too far? Cross it out!
Right then, news arrived from the law firm.
"This Saturday at 3 PM, the will of the late Mr. Sheng Wenchang will be read at the Sheng family mansion on the Peak."
Along with this announcement came the unresolved matter of Sheng Fang’s guardianship.
The little master’s head drooped onto his desk.
The day had finally come.
...
Zeng Yongshan loved buying quirky little novelties. The desk calendar with actor posters had already been retired, replaced by one with pop stars on the cover. She placed the old calendar on Zhu Qing’s desk, and Sheng Fang counted on his tiny fingers over and over before confirming—tomorrow was Saturday.
Back in the dormitory at the Wong Chuk Hang Police School, the young master of the Sheng family had always complained—
This is no way to live.
But now, he was really going back to the Sheng family.
The little one’s lips curled downward. He was certain that once he moved back, his life would only get worse.
The happy times with the Criminal Investigation Division would soon be a thing of the past.
Sheng Fang overheard a few officers arranging a get-together based on their shift schedules.
Inspector Weng’s stinginess had reached its limit, and in the end, it was Mo Zhenbang who stepped in and invited everyone to his place. Three days after the case closed, everyone had free time. Zeng Yongshan tugged discreetly at Xu Jiale’s sleeve, nodding toward Liang Qikai with interest.
"Pretty boy," Xu Jiale said.
Zeng Yongshan pretended to hit him. "Shut up!"
"Mo Shazhan said we’re having a barbecue on his rooftop tomorrow. Sister-in-law’s making her famous honey-glazed char siu."
"I’ll swing by after my shift ends at 8—just in time for the oysters in the second round."
"Zhu Qing, you’re coming this time, right??"
It felt like things were returning to how they used to be.
Zhu Qing shook her head. "You all have fun."
She carefully recalled the details of the case from the original storyline.
When she first joined the team, Zeng Yongshan had been the first colleague to speak to her. She was always smiling, her eyes perpetually curved like crescent moons. In the original plot, that case had sent Zeng Yongshan’s life down a completely different path—one where her existence shattered into fragments that could never be pieced back together, leaving her to live in the shadows for decades.
In the original storyline, the turning point for the female lead—
Was the case involving the brutal deaths of her parents and older brother.
The Rainy Night Red Dress Serial Murders.
But the details of that case had been glossed over in the plot, serving only as a catalyst for the female lead’s personality shift.
"Alright, it’s settled—tomorrow at Mo Shazhan’s place."
"I’ll bring lychee soda. Nannan loved it last time—"
"Tch, always sucking up to Mo Shazhan and Sister-in-law!"
The CID office in Yau Ma Tei Police Station buzzed with noise.
Suddenly, a loud clatter came from outside—the window slamming against the sill. A clerical worker leaned out to close it, her brow furrowed.
"This damn weather changes faster than flipping a book. They’ll probably issue a thunderstorm warning soon."
"Ugh! Another traffic jam incoming!"
The clock on the wall pointed to five, marking the end of the workday.
Bad weather was always troublesome. The skies had shifted without warning, and Zhu Qing hadn’t even brought an umbrella. She stood outside the police station with Sheng Fang, waiting for the rain to stop. The child seemed oblivious to how much such heavy rain could disrupt the commute, his small, fair hand stretching out from under the station’s eaves to catch the fine, dense droplets.
Large raindrops landed in his palm.
A car pulled up in front of them, and Mo Zhenbang honked before leaning out the window. "I’m heading to the old bakery in Wan Chai. I can drop you off on the way."
Rarely did they get the chance to skip squeezing onto three minibuses back to the dormitory, and the young master’s eyes practically lit up. The boy happily scrambled to open the door, splashing into a puddle before nimbly slipping into the back seat.
Zhu Qing had heard from Uncle Li how much Mo Zhenbang doted on his wife and daughter.
The usually tough-faced Mo Shazhan couldn’t stop talking about his family, even going out of his way to bring them pastries.
"One wants wife cakes, the other wants red bean pastries. See how spoiled they are?" Mo Zhenbang chuckled.
Sheng Fang swallowed hard. "Are red bean pastries good?"
"I’ll get you one later."
"Mo Shazhan, can we add a wife cake too?"
Zhu Qing couldn’t help but smile.
The little one wasn’t just bargaining for himself—his quick-witted brain was already spinning, planning to snag a portion for her too. Double the pastries—quite the loyalist.
"I don’t want any," Zhu Qing said.
"Come on, try some," Sheng Fang nudged her with his elbow. "Mo Shazhan says they’re really fragrant."
"Even Nannan gives them a thumbs-up!" he added.
The three-and-a-half-year-old acted like a full-grown adult, referring to Mo Shazhan’s "Nannan" without even calling her "big sister."
It didn’t seem to occur to him that Nannan was several years older.
Outside the car, the downpour intensified. The windshield wipers scraped rapidly against the glass, a mechanical rhythm in the storm.
The streets blurred in the heavy rain, pedestrians hurrying past as the downpour showed no signs of letting up.
Zhu Qing turned to look out the window.
There was something strangely familiar about this weather.
Even unsettling, as if something was about to happen.
When the beeping of a pager sounded, Mo Zhenbang muttered, "That’ll be Nannan—impatient as ever."
He reached into his pocket to check it.
But as he lifted the device to his eyes, his brow furrowed. He slammed on the brakes.
"Mo Shazhan," Zhu Qing’s expression turned serious. "Is it the station?"
......
Outside a dilapidated tenement building in Sham Shui Po, a faded yellow police cordon had been strung up.
Sheng Fang was left in the car while Mo Zhenbang and Zhu Qing stepped out.
The young master pressed his face against the fogged-up window, his small hands leaving prints on the glass as he exhaled warm air, further obscuring the view outside.
The ground was slick, the rain washing away the city’s lingering heat. Other officers were already on their way, but Mo Shazhan’s expression was grave as he strode ahead.
Zhu Qing followed, adjusting her police badge.
Past the cordon, the breakfast shop at the base of the building had its metal shutter half-raised, the scene already sealed off.
Amid the storm, a figure crouched beside a large pool of blood, holding a black umbrella.
"Male victim, between forty-five and fifty years old."
"Distinct ligature marks on the neck. Judging by the pressure and uniformity of the grooves, mechanical asphyxiation. Time of death estimated between three and four this morning."
"Red paint fragments under the nails—"
The man shifted the umbrella, pointing to the painted doorframe of the shop.
It was then that his gaze met Zhu Qing’s. He gave a slight nod. "Madam, we meet again."
Mo Shazhan glanced between them. "You know each other?"
"Doctor Cheng from forensics," Zhu Qing introduced.
A far cry from the playful man gripping a handheld console at headquarters that afternoon, Doctor Cheng now wore rubber gloves, his fingers hovering over the victim’s neck as he examined with focused intensity. Every detail he noted was punctuated by a pause, waiting for the forensic assistant to record it.
"The victim’s face…" Doctor Cheng’s voice was calm. "Has been meticulously made up."
Zhu Qing studied the dead man’s features.
His eyebrows had been completely shaved off, leaving him browless. His cheeks bore exaggerated rouge, creating an eerie effect.
"Blush applied to the cheeks, lips painted with lipstick—edges extended upward at the corners to mimic a smile."
A middle-aged man in his fifties, dead in a breakfast shop in the early hours. The killer had positioned him upright at the table, taking advantage of rigor mortis.
"Calculated the timing of stiffness—either an expert or someone with nerves of steel."
The victim’s rough skin and enlarged pores made the carefully applied makeup even more jarring. The faint pink blush against his pallid cheeks sent a chill down the spine.
Zhu Qing could almost hear the pounding of her own heart.
She held her breath.
"Whose kid is that outside?"
Finally, a voice shattered the suffocating silence.
The world snapped back into motion.
Zhu Qing turned toward the sound.
The rain still poured relentlessly.
Beyond the cordon, the little boy was arguing fervently with the officer guarding the perimeter.
He clutched an umbrella he’d dug up from the car, struggling to get his point across before huffing and standing on tiptoe.
"Qing-er."
"Qing-girl!"
The downpour was too heavy—the tiny elder couldn’t bear to see his niece working without shelter.
What if she caught a cold?
Sheng Fang raised his voice, waving an umbrella nearly twice his size, cycling through several nicknames.
Finally, he succeeded in summoning the stone-faced Madam, her ears burning red.
"A-Qing…"
"Hey, Qingqing!"
The young officer manning the cordon spoke up politely. "Senior, this kid seems to be looking for you. Do you know him?"
"...Yeah." Zhu Qing braced herself. "He’s—"
The curly-haired young master tilted his head, dead serious.
"My uncle," Zhu Qing admitted, resigned.
Young Master Sheng: !
She finally called him that!
