Zhu Qing didn’t know what time she fell asleep.
By the time she woke up, it was already bright outside, and Aunt Ping was knocking on the door.
"Little master, still not up yet?" Aunt Ping called. "Qingqing’s already left for work."
Aunt Ping, an early riser, had prepared breakfast and noticed Zhu Qing’s bedroom door was open, assuming she’d left early.
To her surprise, when she gently pushed open the door to the children’s room, she found the little uncle and his niece sprawled at opposite ends of the tiny bed, their sleeping postures so chaotic they resembled a haphazard stack of building blocks.
Fangfang half-opened his eyes and realized his tiny foot was resting on Zhu Qing’s cheek.
Zhu Qing also woke up, glanced sideways, and immediately swatted it away.
The little one sat up, a tuft of bedhead sticking up like a morning greeting.
He wiggled his toes and mumbled sleepily, "They’re nice-smelling feet."
Last night, while telling him the fable "Waiting for Gains Without Pains," Zhu Qing had gotten so into the story that she forgot to send her little uncle to bed. Instead of lulling him to sleep, she’d dozed off first, hogging most of the tiny bed.
The little one had to scramble for space, like squeezing in the last move of a board game, tossing and turning until he finally drifted back to sleep.
"What time is it?" Zhu Qing suddenly jolted awake, leaping out of bed. "I’m gonna be late!"
Aunt Ping had never seen her in such a frenzy and gasped, quickly holding up the children’s alarm clock from the desk. "There’s still time! Don’t panic, you’ve got enough for breakfast!"
What followed was a morning routine executed at war speed.
Zhu Qing dashed between the children’s room and her own bedroom, channeling the agility of a top police academy graduate—even brushing her teeth with ruthless efficiency, mouth full of foam, while side-eyeing Fangfang, who looked bored enough to grow mushrooms.
"Working late again tonight?"
"I’m going with Aunt Ping this afternoon to queue for new sneakers—"
"Qingqing, are you telling a crime story today?"
Just as Zhu Qing grabbed her cup to rinse, the kid suddenly materialized beside her.
Fangfang clutched yesterday’s illustrated book of idioms, pacing the living room before circling back to the bathroom door. "How about I tell you a story today?"
Zhu Qing swiftly finished rinsing, tossed her toothbrush into the cup with a clang, and wiped her face, droplets still clinging to her hairline, eyes bright.
Fangfang flipped open a page and announced with gravitas, "Today’s idiom is ‘Playing the Lute to a Cow.’"
Before heading out, Zhu Qing ruffled his hair. "Are you calling me dumb?"
With a bang, she slammed the door. "Time for work!"
Fangfang stayed behind, turning to Aunt Ping. "She’s not stupid, huh."
Aunt Ping rushed out of the kitchen. "She didn’t even eat breakfast!"
......
The case had progressed with relentless efficiency.
Team B’s officers had been pulling such late shifts that even Inspector Mo couldn’t take it anymore, practically shooing them home.
Rumor had it the neighboring Major Crimes Team A had gotten an earful from their superiors—
Look at the other team’s officers. How are they all so damn competent?
The entire Group B was no stranger to grueling work. Take Zeng Yongshan and Liang Qikai, for example. There weren’t many surveillance cameras in North Point, so they had to bring the collected footage back to the evidence processing room. The jewelry store didn’t use the latest equipment—new recordings automatically overwrote the old ones, and even the dates and exact timestamps were buried deep. This meant the two of them had to start from scratch. After more than ten hours, they finally managed to capture a clear shot of Fang Yayun’s face in the surveillance footage.
“I almost went cross-eyed. I don’t want to look at another surveillance tape for a month,” Liang Qikai joked.
“Forget surveillance tapes,” Zeng Yongshan grumbled. “I don’t even want to watch TV for a month! Before leaving for work this morning, my dad turned on the morning news, and just one glance made my breakfast sandwich get stuck in my throat!”
At this point, even the word “surveillance” made Liang Qikai and Zeng Yongshan dizzy. But no matter how exhausting it was, their all-night review had yielded a crucial breakthrough.
On Tuesday night, Fang Yayun had specifically gone to North Point to make that call to Fang Songsheng—and that alone was highly suspicious.
Uncle Li arrived early in the morning, sipping his now-cooled tea from a thermos.
After the younger officers finished their report, he chuckled dryly. “This Fang Songsheng… he’s got nine lives. His wife took her own.”
“Took her own… what does that mean?”
“Suicide?”
“Uncle Li, Fang Yayun’s mother committed suicide?”
Twenty-eight years ago, Fang Songsheng had forced himself on Ni Fangrun, a meek and quiet college student. Too afraid to speak up, she kept silent, and her parents, concerned about “reputation,” let his crime go unpunished—no police report was ever filed.
A year later, he married someone else, and that same year, their daughter Fang Yayun was born.
“When Fang Songsheng assaulted Ni Fangrun twenty-eight years ago, she was only nineteen. A year later, he married again—his new wife was just eighteen at the time, while he was already thirty-three.”
“Targeting young girls, then?”
“Fang Yayun’s mother was Zhou Lingyi. Earlier, Xiao Sun spoke to their former neighbors. Back then, the couple seemed deeply in love, so Zhou Lingyi’s sudden suicide came as a shock to everyone.”
“I heard Fang Songsheng was devastated afterward. He lost a lot of weight in a short time. Then, after a while, he moved away with his daughter.”
No one had expected that investigating a murder case would dredge up so much buried history.
Inspector Mo made the call: “Bring Fang Yayun back to the station. Let’s see what she has to say this time.”
…
This wasn’t Fang Yayun’s first time at the police station.
The night before, she had tossed out her alibi, mocking the police for having nothing better to do than pin blame on the victim’s own daughter. But today, when Inspector Mo slid the photo of her mother across the table, Fang Yayun’s eyes dulled with exhaustion, and she fell silent.
It was a family portrait—her parents holding a much younger version of her, all three smiling brightly.
“A strict father, a loving mother… that was the dynamic in your home until you were eight, wasn’t it?”
"Back then, Fang Songsheng taught you to play the piano. Though he often got angry when you hit the wrong notes or misread the sheet music, Zhou Lingyi was always by your side, offering gentle companionship and care. That period must have been a beautiful childhood memory for you."
Fang Yayun didn’t respond, her mind flooded with scenes from her early years.
A little girl in her favorite princess dress sat on the piano bench, her father stern-faced with a ruler in hand. But the ruler didn’t always land on the child’s tender palms—because her mother was always there beside her.
There were times when her father was especially happy, usually when she played a complete piano piece flawlessly. He would laugh heartily, lift her high in the air, and declare that his daughter was truly a little pianist. At those moments, she giggled with delight, glancing down to see her mother’s gaze—always brimming with pride and deep affection.
Memories from what felt like another lifetime overlapped in her mind. Fang Yayun stared at the family portrait, a faint smile gradually forming on her lips.
Until suddenly, an untimely sound shattered the moment.
"Thud—" Mo Zhenbang rapped the interrogation table, his voice low. "A dull thud."
"That evening, Fang Songsheng took you out to buy pineapple ice. Halfway there, he realized he’d forgotten his wallet and turned back to get it. But then—"
"A body crashed down in front of you, shattering the peace."
"You were eight years old. Your mother, Zhou Lingyi, had jumped to her death."
Fang Yayun’s smile froze. Her eyes snapped open, dazed, her lashes still damp.
Just the day before, everything had been normal. Before they left the house, everything had been fine. She had skipped happily toward the pineapple ice stand, nearly drooling with anticipation. But in an instant—why was her mother gone? Her father remained silent, his hand covering her eyes, but her cheeks were wet, tears streaming endlessly.
At eight, Fang Yayun understood. Her mother was gone. From that day on, she would never have a mother again.
"What did Fang Songsheng tell you about Zhou Lingyi’s death?"
Fang Yayun was silent for a long time, her slender fingers brushing away the tear stains at the corners of her eyes.
"He said… after giving birth to me, Mom was never happy. Never happy again."
"Back then, she was too young—just eighteen or nineteen. A girl… suddenly a mother, spending her days nursing a baby, changing diapers."
"Her parents passed away early. When she suffered, she had no one to confide in… Dad was always busy with work. For the longest time, she didn’t even have someone to talk to. So she… couldn’t take it anymore."
"Only in recent years have people started advocating for mental health awareness… but back then, postpartum struggles were always overlooked."
Fang Yayun said it was because of her that Zhou Lingyi took her own life.
"The neighbors said the same. That year, everyone whispered about it. I had a high fever for a week, crying nonstop at night. Mom rushed me to clinics all over. She was exhausted, desperate for an escape."
"And then… she really escaped."
"They said I was the curse." Fang Yayun’s tone was flat. "That I killed her."
"But what does any of this have to do with my father’s death?" she asked.
Mo Zhenbang slid another photo in front of her.
This was a still from the surveillance camera footage—a woman wearing a baseball cap sat in the backseat of a taxi, her facial features clearly visible.
"Still denying you were the one who called Fang Songsheng?"
Fang Yayun took the photo and studied it for a moment.
"Honestly, I’d forgotten about it until you mentioned it." She rubbed her temples. "My father always made it a point to attend every one of my performances, but this one was overseas. With his wedding coming up, he wouldn’t have had time to fly out just for that. So, I invited him to watch me rehearse instead. The orchestra has been practicing hard, and what he saw was essentially the full performance. I’m sure he left with no regrets."
Her tone was so natural, her answers to the police’s follow-up questions seamless.
"Since the shop was closed on Wednesday, he had time. I knew that."
"You said he ironed his shirt right after the call? Well, of course—he’d want to dress properly for his daughter’s performance."
"But I’d scheduled the rehearsal for 10 a.m. No idea why he went to the piano shop at 5 a.m."
Fang Yayun leaned forward slightly. "Inspector, do you know why?"
Uncle Li glared at her coldly.
Mo Zhenbang’s jaw tightened as he dragged a cigarette box across the interrogation table, the screeching sound grating on the ears.
"Are you seriously suspecting me?" She leaned back, meeting their gazes. "If you have evidence, go ahead and charge me."
Uncle Li slammed the table in frustration.
Inspector Mo stopped him with a cold warning. "Miss Fang, the detention cells are staffed 24/7. We have all the time in the world to chat."
……
Outside the interrogation room, other officers were still tracing leads related to Li Ziyao.
Li Ziyao was the biological daughter of Ni Fangrun and Li Xueren.
At seventeen, after losing both parents, she was forced to drop out of school and drift through Lan Kwai Fong. Logically, her parents had once lived in Repulse Bay—even if both families had fallen from grace, their granddaughter shouldn’t have ended up like this.
Piece by piece, the police verified the truth behind Li Ziyao’s long-buried story, gradually uncovering the full picture.
"Ni Fangrun’s family’s shipping company went bankrupt shortly after she left the country. The business collapsed, and the stress over her daughter’s situation took its toll. Ni’s mother passed away long ago—she never even met her granddaughter."
"Li Ziyao only ever saw her grandfather, who by then had dementia and was living in a nursing home. Her uncle’s family and her parents took turns caring for him. After Ni Fangrun and Li Xueren died, Li Ziyao wasn’t left completely penniless—but her uncle’s family offered to ‘manage’ her inheritance, then vanished with everything. They even quietly moved her grandfather to another nursing home."
"We tracked down the nursing home from ten years ago. According to staff, Li Ziyao begged the nurses to tell her where her grandfather had been moved, if there was any contact information left behind. The girl cried until her eyes were swollen. One nurse couldn’t bear it and took her out for a meal… She was only seventeen. What chance did she have against them?"
As Zhu Qing listened, the image in her mind wasn’t the current Li Ziyao.
It was the older sister she once knew—Xin Xin, huddled in a corner of the orphanage, putting on her best act whenever strangers passed by. All because she longed for someone to give her a home.
"As for Li Ziyao's grandparents—twenty-eight years ago, the entire Li family immigrated and settled abroad, never returning."
"I suspect Li Xueren never mentioned Xinxin to his parents. After all, elders of that era were mostly conservative and rigid in their thinking. Bringing up a daughter abandoned at an orphanage for fourteen years would inevitably lead to mentioning Fang Songsheng and the truth behind Li Xueren’s breakup with Ni Fangrun. Given Ni Fangrun’s personality, she didn’t even dare to report it to the police back then—why would she want the truth exposed years later? It was easier for the three of them to live their quiet little lives."
"Besides, what good would it do to reconnect with these relatives she’s never met? Not only is Li Ziyao unable to contact them, but even if they stayed in touch, who’s to say they wouldn’t look down on her for seeking them out, just like her uncle’s family did?"
Zhu Qing jotted down notes in her notebook.
So, at the age of seventeen, after her parents passed away, Xinxin’s older sister lost her family completely.
Now, turning to Fang Yayun’s side—
When the officers reviewed her statement, their reaction was less anger and more confusion.
"Why does Fang Yayun keep defending Fang Songsheng? Can’t she see there’s something wrong with him?"
"Maybe she’s not defending Fang Songsheng—maybe it’s for her own sake..."
"Let’s assume Fang Yayun’s mother didn’t commit suicide because of her. But for all these years, Fang Songsheng has been feeding her that narrative, making her suffer under the weight of guilt and self-blame. Once she learns the truth, how could she not hate him? That would give her a motive for murder."
A child, burdened with the belief that she ‘killed her mother’ since the age of eight—that’s too cruel.
"Fang Songsheng claims to adore his daughter, but has he ever truly protected her? Or is Fang Yayun just his perfect masterpiece?"
"A brilliant pianist raising a pianist daughter… that’s enough to satisfy his vanity."
On the meeting table, scattered interview clippings of Fang Yayun over the years lay strewn about.
She never once mentioned her late mother—was it really because she was closer to her father?
Perhaps Fang Yayun simply didn’t dare to touch the memories tied to Zhou Lingyi.
"Would postpartum hormones really affect Zhou Lingyi for a full eight years? Of course, we can’t rule out the possibility, but it’s highly unlikely."
"Everyone says she and Fang Songsheng were deeply in love back then. After his wife’s death, Fang Songsheng never remarried, never even dated another woman—until Li Ziyao appeared."
"If it wasn’t postpartum hormones, then why did Zhou Lingyi kill herself?"
"Do we know how Zhou Lingyi and Fang Songsheng met?"
"It’s been too long—we’re still looking into it."
"Maybe—" Mo Zhenbang mused, "Zhou Lingyi suffered the same fate as Ni Fangrun."
"Twenty-eight years ago, Fang Songsheng wanted to marry Ni Fangrun, but her parents cursed him for being delusional."
"Is it possible Zhou Lingyi endured the same harm but didn’t dare tell her parents? So when she got pregnant, she treated it like a normal relationship and decided to marry Fang Songsheng."
"According to Fang Yayun, her maternal grandparents passed away very early. Even if they were still alive when their daughter first got married, they probably never suspected what her husband had done to her."
"For eight years after the wedding, Zhou Lingyi kept deceiving herself."
Zeng Yongshan paused for a moment: "Deceiving herself into believing she was happy."
But it was too painful.
Self-deception hurt more than the truth.
So in the end, Zhou Lingyi left behind her beloved daughter and jumped from a high-rise.
Ending her own life.
"If that's the case, Fang Yayun has more than enough motive for murder."
"But like we said before, she has an alibi."
"Could it be Henry? Maybe she planned it behind the scenes and had her fiancé carry it out..."
"Le already checked Henry last night. He was on a business trip that day and wasn’t even in Hong Kong."
...
As Hao Zai would say in his daily catchphrase, even when hanging, you still need to catch your breath.
By noon, Zhu Qing was ready to settle for a sandwich, but Zeng Yongshan insisted on dragging her away from her desk.
"Lunch is a group thing today."
"No skipping!"
This lunch was clearly a gathering for the younger crowd, with no intention of including Mo Zhenbang or Uncle Li.
The two were "forgotten" in the Criminal Investigation Division office, jokingly grumbling about their ungrateful colleagues.
"Should I grab takeout from the canteen? Soy sauce fried noodles again?"
"Same as usual!"
Zhu Qing was pulled out of the CID room by the group, heading downstairs, but their footsteps didn’t stop at the police station cafeteria.
The next moment, she was dragged out of the Yau Ma Tei Police Headquarters building.
"Where are we going?" she asked, bewildered.
"Someone’s treating us today," Zeng Yongshan said. "Five minutes—just five more minutes, and a feast awaits."
It didn’t take five minutes for Zhu Qing to guess who was behind this lavish lunch.
Aunt Ping was at the stove, Fangfang was hosting, and she knew the way home better than any of them.
The colleagues picked up some fresh fruit from the shop downstairs before heading up.
When Fangfang opened the door, he played the role of a hospitable little host perfectly.
Pulling Zhu Qing inside, he said, "Make yourselves at home!"
Aunt Ping had timed everything just right, serving six dishes and a soup, all piping hot.
As Zhu Qing and her little uncle scooped rice for everyone in the kitchen, she brandished the rice paddle teasingly: "Confess—when did you secretly plan this?"
"Master Fangfang called your office this morning," Aunt Ping chuckled. "They said you were out, so he went ahead and invited everyone himself."
The young master hadn’t forgotten to remind them to bring his niece home.
Fangfang pressed a finger to his lips, "Shh!"—but it was too late to stop Aunt Ping from spilling the beans.
Pouting, he complained, "Aunt Ping, you snitch!"
Zhu Qing flicked his forehead lightly. "Take the rice out."
Aunt Ping was observant. The last time they visited, she had quietly noted everyone’s tastes.
Today’s lunch, though made up of simple home-cooked dishes, included something each of the young guests loved.
The spread was perfectly tailored to their appetites.
She knew that the young miss had a reserved temperament and few close friends. Apart from her colleagues, she hardly had anyone to talk to in daily life. Seeing her get along so well with these coworkers now, Aunt Ping was genuinely happy from the bottom of her heart.
There wasn’t much else she could help with, but if she could make a small difference by ensuring the kids ate well and felt at ease, that would be more than enough.
The colleagues were sweet-mouthed and diligent, praising Aunt Ping’s cooking skills during the meal, saying they surpassed even Uncle Ming’s from the police station canteen by tenfold. After eating, they even helped clear the dishes.
“No need, no need. You all sit and rest,” Aunt Ping insisted. “You work hard all day, and this rare lunch break is precious.”
She shooed everyone back to the living room, urging them to relax properly.
Yet, even during this hard-earned break, these young folks couldn’t help but discuss the case.
The air conditioner blew chilly gusts of wind, and the occasional analysis of the case drifted into her ears, mingling with the sound of running water as she washed dishes. Aunt Ping didn’t understand much of it, but she worried it might frighten the little master.
She glanced back now and then, only to find that the little master was even more excited than all the CID detectives present. A large whiteboard had been wheeled into the living room, and everyone sat around it in a circle, with Fangfang right in the middle, his eyes more focused than when he watched cartoons.
“Have you noticed how similar Li Ziyao and Fang Yayun’s alibis are? Flawless on the surface, but something feels off. The time frame was between 5 and 6 in the morning—normally, people would be asleep at home. Yet they both had airtight alibis, shutting us down.”
“Even if they’re just suspects, wouldn’t they show at least a hint of nervousness in the police station? They were too calm, as if they’d just dropped by for tea and would leave afterward. Anyone watching would think they’d rehearsed it beforehand.”
“We’re missing a crucial link—something that ties the whole case together…”
When Zeng Yongshan spoke, Fangfang stared.
When Liang Qikai spoke, Fangfang stared.
And when Le spoke, Fangfang stared again.
Zhu Qing picked up a marker and wrote the names “Li Ziyao” and “Fang Yayun” on opposite sides of the whiteboard.
“At first, it was Fang Yayun who pointed us toward Li Ziyao.”
“She said Li Ziyao was all sweet and obedient, winning Fang Songsheng over completely, but she couldn’t pinpoint a concrete motive for murder.”
Fangfang had already moved to his niece’s side and taken the marker from her.
Under Fang Yayun’s name, he drew a symbol and declared in his childish voice, “One vote!”
“Later, Li Ziyao provided an alibi, clearing her of suspicion. That same day, she somehow found out my address and came to see me at home,” Zhu Qing continued. “She casually mentioned that the relationship between the deceased, Fang Songsheng, and his daughter Fang Yayun wasn’t as harmonious as it seemed—because Fang Songsheng had once driven away Fang Yayun’s first love.”
Fangfang immediately marked Li Ziyao’s name as well, piping up, “You get a vote too!”
“Then we started investigating Fang Yayun,” Zhu Qing said. “But Fang Yayun also had an alibi. She had already reconciled with her first love and was even planning to marry him. Why would she kill her father over some old grudge?”
Zeng Yongshan: "It's as if Li Ziyao had already anticipated what the police would investigate, using Fang Yayun and her roommate's 'unintentional' testimonies to steer our inquiry..."
"Fang Yayun did the same," Liang Qikai continued her train of thought. "She also calculated everything, leading us to investigate 'clues' she had prepared in advance."
Fangfang, the young boy, didn’t fully grasp the situation, but that didn’t stop him from doing his part.
He added a tally to each side of the whiteboard, raising both hands like a boxing referee: "It's a tie!"
Li Ziyao and Fang Yayun were only pretending to be at odds. In reality, they not only knew each other well but had also conspired in this murder.
In their meticulously crafted script, both had alibis accurate down to the second.
"Something just occurred to me," Zeng Yongshan said. "Actually, we didn’t initially focus on Fang Yayun solely because of Li Ziyao’s accusations. It was more that Fang Yayun slipped up herself."
At the time, the victim’s mother, Grandma Shen, mentioned during questioning that Fang Songsheng had answered a phone call at home.
Fang Yayun immediately asked her which phone it was—revealing that there were two separate landlines in the house. This led the police to trace the call to a phone booth in North Point.
"Most people wouldn’t have two landlines at home. When Grandma Shen simply said Fang Songsheng answered a call, we wouldn’t have thought much of it."
"At first, Zhu Qing and I thought Fang Yayun had blurted it out in a moment of panic. I even laughed at her for being foolish, digging her own grave and handing us a clue."
"But now it’s clear that wasn’t the case. From the very beginning, Fang Yayun wanted us to investigate."
"She just didn’t expect us to retrieve surveillance footage from a jewelry store on another street—footage that captured her face clearly."
From start to finish, the accusations Li Ziyao and Fang Yayun made against each other, or the details they deliberately exposed, were all inconsequential.
What truly mattered—the motives behind the murders, the deaths of Ni Fangrun and Zhou Lingyi—they kept hidden, only revealing cracks in their stories after the police uncovered the truth.
"They wrote, directed, and starred in this entire act."
"All to cover up the truth."
"So you’re saying—" Hao Zai analyzed, "Li Ziyao and Fang Yayun met by chance, bonded over their shared hatred for Fang Songsheng, and made some kind of pact to kill him together?"
...
The investigation continued.
But perhaps it was intuition again—Zhu Qing couldn’t shake the feeling they were getting closer to the truth.
Overtime became routine. The overworked air conditioning had numbed her thoughts, so she took her half-finished iced coffee up to the rooftop.
The summer night wind rushed over her, warm yet carrying a hint of coolness.
Her hair tangled in the breeze as she set the coffee down by the railing, biting a hair tie to tie it up.
Right now, she should be focusing on the case. But her mind kept drifting back to her sister, Xinxin.
From age fourteen to seventeen, those three brief years reunited with her parents had been so fleeting—followed only by dark, suffocating nightmares.
But if she could choose again, Zhu Qing believed that on the day Ni Fangrun and Li Xueren came to the orphanage, Sister Xinxin would still have willingly left with them.
"Plop."
A paper-wrapped bag of food was placed on the concrete ledge beside her.
Warmth seeped through her fingers.
Zhu Qing looked up. "You again."
Cheng Xinglang sat down next to her.
What kind of remark was that? The police station wasn’t that big, yet they rarely crossed paths.
The last time had been in the forensics department—during Ah Ben’s infamous "Hallway Horror Night."
"Griddle cakes from the alley," Cheng Xinglang said. "The last batch. The granny said she’d have packed up five minutes later."
As he spoke, he squeezed condensed milk over the cakes, his fingers—pale, slender, and distinctly knuckled—gently pressing the edges of the paper.
A few grains of unmelted sugar still dotted the surface.
Zhu Qing watched for a moment before ruining the image by remembering these were the same hands that dissected corpses.
"Want some?" He offered it to her.
"Did you wash your hands?"
Dr. Cheng pretended to pull back, but the griddle cake was swiftly snatched by the madam.
Zhu Qing gazed at the starry sky.
Her mind had been racing for days, but now, with the breeze against her skin, it finally went blank.
"Dr. Cheng, does forensics also work overtime every day?"
"Ever heard of the 'living room squad'?"
"The ones who sleep in the living room?"
Dr. Cheng grinned. "I’m the de facto 'chief' of the Yau Ma Tei Station’s living room."
Zhu Qing laughed too.
When she looked down, she noticed her griddle cake had an extra swirl of honey and condensed milk.
......
The entire B team was tangled in the same unsolvable riddle.
But tonight, for once, Zhu Qing made it home by nine. As she entered, a child’s cheerful singing drifted from the bathroom.
"I ran a bath for the little master," Aunt Ping greeted her with a smile. "He’s giving his duckies a wash."
Zhu Qing had been too busy lately, so Aunt Ping had stayed at the Yau Ma Tei apartment to look after the boy, unable to return to Mid-Levels.
That morning, with nothing else to do, they’d taken a trip back to tidy up more toys. The house had looked clean at a glance, but a single touch revealed layers of dust. Aunt Ping had rushed to wipe everything down, only to turn and find the young master of the Sheng family packing an entire suitcase of playthings.
Among them were the little rubber ducks that always joined him during bath time.
"PC6666, PC1280!" The future senior inspector’s tiny voice rang out. "How long has it been since you two had a bath? Your beaks are gray! Disgusting!"
"No hygiene? Ten laps around the playground as punishment!"
Fangfang marched his duckies in circles, commanding them to run.
"Hey, no slacking off!"
"One lap, two laps, three laps..."
Zhu Qing lingered outside the bathroom, amused.
The kid was deep in his pretend world, even assigning police badge numbers to his rubber ducks.
Did he remember all his "colleagues'" IDs when he turned around?
"The little master will be thrilled you’re back," Aunt Ping said. "He’s always asking, 'Has Zhu Qing eaten yet? Did Zhu Qing catch the bad guys? When is Zhu Qing coming home?'"
"Don’t interrupt him yet." Zhu Qing’s lips curved. "Inspector Fang is in a meeting."
She retreated to her bedroom and settled at the desk.
Aunt Ping had cleaned the room, but she left everything on the desk untouched.
Zhu Qing rested her chin in her hands, her gaze fixed intently on the letter Director Guo had given her.
It was a letter sent to the orphanage over a decade ago by Li Ziyao’s mother.
During last night’s interrogation, after finally confessing the truth, Li Ziyao had seemed relieved and asked Zhu Qing to return the letter to her.
This letter was deeply important to Li Ziyao. It held memories of her parents—how they had once held her close and taken their first family photo together, a precious keepsake…
Zhu Qing carefully refolded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope.
Along with it, she also tucked away the photograph.
She hoped she’d have the chance to return this letter to "Sister Xinyi" in person.
Her attention shifted back to the puzzle the suspect had left for the police.
Were they colluding? That much was certain.
From the very beginning, Li Ziyao and Fang Yayun had been pretending to be at odds. One acted wary of her fiancé’s daughter, while the other played the role of a haughty woman looking down on her "future stepmother" for her humble origins.
Zhu Qing knew she had been used as a pawn in their scheme.
As time passed, everyone had grown up, and childhood memories weren’t equally precious to all. Sister Xinyi had some sincerity, but not much. Reconnecting with her might have just been a way to stay close and keep tabs on the police investigation.
Returning to the case, Li Ziyao and Fang Yayun had known each other long before. Had their shared hatred for Fang Songsheng led them to make a pact and kill him together? If so, their alibis could have been fabricated.
Who was the one who struck the fatal blow? Whose alibi was more likely to be fake?
The police were already reinvestigating the validity of their alibis.
Back at the police academy, Zhu Qing had studied similar cases.
In a joint crime, a time gap could allow one person to create an alibi for both—just like the Wong Kok gold shop heist five years ago, where two brothers had covered for each other.
But in this case, that theory didn’t hold up.
First, Li Ziyao and Fang Yayun looked nothing alike—neither in appearance, build, nor demeanor. The piano tuner at Zhengyin Music Store had known Fang Yayun for years and would never mistake Li Ziyao for her. As for Li Ziyao’s alibi, the hotel surveillance had clearly captured her face, making it impossible for Fang Yayun to impersonate her.
Between 5 and 6 a.m. that Wednesday, they had been in two completely different locations.
Both places were far from Fang Yayun’s piano store in Wan Chai.
At this point, the police had hit a dead end.
"Wow—it’s a waffle!"
"Is this for me, Qing-jie?"
Light, cheerful footsteps approached from behind.
Zhu Qing turned to see little Fangfang wrapped in a bathrobe, his eyes sparkling.
"Dr. Cheng treated us," Zhu Qing said, "but there’s only this small piece left—"
Fangfang stuffed it into his mouth in one bite.
"Take smaller bites," Zhu Qing laughed. "How hungry are you?"
Aunt Ping quickly defended herself.
She’d been feeding him full bowls at every meal—his little belly was round and plump! There was no way the child was starving!
After one bite of the waffle, Fangfang only grew more eager.
His hair was still dripping wet, and Aunt Ping urged him to go dry it first.
"No way." Sheng Fang vigorously shook his head, tightly shutting his eyes as droplets flew from his hair.
Zhu Qing: "Sheng Fang!"
Little Fangfang opened his eyes and realized he had splashed water all over his niece's face.
He flashed a triumphant grin, almost puffing up with pride.
Impressive, right?
"You look just like—" Zhu Qing began.
"Spring day," she started, only to be interrupted by the child.
Fangfang: "Whirlwind Blade Ultimate Move!"
Zhu Qing: "A puppy shaking its head."
For a moment, even the air fell silent.
What kind of niece calls her little uncle a puppy?!
The little one huffed indignantly, "Aunt Ping, let's go blow-dry my hair!"
...
Young Master Sheng had quite the temper, but his anger flared up and faded just as quickly.
By the time he stepped out of the bathroom after drying his hair, he was already pleading, "But I really wanna eat—"
"Young Master, you just had a waffle," Aunt Ping reminded him.
"That waffle wasn’t even enough to stick between my teeth!"
Who’s the Young Master here? Who’s the uncle here?!
He just wanted a little treat, and yet he had to ask for permission!
Sheng Fang was indignant, but he knew when to yield. Tiptoeing quietly, he slipped into Qing’er’s room.
His niece had practically fused with the chair at her desk—once she was deep into solving a case, she wouldn’t budge until she cracked it.
Zhu Qing rested her chin on one hand, twirling a pen between her fingers.
If the sleeping pills in the victim’s system were provided by Li Ziyao, and the call luring the victim out was made by Fang Yayun...
Then was Li Ziyao covering for Fang Yayun...
Or was Fang Yayun covering for Li Ziyao?
"Qing’er, Qing’er, can I eat this?"
Fangfang stretched out one hand.
Five chubby little fingers.
"What is it?"
"Guess?"
Fangfang shyly extended his other hand.
Now both tiny hands were out, ten short, round fingers on display.
"Can I eat it?"
Zhu Qing’s pen paused mid-twirl as she looked up.
What on earth was it?
Niece and uncle locked eyes.
Little Sheng Fang pursed his lips, his gaze pleading.
He wanted it so badly, but his pride as an uncle kept him from begging outright.
Meanwhile, the clues in Zhu Qing’s mind were still clashing violently.
Were they friends, protecting each other?
Aunt Ping beckoned, coaxing Fangfang out of the room.
"It’s late. Qing’er won’t agree to it now."
Little Fangfang turned his head away with a pout. "Then I’ll just have to beg her properly."
The child and Aunt Ping huddled in the living room, plotting their next move.
Zhu Qing, meanwhile, continued scribbling aimless, chaotic symbols in her notebook.
In the interrogation room, Li Ziyao had said, "If you have evidence, then see you in court." Fang Yayun had said, "If you have proof, go ahead and file charges."
They were that confident.
Had everyone been looking in the wrong direction?
Maybe those clumsy tricks weren’t about Li Ziyao and Fang Yayun covering for each other at all.
They had meticulously set up a diversion, drawing all suspicion toward themselves to mislead the police.
Both suspects knew—since neither had actually done it, the police would never find evidence—
Meaning no one could convict them.
"I’ve got it!" Zhu Qing suddenly spun around, eyes alight. "They’re protecting a third person!"
All this time, someone had been hiding in the shadows.
They were letting the real culprit walk free.
"Qing’er, super detective!" Fangfang clasped his hands together, tilting his soft, doughy little face. "Let’s go get fries to celebrate?"
