For adults, rain is nothing but trouble. Even with an umbrella, water finds its way down collars and soaks pant legs, leaving one in a sorry state.
But children don’t seem to think clear skies are the only good weather.
Coming out of the dorm supervisor’s room, Sheng Fang nestled close to his niece. Even with half his calves submerged in rainwater, he treated it like play, his grin never fading.
"Wash your own shoes if they get wet," Zhu Qing said.
"They’ll dry if I just leave them out, Qing," he replied.
Zhu Qing: "They’ll stink."
"Fine," the little one conceded without further argument. "If I wash them myself, can I use lots of bubbles?"
He didn’t seem like the pampered young master of the Sheng family anymore.
He’d become the good-natured "Baby Uncle."
The niece led her uncle along, while Aunt Ping walked off alone in the opposite direction.
The downpour was relentless. Zhu Qing felt bad for inconveniencing Aunt Ping, but Sheng Fang, too short to reach her shoulder, patted her arm instead and launched into a lecture.
The young master paid Aunt Ping a generous salary, which included compensation for her commute time.
Just as his niece had taught him—every penny was hard-earned and worth treasuring—the little one was now putting that lesson to use.
"This is work," Sheng Fang declared. "Even on a typhoon day, would Inspector Weng give you time off?"
The image of that detestable Inspector Weng Zhaolin flashed in Zhu Qing’s mind.
She shook her head immediately. "Not a chance."
"Exactly," the little master said, sounding every bit the serious adult. "Making money is tough."
The young antagonist who once stood untouched by worldly struggles was now beginning to grasp the hardships of earning a living.
All because, in this wind and rain, his niece had only just finished her shift—likely having stuffed herself with some haphazard snack as a meal—and the little uncle was fretting over her.
Raindrops hammered down, sliding off the smooth surface of the umbrella.
Aunt Ping hurried toward the school gate, rushing to catch the last minibus. Just before stepping out, she turned back and saw Zhu Qing and the young master shrinking into the distance, eventually vanishing into a speck.
They must have reached the dorm by now.
Meanwhile, she still had a long journey ahead to return home.
Aunt Ping suddenly felt it wasn’t quite right.
They were heading to a cramped dorm, while she was riding back to their luxurious hillside mansion…
How embarrassing.
……
Morning sunlight spilled into every corner of the police academy.
When Zhu Qing pulled open the curtains, the sudden glare made her squint—as if last night’s storm had never happened. The gloom had lifted, and the world felt renewed.
As the feud between the academy’s procurement director, Zhan Weiqiang, and the deceased Zheng Shihong came to light, the police were no longer groping in the dark. With her pager, Zhu Qing didn’t need to return to the station. Early that morning, she’d already coordinated with her team, and they regrouped at the entrance of the Femina International Beauty Academy in Causeway Bay at the start of their shift.
This time, they were here specifically for Zhan Weiqiang.
Last night’s torrential rain had halted ferry services from Lamma Island. Police records confirmed Zhan Weiqiang had gone there early yesterday—but why the sudden trip?
The security guard at the academy’s gatehouse had heard about Dean Zheng’s death in the classroom. The descriptions painted a scene straight out of a horror movie—so chilling that just standing in the hallway outside the room had left him drenched in cold sweat. His tongue had tied itself in knots during questioning, making it impossible to give a proper statement.
Now, after a night to collect himself, he’d calmed somewhat. When Zeng Yongshan approached with her notepad and asked why he hadn’t taken leave, the guard shook his head. Dean Zheng might be gone, but the academy had to keep running. Several upcoming makeup design competitions couldn’t be postponed, and the instructors insisted on maintaining professionalism. As the guard, his duty was to manage registrations—he couldn’t abandon his post.
"Has everything been normal today?"
The guard produced the logbook, which recorded every vehicle entering the academy’s premises.
Meticulous in his work, he’d noted each letter and number with crisp precision.
"Only half the usual cars came in this morning," he said. "Lots of people called in sick. I expect it’ll stay like this for a while."
Mid-sentence, he suddenly remembered he ought to offer the two officers a seat and glanced around. "Strange… the stools are gone. Sorry, maintenance borrowed them and never returned them."
"No problem," Zhu Qing said before continuing. "Yesterday, Dean Zheng’s secretary, Tracy, mentioned hearing Zhan Weiqiang arguing with him in the office past ten the night before. Were you on duty then?"
"I’m the only guard here," he said. "Ever since I started, it’s always been me."
During yesterday’s interviews, the vice dean and accounting staff had mentioned that Dean Zheng, in his later years, had grown conservative—cutting costs wherever possible. The guard’s workload was light, just time-consuming, so the academy kept only one position.
The guard, Ah Kang, admitted that the beauty academy provided meals and lodging, and the pay wasn’t bad—jobs like this were hard to come by. Zhan Weiqiang was a director here, and Ah Kang worried that speaking out of turn might cost him his job.
Answering the officer’s question, Ah Kang pulled out his duty checklist from under the desk’s glass cover.
Every night at nine, after the students’ classes ended, he would lock the main gate within fifteen minutes. By ten, he’d complete a patrol of the premises, marking the end of his shift.
"That night at ten, during my rounds, I saw Strong—uh, Zhan Weiqiang—heading to Dean Zheng’s office."
"After checking every classroom, I passed the dean’s office again on my way down. They were arguing."
"About what?"
"Cosmetics suppliers," Ah Kang said. "Work stuff. I didn’t really understand."
"How was Zhan Weiqiang’s demeanor?" Zeng Yongshan cut in. "Did he throw things? Or shout?"
Ah Kang shook his head, quick to defend Zhan Weiqiang.
"Strong—I mean, Director Zhan—is a good man."
"He’s the only one who nods and greets me every day, coming and going."
"Work disputes happen. A few heated words are normal. They both wanted what was best for the academy."
Zhu Qing jotted notes, glancing up occasionally to catch the guard’s hesitant expression.
"Something else on your mind?"
Ah Kang’s hand rested on the logbook as he wavered. "Inspector… do you think the killer might still be in this school?"
"Seen the news? Profilers keep analyzing the killer’s motives and target demographics," she said. "You’re twenty—not his type."
Zhu Qing closed her notepad.
Worry was natural. Even the three-and-a-half-year-old boy at her place last night had been terrified of becoming a victim.
"But I’m twenty-five—" Ah Kang blurted.
Zeng Yongshan snorted a laugh. "Same difference. Relax!"
……
Leaving the guard booth, Zeng Yongshan led Zhu Qing toward Yi Dongmei’s office.
She said this beauty academy had been established for over a decade. As a child, she would take the tram after school to visit her mother and loved eating the fried chicken legs from the academy’s cafeteria.
Principal Zheng was a sentimental man. Even after all these years, the cafeteria was still contracted to the same owner, and none of the instructors who had worked alongside him during the tough early days were let go, even if some were no longer keeping up with the times.
"Teacher Zhang’s makeup techniques are quite old-fashioned—no one really goes for that style these days… A few years ago, students stopped signing up for his classes. Even if some enrolled without checking the instructor first, they’d eventually request to switch."
"He caused Principal Zheng a lot of trouble, but Principal Zheng never dismissed him… He just transferred him to the office to handle enrollment forms and such. Truthfully, the younger staff there have already switched to digital filing. Teacher Zhang never learned how, so he just idles around."
In the office, several instructors were around Yi Dongmei’s age.
When reminiscing about the past, they all expressed sorrow over Principal Zheng’s passing. But when the police asked about his relationship with Tracy, they initially hesitated, muttering, "Let the dead rest," and avoided the topic—until the two female officers made it clear this wasn’t just casual gossip.
This wasn’t a friendly chat; it was an official interrogation. They couldn’t refuse to answer.
Someone eventually broke the silence, and slowly, others chimed in.
"Tracy used to be a makeup model. She didn’t have a diploma, but she was beautiful, and students loved her."
"Models were paid hourly, and if she convinced students to enroll during trial classes, she got extra bonuses. If she worked hard, with commissions, her monthly earnings could surpass ours. Tracy came from a poor family—she was very driven at first, but later, her scheduled classes dwindled."
"Other models close to her said she didn’t like applying and removing makeup multiple times a day—it was bad for her skin. Wanting to stay pretty is understandable…"
"About five years ago, Principal Zheng’s wife passed away from illness. From then on, Tracy grew very close to him. But none of us expected she’d end up as his office secretary."
Tracy had no qualifications for the secretary role.
But she was young and beautiful, while Principal Zheng was twenty years her senior.
"A few times, Tracy left work in Principal Zheng’s car."
"Once, she brought a friend to enroll, and when her friend complained about the price, Tracy called Principal Zheng right away—he gave her a 50% discount on the spot. Even the best discount we instructors could offer was only 20%! Tracy acted like she owned the place."
"I think she really wanted to become Mrs. Zheng, but Principal Zheng probably had no intention of remarrying. Plus, his children would never accept such a young stepmother… So things just dragged on."
Someone lowered their voice: "Principal Zheng’s skills—business-wise, everyone knows how successful Feiman Beauty Academy is. But after seeing how he was with Tracy, I realized that beneath the suit, he was no different from any other lecherous old man."
The comment was harsh, and the other instructors fell silent.
Zhu Qing asked, "How did Zhan Weiqiang react when Tracy got close to Principal Zheng?"
The instructors thought for a moment but couldn’t recall.
"Not sure—it was years ago, and they weren’t exactly broadcasting it."
"Whether it was Tracy with Principal Zheng or with Ah Qiang, they kept things quiet."
"Madam, why are you asking… You don’t think Tracy and Ah Qiang killed Principal Zheng, do you?"
……
When Zhan Weiqiang and Tracy were brought to the Yau Ma Tei Police Station, they were both shocked and vehemently denied any involvement in Zheng Shihong’s murder.
"We’re not accusing you of murder," Uncle Li said. "Just assisting with the investigation."
They ran into each other at the hallway corner near the interrogation rooms—first startled, then glaring at one another with unmistakable hostility.
As if they shared some deep-seated grudge.
In separate interrogation rooms, harsh lights shone on Tracy and Zhan Weiqiang’s faces.
Tracy leaned forward, hands pressed on the table, her voice shrill and shaky with panic.
"It’s really not me! How could I kill anyone?"
"Fine, Shihong and I… but neither of us was married. We were just dating!"
"Besides, we were about to break up anyway."
"Why?"
"Shihong was stingy. After all this time, he wouldn’t even buy me a pearl necklace."
"Even when I went to his place, the most he’d do was cook me a steak. Once, it got late, and I stayed over. I thought, why not just move in? But he wouldn’t even give me a key."
"I wanted to end things, but this job pays well and is easy. With my education, I’d never find anything better, so…"
"So—" Xu Jiale cut in, leaning over the table, "you killed him."
Tracy’s jaw dropped. She hadn’t expected every word she said to be twisted into a motive.
Tears welled in her voice as she protested, "No! I could never… And didn’t you say this was a serial killing? How could I pull that off? Sir, I swear I didn’t do it!"
"It must’ve been Ah Qiang! He’s held a grudge against Shihong for ages over lost kickbacks. They had a huge fight that day—why aren’t you investigating him?"
Meanwhile, Uncle Li stood behind the one-way glass, arms crossed, shaking his head in amusement.
"Is Jiale practicing interrogation tactics?"
"Waste of time," Mo Zhenbang muttered, pulling out a cigarette. "No way it’s her."
On the other side, Zhan Weiqiang was far calmer.
The shrewd market procurement director had seen it all—even under police scrutiny, he showed no fear.
About his relationship with Tracy, Zhan Weiqiang said there was nothing to hide. Back then, they were both young and hit it off immediately. It was sweet at first, but later, he discovered she was already married back home. Apparently, she and her husband had an unspoken agreement to see other people while apart.
Zhan Weiqiang couldn’t accept it and had a falling out with her, cutting off all contact afterward. Who would’ve thought that not long after, Principal Zheng’s wife passed away, and Tracy ended up becoming his secretary—soon after, she divorced her husband.
“We were never going to last anyway. Look at how she left her husband for Principal Zheng. How could she ever have seen me as anything worthwhile?”
“I admit, I’ve argued with Principal Zheng before. Officer, is arguing against the law now?”
“What happened with Tracy is all in the past. Who hasn’t dated a few times? You think I’d kill Principal Zheng over her? Was she really that irresistible?”
“We’ve fought countless times over the years. If I wanted him dead, I would’ve done it long ago.”
Zhan Weiqiang recalled that day when he and Zheng Shihong had argued over issues with their cosmetics supplier.
It was the same old story—Principal Zheng accused him of being profit-driven, while he thought Zheng was stubborn and outdated.
The officer tapped the case file, pointing at the time noted. “Between 1:00 AM and 3:00 AM on July 19th, where were you, what were you doing, and who can verify your alibi?”
“Officer, use your brain before asking questions. We taxpayers work hard to pay your salaries.”
“At that hour? Obviously, I was sleeping. I’m a single man—who’s going to vouch for me?”
“If you didn’t kill anyone, why did you run?”
“You mean Lamma Island? I’d already scheduled a meeting to discuss product samples. Work comes first, so of course I left early. You think I—”
“When exactly was this meeting scheduled?” The officer slammed the interrogation table, his voice sharpening. “We checked with Liyan Cosmetics on Lamma Island. There’s no record of your appointment. You went there on the spot that day!”
“Officer, I’m warning you—don’t play games.”
Zhan Weiqiang froze, his earlier bravado fading fast.
Later, he heard the officer repeat the same questions—where he was, what he was doing, who could confirm it—but for different times.
And those three timeframes matched the estimated times of death for the container factory foreman Ma Guohua, the breakfast stall owner Feng Yaowen, and the New View Hotel manager Zhang Zhiqiang.
……
Knock knock knock—
The sound of rapping interrupted the silence. Hao Zai and Zeng Yongshan peeked in first. “Inspector Mo.”
Mo Zhenbang looked up to see a third face—Zhu Qing.
Uncle Li smirked.
Had the Ice Queen finally learned to blend in with the team?
“Inspector Mo, we’ve found the connection between the victims—Ma Guohua, Feng Yaowen, Zhang Zhiqiang—and Zhan Weiqiang.”
“Before Zhan Weiqiang worked at Manfei International Beauty Academy, he was a masseur at ‘Golden Pond Sauna.’”
Hao Zai handed Mo Zhenbang a copy of Zhan Weiqiang’s masseur license.
Seven years ago, Zhan Weiqiang had worked as a masseur at Golden Pond Sauna in Causeway Bay.
“Zhu Qing and I just spoke to the families of Ma Guohua and Feng Yaowen,” Zeng Yongshan added. “Seven years ago, Ma Guohua was still hauling cargo at the container factory, and Feng Yaowen spent hours kneading dough for his stall. Both were regulars at Golden Pond Sauna.”
Golden Pond Sauna had expanded over the years, cycling through staff, and the former supervisor no longer remembered Ma Guohua or Feng Yaowen clearly. But she vividly recalled the third victim—Zhang Zhiqiang, manager of New View Hotel.
“That day, Zhang Zhiqiang came to Golden Pond Sauna and initially wanted a female masseuse. He was… handsy. Always crossing the line, making the women uncomfortable. Many refused to serve him, and the ones who didn’t mind were already busy.”
“So the supervisor sent Zhan Weiqiang instead. When Zhang Zhiqiang saw it was a man, he was already displeased. But with friends around, he didn’t make a scene—just nitpicked endlessly. Then he noticed Zhan Weiqiang’s name tag and mocked him, saying they both had ‘Qiang’ in their names, but their fates were worlds apart—one born to wealth, the other to a life of servitude. Zhan Weiqiang didn’t dare talk back, but later, Zhang Zhiqiang still complained, saying Zhan Weiqiang had a ‘disgusting scowl’ that ruined the experience. Zhan Weiqiang was fined—a whole night’s wages gone.”
“As for Ma Guohua and Feng Yaowen… who knows? But in the service industry, you meet all kinds. Maybe they’d also insulted Zhan Weiqiang at some point?”
This was the link between Zhan Weiqiang and the first three victims of the Rainy Night Serial Murders.
The fourth victim, Zheng Shihong, had an even deeper history with him. After quitting Golden Pond Sauna, Zhan Weiqiang tried switching careers—first learning makeup, but realizing he lacked talent, he ingratiated himself with Zheng Shihong, the beauty academy’s owner. Impressed, Zheng gave him a chance, letting him start at the bottom in procurement.
From there, he reinvented himself—from a lowly masseur to a car-owning, property-holding procurement director.
……
So far, Zhan Weiqiang had no alibi for any of the four murders.
When he learned the police had uncovered his past at Golden Pond Sauna, his expression darkened, and he fell silent for a long time.
After weeks of dead ends, the case was finally gaining traction. Mo Zhenbang’s furrowed brow relaxed slightly.
The officers at their desks debated Zhan Weiqiang’s motives.
“Honestly, not having an alibi isn’t that weird. At that hour, you’d be asleep… If I had to prove where I was, I’d only have my mom to vouch for me.”
“If it was about being looked down on, why wait years to act? That’s seven or eight years of resentment!”
“Just look at Zhan Weiqiang’s face—you can tell he’s petty. Every guy with those triangular eyes I’ve met has been vindictive.”
“Hey, since when are you a face reader?”
“That’s not the point! This guy’s driving a nice car now, everyone calls him ‘Boss Zhan.’ But back then? Humiliating. Maybe he just snapped and decided to wipe out everyone who ever disrespected him…”
“Those eyebrow razors—only a handful of places in Hong Kong sell them. And he had a whole box at home!”
“Yi Dongmei, the makeup instructor at the academy, said even makeup requires talent. Zhan Weiqiang had none. The way he ‘styled’ those victims… Manfei’s reputation would’ve tanked. Principal Zheng would’ve died all over again seeing that.”
With the breakthrough, the team’s mood lightened.
As they debated where to order afternoon tea, Uncle Li chuckled.
“Haven’t even had lunch, and you’re already planning snacks.”
“Should we just put in the food order now?”
“Finally, a chance to breathe—” Zeng Yongshan nudged Zhu Qing. “So, ready to buy that apartment?”
“Need to schedule a viewing with Agent Wang.”
Lately, Zhu Qing’s pager had been buzzing nonstop—half the messages from her kid begging her to come home, the other half from Agent Wang.
At first, she told Sheng Fang that to negotiate the best price, they should leave the real estate agent hanging. Now that the agent was being ignored, he grew increasingly anxious and kept lowering the price.
When this topic came up in the morning, the young master of the Sheng family was puzzled. The previously agreed "suicide price" had dropped even further? If they left the agent hanging longer, could it drop a few more floors?
Qing Zai explained that if they waited too long, the house might actually get bought by someone else.
At that, the little master fell into deep confusion, his bun-like face scrunching up as he shook his head. The adult world was just too hard to understand.
"Everyone's waiting in line. Even if the disciplinary force dormitory gets approved, it’ll take one or two months. And it’s not comfortable—tiny, shared with other colleagues, no privacy at all," Zeng Yongshan said. "Now, we can finally move to a bigger place!"
Zeng Yongshan’s workstation was right next to Zhu Qing’s.
A couple of days ago, when she saw Zeng calculating housing prices on paper, she knew the move was finally happening.
A few colleagues overheard their conversation and turned around in their seats.
"Moving to a bigger place is a happy occasion—you’ve got to treat us!"
"Can we throw a housewarming party at Zhu Qing’s place?"
"Count me in!"
"I’ll bring the beer!"
Zhu Qing froze. "No—"
"Those who don’t come have to treat the whole team to afternoon tea!" A cool little voice piped up from outside the CID room.
Zhu Qing: ?
All eyes swiveled toward the door.
Young Master Sheng strolled in with his hands behind his back, Aunt Ping hurrying after him, frantically gesturing apologies to everyone.
"Sorry, really sorry…" Aunt Ping waved her hands awkwardly, her face flushed with embarrassment.
Meanwhile, Sheng Fang had already reached his dazed niece.
Little Fang Fang announced, "Uncle’s here to visit!"
…
She wasn’t on a film set—what did he mean by "visit"?
Just as Zhu Qing was about to say that, the kid pulled a file folder from his backpack.
"Scatterbrain," he said seriously. "You forgot this."
Zhu Qing suspected that Young Master Sheng used all his cunning in outsmarting his niece.
As a potential target for the killer—being a "male"—Little Sheng Fang was determined to protect himself. But staying cooped up in a tiny apartment was suffocating, and the police academy’s training ground wasn’t fun either. At his size, the cadets might accidentally kick him flying—something his niece had teased him about during his last trip to the public showers.
What was the killer most afraid of?
The police, of course. The moment the little master remembered this, he slung on his backpack and had Aunt Ping take him straight to the Yau Ma Tei Police Station.
Who would dare lay a hand on him here?
Knowing he couldn’t show up empty-handed, Little Uncle Fang packed his backpack with toys—and his niece’s file folder.
She sometimes took it out, sometimes left it at home. Today, it was empty, so he slipped a bottle of ink inside as his excuse for showing up.
"Qing Qing," Aunt Ping said hesitantly, "you see…"
By then, Little Sheng Fang had already plopped himself into his niece’s chair.
His short legs dangled, not reaching the floor, as he swung them back and forth, adjusting the pose of an Iron Man action figure in his hands.
Right now, the usually cool and tough Iron Man… had his hands clasped together.
As if begging.
"…" Zhu Qing asked, "Does Iron Man know he’s helping a kid plead his case?"
The little one seemed to know exactly how to weaponize his charm.
Mimicking Iron Man, he pressed his chubby hands together, pouted, and blinked up at her with big, watery eyes.
"Let him stay," Zhu Qing relented. "Lunch is soon anyway."
Aunt Ping visibly relaxed.
The kid wouldn’t take up much space, but as an adult, she had no excuse to loiter at the station. Suddenly gifted with free time, she happily headed out to explore the area.
Before Zhu Qing could lay down any rules, Sheng Fang pressed a tiny finger to his lips.
"Qing Zai," he whispered in his baby voice. "Shhh."
When a case showed progress, Inspector Weng usually stayed away, only checking in via internal calls. Mo Zhenbang, however, rushed in and out multiple times, always clutching case files or witness statements.
Suddenly, he paused mid-stride, flipping through a transcript before calling over his shoulder, "What was the name of that worker from the New Territories North District United Hospital?"
"Zhu Daxiong," Zhu Qing answered. "The eyewitness in the first case."
"That’s the one." Mo Zhenbang said. "Call the hospital—see if he’s been discharged. Didn’t Zhu Daxiong see the killer’s back?"
In his statement, Zhu Daxiong claimed he’d witnessed the murder of foreman Ma Guohua.
The killer, interrupted before he could dispose of the body, had fled through the container factory’s back door—leaving only a hurried glimpse of his retreating figure.
A man roughly 170 cm tall, weighing about 75 kg.
Dressed in red.
Mo Zhenbang ordered, "Arrange an identification parade."
"Yessir!"
Suspect Zhan Weiqiang matched the description perfectly—height, weight, everything.
The identification procedure involved lining up six to eight people with similar builds, each labeled with a number, while the witness observed from behind one-way glass.
Uncle Li couldn’t help reminiscing.
Finding matches for this description wouldn’t be hard. Back during a bank heist, the suspect was 190 cm tall—it took the Serious Crime Unit B an entire week to round up eight lookalikes.
"No need to recruit volunteers—we’ve got enough people in the station."
"Jie, you’re in."
"Call Traffic Team’s Inspector Chen—tell him I need to borrow someone."
"Get Calvin from Forensics to come too, but make sure he takes off his lab coat."
"Anyone else—"
At that moment, the little master’s head popped up.
He craned his neck, watching the officers organize the lineup, deep in thought.
Liang Qikai glanced over.
Who would’ve thought that the wealthy little master they’d briefly met at the villa would end up so intertwined with Zhu Qing? At least the usually stern Madam seemed softer around the kid—her eyes even showed emotion when she spoke to him.
Kids were naturally curious, always eager to join in.
Amused, Liang Qikai teased, "Want to sign up for the lineup too?"
"?" Sheng Fang gave him a look like he was an idiot. "Officer, I’m a child."
…
Little Sheng Fang kept a low profile in the CID room, careful not to draw attention from his niece’s superiors.
Otherwise, he’d just cause trouble for her.
Finally, it was lunchtime, and the little master became lively again, following Zhu Qing like a chirpy baby sparrow.
Sheng Fang was already familiar with the aunties at the police station canteen. He pressed his little hands against the glass counter, standing on tiptoe.
"Sister Xiao, long time no see!"
Sister Xiao grinned from ear to ear. "They call me Sister Xiao, but you should call me Auntie Xiao."
"No way! You’re way too young to be an auntie!" The little master of the Sheng family looked shocked, then asked, "Sister Xiao, do you have a kids' meal today?"
Most people eating at the police station canteen were staff. Even if children came to visit their parents, they usually just sat for a while or dragged their grown-ups to the tea restaurant around the corner for egg tarts at mealtime.
A kid like Sheng Fang? You could search the entire canteen and still only find him.
The first time the little one came, round-faced with eyes as bright as black grapes, standing in front of the counter, Sister Xiao was instantly charmed. That time, she had the kitchen whip up a special "kid's iced yuanyang" for him—extra condensed milk with a fluffy cloud of whipped cream on top. It was purely to make the child happy, not something they’d normally sell.
Now, on his third visit, not only was Sheng Fang as adorable as ever, but his sweet talk had also leveled up. The canteen ladies were utterly smitten. Sister Xiao turned toward the kitchen and called out, "Make a 'Badge Special Drink'!"
A few minutes later, Uncle Ming from the kitchen handed over the drink. "When I retire and open a dessert shop, I’m hiring this little guy as my spokesman."
Zhu Qing’s eyes widened.
The special drink had chilled fresh milk as the base, layered with chocolate, and a gold-dusted badge hanging from the straw.
This turned out to be a secret menu item—
The "Badge Special Drink."
The kitchen aunties said generously, "This one’s on Sister Xiao."
The little niece stared at her uncle, forgetting to close her mouth.
He took the cup with both hands. "Thank you, Sister Xiao! When I grow up, I’ll treat you to tea!"
The little boy carried his drink and confidently took his usual seat.
His niece was still ordering, while Uncle Fangfang dangled his little feet in the air, happily slurping his special drink.
The kitchen was efficient—the police canteen turned over tables in ten minutes flat. Zhu Qing was also in a hurry to get back to work on the case.
In the original storyline, was it because Zhan Weiqiang wasn’t arrested that the tragedy in the Zeng family happened?
And what about the emphasis on "red clothing" in that case? So far, the color of the killer’s clothes didn’t seem to have any bearing on the crime. Was that detail in the original plot just unnecessary?
Lost in these thoughts as she turned with her tray, Zhu Qing accidentally bumped into someone.
"Madam, watch where you’re going."
Cheng Xinglang was holding a sandwich—same as yesterday.
Zhu Qing apologized and stepped aside, then noticed the report in his other hand.
"Is that the forensics report for the Ma Guohua case?" She eyed the bold case name and number on the cover.
The container factory case from a year ago hadn’t been handled by Dr. Cheng back then.
Only after the cases were linked did he take over, and he’d found discrepancies in the data.
"I was just about to go see your boss, Mo Zhenbang," Cheng Xinglang said. "Comparing the ligature marks from the cases a year apart, the force applied was different."
Zhu Qing: "So the killer isn’t the same person?"
Cheng Xinglang flipped open the report. "The angles of the ligature marks in all four cases are nearly identical, and the rope thickness and texture impressions match. Logically, it should be the same person. But in the recent three cases, the marks are noticeably shallower than in Ma Guohua’s case."
"You mean—" Zhu Qing caught on immediately. "The killer got weaker?"
Why?
If it’s the same person… how did they lose so much strength in a year?
"Qing! Zi!" The little master suddenly popped up, snatching a steaming pineapple bun from the tray. "You can’t solve cases on an empty stomach—eat first, talk later!"
Then, with the air of someone who’d seen it all, the tiny elder said slowly—
"Probably lost weight. Like Marysa, always going on about keeping fit."
...
Ten minutes later, Team B colleagues started trickling down for lunch.
While ordering, they spotted three people at a corner table—Zhu Qing, forensic pathologist Dr. Cheng, and little Sheng Fang.
"The kid’s not wrong—"
Sheng Fang cut in, "Who’re you calling a kid?!"
"This young gentleman isn’t wrong," Dr. Cheng said. "It’s not about losing strength—it’s a significant change in body weight."
Zhu Qing understood. "Last year’s dock dumping case—I saw the photos during my police academy case study. Early tissue swelling, but after decomposition, muscle atrophy would’ve loosened the original bindings..."
Xu Jiale strained to listen. "Are they really talking about bloated corpses during lunch?"
"Won’t the kid get scared and cry?" Hao Zai said sympathetically.
Team B’s eyes turned to Sheng Fang again.
The child held his glass with one hand, took a delicate bite of the chocolate badge, and stuffed a milk-drenched French toast into his mouth with the other.
"Qing Zi, is a bloated corpse like blowing up a balloon?"
"Just eat."
Uncle Fangfang turned his head away.
Hmph. Munch munch munch.
