The young officer in charge of securing the crime scene looked baffled.
Who... whose uncle?
Sheng Fang, the little tyke who usually wore a perpetually smug expression, suddenly broke into a grin, revealing tiny pearly teeth.
Perseverance had paid off—he’d finally heard his niece call him "uncle"! This trip was absolutely worth it.
After addressing him, Zhu Qing subtly blocked the child with her arm, signaling him to stop.
The world inside the police tape was starkly different from the one outside. The gruesome scene was enough to give adults nightmares, let alone a child. For once, Sheng Fang obeyed without protest, standing stiffly with his short legs pressed together, not even daring to glance toward the breakfast shop.
His niece was all business now, and he couldn’t afford to hold her back.
But out of the corner of his eye, Sheng Fang still caught sight of a figure.
Doctor Cheng stood under a black umbrella near the shop’s roll-up door, collecting fingerprints from its crevices. The little boy tiptoed, squinting to get a better look before rubbing his eyes.
"It’s him!" Sheng Fang pointed a chubby finger at Doctor Cheng.
This was the same man he’d run into at the headquarters lab earlier—the one who’d been so mean! Knowing full well the kid’s eyes were glued to his handheld console, Doctor Cheng had casually tossed it aside, watching it bounce on the couch with a smug grin.
What a jerk! The young master of the Sheng family had sworn vengeance against this guy. Yet here he was, reappearing at a crime scene hours later, now playing the role of a professional forensic examiner. Ridiculous.
Mo Zhenbang approached Doctor Cheng.
The shop hadn’t originally been a breakfast place—before the roll-up door was installed, there had been a wooden one.
Doctor Cheng used tweezers to collect wood splinters from the doorframe while his assistant handed him an evidence bag labeled with the time it was collected—scrapings from under the victim’s fingernails.
"Red paint fragments were found under the victim’s nails," Doctor Cheng said. "Preliminary analysis suggests they match the wood from this door."
Mo Zhenbang took a step back, raising his hands to mimic the victim’s posture against the doorframe. "There must have been a struggle here. The victim resisted, slamming their back against the frame—hence the bruising you mentioned."
The body had been discovered in a ground-floor shop in a tenement building in Sham Shui Po. The B-team officers had been called in after hours, trickling in one by one. Zeng Yongshan, the squad’s sunshine, was the last to arrive. Always a bit scatterbrained, she’d been further delayed by the heavy rain. The moment she jumped out of the car, she bolted straight for Mo Zhenbang without hesitation.
Just as she was about to charge into the breakfast shop, someone yanked her wrist, forcing her to skid to a stop. She turned, eyes widening in surprise.
It was Zhu Qing who’d stopped her.
"It’s pretty disturbing," Zhu Qing warned. "Better brace yourself."
The other officers shot her resentful looks.
Almost every one of them had walked into that shop unprepared, only to recoil in horror, faces pale as they stumbled back out. Why hadn’t Zhu Qing been this considerate with them?
The back of Zhu Qing’s head might as well have been burning under their collective glare.
Sheng Fang, ever perceptive, immediately noticed the stares. He jerked his head up, firing back with a glare sharp enough to cut glass.
The B-team officers: ???
When Zeng Yongshan finally emerged, she shrugged at her colleagues’ grumbling.
"Scared stiff, and you call yourselves cops?" she teased before winking at Zhu Qing.
Who said she was an ice queen? She was downright warmhearted!
"You didn’t see it—"
"Hao Zai tripped over the doorstep and nearly face-planted right next to the body."
"Killing someone, then shaving their eyebrows and painting their face like some creepy doll..."
Just describing it sent chills down their spines.
Zeng Yongshan kept the jokes brief, quickly shifting back to work mode.
"What kind of grudge would make someone treat a body like that?"
"Could it be some kind of ritual? Like the makeup is meant to trap their soul, keep them from reincarnating..."
Zhu Qing’s mind flashed to scenes from the original novel.
Was this the case that had completely altered the protagonist’s life?
The thought was fleeting—she couldn’t be sure.
The victim had indeed died on a "rainy night," but other details didn’t align.
"Enough fooling around," Mo Zhenbang barked, the only one who could rein in this rowdy bunch. "This is a high-profile case. Inspector Weng will be knocking on our door first thing tomorrow."
"Hao Zai, ID the victim. Dig into their personal connections, especially recent conflicts."
Mo Zhenbang swiftly delegated tasks: "The first witness is Mrs. Lin, a regular at the shop. Zeng Yongshan, Zhu Qing—get her statement if she’s up for it."
Mrs. Lin was still ashen-faced, but she managed a shaky nod.
Her hands trembled uncontrollably; no amount of deep breaths could steady them.
"Uncle Li will coordinate forensics and canvassing."
"Stick to the preliminary investigation plan."
With assignments handed out, the team scattered—everyone except Sheng Fang, who was left twiddling his thumbs.
Not allowed near the scene, but not permitted to wander off either.
Mo Zhenbang’s car door hung open, the little troublemaker perched on the edge of the seat, legs dangling.
Zeng Yongshan noticed and nudged Zhu Qing. "Should we tell him to pull his feet in? There are puddles everywhere—his shoes will get soaked."
"Don’t bother," Zhu Qing replied without looking up. "His legs are too short to reach the ground."
The little master’s eyes narrowed—
Qing, I heard that!
Kids might not have long legs, but they’ve got mischief to spare. Still, Zhu Qing wasn’t about to fuss over wet shoes.
If he got uncomfortable, it’d teach him a lesson. If not, so be it. She’d grown up the same way.
As the team buzzed around, Sheng Fang swung his legs idly—until a shadow fell over him.
The boy tilted his head back, further and further, until his gaze landed on a pair of amused eyes.
Doctor Cheng recognized him—the fun-to-tease kid from headquarters.
"You’re here too?"
"It’s you," the little master retorted, chin high. "Tetris guy."
...
Meanwhile, Zhu Qing and Zeng Yongshan followed orders, heading off to question the witness who’d found the body.
Zeng Yongshan pulled a small packet of tissues from her pocket and handed one to the other woman. "No rush, wipe your sweat first."
Mrs. Lin was carrying a basket full of groceries, her legs still visibly shaky. She freed one hand to accept the tissue and thanked her.
After a moment, she finally caught her breath and pointed toward the end of the street. "I live over there—been in Sham Shui Po for ages."
"I know every inch of this street, but I’m most familiar with Man Kee. When my kid goes to school, I send him off on the bus and then stop by Man Kee for a plate of xiaolongbao… Their dumplings are different from other places—thin skin, generous filling, and you can even order half portions."
"This morning, I passed by Man Kee, and the shop was closed. At the time, I didn’t think much of it. Everyone around here knows Ah Wen is lazy—he takes days off whenever he feels like it."
"When did you discover the body?" Zhu Qing asked.
"Later in the afternoon, after I’d bought groceries at the market, I passed Man Kee again. It suddenly occurred to me that whenever the shop’s closed, Ah Wen usually puts up a red notice on the shutter… So I went closer to check, but instead of finding a notice, my shoe got stained red. Look, right here."
The two officers followed Mrs. Lin’s gaze to the tip of her shoe.
It was a brand-new pair of white sneakers, now marred by a glaring brownish stain.
She had stepped in what she initially thought was sauce near Man Kee’s entrance, but something felt off. After discussing it with a neighboring shopkeeper, they decided to call the police.
"So, you didn’t actually see the body—you just suspected something based on the bloodstains?"
"Madam, I watch crime dramas all the time," Mrs. Lin said. "If I’d waited until the smell led me to a body stuffed in a red-and-blue plastic bag, like on TV… it would’ve been way too late!"
By then, the victim had been dead for over twelve hours, and the blood had already dried.
It was only because Mrs. Lin was so upset about her new limited-edition sneakers that she inadvertently stumbled upon the murder.
"So it’s really Ah Wen who died?" she asked again.
Earlier, she hadn’t dared to peek inside the shutter. Now, confirming that the victim was indeed the breakfast shop owner, she shuddered despite the summer heat.
"Who could’ve hated him that much…?"
---
The murder in Sham Shui Po had drawn police tape, disrupting business along the entire street.
Surrounded by officers, the usually bustling narrow storefronts stood quiet, with owners and staff lingering by their doors.
"Man Kee’s been around forever—Ah Wen’s father started it, and he took over later."
"Business was good. On a normal day, the steamers outside the shop were stacked taller than Ah Wen himself."
Hao Zai and Xu Jiale canvassed the area, but the fishball stall owner was the least cooperative, waving them off with a dismissive "I don’t know anything." Once they left, he scowled and muttered under his breath.
"Police doing their duty, but not even buying anything," the fishball vendor grumbled to the neighboring stall. "I pay taxes too—I help fund their salaries!"
"Boss, one curry fishball, please." Liang Qikai approached.
The vendor hadn’t expected his complaint to actually bring an officer to his stall. His face lit up as he got to work.
Seeing this, Xu Jiale and Hao Zai exchanged a glance.
Why hadn’t they thought of that?
Liang Qikai was known for his charm—wherever he went, he could extract information.
Soon, the vendor handed over a steaming bowl of curry fishballs. Liang took a skewer and gestured toward the breakfast shop.
"Anything unusual about Man Kee lately?"
"What’s there to be unusual? Same routine—open in the morning, close in the afternoon."
The vendor clearly wasn’t interested in continuing the conversation. After his curt reply, he busied himself rearranging already-neat condiment bottles, making it obvious he was avoiding further discussion.
Liang Qikai returned with the fishballs, scratching his nose awkwardly.
Zeng Yongshan leaned toward Zhu Qing and whispered, "So cute."
"Huh?"
"Here, dig in. The skewers are clean too." Liang handed the bowl to the two women, along with a few bamboo sticks. "I’ll check elsewhere."
As Zeng Yongshan watched Liang walk away, Zhu Qing carried the fishballs back to the stall.
"Boss," she said, "add some chili."
The vendor reached for the chili sauce but paused when the officer spoke again.
"I heard that a couple of years ago, Man Kee set up a cart outside to make sugar puff pastries on the spot?"
This was Mrs. Lin’s exclusive "insider tip."
The fishball stall was popular, its curry aroma filling the street. Whether Man Kee couldn’t stand the smell or wanted to steal business, they’d parked a cart outside their shop—a makeshift "iron cart stall," as they called it. The fishball vendor had even argued with Ah Wen over it.
"What sugar puffs…?" The vendor scowled. "Madam, if you’re not eating, don’t hold up my business—"
"The scent of those sugar puffs overpowered your curry fishballs, and the taste was better too," Zhu Qing said. "Must’ve stung, losing customers like that. So…"
She paused, then shifted tone. "We can continue this at the station, but that’ll really cut into your business."
Zeng Yongshan’s attention snapped back from Liang Qikai.
She hurried to Zhu Qing’s side, barely processing the exchange before the vendor caved.
Now that was efficiency.
Zeng Yongshan took the fishballs and popped one into her mouth.
"Come on, we’re just small-time vendors… Let’s talk this out properly." Faced with a tough opponent, the man had no choice but to cooperate.
The victim found in Man Kee was Feng Yaowen.
"Everyone called him ‘Stubborn Wen’—wouldn’t listen to reason, no matter what."
A couple of years back, Feng had set up that cart outside his shop, directly competing with the fishball stall.
"Ask anyone around here—I tried reasoning with him so many times. But this guy? Soft approach didn’t work, hard approach didn’t either."
"Eventually, it was his wife who talked sense into him. Egg Tart Ling was right—if you had an issue, you went straight to his wife. Zhou Meilian was way more reasonable… But now, even she can’t keep him in line anymore…"
"When Man Kee finally took the cart down, I wanted to thank him. In business, it’s better to make friends than enemies. But the second I stepped into his shop, he chased me out with a broom. That’s when I knew—a guy like him, always making enemies? Sooner or later, someone was gonna teach him a lesson. But I never thought it’d go this far…"
Everyone opens their doors to do business, and occasional arguments are inevitable, but they’ve never been deep-seated grudges.
The fishball vendor never imagined things would escalate to a life being lost. He shook his head and sighed, a complicated feeling settling in his chest.
“You just said Feng Yaowen’s wife doesn’t care about him anymore?” Zeng Yongshan glanced up from her notes as she asked.
“The whole of Sham Shui Po knows—they divorced ages ago!” The fishball vendor grew animated. “Don’t let Ah Wen’s usual quiet fool you. He was quite the ladies’ man. Had a mistress—his middle school sweetheart, no less. They rekindled things years later. Then his wife caught them red-handed, followed them straight to a love hotel.”
“What a sin. Meilian was such a devoted wife.”
“Ah Wen’s shop closed for a while after that. When it reopened, he had bruises all over his face!”
Zhu Qing: “They got into a fight?”
“His wife beating him?” The fishball vendor laughed as if it were a joke. “She’s so short you could barely see her standing here. How could she possibly take on Ah Wen?”
He told the police that Feng Yaowen’s ex-wife was petite and frail.
Then he paused, lowering his voice. “You’d never guess—it was his son who beat him up!”
“A son hitting his own father—people wouldn’t believe it if word got out!” the vendor said. “After that, his son moved out too.”
…
The murder case in the old tenement building of Sham Shui Po ruined Inspector Mo’s weekend barbecue plans.
Mo Zhenbang promised that once the case was solved, they’d go all out—unlimited oysters, crates of ice-cold beer, and no one leaving sober.
Still, no one could muster much enthusiasm. Sitting in the meeting room, staring at the whiteboard, their minds wandered from grilled chicken wings to the victim’s details.
“Feng Yaowen, male, 48, lived alone, ran a breakfast shop in Sham Shui Po. Financially stable—no debts, some savings.”
“Neighbors say he divorced his wife last year after his affair came to light. The other woman was an old classmate, divorced with a child. Once their families found out, she left the city to accompany her child studying abroad. No records show her returning to Hong Kong since.”
Mo Zhenbang pinned another photo to the board—a young man with a buzz cut, features bearing a resemblance to Feng Yaowen.
“His son, Feng Junming, 20, works as a waiter at a cha chaan teng in Central. He was on the night shift yesterday… Still can’t reach him.”
“Feng Junming resented his father for betraying the family. Their relationship was terrible. When Feng Yaowen and Zhou Meilian divorced, he even attacked his father.”
So far, the police hadn’t managed to contact any of Feng Yaowen’s immediate family.
Mo Zhenbang circled Feng Junming’s name in red marker.
“Keep searching,” he said. “Bring him in for questioning ASAP.”
The room fell silent.
Every officer’s gaze lingered on Feng Yaowen’s photo.
He seemed uncomfortable in front of the camera, lips pressed tight, not a hint of a smile.
Unconsciously, each of them recalled the scene where the victim’s face had been painted with heavy makeup—
Bright red lipstick stretched his mouth into an eerie, unnatural grin.
…
When Zhu Qing stepped out of the meeting room, the curly-haired little troublemaker was still slumped at his desk, watching the clock tick toward 3 PM.
That was when the lawyers would arrive at the Sheng family mansion to lay everything out on the table.
“Zhu Qing,” Uncle Li called before she left. “Heading to the Peak? We just got the latest address for the victim’s ex-wife, Zhou Meilian—Western District, Hill Road. Swing by on your way.”
Sheng Fang pouted inwardly.
His niece didn’t even have a car—how was walking “on the way”? The force was exploiting her!
Normally, the young master would’ve made a fuss, but today, too preoccupied, he let it slide. When the time came, he followed his niece out of the Yau Ma Tei Police Station.
The road back to the Sheng estate felt unfamiliar. Only when he saw the winding uphill path did his lips twist in displeasure.
The troubled young master returned to the Peak villa, only to find half the household staff gone.
The empty living room echoed with Aunt Ping’s hurried footsteps.
“Young master,” Aunt Ping steadied Sheng Fang by the shoulders. “It’s only been days, and you’ve already lost weight…”
The boy nodded solemnly.
It was true—his niece ate like she was at war, never sitting still long enough to enjoy a meal. Three times a day, he’d been dragged along. Of course he’d slimmed down.
His niece was thin too.
But the stubborn kid would never admit it, insisting it was all muscle.
“Madam,” Aunt Ping turned to Zhu Qing.
She’d worked for the Sheng family for over two decades, long considering it her home.
When the second young miss was taken away—along with the old butler who’d suddenly lost his mind—Aunt Ping had no one to ask. She hadn’t known what was happening until the police searched Cui Fuxiang’s room. That was when she learned the striking female officer was actually the eldest daughter’s child!
“You’ve grown so much,” she took Zhu Qing’s hand, voice trembling. “Good… so good…”
Sensing his niece’s discomfort, Sheng Fang quickly stepped between them.
“Are the lawyers here yet?”
Returning to the Sheng mansion, Zhu Qing’s status had changed. Yet inwardly, nothing felt different. The gilded decor, the antiques—none of it mattered to her.
The only thing that did was the little boy now shielding her.
For the first time, she saw the usually pampered young master so unsettled.
He wanted to say something but held back. When the lawyer unsealed the documents, his small hands clutched his clothes, head bowed low.
When Aunt Ping first started working for the Shengs, she never imagined she’d one day witness the reading of the old master’s will.
It all felt like a dream. The family had scattered. Only the fortune left behind proved how grand the Sheng empire once was.
She couldn’t make sense of the legal jargon—not until the lawyer simplified it.
“To put it plainly, Mr. Sheng Wenchang’s estate is divided equally into three shares.”
"The eldest daughter Sheng Peirong, the second daughter Sheng Peishan, and the youngest son Sheng Fang each receive one-third. Given Ms. Sheng Peirong's declining health, Sheng Peishan's lack of business experience, and Sheng Fang's minor status, Mr. Sheng Wenchang has already appointed interim managers through the board of directors to temporarily oversee all Sheng family business affairs."
Sheng Fang, the little one, knew today was about dividing the inheritance.
His childish voice piped up: "What about my niece?"
Two days earlier, the lawyer had met with Second Miss Sheng through the visitation glass to discuss the same matter of inheritance.
Now, he briefly explained the terms of the inheritance and asked Sheng Fang, "Do you understand?"
The little boy tilted his head—it wasn’t clear whether he fully grasped it.
But Aunt Ping and another servant standing in the corner of the living room certainly did.
"So, even though Second Miss is in prison, she’ll get every cent she’s entitled to. But as for the little miss..."
"When the old master wrote his will, he didn’t know she was alive. She isn’t mentioned in the will, so she gets nothing. Unless, one day, the eldest sister... then she could inherit her share."
The two servants whispered among themselves, their voices hushed.
They hadn’t expected that despite Sheng Wenchang and Qin Lizhu appearing inseparable in public, the will made no provisions for his second wife. If not for the accident that claimed both their lives, given the second wife’s temperament, the Sheng family would likely have been embroiled in a bitter inheritance battle. The media would have camped outside the courthouse instead of the hillside villa.
As for the Sheng family’s second son-in-law, Chen Chaosheng, he was even more of an outsider in Sheng Wenchang’s eyes. Though he had worked tirelessly inside and outside the company, he ended up with nothing.
But for his three children, Sheng Wenchang had been fair.
Rumors weren’t entirely baseless—initially, Sheng Peirong had indeed been the undisputed successor to the Sheng Group. But as her health deteriorated and Sheng Peishan proved utterly inept at business, the old man had brought his second son-in-law, Chen Chaosheng, into the company. However, Sheng Wenchang was shrewd. Within a few years, he saw through Chen Chaosheng’s ambitions. That’s why the will explicitly entrusted the board to manage the company for the young son, keeping Chen Chaosheng completely out.
Still, Sheng Wenchang knew it would be over a decade before Sheng Fang came of age. By then, who could say what would become of the company?
Young Master Sheng was far from pleased with the will.
In the end, his penniless niece got nothing?
"I’ll give her half of mine," the little lord declared grandly.
The lawyer maintained a polite, professional smile. "According to the will’s terms, you do have control over your share. However, it explicitly states that before you come of age, the assets cannot be transferred or divided in any way."
"This clause was specifically added by Mr. Sheng to protect your interests."
Sheng Fang only half-understood.
What did that even mean?
"Miss Zhu Qing, regarding your application for guardianship over Young Master Sheng..." The lawyer turned to Zhu Qing, his expression gentle. "While he is technically your uncle by family hierarchy, given that you’re older and have a stable income, there shouldn’t be any major obstacles to your petition."
A few days earlier, the law firm had unexpectedly announced a revised reading of the will.
At the time, Young Master Sheng had been completely caught off guard—Zhu Qing had quietly filed for his guardianship.
The surprise had left the little one utterly dazed at first.
Slowly, his cheeks flushed pink, his lips trembling downward.
No one noticed exactly when his eyes turned red.
He turned away, pretending nothing had happened, fiddling with a cushion on the sofa.
Later, Sheng Fang was like a jubilant cartoon sprite floating midair.
His grin stretched ear to ear, his mind bursting with fireworks, lost in his own colorful world, barely registering the adults’ conversation.
It was mostly about his education—kindergarten and such.
After all, his niece had work and couldn’t drag him along everywhere. The little lord understood.
As long as she took him away from this place—
As her uncle, he’d accept anything!
Lately, the weather had been unpredictable. Just as the skies cleared, a light drizzle began again as they stepped out of the villa.
Aunt Ping hurried after them with an umbrella.
Marysa, the maid, had already left, discreetly pocketing the young master’s limited-edition Transformer—probably for her own child. The drivers had vanished even faster, leaving no one to take them down the mountain. In the rain, the Sheng villa still looked majestic, but with no one left in charge, everyone was already seeking new paths.
Aunt Ping had nowhere else to go.
Young Master Sheng told her she could stay if she wished—tending to the study and those long-empty bedrooms, with her wages unchanged.
Aunt Ping’s nose stung. "The roads are slippery in the rain—be careful."
Zhu Qing took the umbrella, tilting it slightly.
The child pressed closer to her. From now on, he’d never fear the storm.
......
Sheng Fang had thought that after 3 PM on Saturday, he’d be trapped in this wretched place forever.
Yet after the lawyer finished reading the will, he and his niece left before anyone else.
"You call this place wretched?"
Young Master Sheng nodded emphatically.
Zhu Qing couldn’t argue.
Seriously—it was a hillside mansion.
On the way up, the winding road had seemed endless.
Now, descending felt light and swift. A few quick steps turned into a jog, and before they knew it, they’d covered quite a distance.
Even the raindrops on their faces felt like freedom.
From now on, they’d live together.
Zhu Qing laid down three rules for the young lord.
Things like attending school and behaving were standard fare. The original storyline’s future criminal mastermind was now back in the real world—his brilliant mind better be put to proper use.
She wasn’t about to raise a villain.
As for Young Master Sheng, his only initial condition had been: Don’t leave me behind.
But now, the child was pushing his luck, making demands about their new life.
"I refuse to live in a steamer. We must buy a new house within a week."
Zhu Qing reminded him it was already Saturday evening.
Buying a house wasn’t like grocery shopping—one day wasn’t enough.
The little uncle was reasonable enough to reconsider.
Fine—ten days. They had to move into a new place by then.
"Do you know how to drive?" Sheng Fang asked.
"No."
The little elder had guessed right.
His niece had lived a hard life before, barely able to afford a bicycle, let alone a car...
"Get a driver's license," the young master said with his hands clasped behind his back, calm and composed. "Our family is buying a car."
The garage of the Sheng family villa on the hillside housed several cars.
But those belonged to others.
His niece couldn’t suffer anymore.
Their Zhu Qing deserved a brand-new car!
……
Suddenly, a little uncle appeared in Zhu Qing’s life.
From then on, her days were anything but peaceful.
She had always followed a strict, methodical plan. As she walked toward Western Hillside Road, she mapped out a clear blueprint in her mind.
First, find a kindergarten near the police station for Sheng Fang and enroll him.
Second, deal with the matter of the original female lead, Zeng Yongshan.
She had to find a way to prevent the massacre that was about to befall the Zeng family.
But the original story provided too few details about the murder case, leaving her with very little to go on.
When exactly would that tragedy strike?
"This is Western Hillside Road," Zhu Qing said, standing in front of the street sign.
Sheng Fang glanced around.
Since his niece wasn’t taking the house hunt seriously, the little uncle had to step in. Western Hillside Road was close to the hillside but far from the police station—not an ideal location.
"Western Hillside Building," Zhu Qing muttered, reading the address Uncle Li had scribbled for her. "Turn into that alley, and we’re there."
It was an old, rundown building near the hillside.
The walls were peeling, the iron gates rusted, the corridors cluttered with junk, and the stairwell reeked of garbage.
Sheng Fang dodged obstacles like a character in a video game, pinching his nose in disgust. "They don’t even have an elevator."
Zhu Qing, still deciphering the address on the note, didn’t even look up. "Plenty of places don’t have elevators."
Most residents of Western Hillside Building were elderly or laborers...
Every time the young master of the Sheng family passed someone, he’d stare. If they glared back, annoyed, the little boy would puff out his chest.
His niece was a police officer.
Who’s afraid of who?!
The note Uncle Li had given them bore the scribbled address of Feng Yaowen’s ex-wife.
The police didn’t suspect Zhou Meilian was the killer, but they still had to follow procedure.
"Knock on the door," Zhu Qing said, giving the kid something to do.
The young master immediately raised his hand and rapped three times.
The crisp sound echoed through the hallway.
"Coming, coming..."
A woman in her forties opened the door.
She was petite but wiry, with a gentle face, an apron tied around her waist, and a spatula in hand—clearly in the middle of cooking.
"Who are you looking for?"
Zhu Qing flashed her badge. "We’re here about Feng Yaowen. Are you—"
"Don’t know him." The woman cut her off and slammed the door shut.
Zhu Qing and Sheng Fang were left standing outside.
"Wrong address?" Zhu Qing frowned, puzzled. "But Uncle Li wrote this down."
And according to the fishball vendor’s description, the woman who answered the door matched Feng Yaowen’s ex-wife.
"Qing," Sheng Fang said, "you have to be polite when investigating."
"What?"
The little master looked up at her, dead serious. "You have to speak nicely."
Unlike Sheng Fang, who grew up sheltered, Zhu Qing had clawed her way up alone, hardening herself in the process.
In the orphanage, smiles and obedience didn’t earn peace—only fists did.
In police work, that attitude was a double-edged sword.
For instance, when it came to casual questioning, she came off as stiff and awkward.
"Watch your uncle!" the little master declared.
Sheng Fang knocked again.
This time, the door opened more slowly, the woman’s brows slightly furrowed.
The TV inside was playing the evening news, the anchor’s voice grave.
"Breaking news: Police have confirmed that the male corpse discovered yesterday in a tenement shop in Sham Shui Po and another body found this evening in an abandoned tenement in Mong Kok share identical causes of death and methods of killing."
"Authorities have classified this as a serial murder case and urge the public, especially those traveling alone at night, to remain vigilant."
"If you have any information, please contact—"
Zhu Qing’s attention was completely seized by the news report.
In her mind, she could already hear the name of the chilling case from the original plot—
The Red Raincoat Serial Murders.
The woman at the door snapped, "What now?"
"Auntie," Sheng Fang began, setting an example for his niece with utmost politeness, "we’re here about Feng..."
He trailed off, suddenly blanking on the name.
Meanwhile, Zhu Qing’s gaze swept past the woman, into the apartment.
The place was cramped, with no balcony. Clotheslines hung overhead, damp laundry drooping, the scent of detergent mixing with cooking smells.
Her eyes locked onto a red dress hanging in the middle of the living room.
Sheng Fang, still struggling to recall the victim’s name, mimicked the detectives he’d seen on TV, his chubby face earnest. "Police investigation. Please cooperate."
"I don’t know—" The woman’s face darkened as she gripped the doorframe, ready to slam it shut again.
Again?!
Sheng Fang’s little face scrunched up.
If he wasn’t trying to set an example for his niece, who’d put up with this nonsense?!
With a thud, the little master braced his tiny hand against the door.
"Qing, arrest her!"
Zhu Qing: ?
