Clever Uncle Sheng Fang’s task was to find the minibus stop, but instead, he simply stood by the roadside and hailed a passing taxi.
When the taxi stopped beside him, Sheng Fang opened the door, slipped into the back seat first, then patted the empty spot beside him, calling his niece to get in.
Once the uncle and niece were seated, the young master said, “Huangzhukeng Police Academy, drive on.”
Such a little master’s demeanor was just like the old days when he used to give orders to his own driver.
Zhu Qing no longer needed to lug around a photo album as tall as a small mountain, hopping from one minibus to another. When the children genuinely exclaimed, “Finally, we’re back to the good life,” she wholeheartedly agreed.
Throwing herself into the comfortable leather seat, with no bustling noise in her ears, the car didn’t stop and start intermittently, nor did she have to count stops and ask the driver to pull over first, then rush like a commando to another minibus stop to queue again.
Unintentionally, Zhu Qing’s gaze fell on the taxi meter inside the car. The numbers kept ticking up, and each tick wasn’t just a digit—it was painful cash slipping away.
Zhu Qing didn’t look out the window; her eyes remained fixed on the meter.
Until a pair of warm, chubby little hands covered her eyes.
Uncle Sheng Fang had long noticed that his niece always forgot that times had changed.
A three-and-a-half-year-old child couldn’t spout profound philosophical words, and when switching to educational mode, he couldn’t persuade Zhu Qing with long lectures either. He simply used the simplest language to emphasize the fact and put her at ease.
“Qingzi, we’re rich!”
From the driver’s seat, the driver glanced up at them through the rearview mirror.
The last time he came back from halfway up the mountain carrying money, Sheng Fang had heard Zhu Qing say that wealth shouldn’t be flaunted. A little one carrying a fortune could easily become a target for robbery!
He had to protect himself and his niece.
The rich little uncle’s gaze met the driver’s through the rearview mirror.
“What are you looking at!” his small, fierce voice snapped. “We’re police!”
The driver wanted to say something, but before he could retract his scrutinizing gaze, he suddenly noticed Zhu Qing bowing her head, flipping through the photo album.
Truly a Madam Detective!
At this moment, Zhu Qing poured all her attention into a photo in the album.
The photo was set in a playful scene: children wearing stage makeup, dressed in various exaggerated costumes, standing in several rows. There were also many adults—such as the four deceased in this case. Zhu Qing wondered, could these adults and the other grown-ups in the photos be parents of the participating children?
Ten-plus years ago, did these four each bring their own children to the event?
But this thought was quickly dismissed. Ten years ago, Principal Zheng had already sent his children abroad. Feng Yaowen was the family’s absentee manager who never cared for kids. As for Zhang Zhiqiang, he married late and didn’t even have children ten years ago.
Her gaze fixed tightly on the photo, trying to uncover more clues.
A year ago, in the container factory, Ma Guohua was murdered. His body lay on the damp floor, left in no particular pose. At first, the police thought the killer had been interrupted by witness Zhu Daxiong and didn’t have time to complete the “ritual.” But now, comparing with this photo, Ma Guohua’s palms faced upward, his stance unsteady, as if he was about to fall.
It turned out that the seemingly careless collapse on the ground was actually a carefully designed pose by the killer. What remained unfinished was the makeup — at the time, the murderer had already taken out the eyebrow razor but was forced to abandon the body’s arrangement and flee when Zhu Daxiong suddenly appeared.
The same approach was applied to the other three victims’ bodies.
But — something still felt off.
Zhu Qing stared at the photo for a long time before finally pinpointing the faint unease lurking within.
Zeng Yongshan had a happy, fulfilling family. She was the beloved youngest daughter, deeply connected with her parents and brother. On her desk, there was a family portrait.
Zhu Qing had seen that photo more than once and was certain: none of those faces in the big family portrait matched the faces in the photos of the victims.
Could it be that the deaths of the Zeng family members were never part of the killer’s original plan?
Zhu Qing closed the album. “Sir, let’s head to Yaumatei Police Station.”
...
No return to the Huangzhukeng Police Academy today — Qing was heading back to the station to work overtime.
Sheng Fang, the little kid, was an excellent sidekick, not asking a single question as if he had stumbled upon a great bargain.
The sudden overtime first meant Zhu Qing contacted Officer Mo, and soon, several colleagues living nearby trickled in.
Since it wasn’t normal working hours, Mo Zhenbang had no objections to the child staying, even kindly asking if he wanted to watch TV in the cafeteria.
Sheng Fang declined TV; he just wanted to be with his niece, immersed in the investigation.
On the big table in the conference room, Zhu Qing laid out all the photo albums.
Hao Zai flipped through them, sighing, “This is like looking at the life of a successful person... But those loving snapshots, the beautiful childhood memories left to Zheng Shihong’s two children, are now just memories. The kids have grown up, and after their mother passed away, they never returned to visit their father.”
“Glory is glory, but if you don’t even have a spare key at home and have to ask a colleague to hold it, what good’s all that money? What if you fall ill and no one finds out?” Xu Jiale said.
Around the table, everyone was flipping through the albums.
Yet, from start to finish, the only useful clue was the family portrait Zhu Qing had discovered.
More precisely, it was Uncle-in-law who first noticed it at the phone booth.
When the whole team praised themselves as lucky stars, the little guy tilted his head proudly and puffed out his chest.
“I counted — there are fifty-three people in the photo.”
“Not sure what event it was. Could it be a school performance? But none of the kids are wearing uniforms.”
“And with so many people, where do we even start—”
“Got it!” Liang Qikai’s familiar voice came through. “Come over here.”
Officer Liang had also rushed over after getting the call from the team.
More than a dozen videotapes—he brought them to the evidence processing room at the police station, ready for a marathon session that might last until dawn. Yet, to everyone’s surprise, he found a breakthrough much sooner than expected.
Young Master Hao Zai trotted off with his colleagues, his steps light and quick.
On the evidence room’s TV screen, a scene appeared that matched the group photo they had seen earlier, accompanied by a cheerful children’s song.
The footage was at least a decade old, a bit choppy at times, but it captured the entire event from start to finish.
“Children’s theater?” Uncle Li vaguely recalled that, over ten years ago, the Hong Kong Concert Hall regularly hosted children’s theater performances. These shows usually took place on the first weekend morning of each month, featuring puppet plays, song and dance numbers, or dramas adapted from fairy tales. Tickets were cheap because hardly anyone wanted to watch other kids perform; the audience mostly consisted of parents. Their eyes were fixed intently on their own children, and when other kids took the stage, interest waned immediately. Polite applause was rare, and some parents even left early.
This particular tape was filmed by Zheng Shihong, but he didn’t just record the performances on stage.
Amid the lively background music of the show, his camera often wandered backstage. Props and costumes lay scattered everywhere; little actors were being touched up by adults; some children peeked out from behind the curtains, watching the show in secret.
Just then, Hao Zai suddenly grabbed Liang Qikai’s hand. “Pause!”
Liang Qikai pressed the pause button on the VCR, freezing the image on the TV screen. “Feng Yaowen?”
They saw the victim from the Sham Shui Po breakfast shop, Feng Yaowen.
He looked much younger in this footage.
Sitting at a table backstage, in front of a huge insulated food container, children and their parents lined up in a crooked queue to receive warm breakfasts from him.
Hao Zai said, “Feng Yaowen isn’t a parent—he’s part of the children’s theater staff?”
ᶜʰᵘⁿʳⁱ
At Inspector Mo’s signal, Liang Qikai pressed play again.
They continued scanning the screen for other familiar faces.
Suddenly, Zhu Qing said, “That man helping the kids with makeup—”
“Is Teacher Zhang, from the beauty academy,” Zeng Yongshan recognized him and wrinkled her nose. “Funny, his face looks so sour, like those kids owe him money.”
“So that’s how it is,” Mo Zhenbang said. “The four victims didn’t know each other. They only appeared together because of this temporary event.”
Colleagues chimed in, exchanging observations.
“Feng Yaowen from the Sham Shui Po breakfast shop provided the food.”
“Principal Zheng from the beauty academy was in charge of the children’s makeup.”
“That year, the container factory business was booming. Ma Guohua, as foreman, managed the workers building the stage.”
“And Zhang Zhiqiang, the manager of the New View Hotel, helped coordinate the event’s etiquette and protocol!”
It was as if the fog had finally lifted—the officers’ voices gradually grew more animated. Following this line of thought, the serial murder case began to reveal a clear and distinct outline.
Sheng Fang, the little girl, listened wide-eyed and dumbfounded, wishing she could pull out her toy gun and charge into battle alongside them.
A tiny seed of aspiration was planted deep in Uncle Bao’s heart.
So, being a police officer was such an extraordinary thing.
At Mo Zhenbang’s command, “Immediately screen everyone present at the performance, including the photographers. I want a thorough, carpet-style search!”
…
The case finally made a breakthrough. The officers of Team B treated Mo Sir to a meal—after all, a full stomach meant more energy to work.
Liang Qikai suggested grabbing dinner at the dai pai dong (street food stall) in the alley behind the police station. Afterward, they could head upstairs and continue investigating. Along the way, the group couldn’t help but laugh as they talked about the breakthrough. This wasn’t the first time they’d found a lead in the investigation, and none of them knew if it would turn out to be a false hope.
The dai pai dong in Yau Ma Tei had plastic tables and chairs set up right on the roadside.
Sheng Fang imitated the adults, carefully opening a pair of disposable chopsticks and deliberately rubbing them together as if preparing for battle.
Because of the serial murder case that had shaken all of Hong Kong, business at the dai pai dong had cooled off, but a few daring regulars still sat here and there.
At the neighboring table, a group of friends ordered a pitcher of fresh beer, playing finger-guessing games and drinking to their hearts’ content, chatting about everything under the sun. After days of rain, the weather was no longer stifling. Especially at night, the cool breeze made tasting good food and fine drinks all the more enjoyable, and the group exclaimed how perfect the moment was.
The colleagues at the police station spoke with a touch of regret, saying that once the case was closed, they would definitely find a chance to have a proper drinking party—no one would leave until they were drunk.
“How about that old seafood restaurant we always go to?” someone suggested.
“Boring. Of course, we’re heading to Lan Kwai Fong!”
“Why not just bring a whole case of beer back to the station and celebrate there?”
One by one, they chimed in, their conversation lively and warm. Liang Qikai noticed that only Zhu Qing remained silent.
It was a topic Zhu Qing couldn’t join in on, so she quietly listened. She had never tasted alcohol. Her colleagues described it as a dizzy, carefree feeling—your mind goes blank, you stagger as you walk, and once you get home, you might even forget to take off your shoes before collapsing into bed. When you open your eyes again, it’s already broad daylight.
She had never tried it. All along, she had walked a straight, disciplined path—careful not to leave any room for detours or surprises.
“Zhu Qing,” Liang Sir said with a smile, “you absolutely can’t miss it when the time comes.”
Zeng Yongshan buried her face in her plate of fried noodles but still quietly glanced up at them.
Was Liang Sir treating Zhu Qing differently?
The rare summer night breeze was surprisingly cool—cooler than a pigeon coop.
The waiter brought over a plate of fried crab. Sheng’s young master awkwardly picked at it with his chopsticks. Noticing this, his niece took the chopsticks from him. The tacit understanding between uncle and niece allowed the child to reach out and grab the fragrant crab coated in crispy breadcrumbs.
The waiter kept bringing out dishes and soon called out as he placed another plate on the folding table.
The ingredients weren’t anything fancy. Some he had tasted before, others he was seeing for the first time. Many didn’t fit Sheng Fang’s family’s “less oil, less salt” healthy eating philosophy, but the little master just liked them.
He had never experienced a night like this—sitting by the roadside, feeling the breeze, and stuffing tasty food into his little mouth.
His niece even made a special exception, allowing him to drink a bottle of soda. The fizzy drink burst in his mouth like dancing popping candy.
Stars twinkled in the sky, but the child’s eyes shone even brighter than the stars.
Sheng Fang watched everyone intently, not bothering to join their complicated conversations. He just felt a deep fondness.
He was hooked on his niece!
“Kids who drink this much soda will get stupid,” Zhu Qing said casually. “Give me the rest of that bottle.”
Sheng Fang: !
Not liking her anymore!
……
The next morning, Aunt Ping appeared promptly at her “post.”
The little master had completely forgotten how, after finishing their street food the night before, they had fought through the late hours. In the end, the child had played until he accidentally fell asleep, then was carried to the empty office of the senior inspector, where he lay on the sofa for a long time. By the time he woke up, he was already back in the pigeonhole dorm, and Zhu Qing told him they had taken a taxi home.
Even more absurd, after getting out of the car, he had followed Zhu Qing back to the dormitory… His uncle had no memory of any of this, as if he had amnesia!
Aunt Ping assured Zhu Qing that today, under no circumstances, would she let the child set foot near the Yau Ma Tei Police Station again.
“Today will be busy,” Zhu Qing said. “I might not come home tonight.”
His niece once again insisted that his uncle stay with Aunt Ping at Mid-Levels for the night.
The child was still too young to understand. Not living in a luxury mansion at Mid-Levels was simply wasting a treasure. After just a few days of getting to know Sheng Fang, Zhu Qing had learned a bit about him. The little master had the temperament of a young lord—soft approaches worked, hard ones didn’t. So she didn’t try to force him but looked him in the eye, treating him like an adult to discuss matters.
They were about to sign a temporary contract to buy a house in Yau Ma Tei.
This was just a special transitional period.
“Steel Man and Spider-Man haven’t seen you for a long time. They must miss you.”
“Zhu Qing, they’re toys. They don’t think, they can’t miss anyone.”
“……”
The little master’s toy room in the Mid-Levels villa was several times larger than the dormitory at the police academy in Wong Chuk Hang.
Some models were taller than he was, making it impossible to take them along. Come to think of it, he did miss them a bit.
Sheng Fang agreed to go back with Aunt Ping to stay for one night.
Kids were funny creatures. Not knowing what hardship was, he struggled to choose between a steamer basket and a grand villa, as if it were a difficult decision to pick the latter.
Meanwhile, Zhu Qing could devote her full energy and focus to the case.
Fifty-three people appeared in the group photo. Tracing them back was a massive undertaking. The morning meeting room still smelled of coffee as colleagues forced themselves awake, trying to get into the right mindset.
“To be honest, I’m starting to suspect every single person involved in this case.”
“The victim in the first case, Ma Guohua, didn’t he have a neighbor who always yelled at him for watering the street below and being inconsiderate? And Feng Yaowen from the breakfast shop—he always wore a scowl like a corpse’s face. If it weren’t for his soup dumplings being so deliciously juicy, which local would bother to support his business…”
“Hotel manager Zhang Zhiqiang is a real scumbag. Several young waitresses have complained about his harassment. He’s always groping whenever he gets the chance. There are plenty of people who’d be glad to see him dead.”
“And then there’s Zheng Shihong. His business has grown so big—stories of friendship turning into bitter rivalry probably didn’t just happen with Zhan Weiqiang, right?”
Mo Zhenbang watched them all, barely holding back a laugh of frustration.
One by one, they were losing their minds over the investigation, indiscriminately suspecting everyone.
“Why don’t you suspect my mom instead?” Zeng Yongshan chuckled, then paused, her tone turning serious. “Honestly, I think Teacher Zhang is suspicious.”
“In the video tape, Teacher Zhang was putting makeup on the kids.”
“He had the chance to interact with several of the victims. Maybe some conflict arose from that, don’t you think?”
...
The members of Major Crimes Unit B cross-checked every person in the group photo from the children’s theater performance, thoroughly investigating their identities.
When Inspector Weng arrived, he briefly checked on their progress and, surprisingly, had someone bring over milk tea with tapioca pearls from the tea restaurant, saying it was to help everyone stay alert.
Xu Jiale went to the music hall to look for registration records from that performance over a decade ago.
The event had been discontinued for more than ten years. To be more precise—
Spring
Well, back then, it wasn’t held every month. Towards the end, the higher-ups realized that the children’s theater performances were almost purely charitable, making no profit at all, so it was abruptly shut down.
Xu Jiale managed to get some information from their leader.
The list was long. Not only did Unit B officers visit everyone one by one, but Mo Sir even borrowed some people from Unit A. The relationship between the two units was a bit delicate. Normally, they competed fiercely over case clearance rates, each wanting to outdo the other. Now that Unit B was struggling with the serial murder case, they dragged the usually idle Unit A into overtime. The officers from the other unit gave them cold looks, deliberately slammed files on the table with loud bangs, and mocked them with sarcastic, drawn-out tones.
“No wonder they say Unit B is full of talent.”
Xu Jiale and Hao Zai were both impulsive, and it was hard to say who was more so. Now they were pushing and shoving with Unit A officers in the hallway. Both sides were held back by others. If a fight broke out, they’d be disciplined internally. It wasn’t worth writing a self-criticism report over something so trivial.
No one listened to them.
Just as both sides were about to come to blows, suddenly, cold-faced Madam walked by carrying some files.
Zhu Qing: “Excuse me.”
Almost instinctively, both sides parted to let her pass.
The tension that had been about to explode froze in place because of the simple act of “excusing” someone.
The charged atmosphere deflated like a burst balloon, leaving everyone momentarily unsure how to restart the confrontation.
...
The officers went through the list of people present at the children’s theater, checking names one by one.
Their initial suspicion was that one of the other staff members or parents of the students present had a grudge against the four victims, which might have sparked a motive for murder.
During the investigation, the police zeroed in on Teacher Zhang as a person of interest.
A lecturer at the academy explained that Principal Zheng Shihong was an extremely nostalgic man. Over the years, Teacher Zhang had clearly fallen behind the times. Even the makeup he applied himself on models was outdated—how could he possibly teach students to create trendy, youthful looks that young people liked? But because Zhang had worked alongside Principal Zheng for decades, and though he hadn’t made any significant achievements, he had put in his dues. So Zheng hadn’t fired him but reassigned him to the logistics office.
“You can see Teacher Zhang in the footage—he’s got a stern face, like he’s offended everyone in the children’s theater,” Zeng Yongshan said. “He’s got a bad temper. My mom told me privately that whenever he got the chance in the logistics office, he’d boss around and scold the newcomers. But the truth is, he can’t even use a computer.”
“More than ten years ago, Zheng Shihong was already the boss, while Zhang was just a makeup artist, basically his assistant.”
“Come to think of it, whether it’s the container factory foreman or the hotel manager, they’re all about the same age as Zhang but doing better than him. Even the small shop owner, who looks unremarkable, has six-figure sums in his bank account. Maybe just one look, or one order, back then, Zhang harbored resentment. After being transferred to the logistics office, feeling abandoned by the times and deeply hurt, he finally snapped.”
This Teacher Zhang’s full name was Zhang Qixian.
On the day Zhu Qing was giving her statement at the academy, she had seen him. She clearly remembered his appearance: a square face with a pronounced furrow between his brows. She didn’t know what he looked like when relaxed, but her last encounter with him was the afternoon before.
At that time, Yi Dongmei’s car was blocking the entrance.
Teacher Zhang kept honking the horn impatiently. The harsh sound echoed around the academy gate and lingered for a long time.
Zhu Qing suddenly recalled—what were they talking about then?
Was it about going to Zheng Shihong’s house to get the keys? Did Yi Dongmei reveal something that led Teacher Zhang to silence her?
“But the doctor’s report says the killer’s height—”
The killer was about 1.7 meters tall.
But Teacher Zhang was tall and burly, the kind of man who had to bend over when applying makeup, causing strain.
“Zhu Qing, the data can only serve as a reference. We can’t rely solely on those cold numbers in the report,” Liang Qikai said.
Zhu Qing replied, “The eyewitness Zhu Daxiong said the same.”
“Maybe he was too nervous and didn’t see clearly? We can’t exclude Teacher Zhang just based on that.”
“Let’s bring Zhang Qixian in for questioning first,” Mo Zhenbang said, looking at Liang Qikai. “Qikai, you—”
“I’ll go with Liang sir!” Zeng Yongshan volunteered.
Mo Zhenbang waved them off quickly, “The rest of you continue investigating the people on the list.”
…
By the afternoon, all the officers had split up and were acting separately.
With so many names on the list, how could all the statements be taken in a single day? Yet, every minute had to be stretched and squeezed to the limit.
When Zhu Qing returned to the police station from the photographer at the event that year, it was already past ten o’clock.
This photographer had once been in charge of capturing the children’s theater events organized by the concert hall, taking countless photos of the innocent and adorable children. He said the event was never meant to be profitable, but the organizers hadn’t expected to lose money on top of that. Their idealistic planning had been too naive—no one wanted to keep supporting a losing venture. After all, how much is passion really worth?
When Zhu Qing handed the photograph preserved by Zheng Shihong to the photographer, he tried to recall the details.
It had been so long ago that his memory was hazy. He sighed, saying that taking a group photo wasn’t easy. The shutter couldn’t be pressed only after everyone had settled their expressions and poses—there was always someone holding things up, like Ma Guohua, who suddenly adjusted the stage setup, reached out to grab a balloon, and nearly fell.
Among the four deceased, the only one who left an impression on the photographer was Zheng Shihong.
He was the only staff member on site who had asked the photographer for a copy of the photo. Zheng said he was also interested in photography and wanted to keep the group photo as a memento in his family album.
This was Zhu Qing’s last trip for the night.
The photographer gave her no clues.
The CID office was deserted; she was the only one left.
But she knew they would all come back. No one wanted to call it a day just yet.
Zhu Qing sat at her desk, hands folded under her chin, staring at the corner calendar.
She was calculating time.
The next shift for Zeng Yongshan was in four days.
But on the minibus ride that morning, she had heard the bus’s radio broadcast the weather forecast.
The next several days were predicted to be sunny. The problem was, in the original case, the Zeng family was attacked on a stormy, rainy night.
Everyone said the weather forecast was unreliable. Especially Sister Zhen from administration, who complained every day about how the forecast had tricked her—she had forgotten to bring an umbrella for her child on a rainy morning.
Could that be the reason?
Her intuition told Zhu Qing that the duty roster wasn’t right.
She stood up and hurried downstairs toward the duty room.
The police station was quiet. As she passed the stairwell, she peeked through a small window and saw that it was raining again.
Rounding the corner along the corridor, Zhu Qing suddenly caught a faint scent drifting toward her nose.
She stopped at the corner and cautiously peeked into the duty room.
This duty room had previously been an overlooked spare office, only occasionally borrowed for printing urgent documents.
But now, she heard water boiling in a pot.
“Want some instant noodles?”
It was this late when Cheng Xinglang, having just finished the autopsy, strolled into the building.
Only the duty room had a small electric cooker. With leisure to spare, he patiently waited for the water to boil, tore open the plastic wrapper, and dropped in a pack of instant noodles.
“It seems like every time we meet, it’s always during a meal.”
After a whole day of running around, Zhu Qing had completely forgotten to eat. Suddenly, her stomach let out a soft “gurgle” without any warning.
The next moment, Madam remained expressionless as she clutched her stomach and pulled over a plastic stool to sit down.
As if nothing had happened.
Dr. Cheng’s lips curled up slightly as his chopsticks leisurely stirred the small pot.
Zhu Qing raised an eyebrow. “That’s about enough.”
“It’s just instant noodles,” she said.
“Madam, don’t underestimate this bowl of instant noodles,” Cheng replied.
Even though it was just a simple bowl of instant noodles, Cheng took great care in preparing it.
Besides skillfully cracking an egg into the pot, he also used scissors to cut the sausage, releasing a rich aroma that filled the small on-call room.
Cheng Xinglang said that whether it was instant noodles, eggs, or sausage, everything was portioned for one.
He didn’t know Madam would suddenly drop by, so he could only share what he had.
Zhu Qing paused, whispering to herself, “There wasn’t supposed to be a portion for me…”
Finally, she understood what was wrong with the duty roster.
The problem was her.
Zhu Qing had always thought that as the story unfolded, the original female lead’s family would encounter an accident on the night she was on duty, so she had been vigilant about any disturbances on that specific date.
But in reality, because she had suddenly died, the original duty roster had a vacancy, and the entire Group B’s schedule naturally had to be rearranged.
And now, her name was clearly written on the duty roster.
Zhu Qing was alive.
Therefore, the trajectory of the whole world had changed along with her survival.
……
Sheng Fang hadn’t returned to the Mid-Mountain residence for a long time.
The marble floor was cold and smooth. He lay on it, rolling around, feeling the cold air coming from all directions, as if he were an ice cream bar.
At first, the little boy was excited by the novelty.
But as time passed and the sky darkened, he realized how quiet the house had become.
All the maids had left, and now only Aunt Ping remained.
Aunt Ping was the one guarding the house for them, cleaning every corner of every room until it was spotless.
The shrimp dumplings Aunt Ping made were still as delicious as ever, something the young master had enjoyed since he was little.
But as night deepened, the food in his little belly gradually digested, bringing with it
a creeping sense of insecurity.
Sheng Fang leaned on the railing of the third floor, looking down at the backyard.
At three and a half years old, his memories were constantly updating. He could no longer recall things from when he was one or two, but the events of the past few months were vivid in his mind.
In the backyard stood Bobo’s doghouse.
The dog had died there; they said it was old age, and that was true. Later, he threw a frisbee for Bobo until the dog was too tired to run anymore.
Beside the doghouse, he had once seen his second sister and her husband reminiscing about Bobo.
Even earlier, he had seen Daddy and Mommy walking in the little garden.
Sheng Fang’s small head was filled with fragmented memories, like watching a TV show.
The young master sat back on the bay window in the children’s room, burying his little face in his short arms.
This Mid-Mountain mansion wasn’t nice at all.
Fang Fang just wanted to go home more than anything.
……
Zhu Qing had come to print the duty roster, carrying her folder with her, ready to put the roster inside.
But now, she no longer needed to print anything.
She and Cheng Xinglang shared half a bowl of instant noodles each, heads bowed as they ate in silence.
Even the sausages and eggs were cut in half by Doctor Cheng, who held his chopsticks like a scalpel—precise and measured, making sure everything was perfectly fair.
They remained quiet, each absorbed in their own thoughts.
With one hand holding the chopsticks, Doctor Cheng idly flipped through an anatomy reference book, as casually as if he were reading a magazine.
Zhu Qing stared at the large group photo, her mind swirling with countless clues. They tangled and overlapped like a ball of yarn in the hands of the dorm supervisor.
Because she hadn’t died, the original plot had shifted—her name now appeared on the duty roster.
Her memory rewound and replayed: yesterday afternoon, Zhu Qing had run into Yi Dongmei at the academy gate. In the original story, if everyone followed the same trail of investigation, they would have gone to the academy to get the key, encountered her, and during the conversation, aroused suspicion in Teacher Zhang in the back car, who, to silence them, would have taken drastic measures...
Zhu Qing’s gaze swept over the group photo again. The children performing in it wore rough makeup, but their youthful innocence made them endearing. That same makeup, years later on adult faces, would become a terrifying mask.
She sighed.
If only a year ago, the witness Zhu Daxiong had seen the killer’s face clearly, none of this would have happened.
Suddenly, the pager beeped, breaking the silence. It was Sheng Fang calling. There was a phone in the duty room, so Zhu Qing put down her nearly finished noodles and returned the call to the child.
On the other end, the child’s voice sounded a little aloof.
“Qingzi, can’t sleep.”
Madam and her little uncle were chatting away on the phone.
He brought up old stories, and though he didn’t explicitly express his feelings, Zhu Qing guessed the child was probably missing his family.
When she was very young, Zhu Qing had met an older sister at the orphanage.
The sister said that if you missed your parents, you could look at the stars in the sky, and the stars would wink back, answering your longing.
Zhu Qing didn’t miss the parents who had “abandoned” her, but she liked listening to the sister talk.
Later, the sister was adopted by a family, while Zhu Qing, because of her distant personality, was never firmly chosen.
After that, they never met again.
The conversations on the orphanage rooftop had been rare moments of warmth in her childhood. Now, Zhu Qing passed that warmth on to her little uncle.
“If you miss them, you can look at the stars,” Zhu Qing said, her eyes still on the group photo before shifting to the window. “The stars are like golden fireflies—it’s your daddy and mommy far away, spending the summer with you.”
Her tone was calm, but her voice was unusually gentle—it was meant to comfort the child.
Until the child on the other end made a sharp sound.
“Qingzi, Arcturus is orange, and the Pleiades are pale yellow.”
“And…”
The little one’s knowledge was surprisingly rich.
Suddenly being schooled in astronomy by a kid with the demeanor of a seasoned scholar made the corner of Zhu Qing’s mouth twitch into a smile.
Outside, the rain was falling harder and harder.
The weather forecast was completely off—it had said the next few days would be clear and cloudless.
“Anyway, it’s definitely not golden!”
“Qing, are you colorblind?”
Zhu Qing’s smile suddenly froze on her face as memories snapped into place.
A detail that doesn’t quite fit perfectly is a flaw.
That day, she had gone with Uncle Li to the United Hospital in the New Territories North District to take a statement from Zhu Daxiong.
Zhu Daxiong said the killer was dressed all in red that day... And as he left, two foremen from the construction site brought some nutritional supplements to visit, mocking Zhu Daxiong for being cunning enough to grab the foreman’s helmet, which saved his life.
Uncle Li told Zhu Qing that the helmets at the construction site held significance.
Foremen used thickened PVC helmets, while ordinary workers wore ones made from recycled plastic—there was a “class system” on the site.
“Dr. Cheng, do you know what color the foremen’s helmets are at the construction site?”
Cheng Xinglang: “Green.”
“And the recycled plastic helmets?”
“Not sure... maybe tan?”
A bold hypothesis suddenly sparked in Zhu Qing’s mind.
Workers at the bottom rung had never undergone formal colorblindness screening; having adapted to congenital deficiencies since childhood, maybe Zhu Daxiong himself had never realized he was red-green colorblind.
A year ago at the container factory, the killer he saw wasn’t actually wearing red.
The original story deliberately mentioned the killer’s clothing, even making it a key clue in the case—that meant it was an obvious and direct lead.
Could it be the uniform?
A flood of clues surged through her mind, and Zhu Qing recalled the phrase—
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything. I’m new here.”
If he was a new employee at the Feiman International Beauty Academy.
Then where was he a year ago? What was he doing?
Zhu Qing’s heartbeat quickened.
Rain pattered outside the window. She closed her eyes, trying to sketch out the light yet discordant silhouette Zhu Daxiong had described.
“Dr. Cheng, if we calculate the data based on the angle of the ligature marks, the killer’s height is accurate. But in reality, the height doesn’t match,” Zhu Qing asked. “Is it possible—”
Cheng Xinglang: “High heels?”
It was the high heels.
The killer had made meticulous preparations before the murder—wearing shoe covers indoors to avoid leaving traces, while the heavy rain outside would wash away all footprints.
In a state of extreme terror, Zhu Daxiong’s testimony contained errors. He heard the crisp “ding-dong ding-dong” sound and instinctively thought it was raindrops hitting the roof, but in fact, it was the sound of heels striking the ground.
The killer was the one whose weight had noticeably changed within the past year, whose figure was unusually short.
She already had a suspect in mind.
At the school gate, the conversation she had with Yi Dongmei wasn’t just about the spare key, but also about whether Zhan Weiqiang had lost weight.
Those who overheard the conversation weren’t only Teacher Zhang, but also the person standing guard by the main gate.
Those eyes never wavered from watching them.
Fearing his movements would be exposed, the killer ensured no loose ends by silencing Yi Dongmei.
As for her husband and son, they were unintended casualties.
“Let’s stop here,” Zhu Qing said. “I have other things to attend to. I’ll hang up now.”
Zhu Qing immediately left a message on the original female lead’s pager.
A few minutes later, Zeng Yongshan called back. She had just finished working with Officer Liang and was about to go have a bowl of wonton noodles.
“Is your mom home alone?”
“Dad and my older brother are back already, they should be—”
“Go home immediately. They’re in danger.”
After hanging up, Zhu Qing contacted Officer Mo, requesting backup.
Once everything was confirmed, she recalled the exact address of the original female lead’s home she had previously inquired about.
Zhu Qing turned and sprinted.
If she was wrong, she didn’t know how she would explain it, but with the heavy rain pouring outside, three lives were at stake—she couldn’t wait.
Just as she was about to dash into the downpour, Dr. Cheng from the forensic department caught up.
“I’ll take you there.”
...
Zhu Qing fastened her seatbelt and, illuminated by the streetlights outside the window, opened the checklist.
The scenes from the original plot played vividly in her mind.
Brutal slaughter, blood splattering, vibrant lives extinguished.
The survivors became walking corpses. The original female lead, who was saved and healed, was meant to drive the story forward, redeemed by the original male lead.
But she was never supposed to be the protagonist of this tragedy.
Raindrops hammered densely against the windshield, blurring her view.
The tires splashed through puddles as the car sped through the downpour.
“Hold on tight.”
Meanwhile, at the villa halfway up the mountain—
Sheng Fang had just put down the phone.
He wasn’t afraid at all.
In fact, he rubbed his hands together in anticipation, his blood boiling with excitement.
Their uncle, a police officer, was never one to fall behind!
