Zeng Yongshan was quite the chatterbox. Whenever she answered the phone, aside from work matters, she would inevitably drift into casual conversation. This time, she rambled about the deceased and the address of Li Ziyao’s new home, mentioning that once work wrapped up, she’d grab a claypot rice nearby before heading back to the station.
“I went with Xu Jiale this morning. I’d been looking forward to it all night, but Yang Ji Claypot Rice wasn’t open yet.”
“They use charcoal fire to cook it fresh, with cured meats and a runny egg on top—just thinking about it makes my mouth water!”
Zeng Yongshan had always been good at balancing work and life. The elders at home often praised her as a model for others, urging them to follow her example of mixing diligence with leisure. That was why Zhu Qing readily agreed to her invitation.
“It’s settled then, see you tomorrow!”
“Alright, tomorrow.”
The noise outside was faint, and with Aunt Ping around, Zhu Qing didn’t pay it much mind.
However, after hanging up and rounding the corner of the living room, she suddenly heard someone call out, “Hey, pretty lady.”
Was that mischievous kid playing another game, mimicking a tea restaurant host?
Zhu Qing walked forward and paused at the entryway, spotting Li Ziyao standing there.
As it turned out, Sheng Fang, ever the vigilant little one, had distanced himself from his niece.
Li Ziyao stood at the door, offering a small smile.
She didn’t seem as distant as she had been in recent days.
“Remember the pastries the social worker used to bring us when we were kids?” Li Ziyao lifted a box of treats. “Just a small piece back then—we’d split it. Do you recall?”
Zhu Qing studied her from a measured distance.
The unfamiliar, the familiar, even the long-lost—all blurred together in that moment, making it hard to distinguish.
Another prolonged silence settled between them.
Li Ziyao tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her gaze dimming slightly. “Did I come at a bad time?”
Aunt Ping was meticulous about cleanliness and prone to fussing. Even after Zhu Qing and the young master had cleaned the kitchen, she’d still redo it. Her attention flickered toward the children, and sensing the tension, she quickly dried her hands and stepped forward.
“We have a guest?”
“Please, come in! Would you like tea or lemon water?”
Sheng Fang, still squinting in scrutiny, toddled back to his room on short legs and returned with his favorite laser gun.
The toy gun was nearly half his size, but he carried it with solemn determination, his earlier nervousness eased by his niece’s presence. After all, with a police officer at home, there was nothing to fear.
Still, the little one remained wary, never fully letting his guard down.
As Aunt Ping invited her inside, Li Ziyao smiled faintly. “Thank you, I’ll have—”
“No need, Aunt Ping.” Zhu Qing’s tone was calm but firm, cutting her off.
Li Ziyao’s smile froze.
“Even though your suspicion has been cleared,” Zhu Qing said, meeting her gaze, “it’s best for police and persons of interest to avoid private contact during an investigation.”
Li Ziyao stiffened, her grip tightening on the pastry box. Her lips twitched into a strained half-smile, her expression faltering.
For a fleeting moment, Zhu Qing saw the Xinxin of their childhood again—the older girl who had crouched down to teach her how to tie her shoelaces, gentle and patient.
“I understand.”
Zhu Qing: “I’ll walk you out.”
Li Ziyao nodded.
Still in her pajamas, Zhu Qing went to change. As she waited by the door, the little one kept a watchful eye on their guest.
A short while later, Zhu Qing returned.
Sheng Fang listened as they walked to the elevator, heard the soft chime of its arrival, and the sound of the doors closing behind them.
“Aunt Ping,” the little uncle declared, striking a heroic pose with his laser gun, “follow them!”
By the time Sheng Fang had slipped on his tiny shoes, Aunt Ping was still processing the situation.
Luckily, the clever child explained in a few words.
This woman wasn’t just a guest—she was a suspect in a murder case.
Just as Aunt Ping shuddered at the thought, the child added—
She was also Zhu Qing’s childhood friend from the orphanage.
“Protect Qing!” Sheng Fang dashed into the elevator.
Aunt Ping hurried after him, muttering, “If that’s the case… how heartbroken Qing must be…”
Sheng Fang paused mid-step, glancing back in confusion.
Would Qing be sad?
That was something the little one couldn’t quite grasp.
……
Under the streetlights, their shadows stretched long.
Zhu Qing never imagined that, after so many years, she’d walk side by side with Xinxin again.
The night in Yau Ma Tei was alive with passersby, the air buzzing with noise—not enough to drown out conversation, yet neither of them spoke for a long while.
“I only realized later that the walnut cookies the social worker gave us came from around here.” Li Ziyao opened the pastry box. “Have one.”
This time, Zhu Qing didn’t refuse.
Thirteen years had passed, turning time itself into distance. Even the taste of the cookie was different now.
Back then, the social worker hadn’t given treats to every child. Xinxin, being older, had earned a fragrant walnut cookie as a reward for helping move books and supplies. She’d hidden it to share with Zhu Qing, and the two girls had sneaked off to split it, only to be caught by the crumbs clinging to their lips.
“The first time we met again, I pretended not to know you,” Li Ziyao admitted softly. “I was with Songsheng, and I was too ashamed to acknowledge you.”
Her life hadn’t gone well, and the gap between her and the little sister from her past felt too wide. Awkwardness had kept her silent.
“The second time, I was already tangled in a murder case, and you were the officer.” Li Ziyao sighed. “I never thought you’d actually become a cop. You’ve done so well.”
As a child, Zhu Qing had been fiercely righteous.
Whenever older kids bullied others, she’d swing her tiny fists, then boast that she was a cop who’d arrest them all.
Such trivial memories had long since faded.
“I don’t even remember that.”
“You were so young back then.”
Zhu Qing hadn’t realized her younger self had been as fond of declaring herself an officer as Sheng Fang was now.
“Cops aren’t supposed to hit people,” she murmured, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
“No, they’re meant to be fair and impartial. And you’ve grown into exactly that.” Li Ziyao’s voice was warm. “The first few times we met, I didn’t know how to face you. But now that my name’s cleared, I can finally stand before you properly.”
Li Ziyao confessed she had no one else to talk to.
“All I ever wanted was a quiet life with Songsheng,” she said quietly. “He’s a good man, just a bit older. He raised his daughter alone all these years, and in the end, she still doesn’t understand him.”
Zhu Qing: “Fang Yayun doesn’t understand him?”
"The relationship between that father and daughter isn't as good as it appears on the surface," Li Ziyao said. "Fang Yayun almost got married once, but Song Sheng broke them up."
"Honestly, none of this is particularly new."
"If we're talking about motives, everyone has one—but is it really enough to kill someone?"
At this point, Li Ziyao suddenly stopped walking. She turned to look at a café at the end of the street. "Madam's place isn't convenient to visit. How about we sit somewhere public?"
The warm summer breeze brushed against Li Ziyao’s face, tousling her loose strands of hair.
The soft glow of the evening lights muted her bold makeup. She stared at Zhu Qing, her gaze probing but mostly sincere.
"We’ll talk after the case is closed," Zhu Qing replied.
"Maybe we shouldn’t have reunited," Li Ziyao suddenly laughed. "The 'Xinxin jiejie' you remember shouldn’t look this tacky."
Without waiting for a response, she turned away. "I’ll go first. Maybe another time—"
Zhu Qing cut in, "I don’t care."
Li Ziyao’s back stiffened slightly.
The voice behind her was restrained but not indifferent.
"Just knowing you’re safe is enough."
Only those who’ve lived through it understand how hard it is to grow up alone.
No matter what she’s become now, as long as she’s safe, that’s all that matters.
After Li Ziyao left, Sheng Fang, who had been following at a distance, moved to approach.
Aunt Ping stopped the young master. "Let her have some quiet."
Aunt Ping said that right now, Zhu Qing probably just wanted to be alone.
To others, Li Ziyao might just be a fleeting name from Zhu Qing’s childhood.
But in truth, she might have been the only warmth and comfort in Zhu Qing’s cold, lonely youth.
……
When Zhu Qing returned home, Sheng Fang and Aunt Ping were already inside, as if they’d never stepped out.
The little boy was sprawled on the floor, playing a stealth-attack game, peeking out from behind the sofa with his laser gun, crawling forward.
He barked, "Who goes there? Freeze!"
Unfortunately, he’d met a real professional.
The older ginger is spicier.
In one swift motion, Zhu Qing twisted Sheng Fang’s wrist with her right hand and pinned his shoulder with her left.
The kid was completely subdued.
"Qing-jie, what move was that just now?"
"Teach me!"
Sheng Fang sat cross-legged in front of his niece, clutching his laser gun, rubbing his hands together eagerly.
Zhu Qing wasn’t in the mood to teach self-defense, but she was willing to throw him a little award ceremony.
The kid was sharp—he knew not to blow his cover and had guarded the first line of defense at home.
"Award ceremony?" Sheng Fang’s eyes widened. Then it hit him. "Qing-jie, you still owe me my Good Citizen Award!"
The grand award ceremony for niece and uncle took place in the living room.
Fang-Fang stood barefoot on the edge of the sofa, straight as a soldier.
This was his podium.
Aunt Ping played along, watching their antics with a smile. Just when they thought it was over, Zhu Qing disappeared into her bedroom and returned with something—hanging a medal around the little one’s neck.
Sheng Fang froze, cradling the shiny medal in his tiny hands.
"Qing-jie, what is this?!"
"The Police College’s First-Class Honor Medal. Only one is awarded per year."
"First-Class Honor?! You’re really giving it to me?"
The little boy snapped to attention, saluting with flushed cheeks.
The kid was so thrilled with his medal that he pestered Zhu Qing all night, begging her to explain how she’d earned it.
Zhu Qing needed a whiteboard—the kind used in police briefings—to map out the case details.
Since they didn’t have one at home, she settled for a sheet of paper.
Meanwhile, Uncle Fang-Fang’s chatter never stopped.
"Only one person gets this medal every year?"
"Qing-jie, how did you win it?"
"Wait, so no one could beat you?"
"I want one too..."
"When I grow up, I’ll give you a medal too! A First-Class one!"
The paper was soon covered in scattered clues, impossible to connect just yet.
"Qing-jie! Qing-jie!"
"Hold on," Zhu Qing said, pen in hand, stalling the little chatterbox.
"How long?"
"Not long. A hundred seconds."
Sheng Fang nodded obediently. "One hundred... ninety-nine... ninety-eight..."
Zhu Qing: "..."
Couldn’t he stay quiet for even a moment?
……
Lately, Aunt Ping sometimes went home, sometimes stayed with Zhu Qing and the young master.
She’d never married. In her younger days, she’d been coaxed into spending her earnings on her older brother’s children’s education, with promises that they’d support her in old age. But now, decades after her nephew graduated, not only was there no support—she was lucky to get a holiday greeting. Aunt Ping had nowhere to go, but she didn’t dwell on it. She refused to torment herself over things she couldn’t change, and day by day, she found contentment in small joys.
"Qing-Qing, eat your noodles before you go. The wonton soup’s been simmering all night."
"No time!"
As usual, Zhu Qing grabbed two steamed buns and dashed off—only for the little uncle to chase her down the stairs and shove a carton of milk into her hands.
When he returned, he exchanged a look with Aunt Ping, then sighed and shook his head.
"That girl, she’ll ruin her stomach like this."
"Fresh noodles, hot broth—would’ve warmed her right up."
"Our Qing-jie’s been like this since she was little."
Aunt Ping sighed. Sheng Fang sighed too.
The child’s piping voice and the adult’s weary tone couldn’t have been more different, yet their words overlapped perfectly.
"I’ll make duck soup tonight. She needs proper nourishment."
"Qing-jie really does need it..."
At home, young Sheng Fang woke up to a leisurely day of lounging around and eating popsicles.
Meanwhile, Zhu Qing arrived at the station, buried herself in case files, then teamed up with Hao Zai to recheck Li Ziyao and Dai Feng’s alibis—without a second to spare.
"I think Li Ziyao deliberately sought out her ex on Tuesday night. Dai Feng said they’d broken up two months ago. Why reconnect then, of all times—right before Fang Songsheng’s death?"
"It’s like she wanted a witness for her alibi."
"The timeline’s too precise—five to six PM. The hotel lobby cameras caught her face clearly, the convenience store clerk recognized them both, even the noise complaint from the next room fits right into that window."
"I checked—the show True Hearts aired from five to six that night. It was the episode where Ah-Ling dumps her boyfriend."
Zhu Qing kept reviewing Dai Feng and Li Ziyao’s statements, over and over, tirelessly.
Zeng Yongshan chuckled. "How many times have you gone through these since yesterday? You could probably recite their testimonies by now!"
Mo Zhenbang leaned over, scrutinizing the hotel surveillance footage on the computer screen.
"A perfect alibi," he murmured. "Just a coincidence?"
By noon, Zhu Qing and Zeng Yongshan followed their original plan and headed to the victim Fang Songsheng’s home.
Zeng Yongshan had already been there the day before and knew the way well.
Even more familiar to her was the Yang Ji Claypot Rice she had scouted out earlier.
Zeng Yongshan had initially planned to eat after finishing work, but seeing the restaurant packed with customers—knowing they’d soon have to take a queue number—she grabbed Zhu Qing’s arm without hesitation.
"Investigating is important, but eating is even more important," Zeng Yongshan said, pulling Zhu Qing inside. "Boss, two claypot rice with preserved meats, extra soy sauce!"
The owner peeked out from the kitchen. "Freshly pressed sugarcane juice—sweet and refreshing. Would you ladies like to try some?"
"Two cups as well!" Zeng Yongshan called out.
The restaurant was nearly full by midday. Zeng Yongshan led Zhu Qing to an empty corner table, chopsticks already in hand before the food even arrived.
Soon, a server brought over the sizzling claypots. Lifting the lid released a burst of fragrant steam.
"Try it, quick!"
"Well? How is it?" Zeng Yongshan’s eyes sparkled.
Zhu Qing scooped a heaping spoonful into her mouth, cheeks puffed as she mumbled, "Delicious."
Zeng Yongshan had visited the victim’s home the previous morning but hadn’t met Fang Songsheng’s mother.
"The old lady wasn’t home. Fang Yayun took her to see the doctor," she explained.
"Only the housekeeper was there, but she couldn’t tell us much."
"Why?" Zhu Qing took a sip of sugarcane juice. "Housekeepers usually know all the family gossip."
"She’s new," Zeng Yongshan said. "Because of that, Fang Yayun didn’t trust her to take the old lady for her regular checkup, so she went herself."
"We should hurry," Zeng Yongshan checked her watch. "The old lady might take a nap soon, and we’ll have come for nothing. Done eating?"
"Almost." Zhu Qing shoveled the last bite into her mouth, gulped down the sugarcane juice, and stood. "Let’s go!"
Zeng Yongshan covered her mouth, laughing.
"You really loved it, huh?" She quickened her pace. "It’s just ahead. The security guard recognizes me now—no need to sign in."
Fang Songsheng had spared no expense, buying this apartment under Li Ziyao’s name and decorating it entirely to her taste. The only condition was that after marriage, they would live there with his mother.
But Li Ziyao and her future mother-in-law didn’t get along, so she kept delaying the move, staying in her rented place instead.
Knock, knock, knock—
After a brief wait, the housekeeper opened the door.
Footsteps approached, and Fang Yayun appeared, surprised. "Officers, you’re back?"
Fang Yayun had returned from the hospital with her grandmother the day before, only to hear from the housekeeper that the police had come.
The case was only a few days old, but she was slowly emerging from her grief.
"I have to take care of Grandma," Fang Yayun said. "I can’t afford to break down."
She explained that she was staying temporarily to keep her grandmother company.
The spacious living room was neat and cozy. Fang Yayun invited the officers to sit and asked the housekeeper to serve tea.
"This was supposed to be Dad and Li Ziyao’s marital home. I never thought I’d be here so often."
"Honestly, if not for Grandma…"
"I’m afraid she might overhear the neighbors gossiping if she goes out. Staying close lets me keep an eye on her."
As she spoke, the housekeeper brought tea. Fang Yayun gestured for her to set the cups on the table.
"How’s the investigation into Li Ziyao going?" she asked.
Zeng Yongshan, more experienced in dealing with victims’ families, took the lead in discussing the case while Zhu Qing subtly scanned the apartment.
On the dining table, unopened wedding gift boxes sat stacked in a corner, alongside gilded invitations. The living room was already decorated—double-happiness paper cutouts adorned the walls, and even the chandelier was wrapped in delicate red ribbons, radiating wedding preparations.
Zhu Qing stood and paced. On the TV cabinet, several photo frames were neatly arranged. Among them were the sketched portraits from the invitations and a few wedding photos.
But the most striking was the picture beside the wedding photos.
Zhu Qing: "This is—"
Fang Yayun glanced over and sighed. "Grandma insisted on putting it there. Said it was to ‘keep Li Ziyao in check.’"
It was an old photo of Fang Yayun as a child with her grandmother, taken at the Cultural Center Theater. The little girl, missing a few baby teeth, grinned widely in her grandmother’s arms.
"Everyone called me ‘Gappy’ back then. I had no idea how silly I looked, smiling like that with missing teeth." Fang Yayun’s expression softened as she walked over and touched the photo. "Grandma said, ‘A stepmother means a stepfather.’ She wanted this photo here so Li Ziyao would see it when she moved in—to remind her that Grandma loves me and won’t let her bully me."
"Honestly," Fang Yayun said, "I’m not a child anymore. I don’t need her to fight my battles."
Zeng Yongshan smiled warmly. "No matter how old you are, to your grandma, you’ll always be her little girl to protect."
Her friendly demeanor put Fang Yayun at ease.
"But if the wedding had happened, Li Ziyao would’ve probably hidden or even thrown this photo away once she moved in. Who knows?"
"Grandma’s getting older. If she tried to outmaneuver Li Ziyao, she might not win."
"Where is your grandmother now?" Zhu Qing looked toward the closed bedroom door. "We’d like to ask her a few things."
"No." Fang Yayun’s tone turned firm. "Ask me instead. Grandma doesn’t know about Dad. Her blood pressure’s unstable—don’t upset her."
Just then, the door creaked open.
Zhu Qing turned to see a silver-haired woman stepping out.
Time had bent Fang Yayun’s grandmother, leaving her far from the upright figure in the photo.
"Yayun, is your father back?"
Fang Yayun rushed to her side. "Grandma, didn’t I tell you? Dad’s on a business trip. He won’t be back so soon."
She still hadn’t told her grandmother about her father’s death.
She couldn’t bear to make the old woman endure the pain of losing her child.
"About to get married, yet still running around all day. Can't you leave business trips to the younger staff at the piano shop?" Grandma Fang said, glancing at Zhu Qing and Zeng Yongshan. "And who are these two?"
"Is this Grandma Shen?" Zeng Yongshan stepped forward.
Fang Yayun's expression turned cold, her eyes flashing a warning.
"We're from the Piano Association," Zhu Qing said. "We're compiling records of Mr. Fang's teaching schedule and wanted to confirm his Tuesday and Wednesday appointments."
Fang Yayun's expression softened slightly.
Zeng Yongshan added, "Yes, Grandma Shen. We were wondering if Mr. Fang had any appointments on Tuesday or Wednesday morning? We left messages on his pager, but he didn’t respond."
Grandma Shen thought for a moment, then turned to her granddaughter for confirmation. "Wednesday was the shop’s day off, right?"
"Grandma Shen, your memory is amazing," Zeng Yongshan said with a smile. "Did Mr. Fang mention any plans for those two days?"
"The night before, someone called Songsheng and asked him to come to the shop on his day off."
Zeng Yongshan and Zhu Qing exchanged glances.
Fang Yayun immediately pressed, "Grandma, are you sure?"
"Your father started ironing his clothes right after that call."
Fang Yayun: "Which phone line was it?"
"Are there two landlines at home?" Zhu Qing asked.
The police had already checked the call records for Fang Songsheng’s home phone, pager, and the piano shop’s office line.
But no one had expected that in this new house, he had applied for two separate landlines.
The two officers pressed for answers, but Fang Yayun dodged their questions.
In the end, it was the elderly woman who replied.
"The phone in the living room—its number is printed on Songsheng’s business cards."
"The line in the bedroom was installed for his new wife."
Zeng Yongshan: "Grandma Shen, did you hear whether the caller was a man or a woman?"
At this point, Grandma Shen grew suspicious. "Why are you asking all this?"
"That’s enough," Fang Yayun cut in sharply. "If you need his teaching schedule, just ask at the piano shop. My grandmother wouldn’t know."
"If there’s nothing else, my grandmother needs to rest now."
Her tone was firm as she escorted the two officers to the door, her defensive stance making it clear she wanted them gone immediately.
Grandma Shen remained where she was, leaning slightly toward the housemaid and whispering, "What’s going on?"
"If these questions worsen my grandmother’s condition, I’ll file a complaint with the police department!"
Zeng Yongshan’s brow furrowed, about to recite the usual "public cooperation" spiel, when two words drifted into her ears.
"Suit yourself."
Zeng Yongshan: "..."
...
Long after leaving the victim’s home, Zhu Qing muttered, "Yongshan, did you notice—there was a smell in that house?"
"A smell?" Zeng Yongshan thought back. "Oh, right—that medicinal liniment old people use. My grandparents’ place always had that same scent when I visited on weekends."
"You went out of your way to pose as Piano Association staff, so why not just play along with Fang Yayun’s story? Why provoke her?" Zeng Yongshan dragged out her words, wrinkling her nose. "If she actually files a complaint, who’s writing the report—you or me?"
"Let Mo Zhenbang do it," Zhu Qing said.
Zeng Yongshan blinked, then burst out laughing. "Not bad! You’ve only been with the team for a few days, and you’re already passing the buck to Mo Zhenbang!"
"Let’s hurry," Zhu Qing quickened her pace. "Today’s leads are enough to keep us working overtime for two more hours."
The telecom office’s records were still stored in outdated paper files.
Every time the police checked a number, the staff had to manually search through stacks. That’s why they hadn’t discovered Fang Songsheng’s second landline until now.
This unexpected breakthrough reshaped the case.
By the afternoon, when Mo Zhenbang stepped out of his office again, the investigation had progressed.
"We checked the call records for the bedroom landline. On Tuesday night at 8:32 PM, someone called. The call lasted forty-three seconds."
"That must be the call his mother mentioned. After hanging up, Fang Songsheng started ironing a shirt that was already perfectly pressed. On his day off, he wore that white shirt to the piano shop—for a meeting."
"We traced the call to an old payphone on King’s Road in North Point."
Surveillance cameras weren’t widespread yet.
But luckily, this payphone happened to face the ticket booth of the Silver Theatre.
"I called the theatre—they have a CCTV camera installed right at the ticket booth!"
The officers from the Major Crimes B Team rushed to the Silver Theatre in North Point to retrieve the surveillance footage.
The video was grainy, the image quality poor. But with the exact time pinpointed, everyone held their breath as the timestamp in the bottom-right corner ticked to 8:31 PM.
Then, at 8:32 PM, someone entered the phone booth.
The figure wore a black trench coat, hunched over, a cap pulled low—completely obscuring their face from the camera.
"Man or woman?" Liang Qikai whispered.
Mo Zhenbang suddenly hit pause.
Uncle Li smirked. "Woman."
"How can you tell?"
"Her posture. She’s deliberately pulling her shoulders in—unnatural. And look at her fingers—long, neatly trimmed nails. I never miss these details."
"A woman pretending to be a man?"
"We can’t even see her face. This is like finding a needle in a haystack."
Zhu Qing: "Could it be Fang Yayun?"
Zeng Yongshan suddenly stiffened. "Now that you mention it… the silhouette does resemble her."
...
Li Ziyao had mentioned that Fang Yayun’s relationship with her father wasn’t as harmonious as it seemed.
Earlier, at Fang Songsheng’s home, Fang Yayun had deliberately blocked her grandmother from revealing the second landline. Looking back, her unease might not have just been concern for the old woman’s health.
"You’re saying Fang Yayun was once nearly married—until Fang Songsheng interfered?" Mo Zhenbang frowned.
Zeng Yongshan said, "Come to think of it, we’ve never heard any gossip about Fang Yayun’s love life."
"But given Li Ziyao’s relationship with Fang Yayun, anything she says about her would be biased," Hao Zai pointed out. "Still, the part about an almost-marriage being sabotaged… that can’t be baseless."
Mo Zhenbang, a veteran officer with extensive connections, disappeared into his office for a few minutes before emerging with a sticky note.
On it was a phone number.
"A reporter who once interviewed Fang Yayun—a friend of Qi Yun’s. Call her and see if you can dig up anything."
Zhu Qing took the note. "Mo Zhenbang, how should I approach this?"
"You need me to spell it out?" Mo Zhenbang shot her a look.
Taking a deep breath, Zhu Qing dialed the reporter’s number.
She expected extracting information would require finesse, treating this first attempt as practice. But as it turned out, Mo Zhenbang had already set everything up.
He’d made arrangements beforehand.
"CID officer, is it?" The voice on the other end carried a laugh, sounding quite amiable. "I know—Qi Yun already called me about it."
This reporter had interviewed Fang Yayun before she became famous.
"Unlike her cautious demeanor now, she was very open back then, answering almost every question."
"Let’s be honest—entertainment interviews like ours are just digging for gossip. Who cares about some third-rate pianist winning industry awards? No one gives a damn. So, most of my questions were about juicy romantic scandals."
"That relationship was at least seven or eight years ago—her first love. The story’s pretty cliché: the guy was broke, and Fang Yayun’s father looked down on him. Mr. Fang had a few private talks with the boy, persuading him to leave his daughter."
"She’s a pianist, after all—proud. Since the guy was determined to leave, she wouldn’t beg him to stay. Later, he quickly got engaged to someone else. And Fang Yayun… never dated again."
"Plenty of people pursued her—fellow pianists, investment bankers… but she wouldn’t even glance their way. Fang Yayun had completely given up on love. Ironically, it was her father who started panicking later."
"I heard that guy ended up doing really well for himself. If Mr. Fang hadn’t forced them apart, maybe they’d have—"
The reporter was quite chatty and even mentioned that the original interview had been recorded.
"Though I’m not sure where I stashed the copy. I’ll have to look. If you need it, I can bring it to you."
"Tomorrow work?" Zhu Qing asked.
The reporter chuckled. "Madam, in such a hurry?"
They settled on meeting the next evening after work at a Western restaurant in Causeway Bay.
Before hanging up, the reporter joked, "Madam, I’ve moved from the entertainment desk to social news. If you’ve got any exclusives in the future, remember to throw me a bone."
……
By 7 p.m., with Zhu Qing still not home, her little uncle knew she was stuck working overtime at the station again.
Ever since Aunt Ping arrived, the kid had become terrible at keeping people updated—not even bothering to call when she wouldn’t be back.
Little Sheng Fang gave his niece an extra thirty-minute grace period.
When she still hadn’t returned after that, he sat on the small stool by the entryway and put on his shoes.
"Old duck soup with aged tangerine peel, red dates, and Chinese yam—warming and nourishing."
"Pan-fried dace, clams in black bean sauce, and steamed minced pork."
"Just reheated, young master. Let’s go!"
Sheng Fang fell into deep thought.
How did Aunt Ping know he was heading to the station? She’d seen right through him.
Even a three-year-old has his pride.
His little face scrunched up as he turned away, muttering softly, "No need to reheat it. The station has a microwave."
"Oh, is that so?" Aunt Ping immediately played along, humoring him. "Young master knows the station’s facilities like the back of his hand!"
The old woman and the little boy stepped out, Aunt Ping carrying a thermos and an insulated lunchbox.
They strolled all the way to the Yau Ma Tei Police Station, where Sheng Fang walked straight into the CID office like he owned the place—no one stopped him.
From afar, he could already hear Zhu Qing’s colleagues chatting.
And her colleagues, in turn, caught the aroma of home-cooked food.
"Zhu Qing! Your uncle brought you dinner!"
Three minutes later, three dishes and a soup were spread across her desk.
Still steaming.
This kind of treatment? Unmatched.
Mo Zhenbang emerged from his office. "Wrap it up for today. Go home and eat."
A few colleagues groaned.
"None of us are getting old duck soup at home."
"My parents can’t cook like Aunt Ping."
"Look on the bright side—at least you don’t have an uncle—"
Uncle got praised.
Sheng Fang tilted his little chin up at his niece, unable to hide his smugness.
One by one, the colleagues said their goodbyes and left.
The station hallway at night was lit only by a few scattered lights.
By the time Zhu Qing finished her last bite, Aunt Ping was already packing up the thermos and lunchbox.
But Zhu Qing still had some loose ends to tie up.
Aunt Ping: "And the young master?"
Sheng Fang: "Like you even need to ask!"
To avoid being sent home, Sheng Fang obediently curled up beside his niece, watching her work.
But he didn’t stay still for long—soon, he slipped into the conference room.
Clutching a marker, the little boy made notes on the blank side of the whiteboard.
As if chairing a meeting, he cleared his throat and amused himself thoroughly.
Too bad he’d forgotten his toy companions.
Next time, he’d bring Iron Man, Spider-Man, Thor, and Ultraman to line up on the folding chairs—pretend they were his C-team underlings!
When Zhu Qing finally finished, she found "Sergeant Fang" holding court in the conference room.
"Time to go home, Sergeant Fang."
"One sec." Sheng Fang made an "OK" gesture with his fingers, then sternly addressed his imaginary subordinates. "Meeting adjourned."
Uncle and niece turned off the lights, locked up, and headed downstairs.
It was already 9 p.m.
"Sergeant Fang, aren’t you a little too strict? Might scare your team."
"Nah, we’re all friends off-duty."
Zhu Qing couldn’t help but flick his forehead, laughing.
"Dr. Cheng’s car is still parked over there." Zhu Qing spotted it in the outdoor lot. "I’m heading to Forensics again!"
Off she went in a hurry.
Her little uncle sighed—when would this kid ever rest?
The Forensics Department was in the building behind the main station.
On the way up to the second floor, Zhu Qing glanced back at the stairwell—the sign for the morgue was still lit below.
She covered Sheng Fang’s eyes with one hand.
"I know, it’s the morgue," Sheng Fang said. "Not scared."
The uncle of a cop wouldn’t be afraid of dead bodies.
The little boy even remembered where Dr. Cheng’s office was, pointing it out from afar.
Cheng Xinglang had already changed out of his lab coat and was about to leave when he noticed Zhu Qing and the kid.
"What brings you here?"
"Yesterday, you mentioned the sleeping pills in the victim’s system were unusual—needed further testing at the government lab."
"Got the report." Cheng Xinglang walked back into his office, flipping on the light and gesturing to the document on his desk.
Zhu Qing: "And?"
"Preliminary findings suggest it’s a sleeping pill circulating overseas—no sales records in Hong Kong."
"Overseas?"
While Zhu Qing and Dr. Cheng discussed the case, Sheng Fang paced the hallway—only to look up and meet the grinning face of a stranger.
One of the forensics techs, the kind who bared too many teeth when he smiled.
He loved making ill-timed jokes.
"Kid, not scared being in Forensics this late? Our autopsy room’s where we cut open bodies, you know."
Lowering his voice for effect, he pointed down the dimly lit hall. "Right down there… we slice open their stomachs…"
Zhu Qing’s expression darkened as she set down the report and turned.
Who the hell was bothering her kid?
Cheng Xinglang leaned casually against the wall. "Ah Ben, don't bully the kid."
The little young master tilted his face up obediently.
"There's someone behind you," he said, raising a tiny finger.
The child, innocent and wide-eyed, blinked and stared straight past him.
Ah Ben suddenly felt a chill run down his spine.
He rubbed his nose. "No way."
Cheng Xinglang suppressed a smirk.
A certain madam, protective of her little one, quietly slipped closer. Puffing her cheeks just like her mischievous child, she blew a careful breath.
"Whoosh—"
An eerie draft swept past without warning.
Ah Ben jerked his hand up to clutch the back of his neck.
Sheng Fang's voice, sweet yet haunting, chimed in.
"That person behind you..."
The round-cheeked toddler stuck out his tongue and rolled his eyes. "Looks like this."
