As soon as the words were spoken, Sheng Fang spotted a figure in the crowd.
He excitedly tapped his niece’s arm. "I see him!"
Following the little senior inspector’s gaze, Dr. Cheng Xinglang saw a heavily tattooed, muscular man standing across the street.
Cheng Xinglang asked, "Boyfriend?"
Sheng Fang lifted his chin proudly. "Impressive, right?"
Zhu Qing interjected, "No…"
The three of them talked over each other, and it took several rounds of back-and-forth between Dr. Cheng and Senior Inspector Sheng Fang before they finally sorted things out.
"How could you spread rumors?" Sheng Fang huffed. "That’s the suspect’s boyfriend."
In the end, Dr. Cheng became the one accused of making false claims, leaving him speechless.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. How could he argue with a three-year-old?
Zhu Qing sighed. "Sheng Fang, who told you that someone with tattoos must be her boyfriend?"
The muscular man Sheng Fang had pointed out looked nothing like Dai Feng in the photograph.
In the framed photo in Li Ziyao’s room, the once-loving couple had looked perfectly matched—the man’s arm draped over her shoulder, his wrist bearing a small tattoo.
Nothing like the "left dragon, right tiger" sleeves Sheng Fang had described.
Zhu Qing shook her head, glancing pointedly at his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle ID card.
And this kid wanted to be a cop?
"The physical features don’t match at all—"
"Qing!" Sheng Fang cut her off. "I meant her boyfriend went into that shop!"
He pointed toward a video rental store. A small blackboard outside listed the day’s screenings—popular Hong Kong films.
A burly man at the entrance whispered to his companion.
"The tapes in the back room… now those are the real gems."
"You gotta be a regular before they let you in."
"Top-tier stuff, not for just anyone!"
Zhu Qing lowered her voice. "I’ll be right back."
Had this kid really found the suspect’s ex-boyfriend at first glance?
Skeptical but curious, Zhu Qing stepped forward and pushed through the curtain into the store.
Meanwhile, the little one stayed with Dr. Cheng.
This was Lan Kwai Fong—not exactly a place for children. With no kid-friendly snacks around to distract him, the two sat on the stone steps, fiddling with the action figure the boy had just gotten.
"What’s a 'gem'?"
"This Ninja Turtle."
"And what’s a 'top-tier gem'?"
"Probably something freshly fried and delicious."
"Like fries and burgers?"
"Well, the chicken patty in a burger is fried, but not the bun."
Dr. Cheng deadpanned nonsense with a straight face.
Sheng Fang nodded thoughtfully.
The boy kept glancing back, eager to know if his niece had cracked the case. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Dr. Cheng’s calm demeanor.
Dr. Cheng never rushed. He leisurely assured the kid that once work was done, his "grown-up" would return.
Sheng Fang sat curled up on the steps, arms wrapped around his knees, chin resting on them.
From a distance, he looked like a tiny lump—especially next to Dr. Cheng. But though small, the boy was sharp. After some thought, he realized Dr. Cheng was very wrong.
He wasn’t the kid here.
He was the grown-up of the family.
"Nuh-uh!" Sheng Fang piped up in his tiny voice.
"She’s back." Dr. Cheng tilted his chin toward the video store, his gaze settling on Zhu Qing.
Watching her energetic stride, Cheng Xinglang raised an eyebrow. "Your niece always this intense?"
"Yep." Sheng Fang sighed like a disappointed elder.
Dr. Cheng pushed off the ground with one hand, scooped up the kid, and handed him to Madam Zhu. "Let’s go."
As Cheng walked away, Sheng Fang watched his retreating figure, deep in thought.
Zhu Qing admitted, "Turns out the little inspector really did find Li Ziyao’s boyfriend. I underestimated you."
But the boy wasn’t paying attention.
"Qing, really," the little uncle chided. "You should unwind with your coworkers after work!"
Watching Dr. Cheng disappear into the distance, Sheng Fang felt a spark of admiration.
That’s how a proper adult balanced work and life.
——
Inside the dimly lit video store, Zhu Qing cornered Dai Feng, Li Ziyao’s ex.
But going solo wasn’t protocol. Under the neon glow of the street, she ducked into a phone booth and called Superintendent Mo.
To make the interrogation official, they could bring Dai Feng to the station, involve a third-party specialist, or get temporary authorization. After a moment’s thought, Mo Zhenbang proposed the quickest solution.
Five minutes later, Superintendent Liang—the closest to Lan Kwai Fong—arrived.
Zhu Qing had derailed the original plot. The cannon-fodder side character and the heroine’s fates were rewritten, the story ending ahead of schedule. The "male lead" was now just a label—at work, he was no different from any other colleague. They were all here to solve the case.
Liang Qikai jogged over, the night breeze tousling his hair. He brushed it back and asked, "Found the suspect’s ex?"
Soon, Sheng Fang joined the operation.
It was his first time in a video store, and everything fascinated him. Wide-eyed, he trailed behind Zhu Qing, listening as she delivered the classic TV line to Dai Feng.
"Please come with us to the station for questioning."
His niece glowed when she said it.
Madam was so cool! Sheng Fang gazed up at her in awe, quietly mimicking her words.
Could he ever become a radiant officer like her?
But his excitement was short-lived.
Moments later, Madam Zhu and Superintendent Liang took Dai Feng away, while Aunt Ping waited outside the station to pick him up.
"I came as soon as you called," Aunt Ping said warmly. "Just finished washing dishes."
"Aunt Ping, I don’t know how late I’ll be."
"Don’t worry," she reassured. "I’ll take care of the little master."
Earlier, Zhu Qing had mentioned possibly having Aunt Ping stay over sometimes.
The spare room was ready, with fresh sheets on the bed. Aunt Ping understood—whether it was about work or ensuring the boy was looked after, the once-distant officer was letting her in.
She remembered their first meeting: the icy, imposing woman who warmed to no one. But since the boy came into her life, Zhu Qing’s coldness had melted, replaced by something softer.
And Aunt Ping? She wanted to care for both of them—the little one and the young woman working so hard on her own.
"Aunt Ping, are you staying with us tonight?" Sheng Fang asked.
"Yes," she smiled.
"You can't dictate when I sleep."
With Sheng Fang away from home, he was determined to act like a king. No one could control him—Uncle was ready to stay up all night!
...
In the interrogation room, Dai Feng recounted his past with Li Ziyao in detail.
"We got together about two years ago."
Two years ago, Dai Feng and Li Ziyao first met—he was a PR agent, and she was a beer promoter. Li Ziyao, drunk and harassed by someone, was rescued when he stepped in with a professional smile, diffusing the situation. Later, they fell in love. During their toughest times, they lived in a cramped subdivided flat where even breathing felt suffocating. Once, after getting paid, they splurged on a box of roast pork rice. Dai Feng gave her all the meat, eating only the sauce-soaked rice himself.
Perhaps their love in hardship was painted with a tragic grandeur in their own minds, as if they were defying the whole world together. Li Ziyao and Dai Feng were inseparable, cherishing every minute and dreaming of a future together.
"As she got older, Ziyao couldn’t keep working as a beer promoter forever. Jobs like karaoke hostess, waitress, or usher would’ve been easier."
"But Ziyao wanted a 'proper' job. She started learning hairdressing at a salon. The first time she came back, she excitedly told me that if she mastered it, she could become a hairstylist or even transition into the beauty industry. Skincare treatments are lucrative these days—you see it on TV all the time—"
Dai Feng trailed off, but Zhu Qing didn’t interrupt. She wanted to know how her "Xinxin jiejie" had lived after leaving the orphanage.
"I couldn’t keep working in PR forever either. If we got married, how could I take care of our home with such late hours?"
"I saved up some money and opened a video rental store with a friend. Business was slow at first, especially during late-night screenings. So, the two of us would just watch movies together—classics, romances, thrillers… we didn’t miss a single one." Here, Dai Feng paused, lost in the memory before snapping back. "We thought life was finally getting better… until two months ago, when she broke up with me."
Dai Feng said the video store had just started picking up. He’d arranged to stop working night shifts, and Li Ziyao’s career was progressing well. They were even discussing marriage.
But in the end, they never made it that far.
He suddenly smirked.
"She said she was tired of living like this. Funny, isn’t it? Only now does she tell me she wants a better life."
"How long can that old man give her a good life? Once he kicks the bucket, what’ll she have left?" Dai Feng abruptly pushed back his chair, its legs screeching against the floor.
Liang Qikai lost patience and slammed the table. "What happened next?"
He pointed to the date and time on the case file, demanding to know if Dai Feng and Li Ziyao had been together during the incident—whether there was an alibi.
"The video store had a phone, usually for customer reservations. That day, I picked up—it was her."
"She asked if I was free, if I could come get her—"
At 11 p.m. on Tuesday, they met at a dessert shop below Li Ziyao’s apartment.
Dai Feng took her to a hotel. After their passionate reunion, she dropped the bombshell—she was getting married.
It felt like a bucket of ice water dumped over him.
"You don’t play people like that," Dai Feng said bitterly. "But since she offered, I wasn’t about to refuse."
They stayed together all night.
"Do you know she named you as the beneficiary on her insurance policy?" Zhu Qing asked.
"I didn’t," Dai Feng replied. "What, now she’s pretending to be sentimental? Doesn’t suit her."
Liang Qikai suspected Dai Feng might have killed Fang Songsheng for the money. After all, if Li Ziyao listed him as her beneficiary, it showed how much he meant to her. Once Fang Songsheng died and she received the payout, Dai Feng could easily take it.
But Dai Feng provided an alibi—he and Li Ziyao had been together.
"The Grand View Hotel has surveillance in the lobby and hallways. We must’ve been caught on camera."
"She couldn’t sleep, so we went out for cigarettes. The clerk at the 24-hour convenience store can vouch for us. It wasn’t even dawn yet."
"The TV was playing Cantonese films all night. By sunrise, it was True Hearts—that scene where Ah Ling breaks up with her boyfriend. We were arguing too, loud enough for the neighbors to complain."
"She didn’t fall asleep until morning. Then the police called, saying the old man was dead, and she panicked, scrambling to get dressed and leave."
Dai Feng scoffed, mocking Li Ziyao’s terrible habits—staying up until 5 a.m. full of energy. Could that old man even handle it if they got married?
"She—" He hurled more insults at her, then suddenly lowered his eyes, murmuring, "She’s changed so much."
Those hard times they endured together, memories he thought were beautiful, were dismissed as worthless by Li Ziyao when they broke up.
"That tattoo on your wrist—does it mean something?" Zhu Qing pointed.
"This? Her birthday." Dai Feng raised his arm. Under the harsh interrogation lights, his reddened eyes were unmistakable. "Madam, never be stupid enough to get a tattoo for someone else. It stays with you forever."
...
When Zhu Qing returned home that night, she expected Sheng Fang to be ruling the house like a little tyrant.
But the door opened to silence.
Lately, the kid had been following his niece’s strict bedtime routine. Tossing and turning in his little bed, he’d drift off without realizing.
A small lamp glowed in the hallway between the living room and Zhu Qing’s bedroom.
Aunt Ping peeked out from the guest room, whispering, "The young master left a light on for you. He was worried you’d be scared if it was dark when you got back."
Zhu Qing smiled. "Silly kid."
"Qingqing, are you hungry? Should I make you noodles?"
She shook her head.
But inside, something warm and tender slowly unfurled—a rare softness.
When morning light seeped through the curtains the next day, Zhu Qing grabbed the breakfast Aunt Ping had prepared and headed to work.
After the morning briefing, she received official notice to join Li Ziyao’s interrogation.
The marital home had been bought for her, under her name. After Fang Songsheng’s death, the million-dollar property would be hers.
As for the insurance beneficiary—
"I checked. If the beneficiary is the mastermind behind a murder, the insurance company can refuse payment," Li Ziyao said. "Why would I go through all that trouble for nothing?"
"Perhaps she simply didn’t want to marry a dead man but couldn’t shake off his persistence?" Uncle Li said calmly. "When the killer struck, they must have calculated how to get away with it."
Li Ziyao fell silent.
It wasn’t until Zhu Qing produced the letter from Director Guo at the orphanage that Li Ziyao’s expression finally flickered with emotion.
"This is what the letter says," Zhu Qing read from the page. "Xinxin is a well-behaved child. She’s adjusting well to her new family. She quickly started calling us Mom and Dad. We’re grateful to Director Guo for raising such a kind and sensible daughter."
This was a letter sent by the adoptive family to the orphanage after Xinxin was taken in.
A photo was enclosed—Xinxin seated between her adoptive parents, looking at ease, her lips curved in a warm, hopeful smile.
Zhu Qing only read the beginning. In truth, the letter was long, filling two full pages.
In it, the adoptive mother wrote that they would soon move abroad with Xinxin, change her name, and help her leave behind painful memories. They had already chosen her new name, and with this fresh start, they would no longer keep in touch with the orphanage.
Director Guo later regretted keeping the letter and photo, believing it was the adoptive family’s final act—pretending to care for the child before doing who-knows-what to her once they were out of sight.
"Li Zi…" Uncle Li pointed to a smudged ink blot in the letter. "Li Zi-something. Doesn’t look like 'Yao.'"
"Li Ziyao," Li Ziyao corrected. "My adoptive mother originally wanted to name me that. But it was misregistered with the same pronunciation."
When the police asked what had happened in the adoptive family, Li Ziyao shook her head calmly.
"You need to tell us so we can help you."
"How?" she replied softly. "They’re already dead."
Her adoptive parents were no longer alive.
She steered the conversation away, instead recalling her first meeting with Fang Songsheng.
"Working at the salon was exhausting. Washing hair every day, my hands soaked in shampoo until my fingers wrinkled and peeled."
"One day, I passed by Wan Chai and saw a job posting at Elegance Piano Store. I went in to try my luck."
"It was for a receptionist position—no piano skills required, just a presentable appearance. Songsheng interviewed me himself. He kept staring at me, and I knew I had it."
"But I never expected things to progress the way they did. People say older men are more considerate, and he really did listen to everything I said when we were together."
Li Ziyao continued, "He was a good man. His ex-wife passed early, and for his daughter’s sake, he never remarried."
Uncle Li: "Did Fang Songsheng raise Fang Yayun alone?"
"Not exactly," Li Ziyao said. "He lived with his mother. Yayun was raised by her grandmother."
"That’s also why I never moved in with Songsheng," she admitted. "The old lady doted on Yayun. If Yayun didn’t accept me, neither would her grandmother."
"My future mother-in-law disliked me just as much as her granddaughter did."
"I’d planned to find a way to win the old lady over eventually."
"Songsheng was filial—he’d never ignore his mother. I’d resigned myself to being the patient daughter-in-law…"
"But now, none of that matters."
As for her alibi between 5 and 6 a.m. on Wednesday, Li Ziyao’s statement matched Dai Feng’s perfectly.
Perhaps they had coordinated their stories—or perhaps it was the truth.
"Being with an ex isn’t exactly honorable. That’s why I didn’t mention it last time."
As the interrogation neared its end, Zhu Qing flipped through the transcript. "Anything else to add? If not, please sign here—"
"Are you okay?" Li Ziyao asked.
Zhu Qing froze, looking up.
The question wasn’t from Li Ziyao.
It was Xinxin-jie’s belated greeting—thirteen years overdue.
……
Long after leaving the interrogation room, Zhu Qing was still reviewing the statements from Li Ziyao and Dai Feng.
Something felt off, but she couldn’t pinpoint what.
Head bowed, the only sound in her ears was the rustling of paper until someone stopped her.
"Dr. Cheng?"
She noticed Cheng Xinglang had just come from Mo Zhenbang’s office.
"Any new developments?" Zhu Qing closed the file in her hands.
A faint smile touched Dr. Cheng’s lips.
Every time he saw this Madam, she was buried in work—so much so that by mealtime, the CID office was empty except for her.
"Last time, we discussed how the victim sustained multiple stab wounds yet showed almost no signs of struggle," Cheng Xinglang said. "Due to technical limitations, the toxicology report just came in. Traces of sleeping pills were found in the victim’s system."
Initially, police suspected the killer had struck a vital point first, rendering the victim unable to fight back. The subsequent non-fatal wounds were likely acts of rage.
But now, Dr. Cheng proposed another possibility—the drugs might explain it all.
Zhu Qing: "How do we confirm the victim took the pills near the time of death? Could they have been ingested the night before?"
"Impossible," Cheng Xinglang said. "Based on digestion rate, stomach emptying time, and peak blood concentration, ingestion was much closer to the time of death."
"The killer planned this. They either lured the victim to Elegance Piano Store or knew he’d be there, then waited inside—" Zhu Qing mused. "Waiting to strike?"
Dr. Cheng pointed at himself as if caught off guard by a pop quiz. "Asking me?"
"No," Zhu Qing took the report from him. "Just thinking aloud."
So the victim was drugged—not enough to lose consciousness entirely, but enough to weaken his resistance?
This was a breakthrough. Her eyes lit up as she hurried back to the office with the two statements, her ponytail swaying with her steps.
Dr. Cheng called after her, "Wait."
Zhu Qing turned.
"The sleeping pill compound is unusual. We’re sending it to the government lab for further analysis."
"Got it." Zhu Qing flashed an "okay" sign. "Thanks!"
Dr. Cheng stared at the gesture, then chuckled.
Yesterday, a certain little rascal had made the same sign with tiny fingers.
So who copied whom?
……
The investigation hadn’t made any major leaps, but at least it wasn’t stuck in place.
Before heading home, Zhu Qing hitched a ride with a colleague who lived near Wan Chai and stopped by Elegance Piano Store.
She knew the killer wouldn’t be foolish enough to leave evidence of drugging the victim.
But what if?
After Fang Songsheng’s death, Elegance Piano Store had closed for two days.
It wasn't until today that the piano store reopened for business, but the spacious shop only had a few employees sitting around, staring blankly at each other.
"After all, Teacher Fang had that accident here. Word has spread everywhere—this is a piano store where someone died, and Room No. 6 is where it happened... None of the scheduled lessons are being attended anymore."
"Throughout the whole day, only Ranran's mom came by, asking for a tuition refund. Honestly, she’s being unreasonable—she was almost due for renewal, and suddenly she wants her money back!"
"We didn’t know what to do either, so we called Yayun. She said if anyone asks for a refund, just process it without asking questions."
"Yayun is an artist—she’s never been one to waste words arguing with people."
The employees' faces were clouded with worry.
If things continued like this, the piano store would inevitably shut down, and they’d have to look for new jobs again.
When Zhu Qing asked about the real matter at hand, everyone looked puzzled.
"A cup?"
"We only use disposable cups here. There was a mix-up before—students and teachers kept grabbing the wrong ones. After that, Teacher Fang had us buy a batch of disposable cups."
"Even the staff got used to them. They’re convenient—use them once and toss them, no need to wash."
The trash bin in the break room had been emptied countless times.
Even if the victim had been poisoned here, any evidence would have long since vanished.
Leaving Yayun Piano Store, Zhu Qing turned into the familiar bookstore at the street corner.
She stood in the medical section, her fingers gliding over the spines of books before stopping at a few about rehabilitation for coma patients.
Only after learning about her connection to Sheng Peirong had Zhu Qing started paying attention to this kind of medical knowledge. Though she couldn’t grasp the professional jargon, she wanted to understand.
Then, she casually picked up a few finance magazines and business case studies. The nurses had mentioned that talking about topics the patient was interested in might help... Someone who had once dominated negotiation tables would surely be well-versed in these.
"Where’s the children’s picture book section?" Zhu Qing asked.
"Walk to the end of this row and turn left," the clerk directed.
Little Sheng Fang acted like everyone was beneath him—that was a habit that needed fixing.
Zhu Qing selected an introductory picture book that used simple illustrations and stories to teach preschoolers about family relationships.
This little one—when would he finally realize he wasn’t actually an adult?
After paying, Zhu Qing quickened her steps home.
The long, busy workday was finally over.
...
The real estate agent hadn’t exaggerated—from the balcony of Zhu Qing and her uncle’s new place, you really could see the sunset.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the streets below were filled with hurried pedestrians and passing cars.
In the kitchen, Aunt Ping moved efficiently, preparing dinner with a lively clatter of pots and pans.
Plates clinked, spatulas scraped against woks, and dish after dish was brought to the table—all blending into the warm, bustling atmosphere of home.
Little Sheng Fang wandered out to the balcony.
His niece had set many rules since they moved—one being that he wasn’t allowed on the balcony when she wasn’t home. She worried he might lean too far over the railing while admiring the view and accidentally fall. She’d even mentioned hiring someone to install window guards.
Sheng Fang thought his niece underestimated him. He’d seen the views from the mountains—what was so special about Yau Ma Tei?
Besides, she also underestimated Aunt Ping. Aunt Ping kept a sharp eye on kids, never letting them out of her sight.
But either way, now that Zhu Qing was home, Sheng Fang was free to enjoy the balcony.
"Whew—" The little uncle pushed open the glass door. "It’s so hot!"
On a sweltering evening like this, sitting outside meant not even a breeze could reach them.
But Zhu Qing insisted that after a whole day in air-conditioning, her brain needed some fresh air—even if it was just warm wind.
"My brain is super sharp," Sheng Fang said, tapping his forehead.
Zhu Qing pulled out the picture book she’d bought for him. "Oh really?"
The little one sat on the balcony in the summer heat, feeling the warm air around him.
But he liked being with his niece, so he reluctantly climbed onto the lounge chair beside her and started flipping through the book.
"Father’s mother is called grandmother," Sheng Fang read aloud, pointing at the words. "That’s 'Mah-mah,' I know."
He said it was common sense—of course he knew.
Unfortunately, the little uncle had never met his own grandmother.
"Because my daddy is too old," Sheng Fang sighed.
He turned the page. "Mother’s older brother is called uncle, younger brother is called little uncle."
The tiny boy perked up at something familiar. "This one I know too—it’s 'Kau-fu'!"
"Zhu Qing, what’s 'aunt'? If it’s the uncle’s mother, shouldn’t it be 'maternal grandmother'?"
"We don’t need that one yet," Zhu Qing said.
These complicated family trees and titles were no challenge for Sheng Fang.
Ever since he first heard the term "niece" from his second sister, he’d done his homework. He wasn’t just a kid who played around—any question that popped into his head had to be answered immediately.
"Alright, since you know everything, let’s expand on this," Zhu Qing said.
What followed felt like a police briefing.
Knowing kids loved this kind of thing, Zhu Qing had him fetch a large sheet of paper and a marker, pretending it was a whiteboard in a meeting room.
She wrote down her colleagues' names. "This is Mo Sir. You can call him—"
"Zhenbang," Sheng Fang said.
"Uncle Mo!"
"This is Uncle Li. You can call him—"
"Old Li," Sheng Fang said, sitting cross-legged and holding his tiny feet.
"Uncle Li!"
"Liang Qikai, Zeng Yongshan, Cheng Xinglang..."
Sheng Fang blinked. "Zhu Qing, who’s Cheng Xinglang?"
"Dr. Cheng," Zhu Qing said.
"Oh." Sheng Fang grinned. "So his name is Ah Lang!"
Zhu Qing nearly lost it.
The original story called him a genius villain.
What kind of little genius couldn’t follow simple instructions?
"Sheng Fang, are you doing this on purpose?" Zhu Qing narrowed her eyes.
The little one tilted his head, flashing tiny white teeth. "Nope."
...
For Aunt Ping, cooking was never a chore. On the contrary, when the aroma of food filled the house, she felt nothing but satisfaction.
A table full of delicious dishes satisfied the picky little master and Zhu Qing, who usually just grabbed whatever was convenient.
After dinner, just as Aunt Ping was about to clear the dishes, Zhu Qing stopped her firmly.
"Let him do it himself."
The niece was determined to instill good habits in her little uncle—to steer him away from his future villainous path.
In the kitchen, Sheng Fang stood on a small stool, scrubbing away at the dishes.
For such a little child, washing dishes wasn’t a chore—he loved cupping the soap bubbles in his tiny hands and blowing them gently.
"Sheng Fang, don’t blow them at me!" Zhu Qing scolded.
The little master puffed his cheeks even more and took direct aim at his niece: "Pfft!"
Laughter echoed through the kitchen, while Aunt Ping, sitting on the sofa, fidgeted as if on pins and needles.
How could she rest comfortably while the employer’s family was doing the dishes?
Aunt Ping stood up and paced around the living room several times.
It was spotless—so clean that finding any work for herself was nearly impossible.
Once the dishes were done, little Sheng Fang tugged at Zhu Qing’s sleeve, asking for a reward.
What kind of reward was needed for washing a few dishes?
That was what Zhu Qing thought, but the little one blinked up at her with clear, pleading eyes—it was impossible not to soften.
"What reward do you want?"
"Popsicle!"
"We don’t have any at home. Maybe another day—"
With a dramatic "whoosh," Sheng Fang pulled open the freezer.
Inside, it was packed full of ice cream and popsicles.
Aunt Ping hurried over to explain, "The little master said that in the middle of summer, the house should definitely have some ice cream and popsicles… so I bought them."
The corners of Zhu Qing’s lips curled up as she shook her head, unable to resist his antics.
Sheng Fang, ever the clever one, had already predicted—
Popsicle time!
...
A single pineapple popsicle was enough to send little Uncle Fang into a joyful frenzy in the living room.
His tiny footsteps pattered loudly, his sweet, childish voice ringing through the house. Meanwhile, Zhu Qing retreated to her room and placed the letter from Director Guo of the orphanage on her desk.
Li Ziyao was hiding too many mysteries.
She was nothing like the Xinxin-jiejie from the past, and the turning point of this transformation might very well lie within this letter.
Zhu Qing’s gaze drifted back to the old photo that had arrived with the letter.
Fourteen-year-old Xinxin-jiejie stood sandwiched between her adoptive parents, her smile as bright and pure as Zhu Qing remembered.
But the current Li Ziyao also smiled often.
A flattering, coquettish smile in front of Fang Songsheng. A careless smirk when facing the police. And when reunited with someone from the orphanage, a faint, teasing curl of her lips.
Had those adoptive parents shattered the innocence in her smile?
What exactly had they done to her?
An inexplicable intuition rose in Zhu Qing’s heart—she couldn’t shake the feeling that this letter could be the key to cracking the case.
"Qing-jie!" Sheng Fang’s sweet voice called from outside the door. "The popsicle’s melting!"
The pineapple popsicle in Zhu Qing’s hand was indeed on the verge of dripping.
She quickly finished it and handed the stick to the eager little messenger. "Throw it in the trash."
Sheng Fang took it but lingered beside his niece.
"You’re not happy?" he asked.
Though young, he was perceptive.
The way Zhu Qing hunched over the desk, her back radiating loneliness—he saw it instantly.
Without waiting for an answer, the little uncle dashed off.
A moment later, he came running back, kicking his short legs.
Zhu Qing turned to see Sheng Fang holding his cartoon water cup.
Inside were two leftover popsicle sticks.
"Qing-jie, shake it, and it’ll fly out!"
The child pressed the cup into her hands, even guiding her to hold it with both hands.
"It’s fortune-telling," Sheng Fang explained, helping her shake it.
But no matter how much they shook, nothing flew out.
Frustrated, the little uncle scrunched up his face—until Zhu Qing obligingly tilted the cup.
With a soft "plink," one of the sticks fell to the floor.
Sheng Fang picked it up and raised it triumphantly. "Congratulations! It’s the best fortune!"
Zhu Qing couldn’t help but laugh.
Which TV show had he learned this from? Just to cheer her up, he’d gone through such an elaborate setup.
She took the popsicle stick from him.
"I washed it!" Sheng Fang declared proudly. "Aunt Ping even said I’m very clean!"
It was rare for someone to care so genuinely about her feelings.
Zhu Qing tightened her grip on the stick, then reached out to ruffle Sheng Fang’s hair.
It was soft and fluffy—quite nice to touch.
"Thank you," she said.
Sheng Fang’s eyes lit up like Ultraman’s—
instantly glowing.
Qing-jie really, really liked him!
...
"Qingqing," Aunt Ping called from outside the door. "Was that your pager?"
When Zhu Qing had gotten home, she’d changed into comfortable pajamas and tossed her clothes into the laundry basket—forgetting her pager was still inside.
At this hour, a page could only mean one thing: something was happening at the station.
She was about to head downstairs when Sheng Fang stopped her.
"We have—" the child said mysteriously, "a telephone!"
While Zhu Qing charged ahead in her work, little Fang handled all the logistics at home. He kept track of what the household needed and made sure Aunt Ping stocked up.
Besides the popsicles, the newly installed telephone was also his doing.
Before Zhu Qing could react, Sheng Fang was already pushing her toward the phone.
It was Zeng Yongshan returning her page. As soon as the call connected, the other woman’s clear, pleasant voice came through.
"Zhu Qing, Li Ziyao really isn’t a suspect."
"We checked the surveillance footage from the Fu Lin Hotel lobby and hallways—she’s clearly seen coming and going. The clerk at the 24-hour convenience store also confirmed seeing Li Ziyao and Dai Feng buying cigarettes at around 5:30 AM, right after their shift change. They even had an argument. Plus, there’s a guest complaint from the hotel between 5 and 6 AM."
"I know you two were friends before, so I wanted to ease your mind."
Zeng Yongshan knew that Xinxin-jiejie had been more than just a childhood playmate to Zhu Qing.
"Has Li Ziyao been released?" Zhu Qing asked.
"Already sent her home. After holding her for so long, only to come up empty… Mo Zhenbang wants us to visit the victim’s family tomorrow."
"You just went today, didn’t you?"
"This morning, Fang Songsheng’s mother wasn’t home—Fang Yayun took her for a medical checkup. She should be there tomorrow. Maybe the old lady can give us some leads?"
Zhu Qing agreed, her mind racing through the case files.
What was still missing?
"Ding-dong—"
The crisp chime of the doorbell interrupted her thoughts.
Sheng Fang ran to answer it.
From her spot near the hallway, partially hidden by a decorative cabinet, Zhu Qing could only catch a glimpse of the light spilling in from the doorway.
"Who is it?" she asked.
...
Sheng Fang opened the door to find Li Ziyao standing outside.
"I called Director Guo to ask for Zhu Qing’s address."
"Sorry to disturb you."
She was holding a box of pastries.
The box was branded with the name of a famous, old-fashioned bakery in Hong Kong.
The child studied her silently, not saying a word.
Li Ziyao stood there slightly flustered, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I saw you last time outside the music store."
Sheng Fang remembered her too.
She had been a suspect—they had even helped her look for her boyfriend.
"Little one," Li Ziyao asked, "are you Zhu Qing's—"
The air hung with a delicate tension.
Sheng Fang had watched Police Bulletin. His uncle, a cop, had always taught him to sense danger the moment it arose.
The first rule was to stay composed. Second, don’t alert the enemy.
And above all, never let them know his connection to Zhu Qing.
With a carefully guarded expression, Sheng Fang called into the house, "Hey, gorgeous! Someone’s here to see you!"
