Sometimes, even Aunt Ping envied herself for having such a cushy job.
She would wake up early, take the bus to care for the young master, and by the time Zhu Qing got off work, she could clock out too. The mansion on the hillside was barely lived in, so it never got too dirty—just a quick tidy-up to keep things in order before she could turn in early. A job like this? Couldn’t ask for anything better.
But today, the young master was back. Aunt Ping was exhausted, but Sheng Fang refused to sleep, forcing her to keep watch. A three-and-a-half-year-old couldn’t be left unsupervised for even a minute.
Outside, the storm raged, rattling the windows with violent bangs. The city was on edge over the recent serial killings, all happening on rainy nights. Worried the noise might scare Sheng Fang, Aunt Ping hurried to lock the doors and windows tight. Yet when she turned back, the little boy seemed utterly unfazed—brave as could be.
Sheng Fang claimed his uncle came from a family of cops.
"Young master, do you even know what a 'police family' means?"
"I do."
Sheng Fang sprawled on the floor of the playroom, the cold air and hardwood chilling his skin. Aunt Ping tugged his shirt down to keep his belly warm.
The little tyrant ruled like a king—within half a day of his return, the floor was already carpeted with Lego bricks. He focused intently on dismantling and rebuilding, solemnly informing Aunt Ping that he was the "boss of Lego Land."
Aunt Ping stifled a yawn, chuckling despite herself.
Somehow, this child who strutted around the hillside like he owned the place turned into an obedient angel in front of his niece.
The storm still howled outside, but with the doors and windows sealed, they were safe.
Aunt Ping couldn’t help worrying about Zhu Qing. Police work was dangerous—if the young lady were in her right mind, she’d never have allowed it…
Aunt Ping stood, pacing by the bay window as she peered outside.
She lost track of time, but when she turned back, the young master had finally dozed off.
Poor Lego creations, painstakingly assembled, now flattened beneath their "boss."
...
Zeng Yongshan’s father and older brother returned from their business trip a little past nine in the evening.
Not long after, the rain intensified. Both men were relieved they’d made it home early—any later, and they’d have been stranded.
Three bowls of noodles sat on the dining table, each with a neatly placed pair of chopsticks.
The Zeng family had a habit of late-night snacks, and after their long journey, they finally settled in. Zeng Yongxuan, now in his pajamas, asked, "Mom, is it supposed to rain all week?"
They talked about the recent serial killings.
Even though they’d been away, father and son had kept up with the news, calling home to remind the women to stay safe. Every time, Yi Dongmei would brush it off, saying they weren’t the killer’s targets. Zeng Yongshan would laugh and say, "I’m a cop—since when do I fear a murderer?"
Steam curled from the noodles as the family chatted and laughed.
Then, suddenly, a knock at the door.
"Is that Yongshan back?" Zeng Shaoping turned.
"I’ll get it," Zeng Yongxuan said, standing.
"Really? She said she was working late tonight—she’s back already?"
Yi Dongmei still held her chopsticks when the door clicked open—but no one spoke.
"Who are—?" Zeng Yongxuan began.
Peering over her son’s shoulder, Yi Dongmei gasped. "Ah Kang?"
Ah Kang was a security guard at the beauty academy.
Every instructor and staff member had their address on file, so Yi Dongmei assumed he’d come about work. She set down her chopsticks and hurried over.
But before she could take more than a few steps, a muffled grunt cut through the air—followed by the sharp sound of a blade slicing through fabric.
Zeng Yongxuan dropped to his knees, clutching his arm as blood seeped between his fingers.
Yi Dongmei froze, then screamed.
Ah Kang slipped inside like a shadow.
By the time Zhu Qing and Doctor Cheng arrived, the screams had already started.
The original female lead’s family lived in a ground-floor unit, its gate wide open. The sound of frantic footsteps echoed as Zeng Yongxuan shielded his parents, and Zeng Shaoping shoved his wife and son aside. Ah Kang moved silently, his knife flashing.
Zhu Qing witnessed the standoff, feeling their helplessness like a weight.
Then—BANG!
A gunshot tore through the sky like thunder, leaving ears ringing.
"Hands in the air! Or I shoot!" Zhu Qing’s voice was steel.
In the rain, her arms were steady, her gun trained unerringly on Ah Kang’s forehead.
Ah Kang—small, wiry—trembled as he clasped his hands behind his head and slowly crouched, his spine rigid.
Sirens wailed as police cars sliced through the downpour. Doors flew open, and officers from the Serious Crimes Unit poured out, guns drawn.
Doctor Cheng stood silently beside Zhu Qing, opening a black umbrella.
He held it over her, tilting the canopy slightly.
"Freeze! Police!"
"You’re surrounded."
"Surrender now!"
When Zeng Yongshan arrived, she was pale with terror.
Seeing the guard, she remembered her colleague’s mockery—Xu Jiale’s jab about how a scrawny guy like him had no business being a security guard. "A strong wind could knock him over," he’d laughed. "What’s he gonna do, sit in the booth and wave at intruders?"
"Dad! Mom! Brother—are you hurt?"
"We’re fine, don’t cry… check on your brother first—"
Reality didn’t match the original plot.
In the story, Zeng Yongshan’s family had been murdered in their sleep, given no chance to fight back. But this time—whether the killer came early or her father and brother returned late—they’d crossed paths.
Zeng Yongxuan’s arms and face were slashed, his palm wounded where he’d instinctively grabbed the blade.
He was barely holding on—but the police had arrived just in time.
The sirens screamed in their ears.
Zhu Qing kept her gun raised, only now realizing how ragged her breathing was, her chest heaving.
She’d done it.
She’d rewritten the tragedy from the original story.
...
Some officers took Ah Kang to the station; others escorted the family to the hospital.
The once-sunny female lead was now a sobbing mess, the near-loss of her family hitting her hard.
Yi Dongmei smiled weakly. "Look at you, crying like a kid. Your colleagues will tease you."
Zeng Yongshan wiped her tears with the back of her hand.
Just a hundred meters away was the wonton noodle shop she’d recommended to Sir Liang so many times. She’d been giddy at the thought of finally going together—until her pager buzzed.
It was Zhu Qing, reaching out first.
On the phone, Zhu Qing spoke vaguely, ending the call abruptly after just a few words. Zeng Yongshan knew Zhu Qing had her reasons, so after pausing for just a second to glance at the wonton noodle shop a hundred meters away, she immediately headed home.
But no matter what, she never imagined that the "danger" Zhu Qing mentioned—the threat to her parents and brother—could have cost them their lives.
Earlier, Zhu Qing had told Inspector Mo that because the security guard at the gate had been staring at Yi Dongmei the day before, coupled with some sudden connections in the case, she had a gut feeling he might target Yi Dongmei and had requested backup.
Uncle Li chuckled beside her. Who said a young woman’s intuition was unreliable? This time, that so-called sixth sense had proven incredibly useful.
At that moment, Zeng Yongshan had so much she wanted to say to Zhu Qing—words of heartfelt gratitude.
She stepped forward, her nose tingling with emotion. "Zhu Qing."
Zhu Qing, drowsy with exhaustion, was hugging a notepad, half-asleep. She jolted awake at the sound of her name, blinking blearily. "Is it time for the statement?"
Zeng Yongshan laughed through her tears.
Zeng Yongshan’s older brother had suffered minor injuries, and the doctors and nurses were bandaging him up. He winced occasionally from the pain, but it was nothing serious.
Their parents, shielded by their son the entire time, were unharmed. Though shaken, it took them a while to regain their composure. In the original storyline, these parents—the heroine’s steady anchors—had always been a source of warmth and stability for their children. Even now, instead of dwelling on their own shock, they comforted their daughter.
Yi Dongmei thanked Zhu Qing.
When asked if the security guard, Ah Kang, had shown any unusual behavior before, she finally pieced things together.
"Principal Zheng insisted on strict hiring procedures, so security guards had to submit passport-sized photos for their records. That day, HR asked him to resubmit some documents, and I happened to pass by, so I helped him take them in… The photo he used was taken years ago. I asked why he looked so much heavier back then, and Ah Kang joked that young people these days were all into losing weight."
"Everyone wondered why Principal Zheng would hire such a small, frail-looking security guard… But that was because they hadn’t seen his resume. Ah Kang had once competed in flyweight judo and even won second place."
The previous afternoon, Yi Dongmei had been stuck in the school’s only exit lane while driving out.
The security guard overheard her conversation with Zhu Qing about Zhan Weiqiang’s weight and, fearing she might say too much, decided to silence her permanently.
But Yi Dongmei hadn’t even made the connection.
The police had only asked if she knew anything about Zhan Weiqiang. With so many people fluctuating in weight, and given how little she interacted with Ah Kang, she wouldn’t have brought it up deliberately.
"That afternoon, when he saw I wasn’t driving home, he struck up a conversation, asking about my family."
"He asked why I wasn’t driving, and I said I was just walking to the nearby tea restaurant for a quick bite. Lately, Old Zeng and our son have been away on business, and even our daughter’s been busy—she might pull an all-nighter…"
"It was strange. That guard was usually so quiet—he never initiated small talk."
"Yongshan always said I was too trusting of strangers. This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have said so much."
Zeng Yongshan comforted her mother. "Mum, the killer was just too cunning. How could this be your fault?"
Ah Kang had submitted that resume to HR.
Yi Dongmei wasn’t the only one who had seen the passport photo attached to it.
Zhu Qing wondered—if the original storyline had played out, would Ah Kang have silenced even more people to cover his tracks after killing the Zeng family?
But no matter what, from today onward, the plot had been completely rewritten.
...
Nearly everyone in Team B left the police station close to 2 a.m.
The killer was in custody, but the full truth hadn’t yet come to light. Ah Kang remained silent, his face blank. By now, Inspector Mo was unfazed—they could afford to wait. Even if he never talked, the evidence would speak for itself. Combined with his attempted murder charge, conviction was inevitable.
Unlike Inspector Weng, Inspector Mo genuinely cared about his team.
He walked them to the station entrance, urging them to go home and rest. Those who couldn’t afford a taxi were told to keep their receipts—he’d reimburse everything.
"Tomorrow’s another tough day," Inspector Mo said before shooting Zhu Qing a teasing look. "But your cab fare isn’t on me."
She was a wealthy heiress now—no way was a broke sergeant footing her bill!
Zhu Qing got into the cab and was about to give the driver the address for the Wong Chuk Hang Police Training School when she hesitated.
"Actually, make it The Peak," she corrected.
The trip from Yau Ma Tei Police Station to Wong Chuk Hang would’ve been much longer—and at night, the fare would’ve been at least double.
But when she redirected the driver to The Peak, she realized she hadn’t even considered the cost.
Suddenly, Zhu Qing understood why her colleagues were always so eager to go home after work.
Inspector Mo had his wife and daughter waiting for him. Sometimes, if he returned late, they’d already be asleep, but he’d still tiptoe into his daughter’s room to adjust her blankets. In the bedroom, tomorrow’s outfit would be neatly pressed and hanging on the wardrobe. Uncle Li, divorced years ago with grown children, had a cat. Though the aloof creature barely acknowledged him, it always cracked an eye open when he walked through the door. Xu Jiale and Hao Zai never stopped bragging about their families’ cooking—whether it was sweet soups or nourishing broths, the menu at home was never repetitive.
And then there was Zeng Yongshan, the original heroine, whose family was the picture of happiness…
Zhu Qing hadn’t understood before. But now, she got it.
The reason she could empathize was simple: she had a home too.
Because "home" wasn’t just a place.
Whether it was The Peak or Wong Chuk Hang, what mattered was that someone was waiting for her.
That was home.
...
Little Sheng Fang had stayed up way too late last night.
Aunt Ping, worried he’d catch a chill, had huffed and puffed as she carried the tiny boy back to his bed. Surrounded by toys, he didn’t dream of Ultraman or Iron Man—instead, he imagined himself solving cases alongside his niece.
The seed had barely taken root, yet it was already sprouting.
His niece looked so cool investigating cases—Sheng Fang wanted to be a cool police officer too.
In his dream, they went undercover together, and being a plainclothes cop was the coolest thing ever. Just as the suspect was about to slip up, he felt something tickle his cheek. His chubby little hand swatted at it—and caught Spider-Man’s tiny figure.
Someone was poking his cheek with a Spider-Man action figure.
Sheng Fang's little face scrunched up as he swatted away the model. The young master had always been grumpy upon waking—when he was younger, being disturbed would make him wail. Now that he was no longer a two-year-old, if someone dared wake him, he’d cross his little arms and refuse breakfast altogether.
The cold, spider-like toy kept poking his cheek. Fang Fang furrowed his tiny brows and slapped it away, barely lifting his eyelids.
What had been just a sliver of vision suddenly widened.
He rubbed his eyes, then rubbed them again.
It was Zhu Qing!!!
Little Fang Fang bolted upright from his sleep, all traces of morning grumpiness gone as he launched himself at her, bombarding her with questions.
"When did you get here?"
"Why didn’t you wake me?"
"Did you catch the bad guys?"
Aunt Ping stood at the doorway of the children’s room, unable to suppress a chuckle.
"Miss Qing only arrived home at two in the morning," she said. "She specifically told me not to disturb you. She rested in the guest room and knew you’d have a lot to say, so she woke you before heading to work."
Just as Zhu Qing was about to speak, Sheng Fang raised a tiny hand, signaling her to stop.
The little uncle could instantly sense his niece’s discomfort.
"Aunt Ping, you don’t have to call her that," he said in his childish voice. "Just call her Qing Qing!"
Aunt Ping had always struggled with the titles—one was the young master, the other the young miss, completely messing up the family hierarchy. Using their names felt too informal... After racking her brain for nights, she’d finally settled on "Miss Qing," only to have it dismissed now.
All those sleepless nights, wasted.
Aunt Ping’s cooking had always been exceptional, capable of whipping up an array of breakfast dishes, whether Western or Chinese. The long dining table on the first floor used to seat many, but now only two sat there, their shoulders pressed close together.
In this household, there had always been an unspoken distance between everyone—strict table manners, the clinking of cutlery, an icy formality. But now, sitting side by side, they felt like a real family.
The rules set by the Sheng family patriarch had always been numerous. In her twenty-plus years of service, Aunt Ping had never once been invited to sit at the table with them—today was the first time.
With a spread of dishes far more than Zhu Qing and Sheng Fang could finish, they insisted she join them.
Aunt Ping fidgeted nervously, but the two acted as if her place at the table had always existed.
Early in the morning, the niece taught her little uncle his first lesson:
Don’t waste food.
In return, the little uncle taught her one too—sharing.
Sheng Fang adored Aunt Ping’s homemade strawberry jam, tangy and sweet, slathered on buttered toast. One bite, and the toast would burst with flavor.
The little boy grabbed a soft, white slice for Zhu Qing, smeared it generously with jam, and squeezed it in his tiny hand.
"Qing Qing, eat more."
"Did you wash your hands?"
Little Uncle Fang Fang glared. "Yes!"
Zhu Qing ate quickly, devouring her meal like a whirlwind.
Sheng Fang patted her shoulder, urging her to slow down, to savor each bite of the fluffy toast and relish the taste.
Aunt Ping watched from the side, her eyes not just filled with laughter but also glistening with moisture.
If the old master could see his youngest son and granddaughter supporting each other like this from beyond, he’d surely be comforted. And if the eldest daughter knew her long-lost child had finally come home, she’d rest easy too.
"I’ll go check on the soup," Aunt Ping said. "I’ll pack some for Qing Qing to take to the station, to share with her colleagues."
She hurried to the kitchen, wiping away a tear from the corner of her eye.
If only the young master and Miss Qing could stay here forever. With such a generous salary, it was only right she took good care of them.
Meanwhile, at the table, Zhu Qing and Sheng Fang shook their heads as they ate.
This place was no good.
Who had a rectangular dining table so long you couldn’t even reach the dishes? They’d nearly climbed onto it! And shouting was the only way to call someone from the first floor to the third—might as well just call them.
Not to mention the rooms were so big, even snoring echoed at night!
"I don’t snore."
"Me neither!" Little Uncle pouted. "Just in case!"
......
With the suspect finally apprehended, Zhu Qing could finally relax, her investigative pace slowing naturally.
As Hao Zai often said, even someone hanging needs a moment to breathe.
"Qing Qing, where are you going?"
"To the hospital," Zhu Qing replied. "Arranging for a witness to undergo color blindness screening."
She waved him off—no point explaining, he wouldn’t understand anyway.
Little Sheng Fang slipped on his shoes and followed his niece.
Newcomers always had a lot to learn, and he was ready to take it slow!
"Learn what?"
Little Sheng Fang wanted to learn how to be a police officer.
If his niece was a madam, then he’d be a future sir—laying the foundation for their police family legacy right now.
The little uncle now dreamed of becoming an inspector.
"......" Zhu Qing muttered, "I’m not even an inspector yet."
Given her recent success in cracking the case, bringing her little tagalong to gather evidence wasn’t an issue. After all, the kid had behaved well last night—consider it a reward.
The future Inspector Sheng followed his niece on the investigation, fascinated by everything. He committed every step of the process to memory, but his little brain could only hold so much.
"Qing Qing, buy me a notebook. I need to take notes."
"How many words can you even write?"
"You!" The little master had no retort. "Then buy me a voice recorder!"
The voice recorder debate lasted a short while.
Half an hour later, niece and uncle met witness Zhu Daxiong at the hospital entrance.
Zhu Daxiong told Madam that he and his wife had agreed—she’d handle cooking at home, while he’d take over selling lunchboxes at the docks and construction sites. They weren’t afraid of hard work, and life would gradually improve.
As he spoke, his eyes shone with hope—until the doctor finished his examination, and that light dimmed into confusion.
"Red-green color blindness?"
Zhu Qing had always assumed red-green color blindness simply meant swapping the two colors.
But it turned out, the reality was far more complex.
The doctor explained, "The idea of red and green being swapped is a common misconception based on the term itself. Of course, there are rare cases where patients’ brain cortex abnormalities cause color processing errors, but that’s not true color blindness."
"Real red-green color blindness is the congenital inability to distinguish between these two colors."
Only now did Zhu Daxiong realize that the colors he’d seen all his life had never been right.
Growing up in a household with many siblings, simply having enough to eat was considered a blessing. Later, after starting his own family, he spent years scrambling to make ends meet. No one ever taught him what was right, nor corrected him when he was wrong. He had always adapted on his own—even traffic lights were merely distinguished by their position and brightness. Over time, it became second nature, and he never once questioned that he might be unable to accurately distinguish colors.
The same went for his work at the construction site. A fellow villager had helped him land the job. Zhu Daxiong worked odd jobs and wasn’t familiar with many tasks, which was why he had picked up the wrong helmet. But given enough time, he could tell them apart just by their thickness and material.
In truth, physical labor mattered far more than color recognition in his daily work.
And so, life muddled on like this—until now, no one had ever sensed anything amiss.
Zhu Qing walked out of the hospital holding the doctor’s diagnosis report and a newly taken statement from Zhu Daxiong.
A year ago, in the shipping container factory case, he might have mistaken tan for red.
Or perhaps, in Zhu Daxiong’s mind, that was red.
Now that they had a suspect, the next step was to expand the investigation around him.
Like Tetris, every piece had its destined place.
The case’s threads were finally coming together.
……
Ah Kang, the security guard at Feiman International Beauty Academy, was Yu Jinkang.
Since being brought to the station early yesterday morning, he hadn’t spoken a word.
Now, Zhu Qing pushed open the interrogation room door.
He lifted his gaze, hands clasped tightly beneath the cuffs.
Yu Jinkang seemed different from before.
During their first meeting, he had trembled like a leaf, cautiously asking whether he might be the killer’s next target… Back then, Zeng Yongshan had kindly reassured him that, according to criminal psychologists, the killer wouldn’t target a twenty-year-old.
He had stubbornly insisted he was already twenty-five—
That day, Zhu Qing and Zeng Yongshan had laughed.
Who would have thought it was all part of Yu Jinkang’s act?
The timid, anxious security guard was, in truth, a man with blood on his hands—responsible for multiple lives.
Why had he done it?
The officers interrogating Yu Jinkang had rotated in shifts.
Now, Zhu Qing and Xu Jiale sat across from him.
Zhu Qing carried a file folder and a disposable cup.
She lifted the cup, gripping it firmly.
Yu Jinkang watched coldly, dismissing the small gesture of goodwill.
He turned his head away—only to pause when he saw her take a sip herself, never intending to offer it to him.
Xu Jiale stood and stepped out briefly, returning with a uniform in hand.
A tan jacket, its collar buttons custom-made, refined and meticulous. Embroidered on the chest was the logo of New View Hotel.
"Borrowed this from one of New View’s valets," Xu Jiale said. "Looks familiar, doesn’t it?"
From the folder, he pulled out the patchwork of Yu Jinkang’s employment history, pieced together by the police.
Over the past year and a half, he had held three jobs.
His first stint was at Hung Kee Container Refitting Factory on Kwai Chung Pier Road—lasting less than a week. He had taken that job to familiarize himself with the layout before targeting Ma Guohua.
His second job was as a valet at New View Hotel.
Likely to get close to the hotel manager, Zhang Zhiqiang.
"Your first kill happened during your time as a valet," Xu Jiale continued. "What set you off that night? What made you rush straight to Kwai Chung Pier Road without even changing out of your uniform?"
"Your third job was as a security guard at the beauty academy," Zhu Qing picked up. "After quitting New View, you went an entire year without work. Why?"
Yu Jinkang’s gaze fixed on the valet uniform.
His own had never been returned to the hotel—he had burned it, forfeiting his deposit as a result.
"Let me answer for you," Zhu Qing said, sliding a medical report toward him. "Rapid weight loss, diagnosed at a terminal stage. You were sick. Your body couldn’t take it anymore, forcing you to stop. But time was running out, so after that year of rest, you moved to Feiman."
Before each kill, he would first quietly infiltrate the victim’s life.
Learning their routines, family situations, habits…
"We’ve been investigating adults who had conflicts with the four victims at the children’s theater."
"But in truth, the killer from the rainy night serial murders was one of the children in that theater."
Among the case files on the table was a list of attendees from the children’s theater.
The young actors’ names were listed at the very bottom.
Xu Jiale: "We’ve already found eyebrow razor blades, half-used lipsticks, blush, even high heels hidden under your bed. The evidence is solid. There’s no way out for you."
Yu Jinkang’s expression flickered.
The autopsy reports contained precise data—based on ligature marks and angles, the killer’s height was estimated to be around 1.7 meters.
Zhu Daxiong, the eyewitness from last year, had described a suspect of similar height.
But Yu Jinkang was unusually short.
When they first met, a colleague had even joked that he was shorter than Zeng Yongshan.
That was why no one had suspected him at first.
It wasn’t until the case accumulated one unexplainable inconsistency after another that Zhu Qing connected the dots—realizing the unsettling possibility.
"What happened at that children’s theater all those years ago?" she pressed, pausing deliberately. "Ma Guohua, Feng Yaowen, Zhang Zhiqiang, Zheng Shihong… They were innocent."
At that, Yu Jinkang suddenly erupted.
As if straining against an invisible force, he slammed his cuffed fists onto the table.
"Who said they were innocent?"
"They deserved to die."
"Every last one of them!"
This unremarkable, diminutive man trembled with fury, his rage boiling over.
Memories from over a decade ago, long buried, surged forth—each recollection only deepening his hatred for those four men.
"And what about Yi Dongmei? Zeng Shaoping and Zeng Yongxuan…"
"Did they deserve to die too?"
Yu Jinkang’s lips pressed into a thin line, his anger deflating as suddenly as it had flared. He said nothing more.
In the group photo from the children’s theater, there had been fifty-three people.
Among them were over twenty children, all around the same age, with hairstyles and outfits divided simply into boys' and girls' styles, each face heavily made up. At first, the entire team couldn’t tell which one was the young Yu Jinkang—until Sheng Fang pointed at one child’s figure and asked in confusion:
"Why is he wearing high heels?"
At that moment, Zhu Qing pointed to the child in the corner of the third row of the photo.
"I think wearing high heels to kill wasn’t to mislead the police," Zhu Qing said calmly, staring at him. "It was purely your personal preference."
Yu Jinkang closed his eyes, his breathing ragged.
Just then, Inspector Mo opened the door to switch places with Xu Jiale.
In the observation room next to the interrogation chamber, everyone waited silently for him to reveal the truth.
Time ticked by until, finally, Yu Jinkang spoke.
That year, children’s theater performances were all the rage.
Classmates who loved acting would always mention during breaks how they were going to perform at the concert hall on Saturday mornings. Back then, Yu Jinkang loved singing, dancing, and imitating cartoons on TV, adapting his own performances. He had asked his music teacher—that was stage acting.
He heard that signing up to perform was free, but parents had to buy tickets to watch.
At the time, his family didn’t have enough money. Yu Jinkang didn’t even dare to dream, keeping his wish buried deep inside.
But then, unexpectedly, his mother decided to fulfill it.
"On Monday after school, I saw a ticket to the children’s theater on my bedside," Yu Jinkang said, a glimmer in his eyes. "My mom told me I could go perform."
Yu Jinkang recalled that his mother had dreamed of having a sweet, obedient daughter while pregnant. When he was born, that hope was dashed—but since he was fair and delicate, dressing him as a girl didn’t seem out of place.
"Later, when I grew up, my parents stopped dressing me in girls’ clothes."
"But for stage performances, cross-dressing roles were completely normal."
Even now, he still remembered how excited he was that day, standing at the entrance of the Xiangjiang Concert Hall.
His prepared act was a segment from Snow White. He had practiced over and over at home, using different voices to perform the Queen’s dialogue with the Magic Mirror. His mother said he was sure to win the Best Performance Award—the prize being a custom-made children’s theater costume.
"You can’t imagine how much I looked forward to it," Yu Jinkang said after a long silence, the light in his eyes dimming. "They ruined that performance for me."
Back then, Yu Jinkang hadn’t realized that, deep down, he identified as a girl.
The costume his mother rented was cheap, but he was happy with it, eagerly waiting for the makeup artist to give him his stage look.
"It was a gorgeous costume," Yu Jinkang said, his expression almost entranced. "A big, puffy skirt."
In the children’s theater, there were all kinds of odd characters.
A boy dressed as Little Red Riding Hood, a girl playing both Liang Shanbo and Zhu Yingtai, and twins in duckling costumes quacking through a nursery rhyme.
Yet Zheng Shihong’s mockery fell on him alone.
Only later did Yu Jinkang learn that Zheng Shihong, just starting out in the industry back then, was also laughed at—and he passed that humiliation onto someone even more vulnerable.
"He refused to do my makeup," Yu Jinkang said. "He said, ‘What’s a boy doing wearing makeup?’"
But he was playing Snow White’s stepmother.
With a wig, a puffy dress, and his mother’s high heels, everything was ready—except for the exaggerated stage makeup.
Young Yu Jinkang kept waiting, as if hoping for Zheng Shihong’s mercy, for him to just glance his way.
But he never did.
In the end, Yu Jinkang sat in the chair and secretly used the makeup artist’s cosmetics.
He didn’t know how—his lips were smeared too red, his cheeks blushed like a clown’s.
Ma Guohua, setting up the stage, passed by and accidentally stepped on the high heels by his feet. He looked Yu Jinkang up and down, then burst into harsh laughter.
When Zheng Shihong noticed he’d stolen the makeup, he was furious. He twisted out the lipstick and roughly pressed it against the corner of Yu Jinkang’s mouth.
The red wax stretched upward—like a smile, or a clown’s grin.
Yu Jinkang remembered every cruel word.
They didn’t even know him, yet they blindly followed the leader’s laughter.
Makeup artist Zheng Shihong sneered, poking his forehead, mocking him for having no eyebrows.
Breakfast vendor Feng Yaowen turned around with a milk carton and asked if he was trying to enter a beauty pageant.
Event assistant Zhang Zhiqiang told him to look in the mirror—he resembled a paper effigy from a horror movie.
Even now, Yu Jinkang believed it was just bad luck.
Out of all the cross-dressing performers, he was the one who crossed Zheng Shihong’s path. Maybe Principal Zheng was in a foul mood that day, and the other three also had frustrations they needed to vent.
So all that malice was directed straight at him.
That year, Yu Jinkang was eleven.
He was supposed to be the final performer. But as the little emcee announced the acts one after another, he just sat in front of the mirror, wiping off his lipstick with tissues until the corners of his mouth were raw.
His mother, waiting in the audience, never saw him appear. After the show, she came backstage, unaware of what had happened, and pulled him into a group photo.
From then on, Yu Jinkang stopped performing. He stopped wearing girls’ clothes, locking away the puffy princess dresses and wigs in the deepest corners of his heart.
When puberty hit, his eyebrows thickened. To appear more masculine, he took up judo and taekwondo—though he never grew very tall.
As an adult, Yu Jinkang forced himself to do many things, but none brought him joy.
His instincts, his true nature, remained suppressed—until one day, he remembered his mother’s high heels again.
"They didn’t just ruin the performance I’d been waiting for."
"They ruined my life from age eleven onward."
Zhu Qing asked, "Why did you target Ma Guohua first?"
Those memories were like a long, unending nightmare.
"Why…?" Yu Jinkang murmured, as if waking from a dream, a strange smile twisting his lips. "You’d never guess how they reacted when they realized I was that kid."
The sound of rustling paper filled the sealed interrogation room.
Zhu Qing flipped to a new page in the notepad.
The story was too long—what came next was the detailed account of his crimes.
Inspector Mo rapped the interrogation table. "Go on."
...
Most of Team B’s officers were crowded into the observation room—only Sheng Fang remained at his desk.
Inspector Weng stopped by once, raising an eyebrow at the boy, but the child didn’t even glance up, utterly unfazed.
When he arrived, Jiale, Yongshan, Hao Zai, and the others had already told him—his niece was the key contributor to cracking the case this time, so Inspector Weng wouldn’t just kick him out.
The desk calendar clearly showed it was Wednesday.
Once he got to work, he’d lose track of day and night, even forgetting the family’s top priority. Really, what could anyone do with this kid?
To avoid interruptions, Zhu Qing left her pager in her desk drawer before entering the interrogation room.
Now, the pager had gone off several times.
Calling nonstop at this hour—couldn’t they guess she was working?
Sheng Fang tiptoed up to the clerical officer, his small hands gripping the edge of the desk. "Sister Zhen, I need to make a call."
"Go ahead," Sister Zhen chuckled, bending down to hand him the receiver.
The familiar voice of Agent Wang came through the line.
It was Wednesday—they’d agreed to sign the provisional contract in the evening. There were still a few details to confirm.
"Qing is busy. Talk to me."
A brief silence hung on Agent Wang’s end. "Put an adult who can make decisions on the phone."
Sheng Fang’s little brow furrowed.
Again and again, Agent Wang kept testing him, completely unaware of who was really in charge.
"We’re not buying!" the young master snapped.
But after a moment’s thought, he worried the house he’d had his eye on for so long might slip away.
With gritted teeth, Uncle Fang Fang declared, "Actually, I was just messing with you."
