The police verified Fang Yayun's alibi with members of the symphony orchestra. Everyone was focused on the upcoming international performance, and to adjust to the time difference in advance, the orchestra members had been arriving at the rehearsal venue as early as 5 a.m. for nearly half a month. Even during the recent thunderstorm warnings, no one had missed a session.
Arriving at 5 a.m. meant waking up between 4 and 4:30 to prepare. Sleep-deprived and already on edge, the musicians grew frustrated whenever someone’s tardiness delayed the entire group’s progress. That’s why Fang Yayun’s one-hour absence on Wednesday morning stood out. With everyone chiming in, her alibi quickly came under scrutiny.
That same evening, Fang Yayun was brought to the Yau Ma Tei Police Station.
"Between 5 and 6 a.m. on Wednesday morning—that’s when your father was killed. You should know that better than any of us."
"Where were you at that hour? What were you doing?"
The interrogation was led by Xu Jiale and Hao Zai, two young detectives from the Criminal Investigation Division. Their eyes remained fixed on the suspect, searching for the slightest tell.
Under the harsh lights of the interrogation room, every flicker of emotion was laid bare.
Fang Yayun lifted her head and let out a cold laugh before even speaking.
"Are you serious? After all this time investigating, you’re pointing fingers at me?"
"Now you’re throwing mud at the victim’s own daughter?"
"Officers, is this how you waste taxpayers’ money? Is this how the Serious Crimes Unit treats the families of the deceased?"
The tips of her ears flushed with anger, but her posture remained rigid. Her slender fingers interlaced over her knees before she finally spoke again, her voice sharp with indignation.
"Every day is the same rehearsals—who remembers such trivial details? If I’m expected to account for every minute of my day, what’s the point of having police?"
"At 5 a.m. that morning, I was supposed to go straight to the symphony rehearsal. But I made a detour to Zheng Yin Music Store."
She pulled a business card from her handbag and slapped it onto the interrogation table.
"It takes twenty minutes to drive from my place to Zheng Yin, and another forty to get back to the rehearsal hall—exactly one hour round trip."
"Why did you go to Zheng Yin?"
"Officer, why else? To fix my instrument. During rehearsal the day before, I noticed the piano pedal was sticking, but I forgot about it afterward because I had dinner plans with a friend. It wasn’t until I was leaving on Wednesday morning that I remembered and decided to swing by Zheng Yin to pick up a part from the tuner I know."
"Your family owns a music store. Why go to someone else’s?"
"Because my family owns one, I know it’s closed every Wednesday. Even if it weren’t, it wouldn’t be open at 5 a.m." Fang Yayun met their gaze. "The tuner at Zheng Yin—also the owner—lives in the back. If you knock loud enough, you can wake him up."
"If you don't believe me, you can check." Fang Yayun tilted her chin toward the business cards on the table. "Master Chen, just ask him. No need to bring him here—it’ll disrupt his business."
"Since when do we take orders from you on how to do our jobs?"
As the words left his mouth, Xu Jiale stood up and stepped out of the interrogation room. He gestured to someone by the door, who immediately approached. After a brief exchange in hushed tones, the man nodded and hurried off.
Inside the interrogation room, Hao Zai brought up the past—how Fang Songsheng had torn Fang Yayun apart from her first love.
Ye Xuelin, a reporter for Hong Kong Morning Post, happened to be longtime friends with Lv Qiyun. Naturally, she wasn’t as guarded around her as she was with Zhu Qing. Over the phone, Mo Zhenbang faintly heard Ye Xuelin mention how, after the breakup, Fang Yayun had clung to the pride and arrogance of a pianist on the surface, but behind closed doors, she’d been a wreck… starving herself, swallowing pills—that heartbreak had nearly cost her half her life.
This was what Mo Zhenbang had shared with the team. But now, perhaps time had healed the wounds. When the past was brought up, her eyes showed no trace of emotion.
"His family was poor. My father worried I’d suffer if I stayed with him, so he stepped in and made him leave. When you’re young, you might not understand—you think love conquers all. But eventually, you realize my father had my best interests at heart."
"One thing he said was absolutely right—how old was I back then? My career was just starting. Was I really going to throw it all away, get married young, and play house? It’s not like love alone could fill my stomach."
"Are you suggesting I killed my father over something that happened years ago?"
Fang Yayun let out a laugh, sweeping a scornful glance over them before shaking her head.
The two officers exchanged looks.
They didn’t believe this was her motive. But whether it was her alibi falling apart or that call from the North Point phone booth, nothing ruled her out as a suspect.
"Officers, have you not looked into it yet? Henry and I are about to get engaged." She paused deliberately, her tone pointed. "Yes, that Henry—the first love you’re so curious about."
Fang Yayun explained that back then, both she and Henry had been young, blinded by love. The desperate theatrics—starving, overdosing—only hurt herself. Fang Songsheng had indeed looked down on Henry’s background, dismissing him as a dead end, and forced them apart. But now, Henry had finally made something of himself. After graduating, he started from the bottom, endured hardships, and through sheer determination, carved out a place in the culinary world. That upscale Western restaurant in Causeway Bay, beloved by the elite? Just one of his ventures. When he came back with that kind of success, asking for a second chance, what could her father possibly object to?
Xu Jiale sounded surprised. "But Henry was already engaged?"
"He was. Then he couldn’t forget me, so he called it off." Fang Yayun arched a brow. "Is that a crime?"
She smirked, leaning back and crossing her arms.
"Back then, my father worried he couldn’t give me a good life. Now that Henry’s thriving, he was happy for us."
"Our families met—at Rising Seafood Restaurant. Do you need to pull the security footage for that too?"
Xu Jiale flipped through the file and pulled out a photograph.
It was a surveillance photo reproduced by the police.
"At 8:32 PM on Tuesday, it was you who made a call to Fang Songsheng from the phone booth on King’s Road in North Point."
After hearing the police, Fang Yayun completely lost her patience.
"Your serious crimes unit solves cases with photos where you can’t even make out facial features?"
"I didn’t call my dad. Besides, I have a phone at home—why would I go out of my way to use a phone booth?"
"Officer, I have an average build. Just because a silhouette looks like me, you assume it is?"
At this point, she countered, "As the victim’s family, I’m also a victim here. Why are the police still wasting time on meaningless things? I’ve said it many times—Li Ziyao is the killer. When are you finally going to arrest her?"
Knock knock—
Xu Jiale went to open the door.
The officer who had gone to verify the alibi of the piano tuner at Zheng Yin Music Studio had returned.
Fang Yayun’s alibi was confirmed within just forty minutes.
She flashed the first genuine smile of the night. "Can I leave now?"
……
As a child, Zhu Qing had a strong sense of justice, and now, Sheng Fang was just as upright.
"Qing, there’s no mango in the shaved ice—should we call the police?"
"That’s not the police’s jurisdiction."
"Then whose is it?"
"The Food and Environmental Hygiene Department."
The shaved ice vendor looked panicked.
Everyone was just trying to run a business and cut costs—why did it have to escalate to the authorities?
Luckily, the madam had no real intention of dragging this out.
For Zhu Qing, as long as Sheng Fang wasn’t having an allergic reaction, that was all that mattered.
As they turned to leave, Fang Fang stuck out his tongue at the vendor.
Lucky for him the shaved ice was delicious—otherwise, they wouldn’t have let it slide. Congrats to him!
For the rest of their night market trip, Zhu Qing became much more cautious.
Before paying for anything, she would ask—
"Allergic to this?"
"Nope!"
Sheng Fang ate happily, cheeks stuffed like a little squirrel.
Before he could even swallow one bite, the next was already at his lips.
"Allergic to this?"
"No."
"What about this?"
"No, no, no!"
Qing was so nagging—why couldn’t she just act cool like usual?
"Next time you’re allergic to something, say it sooner."
Zhu Qing checked his eyes and lips one last time.
Everything looked normal, so she could finally shift her attention back to that troublesome case.
From then on, her niece noticed she was distracted.
"Qing, sugar-roasted chestnuts!" Sheng Fang stood in front of the giant wok, eyes sparkling.
Zhu Qing recalled the mocking tone her roommate Luo Weiwei used when talking about Li Ziyao.
Luo Weiwei had said Li Ziyao had latched onto some rich old man, playing the role of a dutiful housewife, acting sweet and virtuous just to keep him happy… Zhu Qing didn’t know Luo Weiwei well enough to tell if those words were genuine or just an act, but one thing was certain.
"So fragrant!" Fang Fang stood on tiptoe.
Zhu Qing: "Quiet."
What was certain was that today, when mentioning the times they’d spent together in Lan Kwai Fong after turning seventeen… there had been a trace of regret in Luo Weiwei’s eyes.
The timid girl who dared not speak loudly, always bullied—that was the Xinxin sister in Zhu Qing's memories, the one Luo Weiwei had constantly looked after, shaping her into who she was now. There was no judgment of good or bad; at least, she could finally protect herself.
"Chestnuts..." Sheng Fang said again.
"Quiet!"
Fangfang bared his teeth, stomping in place: "They're! Done! Roasting!"
His niece had once again immersed herself in solving the case.
He understood—cracking a case? So satisfying.
As long as his niece would obediently shell out money for candied chestnuts—
Fangfang would absolutely forgive her without a second thought!
...
On the way home, the streetlights stretched Zhu Qing and Sheng Fang's shadows long behind them.
When Fangfang peeled chestnuts, his entire chin strained, the flesh of his cheeks quivering slightly as the shell split open.
The little one quietly fed himself, nibbling gently with tiny millet teeth.
His niece had warned him: he was still small and couldn’t gulp down a whole chestnut at once—it might choke him, and that was dangerous.
While Sheng Fang reveled in his own happy world, Zhu Qing was lost in thought, recalling the expression on Li Ziyao's face the first time she mentioned her adoptive parents.
Li Ziyao had said no one could help her—they were already gone.
Looking back now, that letter, that photograph—they all proved how much her adoptive parents had cherished Xinxin sister.
If Li Ziyao had killed because of a "happy childhood," then fabricating a history of abuse would dismantle her motive, clearing her of suspicion.
Following this logic, Zhu Qing suspected Fang Songsheng was involved in the deaths of Li Ziyao’s adoptive parents.
"Don’t eat so many," Zhu Qing said. "You’ll get indigestion."
They ambled to their building, and even after entering and exiting the elevator, Fangfang was still peeling chestnuts.
Zhu Qing reminded him to eat less, but suddenly, he dug into his little pocket.
The chestnuts he’d peeled the entire way were all tucked inside Sheng Fang’s pocket.
"Qingzai, these are better than peach crisps."
Zhu Qing froze. "What?"
"I’m treating you to chestnuts—we’re skipping the peach crisps!"
Sheng Fang had no friends and didn’t understand adult friendships.
He couldn’t remember things from "when he was little," but Aunt Ping said Qingzai remembered—and cared deeply.
The peach crisps from the old-fashioned pastry box in her memories were the flavor of Qingzai’s childhood.
She treasured those recollections.
From his pocket, little Sheng Fang produced one candied chestnut after another.
His smile was innocent and pure, like he was presenting treasure, making it easy to overlook whether his pocket was clean.
Sheng Fang didn’t know how to comfort his niece, so he peeled chestnuts for her instead.
Zhu Qing didn’t know how to express what she felt, so she ate the candied chestnuts.
They stepped out of the elevator, turned into the hallway, and sat on the stairs, chatting as they ate.
"Fangfang, what else have you carried in your pocket?"
"Ultraman’s poop."
Zhu Qing: ?
"Just kidding! Ultraman’s a toy—he doesn’t poop."
Zhu Qing ended up eating like a little hamster, just like her uncle.
Her nose tingled, her voice muffled: "You’re sure you won’t have an allergy? Aunt Ping isn’t strong enough to carry you to the hospital."
"Nope." Sheng Fang vouched for Qingzai. "Go solve your case!"
Zhu Qing walked Sheng Fang back.
Aunt Ping waited inside, the house bright and warm. They waved, assuring her she could focus on her work.
That night, Zhu Qing had no idea what time she’d make it home.
By the time she arrived at the Yau Ma Tei Police Station, the CID office was still brightly lit.
The sounds of hurried footsteps, the rustling of case files being flipped through, the repeated playback of surveillance footage—all these noises intertwined as time ticked away. Yet no one was disheartened; every officer was buried in their work.
Then suddenly, Xiao Sun rushed back in.
“We’ve got it!” He leaned against the office doorframe, catching his breath, his T-shirt soaked with sweat. “Finally, we’ve got it!”
Too many inconsistencies. They knew Li Ziyao couldn’t possibly be innocent, yet she had a solid alibi.
The timestamped footage from the hotel lobby and corridors, the testimony of the convenience store clerk, even the complaint from the guest in the neighboring room—such a flawless alibi. Where was the flaw?
Apart from Li Ziyao, the police were also investigating her roommate, Luo Weiwei.
Luo Weiwei worked at a bar, so there were even more witnesses for her nighttime whereabouts. At 5 a.m. on Wednesday, when most people were still asleep, she had just gotten off work not long ago.
That day, she was so drunk she could barely stand, staggering home in high heels. According to witness statements, Luo Weiwei left Lan Kwai Fong at 4 a.m. and didn’t arrive home until past 4:30, just in time to be seen by the breakfast cart vendor setting up shop downstairs. She was leaning against a lamppost, vomiting. In that state, there was no way she could have sobered up in just a few minutes to rush to the Wan Chai music store and commit murder.
The more plausible explanation was that Luo Weiwei was merely acting in Li Ziyao’s script. Whether it was her movements or the deliberate traces left behind, everything was meticulously orchestrated by Li Ziyao to lead the police down a specific path.
And what she was trying to conceal was undoubtedly her family background.
“Before opening the music store, Fang Songsheng was already a piano teacher. This is a photo of him from his younger days.”
The team gathered around the old photograph of Fang Songsheng, studying it closely.
“He had long hair? Really looked like a free-spirited artist.”
“I’d bet Li Ziyao wasn’t even born when this was taken.”
“Fang Yayun is 26, Li Ziyao is 27. Who could accept someone their own age as a stepmother?”
“Wait a minute.” Someone pulled out another document. “Who is this Ni Fangrun?”
Mo Zhenbang spread the documents Xiao Sun had retrieved across the conference table. “Li Ziyao’s adoptive mother came from a wealthy family. Back then, they hired a piano teacher for her…”
“Li Ziyao’s adoptive mother, Ni Fangrun, was once Fang Songsheng’s student.”
At 11 p.m., Li Ziyao had just stepped through her front door.
Her hair was still slightly damp, her face free of makeup, strikingly plain. When she answered the knock, her eyes lit up at the sight of Zhu Qing, her lips curling into an unconscious smile.
“What brings you—”
Her words cut off abruptly as she noticed the other officers beside Zhu Qing.
In the brief silence, all eyes remained fixed on Li Ziyao’s face.
Barefaced and unguarded, her eyes seemed even brighter.
But Li Ziyao herself seemed uncomfortable, tucking a damp strand of hair behind her ear.
The room echoed with Luo Weiwei's affectionate, laughter-laced voice as she emerged from her bedroom, peeking out to ask, "Yao Yao, which shop did you get that sugar cake from yesterday? The filling was absolutely—"
Luo Weiwei suddenly froze.
She hadn’t heard any knocking, only realizing now that a group of police officers stood outside the door.
"Miss Li, we suspect your involvement in a homicide case. Please accompany us to the station for questioning."
Li Ziyao lowered her gaze.
That expression—Zhu Qing knew it all too well.
Once, when she had stood at her doorstep holding pastries. Another time, when she had invited her out for coffee to catch up.
Each time she was rejected, Li Ziyao’s eyes dimmed just like this.
"Still suspecting me?" Li Ziyao asked softly, her eyes locked on Zhu Qing’s.
A long silence followed.
By the time Li Ziyao changed clothes and followed the police out, Zhu Qing’s voice suddenly cut through the quiet.
"I never left my address with Dean Guo."
Li Ziyao’s back stiffened.
That day, when she had shown up unannounced, Li Ziyao had claimed she’d gotten the address from Dean Guo.
But Zhu Qing had always known—it was just an excuse.
She understood she had long been a piece in Li Ziyao’s plan.
But…
What exactly was her role?
……
Everyone was working overtime, even the clerical staff like Sister Zhen, who was busy organizing case files at the station.
Hearing footsteps, she glanced up and spotted Zhu Qing. "Perfect timing. Your kid called for you."
Only a few hours apart, and Little Uncle was already calling to check on Qing.
As Zhu Qing pressed the receiver to her ear, the familiar voice of the child greeted her.
"Qing, are you coming home tonight?"
Back at the station, Li Ziyao sat in the interrogation room, seemingly cooperative but offering nothing substantial.
Zhu Qing was still combing through old statements for overlooked clues.
"I’ll be home," Zhu Qing answered, the phone cradled between her ear and shoulder as she flipped a page. "But I don’t know when. Go to bed first."
She moved to hang up, but the child’s voice suddenly barked through the line—
"Zhu Qing! Don’t you dare hang up!"
Sheng Fang had predicted this.
His niece always ended calls abruptly, without even a goodbye—terribly rude.
"You should say goodbye properly," Little Uncle lectured, dragging out his words with exaggerated seriousness. "First, ask me: Fang Fang, are you done talking? If you’re done, I’m hanging up now. Goodbye!"
"Fang Fang."
Little Uncle replied, satisfied. "Yes?"
"It’s past eleven. Why aren’t you asleep?" Zhu Qing narrowed her eyes.
"…" Sheng Fang paused for three seconds. "Goodbye!"
Sister Zhen had just set down her teacup when Zhu Qing ended the call.
"That fast?" She chuckled. "I thought you two would talk forever."
"One sentence scared him into hanging up."
"Only you can handle him," Hao Zai teased, leaning against the desk. "Blood relatives, after all."
Before Zhu Qing could respond, her expression sharpened. She quickly flipped through the case notes.
Line by line, the words grew clearer…
Now she finally understood—why did Xinxin’s sister have a birthday?
……
The knock on the interrogation room door sounded, and Zhu Qing stood at the entrance.
"Mo Zhenbang," she said, "I'd like to give it a try."
Inside the interrogation room, the questioning was still ongoing, and Uncle Li was losing patience.
"The sleeping pills found in the victim's system were prescription drugs from overseas. Did you provide them?"
"Fang Songsheng had ties to your adoptive mother, didn't he?"
"The year you turned seventeen, your adoptive parents passed away—was Fang Songsheng involved? He killed them, and to take revenge, you got close to him and murdered him!"
"Officer, your imagination is quite vivid," Li Ziyao replied.
Zhu Qing, standing by the door, suddenly asked, "Your adoptive parents—"
Li Ziyao looked up.
"—were they your biological parents?"
With a clatter, the disposable cup on the table was knocked over by Li Ziyao.
It had been filled with warm water, and she flusteredly tried to wipe her clothes and the interrogation table dry.
Zhu Qing had her answer.
Children raised in orphanages often had no exact birthdays. Unless they were abandoned with a red slip bearing their birth details, the institution had no way of knowing their true birthdates. Director Guo had never cared much for such trivialities, let alone bothered to organize collective birthday parties. When registering identity documents, the birthdate field was casually filled in as January 1st—merely a formality.
But on Dai Feng's wrist was a tattoo of Li Ziyao's birthday, and the way his eyes had reddened back then didn’t seem like an act.
Li Ziyao had a birthday.
A real one, left to her by her parents.
Uncle Li had been at this for hours without uncovering a solid lead.
He stepped out to fetch tissues and, upon returning, said to Zhu Qing, "I’ll leave this to you. I need some air."
"Zhu Qing," Mo Zhenbang gestured for her to take the seat beside him.
"Director Guo said that couple wanted to adopt a sweet, pretty girl. As usual, she showed them profiles of children under seven."
"But they were picky. They searched through countless orphanages until they finally came to ours—and chose you at first sight. That year, you were fourteen."
"Li Ziyao, they had a target."
"A fourteen-year-old girl—their biological daughter," Zhu Qing said, staring at her with certainty. "From the start, they came for you."
"You had every motive to kill."
"From fourteen to seventeen, those three years were the happiest of your life. Until Fang Songsheng suddenly appeared and destroyed it all."
"Am I right?" she asked.
No one knew how long the silence lasted before a faint smile touched Li Ziyao’s lips.
The little girl who’d always vowed to become a police officer had grown into one—sharp-eyed, just a step away from the truth.
"You’re right," Li Ziyao said after a long pause, then shook her head. "And also wrong."
What followed was a story—one Zhu Qing and Mo Zhenbang would hear.
A story from a distant past.
...
Twenty-eight years ago, along Repulse Bay Road in Hong Kong, the Ni and Li family villas stood barely a few hundred meters apart. Ni Fangrun and Li Xueren were a perfect match—childhood sweethearts, their union silently approved by both families.
That year, they were still young, naive and inexperienced, with their futures carefully mapped out by their elders.
They would study abroad first, and only after completing their education would they consider marriage.
However, when Ni Fangrun received her acceptance letter from the art academy, she faced an unexpected challenge. The mandatory piano class left her at a loss—accustomed to holding a paintbrush, her fingers fumbled clumsily over the piano keys. If she were to take the exam with such poor skills, she wouldn’t even meet the basic performance requirements, let alone pass.
Thus, the piano teacher, Fang Songsheng, came to her home.
That year, Fang Songsheng was thirty-two, and Ni Fangrun was nineteen.
"You tell me—does coercion disguised as persuasion still not count as a crime?" Li Ziyao said calmly. "She was trembling with fear, but Fang Songsheng told her it was normal. He even said, ‘It’s not like it’s your first time—why pretend to be pure?’"
During those days, Ni Fangrun wept endlessly, lying awake night after night. The most agonizing part was pretending nothing had happened in front of the kind and caring Li Xueren, until she finally broke things off.
Li Xueren tried everything to change her mind, pleading desperately, but her decision was final.
"A month later, as originally planned, he had no choice but to leave Hong Kong alone to pursue his studies."
"By then, she was on the verge of collapse, unable to continue her education, so she arranged for a leave of absence to recover at home."
At the time, Ni Fangrun knew she was pregnant. In the dead of winter, she kept it hidden until she had no choice but to turn to her parents—by then, the fetus was already over four months along. The piano teacher, Fang Songsheng, said he was willing to marry her and give her a proper status.
The Ni family was furious, forbidding any further contact between them. But for the sake of their daughter’s reputation, they never made the matter public. They took her to a private hospital for an examination, where the doctor warned that compared to the early stages of pregnancy, the risks and difficulty of an abortion had increased significantly. Given her physical condition, undergoing the procedure could lead to severe hemorrhage—it was far too dangerous.
The doctor advised her to carry the child to term.
"She gave birth to a baby girl at the private hospital. That same day, the nameless child was taken away."
"Not long after, she boarded a flight, leaving that heartbreak behind."
"But in her sixth year abroad, Ni Fangrun and Li Xueren unexpectedly crossed paths again. He had kept her breakup letter all that time."
Li Ziyao continued, "They found their way back to each other."
Years into their marriage, they still had no children.
Ni Fangrun carried a secret in her heart until, one day, she finally mustered the courage to confess everything to him.
Only then did Li Xueren learn the truth behind their separation.
He told her the fault had never been hers—it lay solely with the monstrous Fang Songsheng.
"If Dad had known the truth back then, he would never have let Mom face it alone," Li Ziyao said, her gaze softening.
After the child was born, Ni Fangrun’s parents sent her to an orphanage. But fourteen years later, the orphanage had relocated, leaving no trace.
Upon returning to Hong Kong, Ni Fangrun and Li Xueren searched every orphanage across the city. They even feared the child might have been adopted long ago—until the day they saw Xinxin.
They met fourteen-year-old Xinxin at the orphanage.
She bore a faint resemblance to Ni Fangrun, with a small mole behind her ear.
Ni Fangrun knew she had found her daughter.
"Back then, I didn’t understand anything," Li Ziyao said. "After living with my new parents for a few months, one day, Mom suddenly cupped my face, studying it left and right, then excitedly called Dad over."
"They said my earlobes were almost identical to Dad’s, even the curve of my smile was just like his."
"It wasn’t until much later that I realized why they were so happy."
In 1982, DNA paternity testing technology made its first appearance, capturing global attention.
Because of this, thirteen years ago, Li Ziyao traveled abroad for the first time with her adoptive parents.
When the test results came back, Li Xueren and Ni Fangrun wept uncontrollably.
"Honestly, Dad didn’t care—he’d loved me dearly from the day he brought me home. But the DNA report was like unwrapping a gift; he was overjoyed."
"Mom said she’d calculated the timing. I should have been Fang Songsheng’s daughter, but maybe because of premature birth or a miscalculation of her cycle, the final result showed I had no connection to that scumbag at all."
"They were both thrilled and guilt-ridden, blaming themselves for letting me suffer needlessly for fourteen years… But I knew it wasn’t their fault. The blame lay with Fang Songsheng."
As for the cause of Li Ziyao’s parents’ deaths, it had nothing to do with Fang Songsheng.
They were expanding their business overseas when a sudden traffic accident left them forever stranded on a foreign highway.
"Because of Fang Songsheng, you only had three short years with your parents," Mo Zhenbang said. "So, is that your motive?"
"Officer," Li Ziyao lifted her head slowly, "if you had evidence, we’d be in court right now, wouldn’t we?"
……
Li Ziyao had set up so many obstacles, one after another, guiding the police to investigate exactly what she wanted them to know.
Yet, she never expected them to uncover her relationship with her parents.
Li Ziyao had a compelling motive for murder—but she also had an alibi.
Could it be a hired killer?
Even if it were, they’d need proof. There were no unusual transactions in her bank accounts.
There was one more thing Zhu Qing couldn’t figure out.
Why had Li Ziyao come to her home?
What role did she play in this case?
By the time Zhu Qing got home, it was already 2 a.m.
On the shoe bench by the entrance, Aunt Ping had left a note reminding her about the freshly made soup in the kitchen pot. Next to Aunt Ping’s handwriting, little Sheng Fang had drawn a thumbs-up and scribbled "Delicious" in English.
Zhu Qing went to the kitchen and served herself a bowl of soup.
When her pager buzzed, she quickly silenced it, afraid of waking the child or Aunt Ping.
She walked to the phone and dialed back. "Yongshan?"
"I’ve got good news—we found the North Point surveillance footage!"
"It’s from a jewelry store, a whole street away from that old payphone booth where the call was made. Liang Qikai and I went door to door before we finally tracked it down. Do you know how careful she was? She took a taxi—didn’t even drive her own car!"
"The surveillance camera outside the jewelry store captured a speeding taxi, and she was sitting in the back seat, wearing a baseball cap and a black trench coat—but the camera caught her face clearly."
Zeng Yongshan and Liang Qikai had spent the entire night reviewing footage.
Their eyes were bloodshot from exhaustion, shoulders stiff, when suddenly their gaze locked onto a familiar face inside the taxi.
They had found solid evidence.
Zhu Qing: "Is that Fang Yayun?"
"No doubt, it's Fang Yayun."
Fang Yayun was already engaged to her first love and had been preparing for their wedding, but the plans were postponed after her father, Fang Songsheng, passed away.
According to Hao Zai, when she walked out of the police station after providing her alibi, her fiancé Henry was waiting patiently by his sports car at the entrance.
Murder always requires a motive—especially when the victim is one’s own father.
"Killing Fang Songsheng over a breakup? That motive never made much sense. How deranged would someone have to be, murdering their own father for a man?" Zeng Yongshan continued. "Unless it was because of… the piano? Three- or four-year-olds are at an age where they just want to play. I remember Fang Yayun mentioned in an interview that when she was little, her dad would hit her palms with a ruler if she didn’t practice well."
Liang Qikai, still on the phone, chimed in with his calm voice.
"I’ve read those old articles too. Fang Yayun once said Fang Songsheng struck her palms until they bled."
"Years later, under the spotlight during interviews, she brushed off those memories as if they were nothing. But tell me—does a father who locks his daughter in the piano room and withholds meals for missed notes deserve hatred?"
"Yongshan," Zhu Qing paused thoughtfully before asking, "Do you know how Fang Yayun’s mother died?"
...
2 a.m. Work awaited them in the morning.
The case was full of unanswered questions, but at this hour, exhaustion weighed on everyone. Pushing forward in this state would only lead to more confusion.
Zhu Qing finished the last sip of her soup and headed to the bathroom to wash up.
Passing the balcony, she noticed a whiteboard placed there.
A few words on it were written by Aunt Ping.
Sheng Fang had contributed too—the little doodles beside them were unmistakably his handiwork.
Zhu Qing couldn’t help but smile.
She could almost picture the future senior inspector standing before the whiteboard, taller than him, conducting a mock case briefing for his toys with a marker in hand.
When was that second round of kindergarten interviews coming up?
Seeing him so idle made her itch to send him off to school already.
She closed the balcony’s glass door, the latch clicking softly.
Tiptoeing down the hallway, she took care not to wake the rest of the household.
"Qing-jie—"
A tiny voice, barely above a whisper.
Sheng Fang stood by the door of the children’s room, clutching a pillow, a tuft of soft hair sticking up. Half-asleep, yet still playing the role of the little elder.
Zhu Qing turned back, taking the pillow with one hand and guiding him back to bed with the other.
"Were you asleep just now?"
"Yeah."
"Sleep well?"
"Didn’t smell it."
His drowsy mumble was barely coherent as he toddled back into the room, climbing onto his bed with stubby legs.
The blanket was soft, like a cloud. He burrowed under it, and slowly, his eyes grew wide as saucers.
"You're not sleeping anymore?"
Sheng Fang lay flat on his back, his round little face soft and puffy. "I'm awake."
Zhu Qing added another note to her growing experience of raising a child.
Never assume that just because a child looks drowsy, you can chat with them—you might just wake them up instead.
Sheng Fang was wide awake now. Though he still nestled obediently under the covers, he was full of energy. If his niece allowed it, he could jump right out of bed to play.
Of course, Zhu Qing wouldn’t permit that, so he resorted to whining—
"Qing, can you tell me a story?"
"Sure."
"Can you—" Sheng Fang suddenly processed her response, "Really?!"
What had she just said?
She said she’d tell him a story!
Sheng Fang immediately bounced out from under the covers. "You really will?!"
"Aren’t you sleepy?" he asked.
Zhu Qing shook her head.
Every nerve in her mind was wired tight from the case—she couldn’t be more awake.
"Just one story," Sheng Fang held up a tiny finger. "Then you have to go to sleep!"
Zhu Qing gave him a sidelong glance.
As if she was the one begging to tell a story.
The little uncle’s nursery wasn’t just filled with toys.
Now, a small bookshelf had been added, stocked with children’s books—some bought during outings with Aunt Ping, others brought over from the hillside estate.
Sheng Fang didn’t like reading picture books himself, but he loved listening to Zhu Qing read them to him.
On the nightstand, the soft glow of a mushroom-shaped lamp cast a warm, gentle light.
Zhu Qing picked up a book and sat by the bed to begin the story.
Sheng Fang clutched the blanket with both hands, his bright eyes blinking eagerly.
Even though his niece’s storytelling was flat and stiff, he listened with rapt attention.
"Once upon a time, there was a farmer who worked from sunrise to sunset, barely scraping by. He wanted a better life."
The little uncle nodded knowingly. "The economy’s tough."
Zhu Qing glanced up.
Since when did the young master of the Sheng family understand economic hardship?
No one’s "economy" was better off than his!
"But he was lazy and timid, always hoping for something without effort," Zhu Qing continued reading.
Sheng Fang wiggled his little hands under the blanket. "Pies don’t just fall from the sky, you know."
Madam’s storytelling kept getting interrupted—along with her storytelling mood.
She set the book down.
The little one pulled the blanket up to cover his mouth, looking utterly innocent.
Zhu Qing picked the book back up. "Then one day, a miracle finally happened."
"A little rabbit ran headfirst into a tree stump and accidentally died."
"He picked up the rabbit."
Zhu Qing had randomly flipped to a children’s version of the fable "Waiting by the Stump for a Hare."
She’d barely started the story, but Sheng Fang already wore a skeptical look.
"No way," he protested. "A rabbit just died like that? I don’t believe it."
"What? It really did."
Sheng Fang scoffed. "Was the rabbit stupid or something?"
"It really did run into the stump—"
Was that the point?
Zhu Qing couldn’t get through to this kid.
He was the stupid one!
"Don’t lie to me," the tiny uncle sat up in bed.
He knew better—justice never slept.
With all the authority of a mini detective, Sheng Fang declared, "Confess! Who’s the real culprit?"
