Sheng Fang suddenly appeared behind Zhu Qing, startling her so much that she quickly averted her gaze from Xin Xin jiejie. When she turned around, she saw the little boy with his hands on his hips, looking fierce and imposing.
In front of so many people, her "little uncle" was gritting his teeth—this was serious.
How did this kid keep popping up out of nowhere?
Caught red-handed by her little uncle, Zhu Qing found herself at a loss for words. Just then, a shop assistant handed over their packed meals. Clearing her throat awkwardly, she muttered, "Let’s talk at home."
Sheng Fang stood like a tiny warrior from a cartoon, hands still on his hips, chin lifted high—all he needed was a dramatic cape and a wind machine for full effect.
Fortunately, Lv Qiyun, Mo Zhenbang’s wife, stepped in and interrupted the little boy’s accusatory glare.
"Since neither of them had lunch yet, and they’d be starving by the time we got home and cooked, I brought them here," Lv Qiyun explained to Sheng Fang with a smile. "Now that you’ve eaten, let’s go. Your—" She paused, then continued, "Your niece still has a case to investigate."
A three-year-old uncle and a CID detective niece—sounded ridiculous just saying it out loud.
Zhu Qing couldn’t help feeling a little guilty toward her sister-in-law.
At the moment, Nannan was also there, dabbing her mouth with a napkin before considerately handing one to Sheng Fang. In contrast, the little boy had a ring of cream-of-mushroom soup around his mouth, making him look like a messy kitten—or a tiny, white-bearded grandpa.
Compared to him, Nannan was practically an angel!
"Sorry for the trouble, Sister-in-law," Zhu Qing said.
Zeng Yongshan, ever the sunshine, chimed in sweetly, "No worries! Sister-in-law is kind and beautiful—she doesn’t mind. Don’t feel bad."
"You, stop buttering me up," Lv Qiyun laughed, turning back to Zhu Qing. "Honestly, it’s no trouble. I’m off work this afternoon anyway. One kid or two, it’s all the same—they can play together."
Behind Lv Qiyun, Nannan tugged lightly at her mother’s sleeve—
Do I have to play with such a little kid? We don’t even have anything in common.
As Zhu Qing and Zeng Yongshan headed back with everyone’s lunch, Lv Qiyun led the two children in the opposite direction.
The little master’s voice was unmistakable—both childish and oddly sticky-sweet.
"Sister-in-law, where do you live?"
"Sister-in-law, do you have a Thor action figure?"
Lv Qiyun answered patiently, "No Thor, but there are other toys. You’ll have to ask Nannan jiejie if she’ll share. But first, you both need a nap."
"Sister-in-law, I never nap at home. You two sleep—I’ll take care of myself."
Zhu Qing could practically feel the sweat drops forming on her forehead again.
She muttered under her breath, Shouldn’t Sheng Fang be calling Lv Qiyun "Auntie"? This kid really doesn’t know how to address people properly!
Zeng Yongshan immediately tattled, "He even calls me 'Yongshan'! The first time I heard him say it in that tone, I thought it was some uncle—took me forever to realize it was him!"
"Liang Qikai said the same thing—your little 'uncle' just calls him 'Qikai' straight up."
Little Sheng Fang was fully convinced of his own seniority. In his mind, every young person in the police station was his junior.
The kid wasn’t being rude—he’d just brainwashed himself!
Zhu Qing had no idea how to fix this. It was giving her a headache.
"I’ll talk to him when we get back," she sighed. "If this keeps up, one day he’ll call Mo Zhenbang by his first name too."
And if they ran into Senior Inspector Weng Zhaolin? He’d probably just say "Zhaolin" without batting an eye.
Zeng Yongshan added hastily, "Don’t tell him I snitched! He’ll call me a traitor!"
......
While waiting at the crosswalk, Zhu Qing noticed Xin Xin jiejie already giving her statement to the police.
Zeng Yongshan followed her gaze.
The woman was dressed lightly, her short skirt showing off long, pale legs. Her voluminous curls cascaded down her back, and her makeup was heavy—even her eyeshadow was in the latest trendy shade.
Zeng Yongshan murmured, "That can’t be the victim’s fiancée, can she? She’s so young! And someone who keeps up with fashion—even using the newest eyeshadow colors from magazines..."
"Not that it looks particularly good on her, but still, someone that trendy would hate anything 'outdated.' How could she stand a sixty-year-old fiancé?"
"I…" Zhu Qing hesitated, then shook her head. "I don’t know."
Back in the orphanage, when she and Xin Xin jiejie had lived together day and night, Zhu Qing had been too young. Now, looking back, she couldn’t even clearly recall what kind of person Xin Xin had been—only that she was gentle and timid, except when protecting her little sister. Then, she’d find unexpected courage.
At first, it was Xin Xin who shielded Zhu Qing. But at some point, Zhu Qing realized reasoning didn’t work. She’d tried to teach Xin Xin to clench her fists—bullies only backed down when faced with something hard as stone. Xin Xin would just laugh and say she could never learn.
As for dreams of the future—
Back then, neither of them thought that far ahead.
For two little girls, the future didn’t matter. They were still trying to make sense of the present.
"Of course," Zeng Yongshan said brightly. "If you could figure out what victims’ families were thinking just by looking at them, you wouldn’t need to be a cop. You’d be better off telling fortunes in Temple Street."
By the time they crossed the road, they were close enough to Yayun Music Store to hear the victim’s fiancée speaking clearly.
"Li Ziyao, twenty-seven."
"Usually, Songsheng liked handling the store’s affairs himself, but yesterday he wasn’t feeling well and wanted to go home early, so I stayed behind to take care of things."
"I don’t play piano, and I don’t know much about the courses. Mostly, I just handle front desk duties—reception, printing, that kind of thing."
"I left around ten last night. A few employees were still there, and we shared a cab. When I got home, I bought a bowl of sweet soup downstairs, ate it, and went to bed."
"You remember buying sweet soup that clearly?"
"I get it every night. The old man at the shop is generous with the toppings, so I go often."
Liang Qikai jotted notes. "What about Fang Songsheng? Did you notice anything unusual when you got home? And what time did he leave this morning?"
"No idea. We don’t live together—separate places." Li Ziyao replied. "We’re getting married next week anyway, so what’s the rush? The wedding home’s all ready. He always said I could just move in with my suitcase... Officer, please catch the killer soon. Songsheng didn’t deserve this."
Up close, Li Ziyao’s makeup was even more striking—thickly applied, bordering on garish.
Tears would ruin her makeup, so even when she first arrived at the piano studio and stood outside Room No. 6, she didn’t cry—just dabbed the corners of her eyes lightly with a tissue.
"By the way, do you have surveillance here?"
"The cameras are just for show. They’ve been broken for a long time. I’ve been urging Songsheng to call a repairman, but he said it wasn’t urgent since no one ever checks."
Liang Qikai asked, "Where were you between 5 and 6 this morning? Can anyone vouch for you?"
"That early? Definitely at home, asleep. I’m a night owl—never wake up that early." Li Ziyao frowned slightly. "Are you suspecting me, officer?"
"Not at all," Liang Qikai continued jotting notes. "Just routine questions."
Li Ziyao nodded.
At that moment, Liang Qikai caught sight of Zhu Qing and Zeng Yongshan returning in his peripheral vision.
"Finally back. Everyone’s starving and about to go on strike." He paused, noticing the drink in Zhu Qing’s hand. "Wait, is that a salted lemon soda? Looks like it spilled."
Zhu Qing quickly looked down. The takeout from the cha chaan teng had been carelessly packed—the lid of the salted lemon soda wasn’t even sealed properly, and half of it had sloshed out as she walked.
She hurriedly set the cup on the table and reached for tissues to wipe it up.
"Don’t put it down now—the whole thing will tip over—"
"Wait, be careful, Zhu Qing!"
Just then, Li Ziyao lifted her head.
Her gaze was calm, lingering on Zhu Qing’s face.
She stared for a long time, never looking away.
……
Before the officers could finish their meal, Fang Songsheng’s daughter arrived.
She looked distraught, clutching the hem of her clothes, breathing heavily—clearly wanting to ask about her father’s death but too afraid to speak.
Zeng Yongshan shook her head. "How tragic."
At first, when she received the call, Fang Yayun thought it was a cruel prank. No matter the reason, joking about something like this was unforgivable—she had cursed out the caller immediately. But then, moments later, she heard the voice of Amy, the piano instructor. Fang Yayun recognized Amy’s voice and knew she would never dare to curse Fang Songsheng, no matter how bold she was. Only then did she realize the gravity of the situation.
"I heard she even ran a red light on her way here," Zeng Yongshan murmured. "But when she parked outside, the officer securing the scene didn’t recognize her. He knocked on her window several times, asking her to move the car, but she just sat there, completely unresponsive."
Inside the piano studio that bore her name, Fang Yayun finally confirmed her father’s death.
"Sorry… can I just have a moment alone?" she said. "I can’t right now…"
The studio had a lounge area, where she sat on the sofa, the door left slightly ajar.
Nearly half an hour later, she composed herself enough to speak with the police.
Zhu Qing: "Miss Fang, are you ready to begin?"
Fang Yayun nodded.
Most of the time, she pressed her lips together, thinking for a long time before answering.
"My father ran a business—he wasn’t the type to make enemies easily."
"He was known for being easygoing. Some parents would haggle with him after a few lessons, asking for lower fees… Honestly, most places raise their rates, but I’ve never heard of anyone lowering them. But my father always considered their financial struggles. He didn’t want money to stand in the way of a talented student, so discounts were common."
"But—"
Fang Yayun frowned.
The lounge area was near the glass entrance doors, which were left open. The stench of cigarette smoke drifted in waves. Annoyed, she pinched her nose and stood up, slamming the lounge door shut.
"That sergeant earlier said the killer might have been after money?" Fang Yayun scoffed. "I can’t say for sure if it was about money. But look—someone’s chain-smoking out there. Such a heavy addiction… makes you wonder what guilt they’re trying to mask."
The person smoking outside the studio was Xin Xin—now known as Li Ziyao.
"Do you have conflicts with your father’s fiancée?" Zhu Qing asked.
"Madam, I actually suspect Li Ziyao killed my father," Fang Yayun said.
"Li Ziyao was the perfect little pet—even a trained dog wouldn’t be as obedient."
"She’d drag out her words in this sickly sweet voice… God knows how much my father ate it up."
"They didn’t live together, but she went to his place often. My father was a man who’d been single for years—he never learned to take care of himself. This Li Ziyao did his laundry, cooked for him… Once, I went home and saw all his shirts in the closet—she’d ironed every single one, not a single wrinkle. Even his socks were sorted by color and material, neatly arranged."
Fang Yayun’s words were just venting.
She couldn’t accept this young stepmother, but she couldn’t pinpoint a motive for murder either.
As Zhu Qing took notes, her pen paused. She looked up. "Did your father often wear dress shirts?"
Fang Yayun didn’t understand the question at first. "Not really. He said at his age, comfort mattered more. I don’t know why, but today he chose a white one."
Her voice dropped. "When he left the house, the old man must have dressed up carefully. He never imagined that coming back to the studio—the place he knew best—his white shirt would be soaked in his own blood… So many stab wounds. How much pain did he endure?"
The victim, Fang Songsheng, had been found in Room No. 6, stabbed multiple times. The fatal wound was to the left chest, piercing his heart.
Fang Yayun lowered her eyes, fists clenched.
Only then did Zhu Qing notice what Zeng Yongshan had mentioned earlier—
Her hands were long and elegant, a pianist’s hands.
Now, those beautiful hands covered her eyes.
As if drained of energy, Fang Yayun fell silent.
Zhu Qing recalled seeing Fang Songsheng outside the studio around 3 p.m. the day before. He’d been wearing a plain gray short-sleeved shirt, looking no different from any other man his age. But the body she’d seen earlier lay beside the piano, dressed in a tailored white long-sleeved shirt with a crisp collar—only now, the expensive fabric was stained crimson.
Zhu Qing closed her notebook. "That’s all for now, Miss Fang. If we need anything else, we’ll contact you."
She added, "If you remember any details—"
"I know," Fang Yayun said. "That officer gave me his card."
After leaving the lounge, Zhu Qing found Uncle Li and reported her findings.
Uncle Li’s expression sharpened. "Bring Amy back in."
……
The first person to discover the deceased was the piano teacher Amy, whose full name is Cai Huimin. When called back for further questioning, she remained as cooperative with the police as before.
"How did you notice right away that Fang Songsheng wasn’t wearing his watch, given he was in a long-sleeved shirt?" Uncle Li asked.
Zhu Qing stood nearby. Though the young officer was sharp-eyed, the seasoned veteran had the upper hand in experience. She observed Cai Huimin’s microexpressions while learning from Uncle Li.
Earlier, this teacher Amy had mentioned noticing the victim’s missing watch and the disappearance of student tuition fees from the drawer. This led the police to suspect that someone, upon seeing Fang Songsheng open the piano school early in the morning, had been tempted by greed, leading to a confrontation and murder.
"Given the unique design of Fang Songsheng’s shirt cuffs today, even if he had been wearing a watch, it would’ve been hidden inside the sleeve. Unless he deliberately pulled back his cuff to remove that expensive timepiece."
Cai Huimin still clutched a large set of keys to the piano school.
"I didn’t—" Her expression shifted slightly, but Uncle Li cut her off.
"Even if the finance staff didn’t have time to deposit the tuition fees in the bank, they should’ve at least locked the drawer. This time, nine thousand yuan in cash was taken, yet there were no signs of forced entry. It’s unlikely they simply forgot to lock it. You used the keys to open that drawer, didn’t you?"
"How could I—"
Uncle Li pressed sharply, "So, you’re the one who killed him."
With a clatter, the entire set of keys slipped from Cai Huimin’s grip and hit the floor with a sharp ring.
Her face paled. "I didn’t kill anyone!"
After a long silence, Cai Huimin, the piano teacher Amy from Yayun Piano School, finally confessed.
"I admit, I was desperate for money."
"I arrived on time this morning to open the school. First, I checked the cleanliness, then turned on the lights. When I passed Practice Room Six, I saw Mr. Fang lying there. He scared me… When I got closer, I realized he was already dead. As I turned to run, I tripped over his arm. I fell beside him—it was terrifying. I tried to push myself up in a panic and accidentally brushed against his watch. That’s when I noticed the gold watch hidden in his shirt cuff."
"Mr. Fang always wore a watch. I’d heard his watches were all very expensive. And that money… nine thousand yuan—it was a lot, just sitting in the drawer. I hesitated, but in the end, I took it."
Cai Huimin, soft-spoken and refined, retrieved the watch and the stack of cash from her locker, her expression strained. "It’s all here."
Outside, Mo Zhenbang whispered to an officer beside him.
"Check her financial records. See if she has any debts."
"Was she also responsible for that student’s lesson every Wednesday when the school was closed?"
"Dig deeper into the motive—was there any conflict with the victim? To become a piano teacher at Yayun Piano School, she couldn’t have come from some quick-fix training program. Raising a child with artistic talents like hers costs a fortune. Killing someone over nine thousand yuan and a watch? Unless this Amy teacher has lost her mind."
……
Zeng Yongshan paused in the piano school’s hallway, gazing at the rows of photographs with a sigh.
Fang Yayun’s photos, from childhood to adulthood, were prominently displayed along the corridor, each inscribed by her father, Fang Songsheng, in the bottom right corner.
At six years old, the little girl in a frilly dress stood on stage for the first time, shy and uncertain before the camera. By twenty, she was bowing gracefully on an international stage, her youthful awkwardness replaced by the poise of a polished pianist.
The collection chronicled Fang Yayun’s journey, but the most striking was the one Fang Songsheng had specially framed.
"Look at the note written here," Zeng Yongshan said to her colleague. "Yayun, age three. I was her first teacher."
In the photo, Fang Yayun was still tiny, seated at the piano, her feet dangling above the floor. Fang Songsheng held her wrist, correcting her finger placement with stern focus.
It was clear that the pianist’s success owed much to her father’s rigorous training.
His foresight had propelled her onto the world stage.
Zeng Yongshan glanced back at Li Ziyao, sitting in a corner of the piano school.
When an officer approached, Li Ziyao looked up. "Last night, before leaving work at ten, I called Songsheng. He wanted me to come over, but I said I was too tired… It’s my fault. If I’d been with him, if I’d stayed with him this morning, maybe this wouldn’t have happened."
Zeng Yongshan exchanged a glance with Inspector Liang.
Li Ziyao’s chipped red nail polish, the mix of perfume and cigarette smoke clinging to her, and her revealing posture clashed starkly with the refined surroundings.
"Doesn’t she seem a bit…" Hao Zai muttered, lowering his voice, "tacky? Who knew a piano teacher would go for this type?"
Compared to Li Ziyao, Fang Yayun’s tone was far more detached.
"I know Dad often stayed behind after closing to play. He said if he went too long without touching the keys, his fingers would grow stiff. You know how he was—always dedicated to his art."
"But I didn’t know he had a habit of coming to the school at dawn. You said it was around five or six, when the sky was just lighting up—Inspector, do you think someone specifically asked to meet him there?"
The police pressed further. "When was the last time you saw Fang Songsheng?"
"Last week. We met at a Western restaurant—he brought Li Ziyao along."
"They were planning to marry. They gave me wedding sweets. Dad said the invitations hadn’t been printed yet—"
"How was your relationship with Li Ziyao?"
"Nonexistent," Fang Yayun answered bluntly. "We’ve had a few meals together, always with Dad present. But I’ve never initiated a conversation with her."
"And her?"
"Obviously, she tried everything to win me over—she wanted to marry into the Fang family. But what could I possibly talk to her about? Her cheap, overpowering perfume? Her tacky blue eyeshadow?"
Her tone dripped with condescension.
As she spoke, her gaze flicked toward Li Ziyao before coldly shifting away.
Mo Zhenbang continued, "So, did you oppose their marriage?"
"Dad had been single for so long—it’s natural he’d feel lonely. I understood that."
"If he wanted someone to take care of him, I wouldn’t object. As long as he was happy."
"But it shouldn’t have been Li Ziyao. They were from completely different worlds."
……
Zhu Qing’s third day off was ruined. She left home at noon and didn’t leave the station until six in the evening.
After a long shift, she followed Mo Zhenbang to his place to pick up his child.
"Yesterday, the one who cooked—" Mo Zhenbang recalled, "was called Aunt Ping, right? Doesn’t she live with you?"
"I was off today, so I didn’t ask her to come. Didn’t expect a case to pop up suddenly."
Mo Zhenbang teased, "Blame your pager—it follows me everywhere."
Actually, it had been agreed from the start that Aunt Ping was a live-out nanny.
Back at the police academy dorm, the space was too cramped—uncle and niece could barely stand side by side without bumping into each other. So every day before Zhu Qing left for work, Aunt Ping would arrive to take care of the child all day, leaving once Zhu Qing returned. That routine had been going on for a while.
But part of the reason was also that Zhu Qing had never blended into groups, even at the orphanage. She’d always been a loner and eventually grew accustomed to living alone. Until, out of nowhere, a little uncle barged into her life. It took her a long time to adjust, and she wasn’t keen on adding another stranger to the mix.
Zhu Qing didn’t want to keep making compromises.
Besides, she firmly believed the little antagonist from the original storyline shouldn’t be coddled like before.
He ought to learn to handle things on his own.
But now things were different.
The new place was spacious enough, and she’d grown more familiar with Aunt Ping. With work likely bringing more unexpected situations like today’s, it might be time to discuss having Aunt Ping stay over occasionally, just in case.
At noon in the kitchen, the uncle-niece duo fumbled around, but the warmth of their time together was priceless.
Still, work couldn’t be neglected. Zhu Qing had made up her mind—once she figured out the living arrangements, she’d need to renegotiate Aunt Ping’s responsibilities.
"We tried pan-frying steak with Sheng Fang at noon," Zhu Qing said. "Felt like playing house."
Mo Zhenbang chuckled.
Did the kid cook, or did she?
Clearly, neither of them had it under control.
"Right up ahead." Mo Zhenbang pointed to an apartment building. "Wait downstairs, or should I come up?"
"I’ll go up."
Mo Zhenbang’s place was also in Yau Ma Tei. After cutting through the back alley and climbing the stairs, Nannan, as if she’d timed her dad’s return perfectly, flung the door open excitedly. At home, Nannan wasn’t as reserved. She glanced at Zhu Qing before calling out, "Mommy!"
Little Sheng Fang lay sprawled on Nannan’s floor, assembling her puzzle—a set labeled for ages eight and up. The young master worked through it effortlessly, bored out of his mind. Hearing his niece had come to pick him up, he propped his head up, abandoning the remaining pieces before darting toward Zhu Qing like an arrow.
As the uncle-niece pair left, Mo Zhenbang’s wife, Lv Qiyun, handed Zhu Qing a folder. It contained interview questions for kindergarten parents, printed earlier by a colleague. Zhu Qing accepted it with both hands, thanked her, and left with the little one in tow.
Watching them walk away, Lv Qiyun sighed. "So young, yet already raising a child. It’s not easy."
Mo Zhenbang squeezed his wife’s shoulder.
He wanted to say she’d been the same—unprepared to care for a child when they took Nannan in together.
Lv Qiyun shook her head, stopping him with a smile. "The kids are listening. Nannan’s waiting for me to check her homework."
Their voices faded behind them.
Zhu Qing and her little uncle headed downstairs. Now that they’d moved to a better area, they didn’t need to take the minibus—they could just walk home.
But as they strolled, Sheng Fang brought up the swearing incident at the tea restaurant earlier.
"Reflect on that."
Zhu Qing: "..."
Never scolded as a kid, only to grow up and get lectured by a little uncle.
Never mind that she’d just been quoting the victim’s daughter—even if she had cursed, so what?
In her heart, she was the adult here.
But out loud, Zhu Qing obediently backed down in front of her little uncle.
This time, he wasn’t wrong.
As the younger one, she had to take the scolding without arguing.
The kid had already eaten dinner at Mo Zhenbang’s place and was licking his lips, savoring the taste of Sister-in-law’s sliced pork soup.
"Sheng Fang, you should call her Auntie."
"Zhu Qing, you should call me Uncle."
Madam Zhu nearly laughed in exasperation—again, no rebuttal.
This kid was definitely debate team material once he started kindergarten.
Now, Zhu Qing and the little one had a new home.
They stepped inside, flipped on the lights, and the whole place lit up. A half-eaten bag of chips lay on the coffee table, crumbs scattered around—forgotten, unsealed. It was the budding shape of a warm, lived-in life.
Sheng Fang immediately turned on the TV.
Zhu Qing sat beside him with the interview questions, flipping through them.
Supposedly study material, but something was off.
She read aloud: "When receiving something, say thank you with both hands."
"Recognize colors and match them to shapes."
"When hearing the instruction ‘little mouths stay quiet,’ immediately fall silent."
Zhu Qing set the papers down on the table.
Lv Qiyun’s colleague had printed the wrong document. These weren’t parent interview questions.
Zhu Qing stood, fetched her notebook from the bedroom, then grabbed a loaf of bread from the kitchen.
Sitting cross-legged on a cushion, she jotted down case clues while nibbling on toast.
Sheng Fang’s attention shifted from the TV back to his niece.
"Zhu Qing! Eating bread as a meal again—that’s no good!"
Zhu Qing’s gaze flicked to the kindergarten interview questions.
Playing the role of teacher, she raised a finger to her lips—
"Little mouths, no talking."
The young master responded perfectly to kindergarten commands, covering his mouth with both hands.
No talking!
Then he shook his head disapprovingly.
This Zhu Qing was getting more rebellious by the day.
---
Early the next morning, the B-team detectives reported straight to the conference room.
The multi-pronged investigation continued, with updates from each officer.
"Since Fang Yayun’s career took off, parents have been even more convinced that ‘a master shapes a prodigy,’ flocking to Fang Songsheng’s Yayun Music School. Fang Songsheng’s finances are solid, no bad habits—money disputes seem unlikely."
"The relationship between Fang Songsheng and Li Ziyao is still under investigation. But nearly everyone says they were happy together. Of course, no one would badmouth him to his face—who knows what they said behind his back?"
"As for that Amy—Cai Huimin—she was definitely strapped for cash. Some say she was negotiating a raise with Fang Songsheng just two days before his death. If the victim refused her request, maybe—"
Zeng Yongshan had collected magazine interviews with Fang Yayun.
"Here, she talks about her childhood. Her mother died young, her father raised her, and they were inseparable."
"And also..."
"Wait, she’s this famous?" Xu Jiale took one of the magazines. "Should’ve asked for an autograph yesterday."
Zeng Yongshan laughed and said, "I told you, only us true artists have heard of her name."
Xu Jiale clicked his tongue twice. "Artist, huh? What kind of art do you specialize in?"
Mo Zhenbang tapped their desk with a stack of documents. "Focus on the case."
Zhu Qing then pulled out the background information on Li Ziyao.
Investigations revealed that she came from a poor family, dropped out of school early, and worked odd jobs to survive.
Zhu Qing pinned Li Ziyao’s photo to the whiteboard and jotted down a brief note beneath it: "At seventeen, she worked as a beer promoter."
Several officers frowned at the revelation.
"A piano prodigy’s family and a beer girl… No wonder the victim’s daughter couldn’t accept her."
"Not to mention, Li Ziyao is even younger than the victim’s daughter. Who would believe she married him for love?"
During the investigation, one incident left a deep impression on Zhu Qing.
Listening to others’ accounts, she felt as if she had witnessed it herself.
Before she turned twenty, Li Ziyao, dressed in her uniform, went table to table promoting beer when she somehow offended a customer. The man smashed a beer bottle against the table, nearly escalating the situation into a police matter. In the end, Li Ziyao, helpless and humiliated, swallowed her pride, downed three bottles of beer with red-rimmed eyes, and barely managed to placate him.
"Looking at her now…" Liang Qikai shrugged. "Hard to imagine."
"Who knows what she went through to get to where she is now," Uncle Li remarked. "A week before her wedding, her sixty-something fiancé died. Lucky or unlucky?"
The room fell into a long silence.
Mo Zhenbang continued assigning tasks.
"We need to dig deeper into this case—every lead must be followed."
"Verify Cai Huimin’s motive. Check her financial records and debts."
"During those times her raise was denied, did she argue with the victim when she entered his office alone?"
"Have we traced Li Ziyao’s movements? If she was after his money, did she end up with nothing after he died right before the wedding?"
"Also, keep interviewing the Fang family and the piano shop employees. Gather their private opinions about Li Ziyao."
Zhu Qing kept her head down, still flipping through Li Ziyao’s file.
When she was younger, she only knew that the family who adopted Xin Xin was well-off, and she had been happy for her.
But now, as the investigation progressed, she noticed something odd. Xin Xin wasn’t adopted until she was fourteen—an age when children already remember things, making them less desirable to adoptive parents.
Given what happened later, had Xin Xin suffered in that household?
Had she ever known real love?
The entire Serious Crimes Team B was running like clockwork, fully wound up.
Mo Zhenbang joked that after just two days of rest, they were back in top form—how could Team A ever compete? Their solve rate was bound to climb again.
"Don’t jinx us, Mo Zhenbang. Team A can have the solve rate—we just want a break."
"Uncle Li said it best—we’re workhorses who can’t stay idle for long…"
At the end of her shift, Zhu Qing rubbed her sore neck as she stepped out of the station and immediately spotted a familiar figure.
Little Sheng Fang was there again to pick up his niece. The walk from their new home to the station, even at a leisurely pace, took only five minutes. The little one adored their new place, though he did miss the view of the Yau Ma Tei Police Headquarters from their old balcony.
He had already reminded Aunt Ping to bring his treasured telescope from their old home in the hills tomorrow.
"You’re finally off work," Aunt Ping greeted her with a smile. "We timed it just right—didn’t want to disturb you."
"Oh, and the fridge at home is stocked with fresh groceries," she added. "I also brought some soup—just heat it up in the microwave."
The young master paid Aunt Ping generously, though the child didn’t understand market rates. Not one to take advantage, she used the extra to cover grocery costs.
Spotting a minibus pulling away, Aunt Ping hurriedly bid Zhu Qing goodbye and rushed to catch it.
The future little villain, prompted by his niece, politely waved. "Bye-bye!"
Once she was gone, he started counting off dishes on his fingers, planning the menu.
For him, cooking wasn’t a chore—it was pure joy. His eyes sparkled with excitement as he looked up, practically glowing.
"Can we make black bean pepper spare ribs? But not too spicy."
"And steamed pork patty with preserved vegetables—Aunt Ping says even a fool could steam it right."
"Braised chicken wings with potatoes…"
Little Sheng Fang licked his lips at the thought of the dish.
Better stop—his mouth was watering already.
"Plus steamed egg with scallops and dried shrimp!" He raised a tiny hand. "I’ve learned how to make it!"
Just then, his niece crouched down to his level.
She placed her hands on his small shoulders, meeting his gaze.
The little master blinked, pausing his menu planning.
"Sheng Fang, do you want to go somewhere with me?"
"Yes!"
Little Uncle Fang was always ready to follow Zhu Qing anywhere.
She hadn’t even named the destination before he eagerly agreed.
"Aren’t you going to ask where?"
"Where are we going?"
"To the place where I grew up."
This time, Sheng Fang didn’t answer immediately. He looked at her, puzzled. "The orphanage?"
A place filled with parentless children.
The first time he heard Zhu Qing had grown up there, the young Sheng heir—never one for tact—sighed and said, "That’s so sad."
Now, Zhu Qing was returning for the case.
His first thought was—
"Will it make you sad?"
That orphanage was where she had grown up alone, with no one to rely on. Surely, it held painful memories.
Would going back hurt her?
The concern in his little uncle’s eyes caught Zhu Qing off guard.
A sharp honk interrupted them.
A car emerged from the station’s underground garage—Zeng Yongshan had mentioned it was Weng Zhaolin’s.
The vehicle stopped beside Zhu Qing and Sheng Fang.
Senior Inspector Weng Zhaolin leaned out the window, fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel.
"Where’s your Mo Zhenbang?"
Zhu Qing thought for a moment. The moment the shift ended, Mo Zhenbang had slipped out the back.
From her colleagues’ eye rolls, complaints, and gossip, she had pieced together a rough idea of Weng Zhaolin’s reputation.
Mo Zhenbang’s whereabouts were just the appetizer—the main course was coming.
"It’s already the second day. Why haven’t you identified a suspect?"
"Have you even properly investigated the victim’s connections? Enemies, financial disputes—you need to pick a direction."
"Also, wasn't it said that the piano teacher stole the victim's watch? The lead seems clear, so why..."
Generally, when Inspector Weng Zhaolin was speaking, no one could get a word in edgewise.
Yet suddenly, a "tap-tap-tap" knocking sound interrupted.
It was the young master of the Sheng family poking his head out, his chubby little hand lightly rapping on the driver's side window frame.
With one short index finger pressed against his own lips,
he gave a disapproving look.
Sheng Fang stood on tiptoe, both hands gripping the window frame, and scolded: "Little mouths—"
Senior Inspector: ?
