The Little Police Beauty of Hong Kong Inherits the Tycoon’s Young Heir Chapter 30

Yu Jinkang recounted the entire crime process in detail.

Perhaps it was the mocking laughter from his memories that continued to haunt him, or perhaps it was reliving the high heels of his childhood that finally allowed him to reclaim his true self... Yu Jinkang believed there was no reason for those who had hurt him to live so comfortably.

The first time he met them, he was eleven years old.

Spring—an age of remembrance. He memorized the names and professions of those four individuals from the staff list, engraving them in his heart. So when he grew up, tracking them down again wasn’t difficult.

Yu Jinkang’s plan for this serial murder was meticulously premeditated.

Back then, Zheng Shihong, who worked as a makeup artist, refused to do his makeup, offering some excuse like how a little boy didn’t need such flashy decorations... At first, his attitude was merely indifferent, not mocking.

The one who first ridiculed Yu Jinkang was actually Ma Guohua, the supervisor in charge of the stage construction crew.

Just as the police later discovered, Yu Jinkang applied for a job and smoothly secured a position at the container factory, where Ma Guohua became his foreman.

By middle age, Ma Guohua was no longer as driven as he had been in his youth. Most of the time, he slacked off, drifting through his days while worrying about what he would do if the container factory shut down.

Rumors said he had a harmonious marriage and filial children. Yu Jinkang, eating his lunchbox meal while listening to his coworkers’ gossip, would always smile. In his mind, he had already envisioned countless times how Ma Guohua would meet a gruesome end. Just silently savoring those thoughts made his blood boil with anticipation.

“With such a happy and loving family, he must be very reluctant to die,” Yu Jinkang remarked.

He spent a week familiarizing himself with Ma Guohua’s work schedule, home address, commuting routes, and more... But acting directly would make it too easy to expose himself. So after leaving the container factory, Yu Jinkang took up a valet job at the New View Hotel.

The hotel manager, Zhang Zhiqiang, was an arrogant scoundrel.

He tossed the car keys at Yu Jinkang, looking down at him with disdain before sneering, “Ever seen a car this nice before? Don’t scratch it.”

This Manager Zhang enjoyed picking on people, but Yu Jinkang never argued with him. Instead, he would simply stare, mentally sketching out every detail of his murder ten thousand times, silently reveling in the fantasy.

His countdown to death had long since begun.

“So, the killings weren’t in any particular order? Just random?” Mo Zhenbang asked.

“Only Zheng Shihong—I saved him for last,” Yu Jinkang replied coolly, lifting his gaze before continuing. “Working at a breakfast stall would’ve been too conspicuous. First, Feng Yaowen wasn’t hiring, and second, once the crimes came to light, the police would’ve traced it back to me easily. So I just made a habit of wandering around Sham Shui Po, buying snacks to satisfy my cravings. I never specifically asked about Feng Yaowen, but everyone in the neighborhood knew about his affair and how his son beat him up. Too bad it was his own son—he didn’t hit hard enough, just left him with a few bruises.”

For his first kill, Yu Jinkang chose Ma Guohua.

By then, he had already left the container factory for about six months. With the high turnover rate and no prior conflicts with his foreman, even if the police investigated, they wouldn’t suspect him.

He waited for the perfect moment.

Until that rainy day.

“It was pouring the day of the children’s theater performance too,” Yu Jinkang said. “My mom held my hand on the way home, scolding me the whole time. She didn’t know what had happened backstage—just thought she’d wasted money on tickets, rented costumes, wigs, and sacrificed her rare day off, only for me not to perform. I never blamed my mom. She had it hard enough.”

“I didn’t explain. Just kept my head down.”

“The rain got heavier. We didn’t have an umbrella, so even if I was crying, no one would notice.”

“At eleven years old, I knew—I’d never forget that day.”

The day of his first murder, the rain was just as heavy, dredging up memories of the theater backstage.

So after his shift, still in his hotel uniform, he went straight to Ma Guohua’s home. For his first kill, Yu Jinkang hadn’t planned so meticulously. With the rain pounding in his ears, he stood at Ma Guohua’s door, fully armed.

Yu Jinkang had timed Ma Guohua’s usual return from work, but after waiting endlessly, he never showed. Only then did he learn that after his resignation, business at the container factory had declined, and even foremen were now required to work night shifts.

A week was enough for Yu Jinkang to familiarize himself with the factory layout. By the time he arrived, it was late. Inside the workshop, Ma Guohua seemed to sense something—restless no matter how he lay. Then, hearing footsteps, he turned in confusion.

“He remembered me because, six months earlier, I’d been one of his workers,” Yu Jinkang said, a cold smirk curling his lips. “The moment he recognized me, he was about to ask why I was there when his eyes suddenly flicked downward—to my shoes.”

“He must’ve been baffled. That ‘normal’-seeming worker—why was he like this?”

Ma Guohua never connected him to that child from the theater all those years ago. Maybe, over the long years, the foreman had simply forgotten what had happened.

But when he saw those high heels, his expression twisted into the same mocking sneer, the corners of his lips lifting in that identical, disdainful arc.

Then, his smile froze.

Or rather, his life froze in that instant.

“He stood up, clearly still wanting to laugh at me. I didn’t bother explaining. What’s the point with people like him? I pointed somewhere behind him—any normal person would turn to look—” Yu Jinkang mimed tightening a noose, gritting his teeth. “The moment he turned, I killed him.”

Yu Jinkang didn’t have the group photo from the children’s theater.

But replaying the details of that day, it was as if all surrounding noise had been muted. His focus narrowed like a camera lens, locking onto only those four individuals—what he saw, what he heard.

He saw Ma Guohua stumble, palms facing upward.

So he made sure the man stayed that way in death.

“The eyebrow razor, lipstick, and blush—I just bought them from a random store,” Yu Jinkang said. “Just like when I was a kid, I don’t know how to do makeup.”

The razor used by the killer was the same brand as the ones Zhan Weiqang took kickbacks on—pure coincidence.

But for his first kill, he’d been too rushed. Hearing someone approaching, he fled in a panic, accidentally leaving the small blade behind.

“I thought I was finished.”

“But to my surprise, time passed, and no one came for me. The newspapers only gave the case a tiny column.”

He handed in his resignation at the New View Hotel.

Originally, he should have waited six months between each case like the previous one, but Yu Jinkang realized something was wrong with his body.

Yu Jinkang went to the hospital, and when the test results came back, the doctor shook his head regretfully and apologetically.

His parents spent their life savings to treat him, and he cooperated actively, all to keep himself alive long enough to personally send Feng Yaowen, Zhang Zhiqiang, and Zheng Shihong to their graves.

A year passed, and Yu Jinkang had lost a lot of weight. He was already short, and now, gaunt and small, his mother’s heart ached for him, often hiding away to cry.

But his condition improved day by day.

“After spending so much on treatment, my condition stabilized. Now, I can settle the score with them properly,” Yu Jinkang said. “Even heaven must have found their lives unbearable.”

The second was Feng Yaowen.

Over a decade had passed, and Yu Jinkang had grown from the trembling child hiding in the corner into a full-grown man.

Standing before Feng Yaowen, the man didn’t recognize him.

“Did you want to follow others and try out for Miss Hong Kong?” Yu Jinkang said. “I asked if he remembered those words—and then, I killed him.”

Yi Dongmei had mentioned that Yu Jinkang once wrote on his job application that he had competed in a flyweight judo tournament.

Even though Feng Yaowen was burly, he was no match for a judo silver medalist. Before his death, he begged pitifully, admitting his wrongs… but it was already too late.

“He didn’t truly realize his mistakes.”

“He just wanted to live.”

The third was Zhang Zhiqiang.

Yu Jinkang had scouted the location beforehand. Zhang Zhiqiang’s apartment building had surveillance, and the old man at the gate took his job seriously, alert to any movement. Meanwhile, the New View Hotel was bustling with people around the clock, making it impossible to avoid guests and front desk staff. So, he lured Zhang Zhiqiang to an abandoned tenement in Mong Kok.

“I knew him too well. Even after marriage and kids, a dog can’t stop eating filth.”

“On the phone, I lowered my voice and told him—‘new stock arrived, wild stuff.’ Half an hour later, he came running.”

“Pathetic. Just saying it makes me feel dirty.”

At Yu Jinkang’s prompting, Zhang Zhiqiang vaguely remembered him.

He said, “Was it really such a big deal? Holding onto it all this time?” Those were his last words in this world.

Finally, Zheng Shihong.

“He looked like a decent man,” Yu Jinkang sneered. “Got rich, became a big entrepreneur, wore suits and ties, donated to charity for the papers, learned to act respectable.”

Zheng Shihong only recognized him in his final moments.

Perhaps it was his profession—a makeup artist’s eyes were sharper than most. The person strangling him from behind was that same eyebrowless child from years ago. Now grown, the child shaved off his eyebrows and picked up the cigarette he had dropped, stuffing it between his lips.

“After all the performances at the children’s theater, the photographer took our group photo.”

“One parent politely thanked Zheng Shihong for the beautiful stage makeup he’d done for their child. He smiled so politely, even hesitating over whether the cigarette in his hand might bother the kid, worried about leaving a bad impression.”

“No one would have guessed that beneath this respectable Principal Zheng’s facade lurked a monster. Only I knew—only me.”

“It’s complete.” Yu Jinkang closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. “All four of them. Not a single one left.”

The police sat in silence, pens hovering over their notes for a long time.

That once-weak child had grown up and meticulously planned this revenge, personally ending the lives of those who had tormented him.

Even in their final moments, their memories of him remained hazy.

Yet he had carried that hatred in his heart, remembering it for a lifetime.

“What about Yi Dongmei, Zeng Shaoping, and Zeng Yongxuan?” Mo Zhenbang asked.

Yu Jinkang’s expression faltered, the excitement in his eyes dimming.

He shouldn’t have killed Teacher Yi’s family.

He knew he didn’t have long to live—being arrested didn’t matter. But his parents would find out.

So, almost against his will, he went to Yi Dongmei’s home.

“I didn’t…” Yu Jinkang struggled to speak. “I didn’t want them to be disappointed in me.”

Yu Jinkang’s parents had spent their life savings to save him.

He wanted them to never know their son was the serial killer on the news.

At Teacher Yi’s house, the deafening crack of gunfire interrupted him.

Yu Jinkang said his life had been split in two at eleven years old.

Once, he had stood proudly on stage. Later, he preferred to hide in the shadows.

In those days in the corner, Yu Jinkang was rarely seen. When the police asked him about Zhan Weiqiang, he said, “Brother Wei was a good man,” and he meant it.

People were complicated. Zhan Weiqiang had crawled out of the mud too, and because he understood, he treated Yu Jinkang kindly.

“People,” Yu Jinkang said with a bitter smile, “only truly understand when they’ve lived through it themselves.”

……

Sheng Fang hung up the phone, still fuming.

Sir Liang emerged from the observation room and, as if by magic, produced a candy to calm him down.

Agent Wang had no sense of tact!

But even if he was upset, candy was candy, and he still had to buy his niece that apartment.

A three-year-old’s temper came and went quickly.

By the time he settled back into Zhu Qing’s workspace, he was as comfortable as if it were his own home.

Today, little Sheng Fang had every reason to hold his head high.

His niece had performed brilliantly—as her uncle, he could bask in the glory too!

With the interrogation finally over, the officers stretched their stiff shoulders and discussed the case in the CID office.

“Four grown men, over a hundred years of life between them, ganged up on an eleven-year-old kid.”

“But that doesn’t justify killing four people! That’s just deranged!”

“Calm down, I’m not defending him. But cases like this aren’t rare. Kids start as blank slates—the problem is—”

“No matter what, Yong Shan’s parents and older brother were innocent. A few more seconds, and the death toll in this serial case would’ve been higher. Four or seven—it’s not just numbers. Those were lives that should’ve kept living.”

“Not sympathy, not understanding, and definitely not forgiveness. But this could’ve been avoided. It shouldn’t have become a motive in a murder case years later.”

Those cold, damp shadows from childhood became scars they carried for life.

“But he still had parents who loved him. I don’t think we should be so quick to humanize a killer. If everyone with childhood trauma turned to murder, the world would be chaos.”

“Either way, the case is closed now.”

"This time we must celebrate properly! Last time after cracking the Furnace Skeleton Case, we said we'd have a proper victory party, but then another homicide came up."

"Mo Zhenbang, isn't it time to deliver on that rooftop barbecue you promised?"

"I remember clearly—someone promised unlimited oysters and all the ice-cold beer we could drink. Does that offer still stand?"

While everyone had moved on to another topic, Sheng Fang remained lost in melancholy.

That pitiful, difficult, tragic childhood... wasn't that describing his niece? Thank goodness the child grew up righteous instead of taking the criminal path. Otherwise, her police officer uncle wouldn't know whether to uphold justice by turning her in.

Sheng Fang couldn't help glancing at Zhu Qing.

He needed to treat her better!

Zhu Qing's emotions were complicated.

In the original story, that genius teenager had turned to white-collar crime—not for money, but to manipulate legal principles and rules like playthings. Yet after spending time with Fangfang, she saw he was clearly just a good kid. The original plot hadn't detailed it, but what exactly had this poor little antagonist gone through?

She really should be kinder to him.

......

With the Rainy Night Serial Murders case closed, Team B of the Major Crimes Division maintained their usual swagger.

Particularly Xu Jiale and Hao Zai, who'd nearly come to blows with Team A before—now they strutted about with chins held high.

They'd even adopted Team A's signature drawn-out sarcastic tone.

"What can we say? Team B is just overflowing with talent."

"Some things can't be matched no matter how hard others try."

Having finally scored a win, Team B was thoroughly enjoying themselves.

Team A members looked absolutely miserable, avoiding even the break room to deny their rivals bragging opportunities.

Mo Zhenbang let them have their moment, shaking his head with a smile before clapping his hands.

"Afternoon tea's on me—order whatever you want!"

The young officers immediately redirected their attention, voices rising in playful demands.

"Just afternoon tea? That's not enough!"

"Lunch should be on you too!"

"Mo Zhenbang, we're all sick of the canteen food anyway..."

"I'll puke if I eat another canteen meal. If Mo Zhenbang's treating, it's got to be Sister Cui's Seafood House—"

"You lot." Uncle Li interjected on Mo Zhenbang's behalf, jerking his chin toward the hallway. "Why would lunch be Mo Zhenbang's treat? Obviously it's his turn."

The familiar click of dress shoes against linoleum announced the arrival before the man himself appeared.

Amidst good-natured laughter, Senior Inspector Weng Zhaolin rounded the corner in his immaculate suit.

"Fine, fine," Weng Zhaolin conceded. "Order whatever you like—it's on me."

Zeng Yongshan leaned toward Zhu Qing's ear.

Last time, she'd mentioned Weng Zhaolin's notorious stinginess—how he'd pocket savings from celebration budgets to fund his luxury watch collection. But now she waved it off magnanimously—

"Actually he's not that bad. Just... extremely annoying."

Weng Zhaolin had just returned from representing the police force at a press conference.

Adjusting his crisp collar, he told Mo Zhenbang, "You're signing up for the promotion exam this time."

After all these years..." He clasped Mo Zhenbang's shoulder. "It's time to move on."

Zhu Qing had always wondered about something. Tugging Zeng Yongshan's sleeve, she whispered:

"Why does our team have a senior inspector and sergeants, but no regular inspectors?"

"The last inspector transferred out before you graduated," Zeng Yongshan explained. "Superintendent Su's child was diagnosed with autism—he and his wife switched to administrative roles to care for them. Sometimes those rank insignia aren't what really matters."

"As for Mo Zhenbang... he actually aced the inspector written exam years ago. But he skipped the interview, voluntarily giving up the promotion."

Zeng Yongshan lowered her voice, sharing that since joining the force, Mo Zhenbang had cracked numerous major cases. His case files stacked higher than the Sheng family's youngest heir. By tenure alone, he should've made inspector long ago.

"But after that written exam, there was an explosion case. He'd swapped shifts with a colleague."

"He survived. The colleague didn't."

"Cliché, right? Even TVB dramas don't use that plot anymore. Afterward, Mo Zhenbang... wasn't himself for a long time."

Zhu Qing was stunned: "It was an accident. No one could've known."

"But Mo Zhenbang couldn't forgive himself." Zeng Yongshan's voice dropped further. "He's been... atoning ever since. Besides supporting the colleague's elderly parents, he even... raised their daughter."

This wasn't a secret—Mo Zhenbang never hid it. Everyone in the unit knew.

Except the newest member, Zhu Qing.

She froze: "Nannan?"

"Right. He and his wife have raised Nannan as their own all these years."

"That's why Mo Zhenbang looks after us all so carefully—he values every team member. Anyway, their family of three is happy now. We just hope... Mo Zhenbang can find peace too."

Weng Zhaolin continued pressing: "A thirty-four-year-old sergeant? Aren't you embarrassed?"

"Weng Zhaolin." Mo Zhenbang met his gaze. "That's age discrimination—I could report you."

"Can't be bothered arguing. I'm signing you up—whether you take the exam is your choice." Weng Zhaolin turned to leave, then paused. "That inspector position's been vacant too long. If not you, then who?"

At their workstations, everyone remained seated.

Sheng Fang sat too—a small figure swinging short legs as he listened to the adults.

Slowly, he stood up.

Only to be immediately pushed back down by Zhu Qing, like a game of whack-a-mole.

Their hushed exchange:

"Qing, if he won't do it, I will!"

"You? I'd have better luck."

Dead silence fell.

Every eye turned toward them.

Zhu Qing's neck creaked as she turned—

I didn't mean right now.

......

After work, little Sheng Fang trotted beside Zhu Qing.

Like an eager sidekick.

"Qing offended the bosses—you're doomed!" He fake-sympathized. "Some superiors hold grudges!"

Mo Zhenbang caught him red-handed: "Talking about me?"

Sheng Fang: ?

Next time I'm leaving this kid at home...

Zhu Qing fled the scene.

Come Wednesday, uncle and niece wasted no time fulfilling their appointment.

Inside the real estate office along Nathan Road, Zhu Qing gripped her pen, took a deep breath, and signed the provisional contract.

"Congratulations, Qing!" Sheng Fang seized his niece's hands excitedly. "You're a homeowner now!"

Fangfang had long promised to buy Zhu Qing property. Today, he finally delivered.

Such a big flat—all his niece's now. He watched Qing's lips curve up in that subtle, lovely smile.

Agent Wang had suggested getting an adult to oversee things, but really—with such seniority in the family, who was more qualified than this little uncle?

My niece is a police officer, rarely getting any downtime, and who knows when she’ll be back to working nonstop. Sheng Fang didn’t want to risk delays, so he directly contacted a lawyer he was familiar with.

Of course, it was the young master’s order—Aunt Ping helped arrange it.

The home-buying process was incredibly tedious, but the young master of the Sheng family knew how to delegate. He left all the troublesome details to the lawyer.

The initial price negotiations were handled by Zhu Qing, and the provisional and formal contracts could be signed on the same day. As for the mortgage—they didn’t need one. The little uncle was impatient, eager to escape the cramped pigeon cage of their current place. Yet, he didn’t want to return to the luxury of their half-mountain mansion either. His only hope was to move into their new home in Yau Ma Tei as soon as possible.

The lawyer was thoroughly exploited by this three-and-a-half-year-old. Zhu Qing had said buying a house wasn’t like buying groceries, but in his opinion, the efficiency of the Sheng family’s young master surpassed even that.

Buyer and seller met, contracts were signed nonstop, and the printer nearly overheated from overuse…

Agent Wang got a firsthand look at the "style" of the Sheng family’s young master. He respectfully poured him a cup of warm water and handed it over with both hands.

"No iced lemon tea?" Sheng Fang frowned like a proper little adult. "No tea at all?"

"Yes, yes! I’ll go buy some from the tea stall at the corner right away!"

The dreams of the poor are always concrete.

Dreaming of making big money, dreaming of winning the lottery, dreaming of buying a flat and moving into a new home… But now, the keys to the house were actually, tangibly in Zhu Qing’s hands. She felt like she was the one dreaming.

In her palm lay a key, cold to the touch.

Yet her heart burned.

Zhu Qing clenched her fist. "Sheng Fang, pinch me."

Little Uncle Fangfang snickered.

His niece was too happy—his niece had gone silly!

……

Finally, Zhu Qing had time to visit Sheng Peirong.

The quiet hospital room echoed only with the hum of medical equipment.

Sheng Peirong still lay in bed, as if merely asleep.

Time ticked by.

Zhu Qing sat at her mother’s bedside, pressed her lips together, and spoke for the first time.

"We bought a new place. We’ll be moving in a couple of days."

"The previous owners emigrated, so the furniture and appliances they left behind are practically new."

"These past few days, I’ve been looking into kindergartens for Sheng Fang."

"The international kindergarten in Kowloon Tong has a great environment. The school bus ride is only ten minutes—that’s not too far, right?"

Outside the room, little Sheng Fang played a "floor skating" game in the hallway.

He wore small sneakers, their soles not slippery enough, but the nursing home’s smooth floors made up for it. The little one took a running start, cheeks wobbling as he dashed forward.

Sheng Fang knew carefree days like these wouldn’t last much longer.

His niece had said he couldn’t keep lazing around—he had to go to school. But he was just a three-and-a-half-year-old uncle baby! Wasn’t being idle his right?

After tiring of his game, Sheng Fang loitered outside the ward.

He stood on tiptoe for a long time until his feet grew dizzy.

So he steadied himself, took a short break, and resumed his mission.

A nurse approached gently. "Can’t open the door? I can help."

Sheng Fang shook his head.

The nurse was underestimating him. His arms were long, his legs were long—he just wanted to stay outside for now.

The little one spoke with the gravity of an elder. "Give them some mother-daughter space."

The nurse couldn’t help it—she burst out laughing.

After composing herself, she coughed into her hand to preserve the child’s dignity and said solemnly, "Understood."

Sheng Fang noticed his niece seemed to be talking inside.

A child who’d grown up without a mother didn’t know how to act around one. He couldn’t act spoiled, so he could only recite dry, mundane updates.

"If only Big Sister could wake up," Sheng Fang said. "Then Qing would have a mom."

The nurse froze, then felt an indescribable ache in her chest.

Time had passed, and the tabloids had long lost interest in the Sheng family’s affairs. The glory of the jewelry tycoon remained in the past. Blurry photos of the child had been published before, taken from a distance. Recently, new photos had surfaced, but someone in the Sheng family must have intervened—they’d been blurred beyond recognition.

This young master of the Sheng family had been painted by the media as a spoiled, unruly little demon. But now, he sighed softly, his tiny wish so innocent and pure.

After all, a child was just a child.

"She will…" the nurse said.

Sheng Fang: "Really?"

The nurse was only comforting him.

Little Fangfang knew no one could answer that question for sure.

Like adults always said—some things could only be left to time.

He dragged a small stool from the nurse’s station, climbed onto it, and peered through the observation window into the room.

Qing still had a mom. That was nice.

Inside, Zhu Qing adjusted Sheng Peirong’s blanket.

It was a meaningless gesture, but one of the few things she could still do for her mother.

"If work isn’t too busy, I’ll visit more often."

Doctors never gave definitive answers. When asked if Sheng Peirong might wake up, he’d only smiled and called it a miracle.

In the original story, she’d lingered for years before her organs failed, leaving the world for good. Zhu Qing had never believed in miracles—but this time, she was willing to wait.

It was a thread of hope.

And Zhu Qing needed that thread.

……

Zhu Qing and Fangfang had the keys to their new place, but they were still waiting for the official handover.

In the meantime, life was full every day. She’d contacted several kindergartens and scheduled interviews. These days, she had her little uncle review the interview materials on his own.

Sheng Fang sat on the lower bunk of their bunk bed, short legs crossed, one hand propping up his round head while the other held the papers.

Zhu Qing was also studying at her desk—the atmosphere at home was so scholarly. But she noticed Sheng Fang only buried himself in the interview questions whenever she turned to look.

Zhu Qing turned back.

The little imp behind her was silent.

This time, she spun around abruptly.

But the little one was prepared, brows furrowed in deep concentration, as if diving headfirst into the sea of knowledge.

"Sheng Fang! You’re holding the papers upside down!"

This child had zero self-discipline.

Even when caught, he remained unrepentant, tossing the materials aside. "Qing, call me Uncle!"

So rude, addressing an elder by their full name!

Fine, they could compromise—"Fangfang" would do.

A few days before the kindergarten interviews, something good happened.

The West Kowloon Regional Headquarters, where the Serious Crimes Division was based, held an internal meeting. The team led by Sir Mo received a collective commendation for cracking a major case, and Zhu Qing was personally recognized for her outstanding performance.

Zhu Qing kept taking out her trophy and certificate to admire them, eyes shining.

Little Sheng Fang pouted. Trophies and certificates? He had plenty back at their half-mountain home—he usually couldn’t be bothered with them.

"You wouldn’t understand."

"Tell me about it!"

To become a good police officer—

That was the conviction Zhu Qing buried deep in her heart the day she entered the police academy.

Now, she was steadfastly walking down that path.

Sheng Fang suddenly understood.

If that was the case, it all made sense—same uncle and niece, same dream.

On moving day, Zhu Qing carefully packed away her trophies and certificates.

At first, she had been brimming with confidence, thinking she wouldn’t even need a moving company. Now, she realized she had clearly overestimated her packing skills.

Back when she moved from the orphanage to the police academy dorm, all her belongings could fit into a single suitcase. Later, after settling into her small space at the Wong Chuk Hang Police School dormitory, she gradually accumulated things—professional books, daily necessities, clothes…

Now, the tiny pigeonhole of a room was piled high with cardboard boxes.

Strangely, Sheng Fang hadn’t been here long, yet he already had quite a collection of personal items.

While Zhu Qing was at work, he and Aunt Ping had been coming and going, "rescuing" toys from the Mid-Levels.

She rarely saw him play with them, but now, after sorting, they formed a small mountain.

"There’s more."

Sheng Fang crouched low, wriggling like a caterpillar under the bunk bed.

His chubby little arms, soft as lotus roots, reached beneath the bed before pulling out another pile of toys with a rustling sound. Zhu Qing wanted to strangle him.

How on earth were they supposed to move all this to the new place?

She glanced out the window.

After days of rain, she had almost forgotten how scorching the summer sun could be. Even the drill instructors on the field had taken pity on the trainees, letting them rest in the shade.

If she and Sheng Fang tried hauling all this luggage out now, they’d end up as roasted niece and uncle.

"Zhu Qing! Are you done yet?" Hao Zai’s booming voice carried up from downstairs.

"We don’t know which floor you’re on—come down when you’re ready!" Xu Jiale chimed in.

They had borrowed a car from Sir Mo and spent ages sweet-talking the security guard at the academy gate, flashing their badges. But the old man wasn’t having it—no unauthorized vehicles allowed, no matter how "outstanding" their records were.

"Yong Shan’s coming in Sir Liang’s car. She’ll be here soon."

"Think all the luggage will fit?"

Zhu Qing’s fingers paused briefly, but she didn’t respond immediately.

Sheng Fang tilted his round head, eyes squinting smugly—he had already coordinated everything!

It was a rare day off, and Zhu Qing hadn’t expected her colleagues to come all this way just to help.

Faced with malice, she could retaliate without hesitation. But sudden kindness left her at a loss for how to react.

Sheng Fang stuck his head out the window: "We’re on the third floor! This one!"

Zhu Qing stepped forward too, sunlight tracing the curve of her profile.

Watching her enthusiastic colleagues below, her lips parted, but before she could speak, they were already heading into the building.

The luggage had been packed the night before—now it was just about final checks.

Her usually composed niece was flustered for once, and Uncle Fang Fang knew it was because his action figures were being difficult—an Iron Man hand sticking out here, a helmet rolling away there.

While Zhu Qing scrambled, Sheng Fang seized the moment for a life lesson.

"Qing, you need to make more friends."

"See? Even the... uh—they all want to hang out with you!"

The omitted word was clearly "kids."

Zhu Qing kept her head down, wrestling with the mess.

She remembered last time, when the young master invited the whole team over for a housewarming party.

What. A. Nightmare.

"Got it?"

"Huh?"

"You’ve gotta get along with everyone later!" Little Uncle Fang Fang said earnestly.

Then, abruptly, he switched topics.

"Qing, have you ever had chewing gum?"

She tossed toys into a box one by one.

Ultraman and Thunder Dragon leaned drunkenly against each other—she recalled the kid saying these two were sworn enemies back in the Sheng family nursery.

Alone, the little one had his own grand universe.

"Chewing gum, you know? Bubble gum?" Sheng Fang peered at her.

Getting no response, he tried again: "The kind you blow bubbles with! Never had it?"

He shook his head dramatically.

Zhu Qing raised a brow. "Of course I have."

Sheng Fang shared an old wives’ tale his tutor once told him.

"Miss Lau said kids shouldn’t chew gum. If you swallow it, it glues your throat shut and you can’t talk."

His voice dropped to a whisper, adding with grave mystery: "Even if you get better, you’ll turn into someone who barely speaks."

Zhu Qing frowned. "Why bring this up?"

"Qing, you must’ve swallowed gum as a kid."

She choked on air, momentarily speechless.

Since when did kids roast people so creatively?