Little Sheng Fang suddenly twisted his eyes, tilted his mouth, and stuck out his tongue, performing an adorable ghost impression with impressive flexibility.
Pathology technician Ah Ben felt a chill run down his spine. When he turned around and saw Zhu Qing standing right behind him, he yelped and leaped away in fright.
After years of working in the forensics department, even dissecting a corpse dressed head-to-toe in red at midnight wouldn’t faze anyone—let alone someone pretending to be a ghost. But today was different. The tiny, harmless-looking child didn’t seem like the type to play tricks on adults. And besides, the cold-faced Madam would never indulge in such nonsense with a kid…
Unexpectedly, the two of them teamed up flawlessly, sending shivers down Ah Ben’s spine.
It took him a long while to recover.
When he turned back, Cheng Xinglang was no longer holding back his laughter, his lips curling openly. The little boy giggled, his eyes crinkling as he flashed his tiny millet-like teeth, high-fiving his niece in celebration.
Zhu Qing was smiling too—the first time Cheng Xinglang and Ah Ben had ever seen her like this. The corners of her lips lifted, her earlier aloofness completely washed away by the mischief, her expression even more triumphant than Sheng Fang’s.
"Cheng Xinglang!" Ah Ben sputtered, glaring at his colleague. "You’re supposed to be on my side!"
Well, who told him to mess with Madam’s little ancestor?
"Justice over loyalty," Cheng Xinglang chuckled, flicking off the lights before closing the office door behind them.
They’d teased the little imp, only for him to actually play the ghost.
Where on earth had a three-year-old learned to mimic a hanged ghost? Some late-night TV show, no doubt. Ah Ben’s only constructive remark for the evening was that kids’ screen time needed stricter control—something Zhu Qing took to heart. Marysa must have been slacking off, letting Sheng Fang flip through channels unsupervised while she chatted on the phone with her girlfriends.
The little niece sternly informed her uncle that from now on, he wouldn’t be allowed to choose what to watch.
Meanwhile, Sheng Fang puffed up his cheeks and glared at Ah Ben. He declared that in all of Yau Ma Tei Police Station, Ah Ben was the worst—so bad that even Weng Zhaolin had to settle for second place.
Zhu Qing had come to analyze the sedative found in the victim’s system, and now that she had her answer, she prepared to leave with Sheng Fang. Coincidentally, Dr. Cheng was also packing up for the day. Ah Ben had planned to stay longer, but after that eerie ghostly performance, he quickened his pace to follow them out.
The hallway was unnervingly quiet, the silence thick and unsettling.
"Hey, say something!" Ah Ben couldn’t take it anymore. "Why is everyone so quiet? It’s creepy!"
No sooner had he spoken than Sheng Fang stuck out his tongue again—reprising his role as the tiny hanged ghost.
Madam wasn’t one for small talk.
She strode ahead briskly, pausing only when she noticed Sheng Fang lagging behind.
The little boy suddenly realized that, out of their group of four, he was the only one without long legs.
When no one spoke, their strides unconsciously lengthened, making it hard for the little one to keep up—until Zhu Qing stopped and turned, reaching out her hand.
Sheng Fang’s eyes lit up with delight.
She was holding his hand!
Instantly, he became her little accessory, clinging tightly.
Her hand wasn’t cold at all, and his heart felt even warmer.
His soft, round face beamed with joy, his smile so wide it made his cheeks ache.
By the time Ah Ben noticed, the niece-uncle duo had already pulled ahead.
He and Dr. Cheng were left behind.
"Walking so slow?" Ah Ben nudged Cheng Xinglang. "Go on, walk them home!"
The whole forensics department had heard about the last time Madam Zhu chased a suspect in the rain—Dr. Cheng had driven her there at breakneck speed, tires screeching around corners.
According to the backup team, when the suspect was finally cornered, Madam had her gun drawn, and Dr. Cheng stood right beside her, holding an umbrella in the pouring rain.
Now that she was here again, this was the perfect opportunity—yet he wasn’t seizing it.
Cheng Xinglang: "It’s so close, why bother?"
"Is distance the point? Even if they live nearby, you take the long way around. Do I really have to spell it out for you…?"
"No wonder you’re still single!"
Once in the car, Cheng Xinglang checked his watch. "They should be home by now."
Ah Ben gave him a look.
Already? Did they live in the security booth?
......
Little Sheng Fang was all for spoiling his niece.
Zhu Qing deserved to treat herself.
But Aunt Ping never expected—
The first thing Zhu Qing ever voluntarily bought for the household was a giant whiteboard.
A massive one, delivered straight to their door. Aunt Ping had the deliveryman set it up on the balcony, then dusted it off and arranged a small table beside it for markers and an eraser. The place now resembled a mini police briefing room.
While Zhu Qing was at work, Sheng Fang was the first to use it, buzzing with excitement.
"Aunt Ping, write something on it!"
"Write what?"
Sheng Fang spent his days either delivering meals to the station or waiting downstairs to walk his niece home. He’d overheard colleagues and Weng Zhaolin discussing cases more than once, and every clue had been meticulously stored in his little brain.
He recognized many words but couldn’t write them yet.
So Aunt Ping became his scribe.
"Multiple stab wounds… fatal injury to the left chest… suspect’s fiancée… piano teacher…"
The more she wrote, the more bewildered Aunt Ping became. She paused mid-stroke.
What kind of things was this child filling his head with? This wasn’t appropriate!
"Young master, let’s not write such scary things."
Sheng Fang wanted to organize all the clues for Zhu Qing, so she could dive straight into work when she got home.
Aunt Ping’s eyes softened with affection. The little boy who used to throw tantrums at the slightest provocation had grown into such a thoughtful uncle.
She capped the marker and humored him with conversation.
Children absorbed the attitudes of those around them. Back in the days of the Sheng family’s hilltop mansion, the old master had carried himself with an air of superiority, and little Sheng Fang had picked up the habit of looking down on others—literally, from the third floor. Qin Lizhu’s obsession with money had also rubbed off on him, making him believe wealth was everything.
But now, in his heart, his niece was the most amazing Madam…
And so, Sheng Fang found a new dream—to become a righteous police officer.
"But Zhu Qing says I’m too young to help with cases yet."
Aunt Ping smiled. "Did she say when you could?"
"She said two- or three-year-olds can’t." Sheng Fang counted on his fingers, eyes shining with determination. "Maybe when I’m four."
Four…
That wasn’t far off!
......
Surveillance footage from the ticket booth opposite the old North Point phone booth had captured a figure’s back.
Whether it was her slender figure, delicate fingers, or even her gait, she bore some resemblance to the deceased's daughter, Fang Yayun. Suspiciously, the woman deliberately wore a baseball cap and loose, gender-neutral clothing, clearly attempting to conceal her identity. The police promptly adjusted their investigative direction, marking this pianist as a key suspect.
"Fang Yayun lives alone. The first time she placed in an international competition, Fang Songsheng gifted her an apartment."
"The father and daughter have always been close. Fang Yayun has mentioned in multiple interviews that everything she has achieved is due to Fang Songsheng's strict guidance. Killing her own father over a man seems highly unlikely."
"But Fang Yayun has a phone at home, and the symphony orchestra she plays in rehearses at a fixed venue, which also has a phone. Contacting anyone would be easy. If she had nothing to hide, why would she deliberately disguise herself and travel so far—just to make a call and chat with her father?"
"They say her mother passed early, and she relied solely on her father, but Fang Songsheng was actually quite busy in the past and didn’t have much time to care for her. Fang Yayun was raised by her grandmother, and the two have always been closer."
Zeng Yongshan frowned. "Yesterday, at Fang Songsheng’s home, the elderly woman mentioned how he started ironing a shirt after receiving a call. Fang Yayun’s expression immediately darkened."
At the time, Fang Yayun had been conversing amicably with Zeng Yongshan, but when the elderly woman suddenly appeared, her demeanor shifted slightly.
Still, since the two officers had helped conceal the news of Fang Songsheng’s death, she didn’t give them too much trouble and remained cooperative.
"Until someone accidentally mentioned there were two phone lines at home—" Zhu Qing recalled. "Yongshan, was it Fang Yayun who brought that up?"
"How stupid. She slipped up herself and then had the nerve to snap at us. Who spoiled her like this? I used to have such a good impression of her." Zeng Yongshan scoffed, addressing the others. "You should’ve seen her face yesterday! She gave us such a cold shoulder, shoved me and Zhu Qing to the door, and even threatened to report us to the police department. As if that scares anyone!"
"These artists are so temperamental—you never know what might set them off."
"Zhu Qing, when did you arrange to get Fang Yayun’s interview recording from the journalist?"
"Six tonight," Zhu Qing replied. "A Western restaurant in Causeway Bay."
Zeng Yongshan propped her cheek on her hand and sighed heavily. "Why does it always turn out like this?"
In the case of the skeletal remains found in the fireplace of a Mid-Levels villa, the widely praised son-in-law of a wealthy family had only treated Miss Sheng with kindness to exploit her—his ultimate goal being control of the entire Sheng empire.
Then there was Li Ziyao from the latest case, who got close to the deceased Fang Songsheng to escape poverty, only to secretly meet her ex-boyfriend before the wedding. That man sat in the interrogation room and sneered, saying he didn’t lose anything since she threw herself at him.
Now, the elegant pianist once shared beautiful memories with her first love. After being torn apart, he climbed the social ladder—only to get engaged to someone else…
Love stories in films are so tender and tragic, but in real life, they’re nothing like that.
"What’s this? Yongshan, there are even cases of dismemberment for love."
"The longer you work in this field, the more you see. How are you still so naive?"
……
As evening approached, Fang Fang caught sight of the sunset again.
Before he knew it, the toys from Mid-Levels had been transported over by Aunt Ping in batches. Every day, the little one drowned in a sea of toys, truly becoming their king.
Except now, he’d been promoted in seniority and couldn’t afford to just play around like when he was younger.
That would be letting pleasure erode ambition.
He also had to look after his niece.
Fang Fang wandered through his toy paradise, scolding Qing just minutes earlier—
"Working in the day, working at night, working twenty-four hours a day!"
But now, Qing was back, ready to take him out for dinner at a Western restaurant.
"Really?!" Fang Fang jumped up. "That’s amazing!"
As the child dashed inside to change into something dapper, Aunt Ping chuckled.
"Sometimes so clever and capable, other times so silly," she said. "After your call, I put the dinner ingredients back in the fridge. I’ve been busy in the kitchen all this time, and the little master didn’t even notice."
"Knock knock—" The little master tapped the wall, peeking out. "No tattling!"
Zhu Qing: "I wasn’t. Just praising you."
"Liar!"
Aunt Ping headed inside. "Little master, can you change by yourself? Let me help."
"Aunt Ping, let him do it himself."
Click—Fang Fang shut the door.
Fine, he’d do it himself. And it’d take forever, so they’d just have to wait!
Qing had told Fang Fang many times to handle his own tasks.
Sometimes the little one tried to slack off, but under his niece’s stern gaze, he had no choice but to obey. Changing clothes by himself was painfully slow—some shirts had such tiny necklines that the little guy struggled to pull them on, only to realize they were inside out, then huff and start over. Gradually, though, Sheng Fang figured out a trick: if he put something on backward, he didn’t have to take it all off—just twist the collar around.
These were the life skills a three-year-old had painstakingly learned under his niece’s strict supervision.
Who knew how much time passed before Sheng Fang made his grand entrance.
Zhu Qing had promised to take him to a Western restaurant, and Aunt Ping had scrambled to prepare his outfit after the call. Now, dressed to the nines, the little one looked every bit the young master attending a formal event—chin up, his fair, doll-like face practically begging to be pinched.
"Let’s go!"
……
Who knew the dress code at this Causeway Bay restaurant would be so strict?
Women had to wear dresses and light makeup, while men were required to don suits, ties, and leather shoes—rules upon rules. Sheng Fang had plenty of formal wear and carried himself like a little boss, but his niece hadn’t dressed up. Just as the child thought they’d be turned away, Qing smoothly flashed her CID detective badge.
"Right this way, Madam."
"Wow!" Sheng Fang’s eyes sparkled. "That works?!"
Zhu Qing had timed it perfectly, arriving ten minutes early.
At six sharp, the journalist arrived and, before sitting down, gestured to another table nearby.
Handing Zhu Qing a business card, she introduced herself: "Hello, Ye Xuelin from Hong Wah Morning Post."
"Hello, Zhu Qing."
Little Sheng Fang seized the moment: "Hi—"
"This kid…" Ye Xuelin laughed. "So adorable."
Zhu Qing observed quietly, noting how the sharp-eyed journalist didn’t recognize Sheng Fang at all.
Unscrupulous tabloid reporters once climbed trees to secretly photograph the young master of the Sheng family. Fortunately, the distance was too great, and the facial features were captured too blurrily to make out his appearance. Later, things escalated—unethical paparazzi blocked the entrance to the villa, disrupting the child's life. Zhu Qing contacted the Sheng family's legal team, and though the photos eventually made it to print, the child's face was heavily pixelated.
In a few days, the second round of kindergarten interviews would take place.
If all went well, Sheng Fang would start kindergarten like any other child. Zhu Qing didn’t want gossip about wealthy families to affect the boy’s upbringing.
"Let’s get to the point," Zhu Qing said.
"I happened to have a meeting with a friend nearby today, so I figured I’d save myself a trip and arranged to meet here," the reporter said, suddenly lowering her voice and leaning forward. "But here’s a little insider tidbit—the owner of this restaurant is Fang Yayun’s first love."
"The details of their past were already mentioned in yesterday’s phone call."
"Last night, I dug through my archives and finally found a backup of the interview recording from back then."
Ye Xuelin pulled out a voice recorder from her bag.
The recorder’s indicator light flickered on as she swiped the panel and pressed play.
Sheng Fang looked intrigued.
He had always wanted a voice recorder of his own.
"Ms. Fang, may we begin the interview now?"
"Go ahead."
Fang Yayun’s voice came through the recorder.
The interview was from seven or eight years ago. Back then, she had been somewhat awkward in front of the media, her answers lacking polish. But as Ye Xuelin had said, it was precisely this authenticity that made the recording so naturally valuable.
Ye Xuelin was a friend of Mrs. Mo’s. If she could help, she would.
Aside from this interview, she had also brought along some material about other members of their symphony orchestra.
"This is a freshly compiled draft from my colleague—an interview with their cellist," Ye Xuelin said.
"Has it been published yet?"
"Of course not. It’s an exclusive. You’re the first to read it."
Ye Xuelin had since moved to the social news section, but for this meeting, she had specifically requested the draft from the entertainment desk.
She handed the article to Zhu Qing. "Interviewing these artists can be frustrating. This cellist brought up conflicts within the orchestra himself, but when my colleague actually asked about them, he got upset."
Zhu Qing took the report.
On the day of the incident, Zhu Qing had taken Fang Yayun’s detailed statement.
In it, Fang Yayun provided her alibi.
From 5 to 6 a.m. on Wednesday, she had been at orchestra rehearsal. The orchestra was preparing for an international performance and needed to adjust to time differences—a plausible explanation. But now, this unpublished report revealed that the cellist had subtly expressed dissatisfaction with another member. He claimed that on that morning, someone had arrived a full hour late, making everyone wait.
If rehearsal started at 5 a.m., and someone was an hour late…
That meant they arrived at 6 a.m.
A time that aligned suspiciously well with Fang Songsheng’s estimated time of death.
Zhu Qing immediately asked, "What was the exact date of this interview?"
"Wednesday, most likely," Ye Xuelin said. "The entertainment desk is running a series on their orchestra, interviewing a different member every Wednesday. After the editor reviews the draft, it usually gets published the following Monday. That’s the standard process."
……
Sheng Fang had thought they were going out for Western food.
But as it turned out, his niece had only come to the restaurant to use the phone!
The child stood beside Zhu Qing, chubby little fingers twisting the phone cord as she listened to her report to her superior.
"Between 5 and 6 a.m. on Wednesday, Fang Yayun’s alibi falls apart under scrutiny."
"She was an hour late, arriving at the orchestra at 6 a.m. Because she stayed for the rest of rehearsal, no one else thought to mention her tardiness afterward."
"Ye Xuelin from Hong Kong Morning Post helped us confirm with her entertainment desk colleague. The cellist had prior conflicts with Fang Yayun—he felt she stole his spotlight, which is why he vented during the interview."
Fang Yayun had motive, she was the one who called Fang Songsheng to meet at the music store early that morning, and now her alibi had holes.
"Mo Zhenbang," Zhu Qing said, "once we verify statements from the cellist and other orchestra members, can we bring Fang Yayun in for questioning?"
At this hour, Zhu Qing wasn’t the only one still working.
Other officers were also on duty, some dispatched to North Point to check for additional surveillance footage that might capture the suspect’s face.
Mo Zhenbang called Zhu Qing back from an old public phone booth in North Point.
After a moment of consideration, he said, "I’ll assign someone else to follow up on Fang Yayun’s lead. Remember the sleeping pill compound mentioned in this morning’s briefing?"
Zhu Qing had visited the forensics department last night precisely for those test results.
"Yes, it’s a prescription sedative only available overseas."
Mo Zhenbang: "Focus on Li Ziyao."
Li Ziyao’s adoptive parents used to work in import-export, frequently traveling between countries.
While the connection was tenuous, Mo Zhenbang couldn’t shake his suspicions—Li Ziyao’s alibi was too perfect, every detail meticulously accounted for, seamless.
"I reviewed the records. Li Ziyao has known her current roommate since her teens. Start there—dig into her childhood."
That day, Li Ziyao had come to Zhu Qing’s home.
She hadn’t mentioned what happened after she was adopted at fourteen, and Zhu Qing hadn’t pressed.
The answer seemed obvious.
Back then, Zhu Qing had chosen silence as a friend.
But now, under Mo Zhenbang’s orders, she was a cop, and Li Ziyao was a suspect.
"I’ll head over now," Zhu Qing said.
For informal questioning like this, regulations didn’t strictly require two officers. But given Zhu Qing’s personal ties to Li Ziyao, having a second officer present would ensure neutrality.
"Causeway Bay, right? I’ll send Hao Zai to meet you," Mo Zhenbang said. "Better safe than sorry—we’ve had cases thrown out over claims of 'coerced testimony' before."
After hanging up, Zhu Qing finally noticed her little uncle staring at her with wide, expectant eyes.
"Go home first, okay?"
"No!"
"How about I ask Aunt Ping to take you for Western food?"
"No!"
All Sheng Fang wanted was to follow his niece. Mimicking a gesture he’d seen on TV, he raised two fingers close together in a solemn vow.
He promised not to cry, fuss, or make noise—he’d be the perfect quiet apprentice.
"What’s so fun about following me around…?"
Sheng Fang waved his little hand dismissively, speaking with the gravity of an elder. "That’s none of your concern."
……
By 7 p.m., Li Ziyao’s roommate should have been out.
Hao Zai and Zhu Qing almost headed straight to Lan Kwai Fong, but fortunately Hao Zai had looked up the reservation number for the bar in advance and called the hostess. It turned out she had taken the day off due to illness.
At least they didn’t make a wasted trip.
Little Sheng Fang had previously visited the victim’s home as a "guest," but this was his first time stepping into a suspect’s home—another new experience for him.
Everything fascinated the child. To keep him from getting too bored, Zhu Qing tore a page from her notebook.
The little uncle immediately understood: "This is my statement paper!"
Besides the statement paper, Sheng Fang also got a statement pen, courtesy of Hao Zai.
Fully prepared, he sat on the suspect’s living room sofa, his short legs unusually still, looking utterly serious.
"Well, well," Li Ziyao’s roommate smirked, a teasing glint in her eyes. "We’ve got a little officer here."
"Another wasted trip for you two. Li Ziyao’s out."
The roommate, Luo Weiwei, spoke with the same disdain for Li Ziyao as before.
"Now that she’s got money, she’s out shopping," she said, tilting her chin toward Li Ziyao’s room. "Look at all those designer bags on the table. Yesterday, she even offered me freebies from her cosmetics haul—like I can’t buy my own? Who needs her charity?"
Hao Zai cut in, "We’re actually here to see you."
"Me?" Luo Weiwei sat down, crossing her legs and reaching for a cigarette on the coffee table. But when she noticed the child, she sighed dramatically and tossed the pack back. "What a hassle."
Last time, Luo Weiwei hadn’t had a single kind word for Li Ziyao.
This time was no different.
"Her adoptive parents? Of course I know about them."
"Honestly, she was an idiot. She was already fourteen—why not just stay at the orphanage a few more years until she turned eighteen? Then she could’ve worked. But no, she had to go with them. And what did she get? Just traded one hell for another."
"We met in Lan Kwai Fong when we were teenagers. She told me everything."
"Nothing special, just like what you see on TV. A couple couldn’t have kids, so the wife insisted on adopting a pretty little girl. Guess why?"
Hao Zai and Zhu Qing’s expressions darkened.
"Bingo. To please her husband," Luo Weiwei said. "A fourteen-year-old girl, already blossoming, suffered plenty. They were supposed to take her abroad, but Ziyao quickly realized something was off and kept stalling. But what could a kid do? When her adoptive father got angry, he beat her. And when business went bad, he blamed her for that too."
Luo Weiwei glanced at the officers.
Sheng Fang was listening, head tilted in partial understanding, scribbling on his "statement paper" with his little hand.
"The adoptive mother hated her from the start. Maybe out of jealousy. But in that house, the man called the shots… Those years were rough for Ziyao. Covered in bruises, except for her face—too pretty to ruin."
"Straight-up abuse. Pitiful."
"Life in the orphanage was bad enough, but this? Tsk."
Sheng Fang understood now—Zhu Qing’s childhood friend had been beaten.
He looked worriedly at his niece, but her expression gave nothing away.
She was always professional.
"School? Forget it. They didn’t bring her home to spoil her. Food was the best she could hope for."
"Later, when her adoptive parents went bankrupt, they blamed her as bad luck."
"At seventeen, they died."
Zhu Qing asked, "How?"
"No idea."
"After that, Ziyao dropped out and met me in Lan Kwai Fong."
Here, Luo Weiwei frowned.
"She had no clue how to do the job—clumsy, bad at sweet-talking, always pissing off customers."
"Back then, she was timid, shrinking away from everyone. I taught her how to do makeup, drink, smoke… She learned to blend in, to talk loud, to hold a cigarette. But she still looked so young."
"This line of work isn’t easy. But somehow, years passed."
"A few years back, she met Dai Feng. I thought she’d finally landed somewhere good. But in the end… they split."
Luo Weiwei lowered her gaze, flicking a lighter on and off absently.
Sheng Fang wanted to play with it too.
Zhu Qing shot him a warning look—no playing with fire.
The little uncle turned his head away.
She was so controlling!
Finally, Luo Weiwei said something in Li Ziyao’s defense.
"Sure, her childhood was awful. But does that mean she’d kill someone?"
"That old man gave her money, a place to live. And she repaid him by killing him?"
"She had no motive. You cops can’t just pin this on her."
Zhu Qing kept writing without looking up. "If I recall, last time you were the one suggesting Li Ziyao killed Fang Songsheng."
"Just a throwaway comment," Luo Weiwei said with an awkward laugh. "Madam, you’re hilarious. If I could decide who’s guilty, I’d be a judge!"
…
They left the suspect’s place before eight.
On the way home, with Sheng Fang chattering away, the noise was a bit much—but it filled the emptiness in Zhu Qing’s heart.
"Sheng Fang," she asked, "want to check out Temple Street Night Market?"
She owed him. She’d promised Western food but ended up just handing him a pork chop bun. A little lord like him deserved better.
"Zhu Qing, is this compensation?"
"Yes."
What she didn’t know was that Sheng Fang hadn’t cared about the food.
He’d been happy just tagging along with his niece.
All he really wanted was her company.
Sheng Fang jumped, arms raised in excitement, pointing at the bustling market—
"Zhu Qing, does compensation mean I can have everything here?"
Zhu Qing: "That’s extortion."
The little one grinned. "Careful, extortion’s illegal."
The night market was lively, and Sheng Fang, seeing it for the first time, stopped at every stall.
Keung Kee’s Typhoon Shelter Crab, Fat Kee’s Bowl-Shredded Fish Maw, Kau Kee’s Fried Pork Intestines…
Every stall bore its owner’s name.
"Pretty lady, want a fortune reading?" An old man at a fortune-telling booth waved. "We’ve got fate—first one’s free."
As they passed, they noticed even his stall had a name: "Tao’s Matchmaking Lantern."
"Qing, he must be surnamed Tao," Fang Fang turned to decline the fortune-teller's stall. "No need, Master Tao."
Zhu Qing chuckled.
"Qing, if we opened a shop, what should we call it?"
"Qing's Fruit Stall?"
"Fang's Mahjong Den!"
Such silly questions kept the niece and uncle laughing endlessly.
It was only then that Zhu Qing and Sheng Fang realized—
Their names actually sounded quite similar!
"We're so fated! Qing, why were you given this name?"
"Director Guo said it was raining heavily that day."
After solving the "Fireplace Skeleton Case," Zhu Qing learned that on the day Sheng Peishan accidentally lost her at the textile factory, it had been pouring.
A kind stranger found her and left her under the eaves of the welfare institute's entrance. When Director Guo discovered her, the baby was dressed neatly, neither crying nor fussing, though her face was splashed with raindrops.
"Director Guo hoped my life would always be sunny after that."
"That's why she gave me this name."
"It's a blessing," Fang Fang added cleverly. "A wish for endless sunny days!"
"What about you?" Zhu Qing countered. "Do you know why you're called 'Sheng Fang'?"
"Of course! Daddy said—" Fang Fang lowered his voice, imitating Old Master Sheng's tone, "Life is about knowing when to hold back and when to let go!"
Sheng Fang's name carried his parents' earnest hopes.
Just like how Director Guo had named her—though not eloquent, the name held the sincerest blessing.
All those beautiful wishes were hidden within their names...
Zhu Qing suddenly remembered the two witness statements she had pored over repeatedly.
Li Ziyao's name at the welfare institute was Xinxin.
After being adopted, her foster mother renamed her Li Ziyao, but due to a clerical error, it was registered as "Li Ziyao."
In comparison, "Li Ziyao" had a much better meaning—
Rare and precious, like a pearl oyster.
If her foster mother had resented her from the start, why would she have put such thought into the name?
But what did that prove?
Whether they had hoped for her arrival and whether they treated her well later were two different things.
"Qing, I want to eat this!"
Passing by a shaved ice stall, Fang Fang was instantly smitten.
"Boss, one shaved ice, please," Zhu Qing said. "What flavor do you want?"
"Anything!"
"Mango, then."
The vendor took the money, and the ice shaver roared to life. Mango-flavored ice piled into a tiny snowy mountain, topped with a paper umbrella.
They sat at a folding table nearby—Zhu Qing holding the bowl, Fang Fang clutching two spoons. The child dug in eagerly, savoring each bite.
"So sweet!"
Zhu Qing took a spoonful too.
By the time the bowl was empty, Fang Fang's face glowed with satisfaction.
"Qing, they never let me eat mango—this is only my second time!" He held up two tiny fingers.
"Why?"
"Because I'm allergic."
Zhu Qing froze in shock.
Fang Fang's first mango encounter was due to an inexperienced nutritionist feeding him baby food. One small bite later, his eyes swelled like walnuts, his lips puffed up like sausages.
After that, the family doctor ran tests—Young Master Sheng was allergic to mangoes.
"What do we do now... Should we go to the hospital?"
"Let's wait and see. It happens fast."
Uncle and niece abandoned further snacks, sitting vigil by the stall, waiting for an allergic reaction.
Minutes ticked by.
"Qing, am I swollen yet?"
"Nope."
Every time they locked eyes, it was to check for symptoms.
But each time, Zhu Qing shook her head.
Gradually, she relaxed.
The name Li Ziyao's foster parents gave her didn't prove anything.
But too many inconsistencies remained.
Zhu Qing kept thinking.
From the moment she and Hao Zai first stepped into Li Ziyao's home, the evidence had been right in front of them—
Photos with an ex-boyfriend, an insurance policy on the table...
Later, following that trail, Li Ziyao and Dai Feng provided airtight alibis.
As Zeng Yongshan had joked, Zhu Qing had read their statements so often she could recite them.
"I've got it! I know what's wrong!" Zhu Qing exclaimed. "It's the tattoo on her boyfriend's wrist."
Sheng Fang recognized that tattoo—as Officer Fang, he'd been part of the arrest operation.
"What's wrong with it?" he asked curiously, while patting his still-unswollen lips.
"We don't have birthdays."
"Director Guo found us at the welfare institute's gate—she had no idea when we were really born!"
Without a known birthday, how could Dai Feng, who'd supposedly loved Li Ziyao deeply, have tattooed such precise numbers?
Fang Fang's little mouth fell open.
Qing actually—
had no birthday!
He couldn't recall any of his own birthdays clearly.
But he knew vaguely that his birthday was a grand family affair—
Piles of gifts, everyone singing for him, layer upon layer of cake as he made wishes.
But Qing... No one had ever celebrated hers.
How unfair.
Fang Fang's head drooped.
A tiny child, weighed down by grown-up sorrow.
Zhu Qing, however, remained absorbed in the case.
Truthfully, regarding Li Ziyao's life after adoption, the police had found no concrete evidence.
All those assumptions—"had a hard time," "might've been unhappy"—started as pure speculation, nudged along by Li Ziyao's hints and later "confirmed" by her roommate.
Zhu Qing considered another possibility.
What if Li Ziyao's tragic backstory was entirely fabricated?
Was her relationship with the roommate really strained?
Maybe even the roommate was in on it.
Luo Weiwei had said Li Ziyao's childhood was unhappy—but so what?
Does an unhappy childhood justify murder?
But flip it around—
What if Li Ziyao had been perfectly happy after adoption? Would she have had a motive to kill?
Zhu Qing was cracking the case, her blood burning with excitement.
Sheng Fang was cracking a case too—slapping his chubby thigh in sudden understanding.
"The shaved ice—" He pointed accusingly at the vendor, piping up in his childish voice, "had no mango in it at all!"
The shaved ice vendor turned away guiltily. "Heh heh."
