In the past, when Sheng Fang lived with the Sheng family, aside from attending classes, most of his time was spent in Marysa’s company. Marysa was plump, eating very little in the mornings and afternoons, but having a slightly larger portion for dinner. Then, just before bedtime, she would sneak into the kitchen, bring back a pile of snacks, and devour them ravenously.
Marysa was responsible for taking care of his daily needs, but the two of them rarely talked. The topic of weight loss was something he overheard during one of her phone calls. Because of the language barrier in the employer’s household, she often felt lonely and would secretly call her fellow domestic workers to chat.
At first, Marysa was cautious, afraid that being caught might cost her the job. Several times, while the young master was playing with his toys, she would cover the receiver and whisper, occasionally glancing at him from the corner of her eye. Only after confirming that the child didn’t seem to mind did she gradually become bolder, even laughing so hard at times that she had to stifle her giggles, her shoulders shaking exaggeratedly.
Marysa assumed Sheng Fang didn’t understand, but in truth, he knew everything. The butler was in charge of "managing" the household staff, and once, he had bent down in front of the young master to ask if he was satisfied with Marysa’s work or if she had been slacking off. The little master simply shook his head—because he liked listening to those warm, everyday conversations. They were lively, comforting sounds.
So, Sheng Fang knew what "weight loss" meant.
A sudden, noticeable change in weight, even a loss of strength—of course, it was because the culprit was "keeping fit"!
But this conversation didn’t seem like one meant for a child’s ears.
He didn’t understand.
As Sheng Fang ate his lunch, he listened to Zhu Qing and Doctor Cheng discussing keywords like "rigor mortis," "livor mortis," and "autopsy."
The child’s heart remained utterly unperturbed—in fact, he was even considering ordering another steak meal.
This was nothing out of the ordinary. After all, his uncle was a police officer.
Usually, during meals, his uncle would eat at a leisurely pace while Zhu Qing hurried him along. Though he still took his time, seeing his niece so impatient made the elder feel obliged to lecture her a little—it was only natural to worry. But today, Zhu Qing scored full marks for behavior. Her attention was entirely on Doctor Cheng’s report. With one hand holding a spoon, she absentmindedly shoveled forkfuls of barbecued pork fried rice into her mouth, finishing the entire plate without realizing it.
As he put down his fork, Sheng Fang glanced at the clock on the canteen wall. He didn’t want to go back with Aunt Ping. Instead, he schemed to stick close to Zhu Qing, hoping he wouldn’t be noticed! The child zipped his lips shut, not only keeping his mouth tightly closed but also tiptoeing lightly to minimize his presence.
Doctor Cheng had to deliver the report to Inspector Mo anyway, so the three of them walked together. When the doctor noticed the little shadow trailing behind them, he was about to say something—
Sheng Fang instantly widened his eyes.
Though small, his aura was formidable. He brandished a tiny fist in mock intimidation, "scaring" Cheng Xinglang into silence, who then pressed his lips together in quiet amusement.
As for Zhu Qing, the moment she returned to her desk, she immediately shared the information she’d just gotten from Doctor Cheng with Zeng Yongshan.
The original female lead reacted swiftly: "I’ll call my mom."
Before long, Mo Zhenbang stepped out of his office.
Zeng Yongshan shot up from her seat: "My mom says Zhan Weiqiang’s physique hasn’t changed much over the years."
Yi Dongmei had been Zhan Weiqiang’s colleague for many years. Though they weren’t close, she had witnessed his rise from nothing to his current success.
In her memory, his build had remained largely the same all this time. The only noticeable change was his face—it looked much more refined now. According to Teacher Yi, after entering this industry, Zhan Weiqiang began paying attention to his appearance, shaping his eyebrows, filling them in every morning before heading out, and clipping his car keys to his belt—the very image of a successful man.
"So, within the past year, the suspect’s weight hasn’t fluctuated significantly."
Mo Zhenbang turned to Cheng Xinglang: "Doctor Cheng, aside from changes in the perpetrator’s weight, are there other possible explanations for the varying depths of the ligature marks?"
"There are many possibilities."
Cheng Xinglang explained that a killer’s first murder differed from their later, more practiced crimes. The ligature marks in later cases might be shallower because the perpetrator had realized this method was more efficient. Alternatively, the earlier killings might have been driven by deep-seated hatred—revenge killings—while later, the killer’s mindset grew numb, prioritizing speed.
Everyone’s first thought was the current prime suspect, Zhan Weiqiang.
Four consecutive murders, each victim brutally killed, their corpses meticulously adorned with makeup…
Xu Jiale, sitting on his desk, mused: "Teacher Yi said Zhan Weiqiang has no talent for makeup but is quite skilled at shaping eyebrows. Could it be that he didn’t want to reveal this, so he simply shaved off the victims’ eyebrows?"
These were matters for the police to investigate. Doctor Cheng had already done his part by delivering the report.
Before leaving, he added: "But I still believe the likelier explanation is that the killer’s weight changed significantly over the past year."
Mo Zhenbang reopened the report.
The first thing he saw were the photos of the ligature marks on the victims’ necks—their positions and angles were strikingly similar. But earlier, in his office, Doctor Cheng had insisted that after comparing them with the case from a year ago, he’d noticed a difference. The earlier marks suggested the killer had used his full body weight to press down, while the three recent cases showed signs of horizontal dragging, indicating the killer might no longer have been able to overpower his victims with sheer weight.
Of course, these were subtle distinctions.
They could only serve as Doctor Cheng’s professional opinion, not as concrete evidence.
"Everyone, compile the information you have," Mo Zhenbang said. "Meeting in three minutes."
When Inspector Mo said "three minutes," he really meant "now." The officers, efficient as ever, grabbed their files and followed him to the conference room.
Zhu Qing still had to deal with the visiting child. Just as she was about to ask Inspector Mo for a few extra minutes, her little uncle waved her off, giving her a thumbs-up and an "all good" gesture.
"Really, I’m leaving?" Zhu Qing pointed toward the conference room.
"No problem!"
Zhu Qing quickened her pace to catch up with the others. Hao Zai, covering his mouth with one hand, whispered to her:
"Earlier, Inspector Mo asked why that kid was hiding under the desk, thinking he couldn’t see him."
"He saw?"
"Don’t tell me you thought he couldn’t see either!"
With a "bang," the conference room door swung shut.
Sheng Fang, hands clasped behind his back, stood solemnly at his post—
He wasn’t a nuisance. He was a reliable little uncle.
The first case little Sheng Fang encountered during his solo patrol duty was the "Aunt Ping Picks Up the Young Master" incident.
Aunt Ping arrived, coaxing and cajoling the child to follow her home.
Sheng Fang waved his hand dismissively: "You can go now."
"Will Zhu Qing agree to this?" Aunt Ping still seemed uneasy.
The young master of the Sheng family looked utterly baffled.
What kind of joke was this? Of course, he’d listen to his uncle.
Fangfang nodded earnestly: "Yeah!"
Finally, Aunt Ping headed back to the mansion—on the clock—while Sheng Fang lounged comfortably in his workstation.
This West Kowloon Serious Crimes Unit was now his domain!
...
The day seemed to pass unusually quickly.
By 5 p.m., the niece and her little uncle were finally off duty.
As they left the office, debating what to have for dinner, young Fangfang solemnly informed Zhu Qing that he absolutely refused to eat the rock-hard vegetable stems from the police academy cafeteria again.
Before Zhu Qing could respond, a commotion erupted from around the corner.
"Officer, my son barely touched him—he fell on his own! How is that our fault?"
"Fighting is illegal. Your son hit someone, and that’s wrong. Look at the bruise on my daughter’s face! What if it scars?"
"Who knows if that bruise is even fresh? Their daughter runs around all day like some tomboy—"
"Excuse me? Who are you calling a tomboy?"
The voices spilled out from the report room, where an officer in uniform massaged his temples and stepped out, running into Zhu Qing and Sheng Fang.
Though the station was large, colleagues usually crossed paths often enough to recognize each other.
The officer sighed. "Parents of middle school kids. Their children got into a fight, things escalated at the principal’s office, and now they’ve brought it here."
Zhu Qing peeked inside—the scene was heated. "Looks like overtime tonight."
"Tell me about it," the officer muttered before hurrying off. "Madam, I’ll get back to it."
Inside the report room, the ceiling fan spun lazily. Sheng Fang craned his neck, about to follow the officer inside to clock in, when Zhu Qing yanked him back.
The parents’ bickering continued, a relentless back-and-forth that droned like a mantra in their ears.
Zhu Qing stifled a yawn. Training at the police academy and actual fieldwork were worlds apart. At the academy, exhaustion was purely physical. Now, her mind was constantly racing, occasionally short-circuiting from the strain.
"Qing, the braised pork at the academy cafeteria was terrible. I hated it."
"And the rice—sometimes mushy, sometimes hard. Do they even use fresh rice?"
The young master, having bottled up his complaints all day, finally let them spill out.
Zhu Qing half-listened, her tense nerves gradually unwinding.
"Qing, what if I get into a fight with another kid at kindergarten?"
"Depends whose fault it is."
"Obviously theirs!"
"Then hit back."
"But what if their parents come after you?"
"Adults fight adults. Kids fight kids."
Sheng Fang’s face lit up with understanding.
He’d handle the kids; Zhu Qing would handle their parents.
Zhu Qing suddenly snapped out of her daze—
No, no. She’d accidentally spoken her mind.
You can’t teach a little troublemaker like that!
...
Zhu Daxiong, the eyewitness who’d seen the murderer at the container yard a year ago, arrived alone at the Yau Ma Tei Police Station early the next morning.
His leg injury hadn’t fully healed, and he hobbled in on crutches.
The officer asked, "Why didn’t you bring a family member?"
Zhu Daxiong forced a bitter smile. "Everyone’s busy trying to make a living."
After getting injured at the construction site, his foreman had grudgingly tossed him the medical fees—literally. The bills had slapped his face before fluttering to the ground.
Now, his wife Su Jinhao was the sole breadwinner, pushing a rickety food cart between construction sites and docks to sell boxed meals. His hand instinctively brushed his empty pocket, his expression heavy with worry.
Before leaving home, his wife had pressed him repeatedly—would identifying the suspect put them in danger? Now, Zhu Daxiong hesitated before awkwardly voicing his concern. Fortunately, the officer didn’t laugh but patiently explained the concept of one-way glass.
"This is the lineup identification room. See that glass? You can see through it, but the suspects only see a mirror. Don’t worry—it’s completely safe."
Zhu Daxiong took a deep breath. "Officer, I’m ready."
At Uncle Li’s signal, the lineup began.
Officers from Team B stood behind the one-way glass, watching for Zhu Daxiong’s reaction as he scrutinized the suspects.
Xu Jiale pointed at their colleague Jie and teased, "I always knew his ‘six-foot’ claim was fake. Those insoles add a good three inches."
"You only noticed now? Last time at Inspector Mo’s hot pot party, when he took off his shoes, I had to look down to talk to him," Hao Zai chimed in. "We could sell those insoles as height boosters."
The lighthearted banter eased Zhu Daxiong’s tension.
But after several rounds of scrutinizing, beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He shook his head helplessly.
"Officer…" he said, "It was too dark that night. I didn’t get a clear look."
The rain had been heavy, the sky pitch-black. Zhu Daxiong had only caught a fleeting glimpse of a figure darting away.
Now, eight men stood with their backs to him, arranged meticulously for this procedure. He wanted to help—to crack the high-profile serial murder case splashed across the news—but the harder he tried, the blurrier the silhouettes became.
"Relax," Zeng Yongshan encouraged. "Try recalling—did the killer have any distinctive traits?"
"He…" Zhu Daxiong racked his brain, the furrows on his brow deepening.
He closed his eyes.
In his memory: torrential rain, the crisp, rhythmic patter of droplets, a fleeing figure.
"I remember… the killer ran lightly, but his movements were… off somehow." His voice trailed off, frustration evident.
With little schooling, even describing the suspect’s gait was a struggle. His words came out jumbled, contradictory.
Uncle Li raised an eyebrow and signaled an officer, who nodded.
Minutes later, the eight men adjusted their strides—some speeding up, others altering their arm swings.
Zhu Daxiong stood frozen, lost in thought.
Time stretched endlessly before he finally released the crumpled paper cup in his hand. "I can’t help you… The rain that night was just too heavy."
The officers exchanged glances, their disappointment unspoken but palpable. Even their sighs were subdued.
Zhu Daxiong looked apologetic.
"It's alright." Inspector Mo motioned toward the door with his chin. "Zhu Qing, please escort Mr. Zhu out."
...
It was Zhu Qing who walked Zhu Daxiong out of the police station.
She remembered that during their last meeting at the hospital for his statement, his leg injury had been worse, but his spirits had been much higher. Now, Zhu Daxiong’s eyes were dull and lost, as if he had no idea how to face the days ahead.
"Take care."
Zhu Daxiong nodded and descended the steps of the police station building.
Zhu Qing was just as bewildered.
This serial murder case on rainy nights was full of inconsistencies. The evidence seemed to point to Zhan Weiqiang, yet too many details didn’t add up upon closer inspection.
The killer’s fleeing figure had been swift but oddly uncoordinated...
Could it be that Zhan Weiqiang had deliberately concealed his usual running posture in the identification room?
Zhu Qing returned to the CID office with a head full of questions. The moment she pushed open the door, she felt the oppressive atmosphere hanging between the workstations.
She shot Zeng Yongshan a questioning glance. The team’s little ray of sunshine just shrugged and spread her hands, looking thoroughly frustrated.
Mo Zhenbang announced that they had finally uncovered the truth.
Zhan Weiqiang’s sudden escape to Lamma Island wasn’t just about negotiating a deal with Liyan Cosmetics—more importantly, it was about taking kickbacks. The company didn’t meet the standards for collaboration with the Feiman International Beauty Academy, yet he had vouched for them to their representatives. The answer was obvious—he wasn’t playing fair.
"Zhan Weiqiang was pulling strings behind the scenes," Liang Qikai said. "That’s why he didn’t dare admit it."
Uncle Li rubbed his temples, torn between amusement and exasperation. "This guy’s got some nerve, embezzling company funds. The bank records and financial statements we pulled show several unaccounted transactions."
On the day of the incident, Principal Zheng had discovered the discrepancies in the accounts. After everyone else had left, he called Zhan Weiqiang into his office for a talk.
Panicked, Zhan Weiqiang fled to Lamma Island at dawn, hoping to close the deal quickly and cover the missing funds.
Just then, new information came from the interrogation room. An officer rushed in with another crucial lead from the suspect, Zhan Weiqiang.
"Zhan Weiqiang suddenly remembered that on the night of Zheng Shihong’s murder, he received a wrong-number call. It was so late, and the caller had dialed incorrectly. At the time, he was irritated and even cursed at them... He suspects his home answering machine might have recorded the conversation."
"If we retrieve that recording, Zhan Weiqiang will have a solid alibi."
Zhu Qing returned to her desk, the paper cup in her hand still steaming.
She had only stepped out to escort a witness and stopped by the break room for water—yet in that brief time, the case had taken a complete turn.
Several officers felt both bitter and resentful. Zhan Weiqiang had kept silent, forcing them to scramble, uncovering the embezzlement and coordinating with the beauty academy’s finance department—only to clear his name in the end.
"Look on the bright side," Zhu Qing said. "Embezzlement is still a crime."
Zheng Yongshan clenched her fists, gritting her teeth. "We’ll nail him for that!"
...
The police worked on evidence, and with Zhan Weiqiang’s alibi confirmed, his case would now be handed over to the Commercial Crime Bureau for further investigation.
He clung to a sliver of hope, thinking that if he cooperated fully, the embezzlement might be overlooked—after all, Principal Zheng was dead. When questioned again about his past as a masseur at "Golden Pool Sauna," Zhan Weiqiang no longer resisted. He racked his memory until Inspector Mo described the third victim, Zhang Zhiqiang—and then it hit him.
The news had been covering the serial killings daily, but Zhan Weiqiang hadn’t paid much attention to the victims’ identities. Only now did he realize that one of them was the same man who had once made his life miserable at the sauna.
"I remember him now," Zhan Weiqiang said, suddenly enlightened. "I had no idea it was him."
The deceased, Zhang Zhiqiang, had always been arrogant, his condescending demeanor unforgettable. Years ago, he had pointed at Zhan Weiqiang’s nose and barked orders in the sauna. That day, Zhan Weiqiang’s pride had been shattered, and he vowed never to endure such humiliation again—prompting him to quit his job and change careers.
But he had no recollection of Ma Guohua or Feng Yaowen.
Hong Kong was small, and though this former suspect had crossed paths with them, he couldn’t even remember serving them.
"Sir, I’ve told you so much—does that make me a—" Zhan Weiqiang struggled for the word, then it came to him. "A cooperating witness!"
Uncle Li scoffed. "That’s not how cooperating witnesses work."
No amount of pleading would help. If you broke the law, you faced the consequences.
...
Only by identifying a suspect could they proceed, ultimately determining the connections between the suspect and the four victims.
Once again, the investigation hit a dead end. But the police wouldn’t just sit around waiting.
In the conference room, Inspector Mo and his team meticulously combed through every detail and lead.
The victims’ photos were pinned to the four corners of the whiteboard, connected by lines. The commonalities between them were few—the most obvious being that they were all around the same age.
The interrogation of Zhan Weiqiang was temporarily over, but the investigation wasn’t. They couldn’t rely solely on his testimony. Beyond archiving the bank records and academy finances, they needed to search his residence again and retrieve the phone recording.
"If one angle doesn’t work, shift to another," Mo Zhenbang said. "I’ve never seen a perfect crime."
He divided the files into four stacks, assigning tasks to each officer.
They would investigate every aspect of the victims’ lives. Within forty-eight hours, he wanted a breakthrough.
Zhu Qing and Liang Qikai were assigned to Principal Zheng’s case.
On their way downstairs, Liang Qikai flipped through the file containing Zheng Shihong’s home address.
"Of the four victims, Zheng Shihong was the most well-off. Twenty years ago, when most people were struggling to pay their children’s tuition, he had already sent both his son and daughter abroad for higher education."
"They settled overseas, got married, had kids... The last time they returned was five years ago, for their mother’s funeral."
"We just got in touch with Zheng Shihong’s children. They’ll need time to arrange their lives and work before flying back. At the earliest, they should arrive in the next couple of days."
After his wife’s passing, Zheng Shihong had lived alone. His romantic life was simple—aside from his discreet relationship with Tracy, there were no rumors of other entanglements.
"Did we get the keys to his place?" Zhu Qing asked.
"The vice principal has a spare key," Liang Qikai said. "Tracy tried every trick in the book, even flirting shamelessly, but couldn't get her hands on his house keys. Who would've thought he'd casually leave them with the vice principal?"
Since they had access to a key, there was no need to break in. But first, they had to visit Feiman Academy to retrieve it from the vice principal.
Just as they stepped out of the police station, Zhu Qing spotted a familiar little figure.
"Young master, you said we were going to Yau Ma Tei's Wing Fat Department Store to buy a new schoolbag. Why are we at the police station again...?"
"It's on the way!"
"Qingqing is busy with her investigation. Let's not bother her, alright?"
Sheng Fang waved his hand dismissively. "Aunt Ping, assisting the police is every citizen's duty."
"Why don't we wait until she finishes work? Wing Fat is having a student summer sale today—buy glow-in-the-dark sneakers and get a stationery set for free." Aunt Ping pulled out a flyer she’d just received.
Inspector Liang noticed the shift in Zhu Qing’s expression—her usual aloof demeanor softening slightly, replaced by a faint warmth.
"Qingqing!" Sheng Fang spotted his niece immediately and came bounding over, his little legs carrying him as fast as they could.
His niece already towered over him, and now, standing on the police station steps, he had to crane his neck just to look up at her.
But he never expected that his tiny, soft, and utterly harmless appearance would melt her ironclad resolve.
"We’ll wrap up after visiting the victim’s house," Zhu Qing said to Aunt Ping. "Let him tag along."
Fireworks of joy exploded in little Sheng Fang’s heart.
Aunt Ping, however, felt like a boulder had settled in her chest. She apologized repeatedly. She was getting on in years, and her mind didn’t work as quickly as the young master’s. Before she knew it, she’d been sweet-talked into standing right outside the Yau Ma Tei Police Station.
Tomorrow… she swore she wouldn’t let the young master set foot near Yau Ma Tei again!
……
Zhu Qing noticed that despite being spoiled and having short little legs, Sheng Fang never once complained when he wanted to go somewhere—even if he had to trot along, breathless, to keep up.
The three of them headed to the beauty academy to retrieve the key.
Seeing the young master panting, Liang Qikai suggested they wait outside while he ran in alone.
Zhu Qing bought Sheng Fang a bottle of water and, while twisting off the cap, asked, "Don’t you have a little water bottle?"
On her way home from work, she often saw kindergarten kids on the streets—each wearing bright round hats and carrying cartoon-themed water bottles on their tiny shoulders.
But the young master of the Sheng family was too cool for that.
He turned his head away, as if such childish things were beneath him.
Zhu Qing handed him the opened bottle and lightly tapped his forehead.
"Is that Zhu Qing?" A voice called out. She turned to see Zeng Yongshan’s mother, Yi Dongmei, leaning out from the driver’s seat of her car.
Zeng Yongshan always came home from work with endless stories. After the "Furnace Skeleton Case" was closed, Yi Dongmei had heard about the wealthy Sheng family’s drama from her daughter. Now, spotting Sheng Fang, she immediately recognized him as the rumored young master.
The child studied the unfamiliar woman with a curious tilt of his head, his expression innocent.
"Auntie," Zhu Qing greeted her.
Yi Dongmei rested her hands on the steering wheel. When Zhu Qing mentioned they were there to retrieve Principal Zheng’s spare key, she sighed. "I heard that key sat in the vice principal’s drawer for three whole years. Principal Zheng lived alone—he wanted someone to check on him if his health ever failed. The vice principal never used it… until now, for a murder investigation."
Zhu Qing: "We’re hoping to find useful clues."
Yi Dongmei nodded. "By the way, Yongshan just asked me about Ah Qiang’s weight loss… Has she told you?"
Before Zhu Qing could answer, a sharp honk erupted from behind.
Yi Dongmei’s car was blocking the only exit. In the rearview mirror, Teacher Zhang from the car behind glared impatiently.
She started the engine and snapped, "I heard you!" before driving off, calling out for Zhu Qing to visit for dinner sometime.
Zhu Qing kept a close eye on the original female lead’s family, checking daily whether her father and brother had returned from their business trip.
She didn’t know when this case would end.
All she wanted was to prevent the looming tragedy.
……
Principal Zheng’s house was just a short walk from the academy.
At this point, Sheng Fang had an opinion to share: See? Principal Zheng was just as smart as them—he knew better than to live too far from work.
This was the first time the police had entered Zheng Shihong’s home.
The spacious house was immaculate—not a single coat tossed carelessly on the sofa. The bathroom held women’s toiletries, confirming Tracy’s claim that she occasionally stayed over. His taste in luxury was meticulous—Liang Qikai crouched by the TV cabinet, marveling at an antique record player.
"This is a collector’s item. Priceless nowadays."
"And the records are all rare editions… Did Zheng Shihong really have anything in common with Tracy?"
In the interrogation room, Tracy had called him stingy.
Clearly, the principal’s generosity was selective.
Sheng Fang knew this was the home of a serial murder victim.
But the child was unfazed, treating it like a casual visit.
He wandered around, drawing inspiration from the high-end furnishings, mentally noting what to add to his and Zhu Qing’s future home.
"Qingqing, should we get a bread maker?"
After lingering in the kitchen, he circled the breakfast bar.
A coffee machine was also a must. His old home in Mid-Levels had one—his brother-in-law drank that black liquid daily. Adults called it rich and aromatic; to a child, it just smelled awful. But he’d seen Zhu Qing drink it too… so maybe it was worth considering.
"Qingqing, do you know about coffee machines?"
Zhu Qing poked her head out from Zheng Shihong’s bedroom. "He has an impressive collection of cameras and video recorders."
Liang Qikai joined her. "Principal Zheng’s hobbies don’t come cheap."
Sheng Fang scampered in, his short legs kicking excitedly.
Cameras and recorders? The electronics store had those.
Principal Zheng loved cutting-edge gadgets.
But as his colleagues had mentioned, he was also sentimental.
Under his bed, Zhu Qing and Liang Qikai uncovered six thick photo albums.
They flipped through the pages casually. Even in his youth, he had loved taking photos. Back then, Principal Zheng had been scholarly and refined, much like the dignified air he carried now. The engagement and wedding photos of Zheng Shihong and his wife were carefully preserved in the album, followed by snapshots of their children being born one after another. The camera seemed to capture those precious moments with affection, freezing them in time.
Inspector Mo laid out clear instructions: the B-team officers were to work in pairs, thoroughly investigating the victims' social connections, movements, and financial transactions—no detail was to be overlooked. Zhu Qing and Liang Qikai weren’t sure if these six photo albums would be of any use, but they took them along anyway.
"Six albums, three each," Liang Qikai joked. "Think you can finish going through them in one night?"
Aside from the albums, there were also dozens of videotapes.
Each tape would have to be scrutinized frame by frame to confirm whether they contained any footage—now that was a monumental task.
Zhu Qing’s tiny apartment didn’t have a VCR, so she took all six albums with her. The job of reviewing the tapes fell to Liang Qikai.
"That’s heavy—can you manage?" He stepped forward.
Zhu Qing hoisted the six thick albums into her arms, swaying slightly under their weight.
"Of course." Sheng Fang lifted his chin proudly. "What do you take me for?"
His niece was a powerhouse!
Zhu Qing steadied herself immediately.
Her little uncle had already boasted about her—she couldn’t back down now.
……
The niece’s workload for the evening was already clearly laid out.
Six photo albums, from which she had to extract clues—there wouldn’t be a second to spare.
But her little uncle still found ways to add to her tasks. The moment they stepped out of Principal Zheng’s house, he held up Zhu Qing’s pager.
"Qing Zai, it’s been buzzing nonstop!"
The ever-vigilant Madam was struggling under the weight of the six albums, her hands too full to check her own pockets.
When had this kid even swiped her pager?
Not far from Principal Zheng’s home, there was a red phone booth at the street corner. After parting ways with Liang Qikai, the uncle-niece pair headed there to return the call.
Sheng Fang made another mental note.
Their new home had to have a landline installed!
On the other end of the line, the real estate agent who received Zhu Qing’s call was overjoyed. With his silver tongue, he waxed poetic about the apartment, making it sound like heaven on earth.
Sheng Fang stood on tiptoe, straining his ears to catch the conversation, his little heart pounding in his throat.
"Buy it!" the young master whispered urgently. "Qing Zai, buy it!"
"What’s the lowest price you can offer?" Zhu Qing asked coolly.
Sheng Fang’s eyes widened, his hands planted on his hips as he shook his head like a rattle-drum.
No lower—it was already a steal! Any cheaper and they’d lose it to someone else!
The kid was being a nuisance. Zhu Qing pressed a hand to his head to keep him from bouncing around.
The little uncle nodded and shook his head in turns, but soon heard his niece deliver an even firmer response.
"At that price, we’re not interested."
The little dumpling of an uncle could hardly believe it. He slumped against the phone booth, sliding down in despair.
His niece—now with a wealthy mother and uncle—seemed to keep forgetting it.
Qing Zai was used to it. For twenty years, she’d been on her own, working hard to get by. There was nothing wrong with that—
But their almost-new home was slipping through their fingers!
The child was overcome with grief, sticking a finger in his ear to block out the sound of his heart breaking.
Meanwhile, his other hand idly flipped through the neatly stacked albums Zhu Qing had placed on the ground.
Even a kid wasn’t interested in everything.
Sheng Fang leafed through the pages absentmindedly, one after another, just as Zhu Qing hung up with a decisive click.
He turned his head toward her.
"Tentative contract signing on Wednesday," Zhu Qing declared breezily. "We’re only paying 90% of market price."
She crouched to gather the six albums again, tidying up the mess the kid had left behind.
As she pushed open the phone booth door, Sheng Fang’s excited little voice piped up behind her.
"We’re signing?"
"We’re buying it?"
"Qing Zai, you’re amazing!"
Zhu Qing walked ahead, closing the open album. "Find the minibus stop."
Little Fang Fang responded with gusto: "Yes, madam!"
The corner of Zhu Qing’s lips curled unconsciously—but then her movements froze.
She suddenly bent down, flipping the album back to the page Sheng Fang had been looking at.
Zhu Qing saw a group photo.
There were at least fifty people in it, the scene lively and playful, with colorful balloons floating in the air.
At first glance, her eyes landed on breakfast shop owner Feng Yaowen, seated expressionlessly in a corner. Just as she wondered why Feng Yaowen would appear in Zheng Shihong’s album, she spotted Ma Guohua, Zhang Zhiqiang…
Ma Guohua—the victim from the container factory—was adjusting balloons in the background, half his body leaning into the frame, his palm upturned as if he were about to lose his balance.
Zhang Zhiqiang, the manager of New View Hotel, looked much slimmer in his youth, sitting casually on the steps with one knee bent.
Finally, she found Zheng Shihong in the group photo.
He seemed to have been pulled into the shot last-minute, still turned toward a corner, mid-conversation, something dangling from his mouth.
The sunlight was harsh. Zhu Qing leaned closer and finally saw it clearly.
Between his lips was an unfinished cigarette—exactly like the scene of Principal Zheng’s death in the rainy night serial killings.
In fact, every victim’s death pose matched their stance in this old photo.
The killer had meticulously arranged the bodies after committing the crimes.
Replicating every detail from the photograph.
Zhu Qing’s fingers tightened around the edge of the album, lost in thought for a long moment.
She was about to ask the kid if he’d found the bus stop when she noticed he’d already slipped away, sneaking toward the roadside without her noticing.
Little Fang Fang stood on tiptoe, arms raised in a silent, exaggerated wave, mouthing the words: "Taxi—!"
