The day after Zhu Qing and her little uncle Sheng Fang moved into their new home, a group of guests arrived to celebrate their housewarming.
Everyone brought gifts and red envelopes, enthusiastically handing them to Zhu Qing with beaming smiles, leaving her utterly overwhelmed. She had already pulled out her trump card—reporting Sheng Fang’s misbehavior—but the little rascal remained unfazed, showing no sense of loyalty whatsoever.
Zhu Qing stood frozen in place, completely petrified.
What was she supposed to do now?
The air grew thick with tension.
Zhu Qing glared at Sheng Fang with such intensity that she could practically bore a hole through the back of his head.
It took a while before her uncle finally sensed the authority in his niece’s gaze. He peeked back at her, stealing a cautious glance.
That day at the police station, Sheng Fang had invited a whole crowd over for a housewarming party. A party! How could just three or five people make it lively enough? Aside from colleagues from the Serious Crime Unit B, he had also invited many friends he’d met while freeloading meals at the station canteen. Some were acquaintances he’d only met once, others owed him favors—like the one who’d given him candy. Little Uncle had an excellent memory and remembered every single one.
There was even a K9 unit trainer, a super nice guy who had promised to arrange a special interaction session so Sheng Fang could gently pat a police dog’s head… Sheng Fang had eagerly invited him too, but unfortunately, the trainer was too busy and had to decline.
Everyone was so considerate, arriving early to show their support.
Finally, Sheng Fang put down his game console and welcomed the guests.
“You didn’t have to bring gifts just for coming!”
“We’ve prepared lots of dishes today—make sure to eat plenty!”
The polite phrases rolled stiffly off Zhu Qing’s tongue, sounding as rehearsed as a recitation.
But the moment the little boy stood on his tiptoes, waving his tiny hands to greet everyone, the atmosphere instantly shifted. The awkwardness melted away, replaced by warmth and ease, as if the air itself had lightened.
Though small talk was inevitable during gatherings, the apartment itself was truly enviable. With its well-ventilated north-south layout, it stayed warm in winter and cool in summer. The 1,500-square-foot space, shared only by the uncle and niece, felt exceptionally spacious.
Aside from praising the exquisite interior design, guests couldn’t help but admire the balcony connected to the living room. As night fell, the dazzling cityscape stretched out before them, and coupled with the prime location, the apartment was practically flawless—except for its eye-wateringly high price.
“The high price is our problem, not theirs.”
“If you’re living in it yourself and not investing, resale value isn’t a concern…”
One by one, guests settled onto the sofa. With so many people, Uncle Li asked if there were any folding stools prepared—something Aunt Ping hadn’t anticipated, let alone the inexperienced hosts, Zhu Qing and Sheng Fang.
Luckily, everyone was easygoing. A few officers took the lead, sitting on the floor with cushions from the sofa. The air conditioning was chilly, but the wooden flooring balanced the coolness, and the cheerful chatter soon set a cozy tone for the housewarming party organized by little Sheng Fang.
Amid the lively conversation, the doorbell rang—Inspector Mo and his family had arrived.
Mo Zhenbang’s wife, Lv Qiyun, handed Zhu Qing a housewarming gift with a smile. “I’ve heard so much about the fearless female detective who joined the team, but this is our first time meeting.”
Zhu Qing accepted the gift. “Thank you—”
“Just call me ‘Sis,’ like everyone else,” Mo Zhenbang chimed in.
“Thank you, Sis!”
Lv Qiyun smiled gently, then turned to her daughter, Nannan, placing a hand on her shoulder. “There are chips over there—ask big sister if you can have some.”
Like her colleagues, Zhu Qing had often heard Inspector Mo talk about Nannan. In his stories, Nannan was a little glutton, always craving red bean pastries or egg waffles. Zhu Qing had imagined her as a lively child, but to her surprise, the seven-year-old was shy. She accepted a lychee soda with both hands, murmuring a soft “thank you” before hiding behind Mo Zhenbang, her cheeks flushed.
Meanwhile, Sheng Fang strolled through the crowd with his hands behind his back, searching for a fellow child to play with.
There she was—another kid! They should have fun together!
But Nannan clung to Inspector Mo, preferring to listen to adult conversations rather than interact with Sheng Fang.
They weren’t the same kind.
Pinching her thumb and forefinger together, Nannan whispered to her father, “Daddy, he’s only this small.”
Sheng Fang crossed his arms.
Fine! If she didn’t want to play, it was no big deal!
…
Aunt Ping had prepared a feast.
It had been a long time since she’d cooked on such a grand scale, but in this new kitchen, she quickly found her rhythm. Her skills hadn’t dulled—every dish was perfectly cooked, a feast for both the eyes and the palate.
Aunt Ping had once mentioned that Old Master Sheng had always admired her cooking. Even if a top-tier chef applied for the job, he wouldn’t have replaced her. Now, the young officers from the station couldn’t stop eating, too busy savoring the food to compliment her, so they simply gave her thumbs-up instead.
Aunt Ping had spent the entire afternoon in the kitchen, the rich aroma of slow-cooked lotus root and pork rib soup filling the air. She ladled the broth into small bowls, serving each guest with care. In the past, the Sheng family would have taken such attentive service for granted, but these young folks clearly weren’t used to it.
They immediately stood up, reaching out with both hands to accept the bowls.
“Aunt Ping, I can serve myself!”
“Oh—really, there’s no need!”
Sheng Fang, meanwhile, clutched a fried chicken leg in each hand.
Tilting his head, he remembered something Zhu Qing had once told him… Aunt Ping earned her generous salary through hard work. She provided labor, and even though he was the little boss paying her wages, their relationship was one of mutual benefit—they were equals. At the time, the little one hadn’t fully understood, but now it seemed to make a bit more sense.
“Aunt Ping, take a break,” Zhu Qing said. “Come eat.”
“You go ahead, I’ll join in a bit.” Aunt Ping wiped her hands on her apron. “The kitchen’s still greasy—I won’t feel right eating until it’s clean.”
Sheng Fang waved his greasy little hands. “Hurry up!”
Zhu Qing searched the table for napkins but found none. She recoiled at the sight of his oily fingers. “Go wash your hands.”
“No.”
“Wash them!”
The stubborn little uncle puffed out his cheeks, waving his hands teasingly in front of Zhu Qing.
He didn’t say it out loud, but his forehead might as well have been stamped with four bold words—
WIPE THEM ON YOU!
The scene overlapped with a memory from their old villa.
Back then, the little imp had pretended to toss a snotty handkerchief at her, his provocative expression identical to the one he wore now.
“You wanna try?” Zhu Qing raised an eyebrow.
Sheng Fang turned his head away. “I won’t!”
Then, after a pause, he added, “In your dreams.”
Zhu Qing: “…”
Zeng Yongshan couldn’t hold back a snort, nearly laughing herself to tears.
Xu Jiale teased, "Zeng Yongshan, don't you dare ‘pfft’—we’re all eating here."
The group burst into laughter.
Zhu Qing’s lips curled slightly, her gaze drifting to the adorably defiant little Sheng Fang. Her eyes softened with amusement. The meal lasted much longer than expected, and at some point, the tension in her nerves had gradually eased. It wasn’t that she was afraid of interacting with them—she could have easily maintained her usual aloof demeanor, as she had at the beginning. But as more and more people extended kindness, Zhu Qing found it harder to keep them at arm’s length.
She just wasn’t sure how to navigate it yet. She was still figuring it out.
After dinner, the colleagues instinctively helped clear the dishes, but Aunt Ping, ever the maternal figure, shooed them away.
"Leave it to me!"
"Go sit in the living room!"
She then spent a long time in the kitchen washing and chopping before calling out, "Qingqing, come here for a second."
"I’ve cut some fruit. Take it to your friends," Aunt Ping said with a smile.
Zhu Qing hummed in response, popping a grape into her mouth.
Aunt Ping leaned in, her tone earnest.
"Qingqing, don’t mind this old auntie’s nagging."
"You should smile more and make everyone feel at home—"
Even though there was a three-and-a-half-year-old in the house, Aunt Ping’s words made it sound like Zhu Qing was the child.
With her mouth still full of grape, Zhu Qing nodded obediently. When she turned around, she caught Dr. Cheng watching her with amusement.
Unfazed, she chewed and swallowed before setting the meticulously arranged fruit platter on the coffee table.
"Help yourselves to some fruit."
The platter was emptied almost instantly. Inspector Mo laughed, calling his team a bunch of starved ghosts. Xu Jiale and Hao Zai grumbled under their breath—blaming Inspector Mo for banning alcohol and leaving them with nothing but fruit.
Since it was their first time at Zhu Qing’s place, Inspector Mo had laid down ground rules: no drinking. He knew the invitation had come from the little one, and Zhu Qing had been roped into hosting. The last thing they needed was drunken chaos—or worse, someone puking all over her new home.
The group obeyed, finding other ways to entertain themselves. Aunt Ping had brought a few decks of cards, which sparked a near-brawl, while the gaming console Sheng Fang had insisted on was a hit—though with only two controllers, turns had to be taken.
Sheng Fang immediately challenged Cheng Xinglang.
Their first meeting had ended without a proper Tetris showdown. Now, it was time for a real match.
The reason Dr. Cheng had been invited? Sheng Fang had overheard the forensics team chatting in the cafeteria.
They said Dr. Cheng usually submitted autopsy reports at the last minute and never tagged along on arrests—yet during the serial killer case, he’d driven Madam Zeng through a storm to her family’s home.
Touched by this unexpected chivalry, Sheng Fang had added him to the guest list.
Now, the little boy sat cross-legged in front of the TV, leaning so far forward it looked like he might fall into the screen.
"Isn’t that too close?"
"You’ll go cross-eyed, you know."
Sheng Fang tuned out the nosy adults.
Mind your own business, he thought. My niece hasn’t even scolded me.
His focus wavered when he realized Dr. Cheng hadn’t joined him. He turned to see the man lounging on the sofa instead.
Dr. Cheng smirked. "A true pro doesn’t need to sit close to aim."
Cheng Xinglang reclined lazily, one hand draped over the back of the couch, the other holding the controller with effortless grace. The cord dangled from his wrist as he adjusted his grip, looking every bit like he was just humoring the kid.
Sheng Fang stared, his round face scrunched in thought.
That pose looked cool. He wanted to copy it.
The little boy scrambled over and plopped down beside Dr. Cheng.
"Game on," Cheng Xinglang said, hitting start.
"Hey—hey!"
"I wasn’t ready!"
Sheng Fang huffed, glaring at him.
"You cheated!"
"Cheater!"
Without looking away from the screen, Cheng Xinglang deadpanned, "Keep whining, and you’ll lose for real."
Steam practically shot from Sheng Fang’s ears—
Niece! Your uncle’s being bullied!
---
The night breeze drifted across the balcony, lifting strands of hair.
Zeng Yongshan leaned against the railing, a soda in hand, gazing at the stars.
She glanced back at Zhu Qing. "Your little uncle’s about to cry because of Dr. Cheng, huh?"
"Tiny rage machine," Zhu Qing chuckled.
Zeng Yongshan rarely heard such warmth in Zhu Qing’s voice.
This family that had stumbled into her life had given her companionship, quietly warming her heart in ways she hadn’t expected.
"I never properly thanked you," Zeng Yongshan said suddenly. "If it weren’t for you, even if backup had arrived, it would’ve been too late—"
"To put it bluntly," she paused, shaking her head, "actually, never mind. No need for bluntness."
She was referring to the night Zhu Qing had saved her parents and brother.
Yu Jinkang, the serial killer, had been a judo silver medalist. Even Zeng Yongxuan, tall and strong, had been no match. He’d admitted later that he’d nearly collapsed—and if he had, Yu Jinkang would’ve turned his knife on their parents. The thought of what could’ve happened still haunted them.
But Zhu Qing had arrived first, stopping the tragedy.
"So really, thank you."
This, Zhu Qing knew how to answer.
"We’re family. No need for thanks."
Zeng Yongshan laughed.
If she recalled correctly, those were the exact words she’d used when helping Zhu Qing move into the police academy dorm. Though back then, "we’re family" had sounded about as warm as a weather report.
The Hong Kong skyline glittered, the wind gentle against their faces.
Zhu Qing reflected on the original storyline.
The first two pivotal moments had passed—the cannon-fodder character hadn’t died, the original female lead’s family was safe… and the "little villain" was still just a kid. But this time, she believed he wouldn’t grow up twisted.
The original plot was over. Their lives wouldn’t be dictated by fate anymore.
"Zhu Qing," Zeng Yongshan gripped her soda bottle, hesitating before blurting out, "There’s something I need to say."
"What is it?"
"Actually, Sir Liang and I—we’re not… I mean, if you like him, I can—"
The words tumbled out, and she immediately regretted them.
This way of phrasing it was too strange—it almost felt like she was handing Sir Liang over to someone else.
"If you want—" Zeng Yongshan stumbled over her words, looking frustrated. She had rehearsed her lines, yet now they came out muddled.
"?" Zhu Qing said, "I don’t want him."
Zeng Yongshan froze.
Sir Liang was a good man—gentle, kind, principled, and of course, there was no need to mention his obvious good looks… She had once entertained selfish thoughts, quietly wondering if Sir Liang treated Zhu Qing differently, even deliberately creating opportunities for them to work cases together. But Zhu Qing had saved her family, and Zeng Yongshan was willing to crush the budding feelings in her heart, resetting everything to zero.
Yet who could have guessed that at this moment, Zhu Qing’s tone would be so decisive, even bordering on avoidance?
She said—she—did—not—want—him!
Just then, Sheng Fang, the little one who had just lost to Dr. Cheng in a game, came running over.
"I don’t want him either!"
What was Yongshan even talking about? Their Qing was still young and should focus on her career!
"Qing!" Sheng Fang called out to Zhu Qing. "Go beat him!"
He pouted, his tiny finger pointing accusingly at the smug Dr. Cheng.
Zhu Qing had no choice but to follow the little one’s lead.
Zeng Yongshan stood alone, the problem that had been troubling her for days suddenly resolved.
A weight lifted from her shoulders, and she quickened her steps.
"Oh, right! My mom mentioned inviting you over for dinner last time!"
"Another day!" Sheng Fang turned his head. "Too busy right now!"
...
By around nine, the guests had gradually left.
This was Sheng Fang’s meticulously planned "housewarming party," but only after it ended did the child belatedly realize—it didn’t feel much like a party at all.
Zhu Qing: "What’s a party supposed to be like?"
Sheng Fang couldn’t answer.
At the very least, there should’ve been music and dancing!
From the moment she stepped through the door that afternoon, Aunt Ping hadn’t stopped working. Though the group from the police station had been relatively restrained, with so many people, trash was inevitable. She washed dishes, wiped down the kitchen, and tirelessly tidied up, making trip after trip outside with bags of garbage.
Zhu Qing grabbed a broom and helped Aunt Ping clean.
While sweeping, she didn’t forget to assign tasks to her little uncle—even a three-year-old couldn’t laze on the couch watching TV and eating chips while the adults worked.
Aunt Ping whispered, "Isn’t this a bit too strict on the young master?"
Zhu Qing couldn’t explain.
She didn’t want to be harsh, but who told the little one he was a future villain? Aside from a warm family environment, he needed a military-style growth strategy!
After nine, Zhu Qing told Aunt Ping to head home first.
Aunt Ping went downstairs but soon returned, knocking on their door. "Qing, I forgot to take out the kitchen trash."
It was just one bag—even Sheng Fang knew how to throw it away.
But Aunt Ping never stopped worrying about the two of them.
As she took the last bag of trash, Aunt Ping also received a house key.
She tucked it away solemnly—this was the trust of the young master and little miss, not to be taken lightly!
Once Aunt Ping left, Zhu Qing started mopping.
This was their new home, and she cherished it deeply, determined to keep every corner spotless, the floors gleaming.
After one pass with the mop: "Sheng Fang, grab the dry mop—it’ll be faster."
The logic was sound—Zhu Qing would mop, and Sheng Fang would follow with the dry mop to prevent water streaks.
But if the child refused to cooperate, there was nothing to be done.
When Zhu Qing turned around, she paused for three seconds. "Sheng Fang… what are you doing?"
Sheng Fang lay sprawled on the living room floor, his chubby little arms crossed over his chest.
He rolled in circles, his absorbent clothes acting like a human mop.
"I’m a mop-person," he declared, lifting his head mid-roll. "This is faster, Qing."
Zhu Qing: "..."
After completing his "mop-person" duties, Sheng Fang curled into a ball in the corner.
Clearly, his clothes were soaked, but to avoid extra laundry, he pretended nothing was wrong.
Zhu Qing didn’t push him or call him out.
A long while later, a pitiful little voice spoke up.
"Qing… my feet are dizzy again."
"Want me to help you up?"
Sheng Fang’s lips quivered as he nodded emphatically.
"Dizzy feet" was the child’s way of saying his legs had fallen asleep.
Zhu Qing realized she was understanding him more and more.
And maybe letting him have his little rebellions wasn’t so bad.
She granted a rare mercy—the dirty clothes could go straight into the washing machine.
"Qing is the best!" Sheng Fang leapt up, only to freeze mid-air, his face scrunching in pain.
"My feet are still dizzy, Qing."
"Hold onto me—it’ll pass slowly."
"Still dizzy!"
"I told you to take it slow..."
A tall figure steadied a small one as they shuffled toward the child’s room.
The new home, though not small, was quiet in every corner.
But Qing and her little uncle Sheng Fang didn’t feel lonely at all.
"Qing, I think the house is missing something."
"What?"
"Strange… I can’t remember, but it’s definitely important."
...
The international kindergarten in Kowloon City had an absurdly low acceptance rate, with many children rejected after the first interview. But in the original story, the little villain had been a genius—and now, in real life, Sheng Fang didn’t disappoint. The very next morning, he received his acceptance letter.
Straight A’s—enough to make the little one puff up with pride.
"Qing, now it’s your turn!"
"Think you can handle it?"
Next week was the parent interview. Zhu Qing had only found out yesterday and immediately asked Sister-in-law Lv for advice on potential questions. Back then, Inspector Mo and his wife had both accompanied Nannan to the interview, but her memory of the specifics had faded, and the question bank had since been updated. Fortunately, Sister-in-law’s colleague was also prepping for kindergarten admissions and promised to share some materials, which Inspector Mo would bring to the station.
While the little uncle floated on cloud nine, his niece suddenly felt the pressure.
If the kid passed the interview but she didn’t, wouldn’t he hold it over her forever?
Sheng Fang stood before her, tiny and round-faced, looking up expectantly.
Zhu Qing wasn’t fooled by his innocent expression. She resolved to start "studying" seriously right away.
In the previous case involving the skeletal remains found by the hillside fireplace, Mo Zhenbang had promised Zhu Qing some time off. But just as the case was wrapped up, another body was discovered in Sham Shui Po. Fortunately, the investigation concluded quickly, and with Zhu Qing coincidentally moving to a new place, Inspector Mo generously granted her a three-day break.
It was now the third day of her vacation, and Sheng Fang, the little one, was even more excited than his niece. He stood on a small stool in front of the fridge, pondering what to cook for lunch.
Zhu Qing suggested, "How about noodles?"
The young master didn’t respond.
They had moved, and their new home was fully stocked with pots, pans, and utensils—no more instant noodles like before!
"Not instant noodles," Zhu Qing clarified. "Fresh ones, bought by Aunt Ping yesterday."
"Meat builds muscles," the little lord retorted, shaking his head like a rattle-drum. "I’ll make you steak."
The bold declaration was made, but once in the kitchen, the young uncle was at a loss. Zhu Qing stood beside him, equally clueless about how to handle the "premium" cut of steak Aunt Ping had left in the fridge.
"I’ve never cooked something this 'fancy' before," Zhu Qing admitted matter-of-factly.
The little one mirrored her helplessness: "I’ve never stepped foot in a kitchen."
Thus, their new life began with the first challenge: figuring out how to feed themselves.
Just then, Zhu Qing’s pager buzzed.
Sheng Fang, still perched on his stool by the fridge, patted his short legs. "I know what’s missing in this house!"
They didn’t have a telephone.
With only a pager to receive messages, Zhu Qing had to head downstairs to a public phone booth to return the call. She grabbed her keys and was about to leave when she hesitated at the doorway.
Her little uncle was still young, and they lived in a high-rise. What if his curiosity got the better of him and he leaned out the window to spot her in the red phone booth?
It was exactly the kind of thing he’d do.
"You’re coming with me," she decided.
Sheng Fang sighed but followed his niece out.
Seriously? She needed company just to make a phone call?
……
As Zhu Qing stood inside the booth, dialing Inspector Mo’s number, Sheng Fang already knew their last day off was ruined.
By the time they could ask Aunt Ping to come over, who knew how long it would take? Zhu Qing sought Inspector Mo’s advice over the phone.
"Bring him along," Mo Zhenbang said. "My wife is picking up Nannan nearby—she can look after him for now."
Sheng Fang waved his hand dismissively. He didn’t need babysitting.
Another homicide had occurred, and as the family member of a police officer, he knew better than to interfere with the investigation. Besides, as PC8888, a future officer himself, he needed firsthand experience in fieldwork.
In the taxi, Sheng Fang put on a serious face and asked,
"Where was the body found? Who reported it?"
"What’s the cause of death?"
"And the scene—"
Zhu Qing cut him off. "Enough."
The little lord frowned.
Why stop him?
Before he could protest, he followed Zhu Qing’s gaze to the rearview mirror. The driver was eyeing them suspiciously.
"Shh." Zhu Qing pressed a finger to her lips.
Sheng Fang nodded thoughtfully.
Right. They couldn’t be too conspicuous—it’d raise eyebrows.
In a hushed tone, he declared, "I’ll be an undercover cop in the future."
The driver: ? …Okay.
"…" Zhu Qing facepalmed. "No undercover agent has such a loose mouth."
……
As the taxi cruised through Wan Chai, Zhu Qing and the little one chatted and laughed in the backseat.
But when the car turned the corner near the restaurant, her smile froze.
Inspector Mo had given her the address of a restaurant, yet the yellow police tape now cordoned off a music store.
Elegant Melody Music Store.
The very place where she had reunited with her "Xinxin jiejie."
After returning home yesterday, Zhu Qing had replayed that moment countless times.
Back in the orphanage, Xinxin had been the older sister. The first airing of Doraemon on TV was thirteen years ago—back then, Xinxin was already fourteen.
At fourteen, a girl’s features are mostly formed, unlikely to change drastically with age.
So Zhu Qing was certain: it was her.
Maybe Xinxin had moved on, unwilling to reconnect with her past. Or maybe she simply hadn’t recognized Zhu Qing.
Zhu Qing had decided not to push for a reunion. Knowing Xinxin was doing well was enough.
But now, the music store was a crime scene. Colleagues stood outside, shaking their heads as they examined wedding invitations.
"Dr. Cheng says the victim was stabbed multiple times," one officer reported. "The fatal blow pierced the chest—death by blood loss."
"Just about to get married next week… what a tragedy."
Zeng Yongshan noticed Zhu Qing’s arrival and waved her over. "You’re here."
Zhu Qing approached. "What invitations?"
Zeng handed her one. "Wedding invites. There’s a stack at the front desk. Printed just in time for this…"
In the lower right corner was a hand-drawn portrait of the bride and groom—a trendy style for wedding photos. The bride’s sketch was simple, but her phoenix eyes, hairstyle, and fashionable outfit were unmistakable.
It was Xinxin jiejie—now Li Ziyao.
Zhu Qing’s fingers tightened around the invitation.
Sheng Fang tugged her sleeve.
She seemed… tense.
"Qing-jie…"
Zhu Qing’s heart pounded.
Yesterday at the store, she’d overheard Xinxin telling a man, "Leave the store to me…"
"Who’s the victim?" Zhu Qing asked. "Bride or groom?"
Hao Zai chimed in, "Getting married at that age—talk about an old house on fire—"
Uncle Li cut him off. "Watch your mouth."
Hao Zai promptly zipped his lips.
Zhu Qing’s pulse roared in her ears.
Then, relief washed over her.
The victim wasn’t Xinxin.
It was the man who’d pinched her cheek yesterday—
A man in his sixties.
"My wife should be here soon," Inspector Mo emerged from the store, checking his watch. Spotting a familiar figure, he added, "Ah, there she is."
No matter how nimble Sheng Fang was, slipping past a team of CID officers into a crime scene was impossible.
Lv Qiyun, Inspector Mo’s wife, had just picked up Nannan from a dance class nearby and could take Sheng Fang off Zhu Qing’s hands for now.
"I’ll take them home first," Lv Qiyun offered. "You can fetch him later—Yau Ma Tei isn’t far."
Zhu Qing thanked her and handed Sheng Fang over.
Enrolling him in kindergarten was now urgent—they couldn’t delay it further.
But for now, the case took priority.
……
The music store remained sealed off as Dr. Cheng conducted a meticulous preliminary examination.
The victim's time of death was between 5 and 6 this morning. He suffered multiple stab wounds, with the fatal injury being a puncture to the left chest that pierced his heart. There were distinct purplish-red bruises around his mouth, but no other signs of struggle. Initial analysis suggests he cried out for help when attacked, prompting the assailant to hastily cover his mouth with a hand before delivering the lethal blow that left him unable to resist.
Dr. Cheng used tweezers to extract trace skin tissue from the victim's mouth: "Physical contact might have left fingerprints."
Zeng Yongshan asked, "If the killer frequents the piano store, could we cross-check fingerprints against the archives?"
"Miss, are you suggesting we flip through the archives page by page?" Xu Jiale retorted. "How long would that take?"
Dr. Cheng added, "The success rate of extracting fingerprints from skin is extremely low."
Liang Qikai shrugged. "We’ll just have to brace ourselves."
Given the current forensic capabilities of the Hong Kong police, neither extracting biological traces nor identifying DNA would be straightforward.
After completing their preliminary examination, the forensics team handed the scene over to the homicide unit.
It was Wednesday—the piano store’s weekly day off. However, one student could only spare time on Wednesday mornings, so the store made an exception for her.
Teacher Amy usually arrived early every Wednesday to open the store, but today she stumbled upon a crime scene. The door to Piano Room No. 6 stood ajar, with dark red bloodstains trailing into the hallway.
"Inspector Mo, this is Teacher Amy," Xu Jiale introduced the witness.
The piano store had been closed since 10 p.m. the previous night, and no one should have entered before Teacher Amy arrived this morning.
After reporting the crime, the teacher forgot to notify the student who had an appointment. The student arrived only to be stopped by police.
"Our store’s been doing well lately. We just collected tuition fees totaling nine thousand dollars from three new students yesterday. Since the bank was closed, we left the money in the front desk drawer."
"But when the officers asked me to check earlier, I realized it was gone."
"And... I remember Teacher Fang always wore a watch, but when I saw him lying in the piano room, his wrist was bare. I don’t know if he forgot to wear it or if someone took it."
The police took a detailed statement from Teacher Amy, who discovered the body.
Only then did Zhu Qing learn that the man she’d seen yesterday—around sixty years old—was actually a renowned piano teacher.
Fang Songsheng, the piano teacher, even had an elegant name and was once the store’s star attraction.
"The victim’s fiancée—" Liang Qikai glanced at the name on the invitation, "Li Ziyao—has she been contacted?"
"She should be here in about an hour," Teacher Amy said. "I also called Teacher Fang’s daughter, but she didn’t answer."
The front desk drawer held a phone directory.
Teacher Amy handed it to the officers.
The police dialed repeatedly, and after what felt like forever, the victim’s daughter finally called back.
...
Before Fang Songsheng’s fiancée Li Ziyao arrived, several officers were already starving.
Zeng Yongshan volunteered, dragging Zhu Qing along to buy boxed meals from the tea restaurant across the street.
"I’ve actually heard of Teacher Fang before—he really was a famous piano teacher. When I was little, my mom wanted me to take lessons with him," Zeng Yongshan said.
"Did you end up signing up?"
"No. I hated playing piano—I’d cry during trial lessons. Mom couldn’t handle it." Zeng Yongshan grinned mischievously. "Dodged a bullet."
Yi Dongmei had dreamed of raising her daughter to become a musician—or at least an artist.
Yet she grew up to be a gun-toting investigator.
"Oh!"
Earlier, Zeng Yongshan had taken statements from neighboring shops and suddenly remembered: "How did the victim’s daughter react?"
The piano store, Yayun Piano, was named after Fang Songsheng’s daughter, Fang Yayun.
According to Teacher Amy, under her father’s guidance, Fang Yayun had become an accomplished pianist, frequently performing on stage with considerable fame.
When her pager kept buzzing, she was in the middle of rehearsal.
"Wait! Where’s the note? I forgot what Uncle Li wanted!" At the tea restaurant entrance, Zeng Yongshan frantically patted her pockets.
"Pork and egg noodles, iced milk tea, less ice." Zhu Qing pulled out the note from her pocket. "It’s here."
Pushing open the glass door, they were met with steaming aromas and the clatter of dishes.
Hong Kong tea restaurant staff prioritized efficiency, barking orders within seconds. Zhu Qing quickly handed over the note.
"Takeout."
The boss shouted the order to the kitchen while his fingers danced across the calculator keys.
Perhaps because she’d just taken on the case of the murdered piano teacher, Zhu Qing’s mind wandered—the greasy calculator keys resembled black-and-white piano keys.
Zeng Yongshan pressed on: "The victim’s daughter thought we were pranking her and started cursing."
As she spoke, Zhu Qing glanced through the window.
Xinxin Jiejie had arrived—the victim’s fiancée, Li Ziyao.
"Really? I’ve read articles about Fang Yayun. I thought she’d be as graceful as her name!" Zeng Yongshan pressed. "What exactly did she say?"
Zhu Qing recalled: "Idiot, scum, trash..."
Fang Yayun had hurled vicious insults over the phone.
It was understandable—being told a loved one had been murdered, she assumed it was a cruel joke.
Zeng Yongshan looked stunned. "What else?"
"Fang Yayun also said—" Zhu Qing stood on tiptoe, watching Xinxin Jiejie enter the piano store across the street.
Frowning, she absentmindedly added, "Eat shit..."
"Ooooh!" A small, shocked voice piped up behind her, making her jump.
The little elder—having lunch in the tea restaurant with his sister-in-law and Nannan—
Had suddenly appeared, catching his niece red-handed.
Little Fang narrowed his eyes. "Qing, you’re using bad words?"
Swearing—how uncouth.
