Zhu Qing got back into the car and returned the mobile phone to Doctor Cheng, noticing the atmosphere in the vehicle had turned tense.
Their usually sociable and friendly little Fangfang was now visibly upset with Doctor Cheng. The remaining drive back to the police station felt short, with the child enveloped in a low-pressure aura, his chubby face stern and unwilling to utter a single word.
So this was the authority of a little uncle.
His niece had witnessed it firsthand.
During the silent latter half of the ride, Zhu Qing was in high spirits, gently patting Fangfang’s back to soothe him.
Doctor Cheng Xinglang’s gaze briefly met hers in the rearview mirror, silently pleading for help.
Zhu Qing shook her head.
Adjusting his angle, he saw the sulky little lump sitting there.
Kids were so hard to read—he’d been fine just moments ago!
Doctor Cheng racked his brain.
No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t figure out which of his words had offended the temperamental young master of the Sheng family.
Since no one was speaking, he turned on the radio.
A cheerful song happened to be playing as the car rolled forward, lush greenery passing by outside the window. The summer sunlight filtered through the trees, casting dappled, lively shadows on Zhu Qing’s face. The sparkle in her eyes danced as vibrantly as the melody filling the car. After days of hitting a dead end in the case, she’d finally found a new lead—nothing could be more exhilarating!
Her good mood was contagious.
Sheng Fang noticed the joy flickering in her eyes and gave her shoulder an approving pat—Madam Zhu was about to score another win.
Zhu Qing was always meticulous. After finishing the interview at the kindergarten in Kowloon City, she’d waited outside for Fangfang’s second round while borrowing a public phone to call Aunt Ping, reminding her to leave for the police station in about forty minutes to pick up the child.
Now, as Cheng Xinglang’s car approached the Yau Ma Tei Police Station, Zhu Qing spotted Aunt Ping walking briskly, full of energy. The fine weather had motivated her to do a thorough cleaning at home, and she now looked refreshed and invigorated.
Fangfang saw her too.
She was always like this—the more housework she did, the more energized she became, diligent and unassuming… Unlike him and Qing, who’d recently been dragging their feet when it came to washing dishes, lounging on the couch and playfully shoving each other before reluctantly trudging to the kitchen.
The little uncle and niece had begun a battle of wits over kitchen duties. Qing would argue that he was still young and needed to develop good habits, while hers were already solid—so she shouldn’t have to wash dishes. At this, Fangfang would pick out only his own used utensils from the pile and hum a children’s song as he scrubbed them under the tap.
Whenever their bickering over dishes escalated, Aunt Ping would sit anxiously in the living room—
"If you don’t want to wash them, let me do it! I’ll get them spotless!"
"Doctor Cheng," Zhu Qing’s voice snapped the little one out of his thoughts, "we’ll get off here."
They hadn’t been able to hail a taxi earlier, so running into Cheng Xinglang had been a lucky break, saving them some hassle.
As Zhu Qing thanked him and stepped out, Fangfang remained tight-lipped beside her.
Finally, after receiving a subtle nudge from his niece, the little boy turned his head away and muttered, "Thanks."
Only after Doctor Cheng’s car had driven off toward the parking lot did Zhu Qing ask the child what had happened.
After listening, she understood.
Fangfang was an uncle—how could he tolerate being called "little brat"?
"Didn’t you warn him?"
"Yeah!"
"What did you say?"
Fangfang recalled, twisting his wrist as he’d asked—
"Got it? Understand?"
Then, remembering a line from a TV drama, he’d added with extra seriousness,
"Understand?" he repeated now.
Zhu Qing hummed in agreement, signaling she wasn’t brushing him off. "How did he respond?"
"He said—" Fangfang mimicked Doctor Cheng’s nonchalant tone, "No, sir!"
The memory made him grit his tiny teeth. "Qing, don’t play with him anymore!"
She played along: "Yes, sir!"
Fangfang was handed back to Aunt Ping, while Zhu Qing hurried back to the police station, eager to dive into the case.
The spirited Madam Zhu was ready to bury herself in detective work again—how wonderful!
Fangfang watched enviously.
When would he finally get to officially join the force?
"How did the kindergarten interview go?" Aunt Ping asked.
Fangfang rubbed his temples.
Of all the questions to ask…
---
When Zhu Qing had left earlier, Senior Inspector Weng Zhaolin had shot her a few icy glares.
Now that she was back, the previously lifeless Team B suddenly buzzed with renewed energy. Leaning casually against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, Weng tapped his polished shoes rhythmically against the floor.
"Found a lead?"
Zhu Qing explained that the "grandmother" living in the victim’s household wasn’t the real "Granny Shen" from the records. Their surnames differed, and this subtle discrepancy led the police to reinvestigate Fang Songsheng’s family background.
Upon deeper investigation, they realized their earlier oversight.
Fang Songsheng’s biological mother’s surname was Shen, but due to clerical laziness, all her records had been registered under her son’s address, misleading the police into assuming they lived together. However, after re-examining the case, Xu Jiale and Hao Zai brought back crucial information.
"Fang Yayun really pulled a clever one—this intel is solid."
"When she was young, after Zhou Lingyi passed away, her grandmother did move in to care for her."
"But once Fang Yayun grew older and started boarding at school, Granny Shen returned to her hometown."
The victim, Fang Songsheng, was sixty, while his mother, Granny Shen, was eighty-three.
Though still alive, the elderly woman’s mental state had deteriorated.
"The real Granny Shen said her granddaughter visited recently, bringing plenty of supplements."
"Neighbors in her hometown confirmed Fang Yayun’s filial piety—she visited multiple times a month. As for Fang Songsheng, he only showed up during holidays, never staying longer than fifteen minutes."
"So, whether it was her grandmother or other elderly relatives, Fang Yayun was the one supporting them."
Meanwhile, Zhu Qing and Zeng Yongshan returned to the apartment where Fang Songsheng had lived.
A neighbor taking out the trash peered over curiously, immediately cooperating when the two Madams approached.
"I saw the papers—that piano shop owner was murdered, right?"
"He only moved in a little over a week ago. My husband and I were discussing privately—maybe the feng shui of this apartment is bad. He hadn’t even lived here for a few days before something happened to him. At least it happened outside, not inside the house, or else our property value—"
"Madam," Zeng Yongshan gently interrupted, "do you know who he lived with?"
"His mother, and probably a housekeeper."
"When did they move in?"
The neighbor from next door thought for a moment. "We’re not the nosy type, so we didn’t pry too much… On the first day when the movers came, I didn’t see the old lady. Maybe the piano shop owner didn’t want his mother to tire herself out with the move."
"Recently, his daughter kept ringing our doorbell, and that’s when I realized there was an elderly woman living there."
"The piano shop owner’s daughter is quite pretty and very polite. She said her grandmother doesn’t like going out and only has the housekeeper for company. She asked me to keep an eye out in case the old lady needed anything…"
"That’s pretty normal. Some elderly people prefer staying indoors and avoid socializing. But honestly, the older you get, the more you should interact with others—otherwise, your mind starts to deteriorate!"
Zhu Qing: "Did the granddaughter mention anything else?"
"Let me think—" The neighbor recalled, "She did say that news of the piano shop owner’s death had to be kept from her grandmother. Of course, we wouldn’t say anything. Who would be so tactless?"
Zhu Qing and Zeng Yongshan exchanged glances.
As expected, although Fang Songsheng had moved in over a week ago, no one knew exactly when Fang Yayun’s "grandmother" had suddenly appeared.
Stepping out of the apartment building, Zhu Qing and Zeng Yongshan lowered their voices, piecing together their thoughts.
"I get it now. At first, Fang Yayun wanted us to avoid her grandmother. When Hao Zai and I first visited, only the housekeeper was home. Fang Yayun wasn’t actually taking Granny Yan to the hospital—she was just dodging the police to avoid complications."
"By the second time we went, she knew she couldn’t avoid it anymore, so she switched tactics—pretending to hide Fang Songsheng’s death from the old lady. That way, Granny Yan wouldn’t need to act much, reducing the chance of slipping up."
All this time, Granny Yan had been staying in Fang Songsheng’s home.
The most dangerous place was also the safest.
One was the victim’s daughter, the other his biological mother. The police, trapped by conventional thinking, never suspected them.
At the very least, they would never suspect the white-haired old woman.
Now, the fog of the case had finally lifted.
They had uncovered Granny Yan’s true identity.
She was Zhou Lingyi’s mother—Yan Fengying, sixty-four years old.
...
Fang Yayun held her grandmother’s arm as they navigated through the bustling mall, picking out everything from comfortable pajamas to soft cloth shoes. She meticulously arranged every detail for the elderly woman.
Yan Fengying was sixty-four, only four years older than Fang Songsheng, but the hardships of her early years had etched deep wrinkles into her face, making her appear far older than her age. Now, with her hair dyed white, she looked even more weathered.
Yet her body was surprisingly sturdy—after hours of shopping, she showed no signs of fatigue. Fang Yayun playfully complained that her grandmother’s legs were stronger than hers, joking that she was the one who needed a break.
At a café outside the mall, Fang Yayun guided Yan Fengying to a seat by the window.
She carefully ordered a glass of warm water for her grandmother, along with two slices of soft cake. She made sure to ask for a small spoon and napkins, then requested the waiter to adjust the air conditioning so her grandmother wouldn’t catch a chill.
All the while, Yan Fengying sat quietly, her wrinkled eyes crinkling with warmth as she watched her granddaughter fuss over her.
"You don’t have to spend all your time with an old woman like me," Yan Fengying said gently. "Won’t that Henry of yours get upset?"
"Grandma, his name is Henry," Fang Yayun replied, wrinkling her nose. "Stop teasing me!"
Beside them, shopping bags piled high on the chair.
Fang Yayun pulled out each item, explaining in detail: "These are knee braces—wear them if your knees start aching… This little massager is for your shoulders, and if your back hurts, just clip it here—"
"Take the herbal medicine twice a day, always after meals."
"The dried scallops in the fridge are fresh—ask Yu to add them when she makes congee. They’re very sweet."
"And, Grandma…"
"I know, I know." Yan Fengying clasped her granddaughter’s hand. "Don’t worry about me. Focus on your health and your performances. I can take care of myself. If not, there’s always Yu."
Fang Yayun’s hand was enveloped in her grandmother’s aged palm, gently patted in reassurance.
She lowered her gaze, as if transported back to childhood—when her mother would take her to her grandmother’s house on sweltering days. Granny Yan would fan her with a palm-leaf fan, softly patting her to sleep.
Her mother would always laugh and say it was Granny who spoiled her…
Lately, these memories had resurfaced in her mind again and again.
Fang Yayun sniffled, forcing a smile. "I’ll finish the paperwork soon. Once I come back, we’ll leave together."
"You’ve never been on a plane, right? We’ll fly together, and—"
Before she could finish, the café’s glass door swung open, the wind chime above it tinkling softly.
Fang Yayun stiffened, her eyes locking onto the familiar figures entering.
Yan Fengying didn’t turn. She simply set down her water glass.
Yesterday, when Yu mentioned the police had come by, she knew this day would arrive.
...
Yan Fengying, Fang Yayun, and Li Ziyao were taken to the police station.
Fang Songsheng had been murdered between 5 and 6 AM on Wednesday. During that time, Yan Fengying had no alibi.
Hospital records had been checked—Fang Yayun had claimed she took her "grandmother" for a medical visit that day, but there was no record of it. They had no explanation.
Additionally, with a search warrant, the police collected Yan Fengying’s clothing for forensic testing. Unless she had disposed of every piece of clothing she wore that day, traces would remain—ordinary detergent wouldn’t erase them.
Faced with overwhelming evidence, they had no room for denial.
"Go ahead." Mo Zhenbang's tone wasn't forceful; he asked calmly, "Where should we begin?"
Where to begin, indeed?
Li Ziyao was also considering this question.
"It should start with—" she said slowly, "the moment I finally found Fang Songsheng."
The three years spent with her parents were the gentlest memories of Li Ziyao's life.
Back then, she was still young, immersed in happiness, never imagining that this happiness would one day come to an abrupt end.
When the news of her parents' deaths reached her, it felt like an explosion in her ears. Suddenly, she couldn’t hear anything, and it took her a long, long time to regain her senses.
She had a family—but only for three years before heaven cruelly took her parents away.
From then on, the house was empty again, leaving her alone.
At seventeen, Li Ziyao tried to seek refuge with other relatives.
The one she found was Ni Fangrun’s older brother, Ni Fangting.
Back then, in the springtime of her naivety, she entrusted all the money her parents had left to Ni Fangting’s care. But in the blink of an eye, the entire family vanished without a trace.
"They only left me a letter." At this point, Li Ziyao’s eyes held no hatred, only emptiness. "The letter spoke of the past... Ni Fangting said if I wanted to blame anyone, blame the one surnamed Fang—it was he who ruined my life."
Zeng Yongshan interjected, "It wasn’t Ni Fangrun or Li Xueren who told you about Fang Songsheng."
"No," Li Ziyao said. "When the DNA test results first came out, I overheard my parents mention it occasionally, but always through closed doors... They only said they were sorry, but they didn’t want me to know the truth."
Back then, Ni Fangrun and Li Xueren didn’t want their daughter to grow up in hatred. They chose silence, building a wall of lies around Li Ziyao to shield her from the darkness lurking in the shadows, letting her grow up under the sun, free from the past.
It wasn’t until after their deaths, when she read the letter Ni Fangting had sent, that Li Ziyao pieced together the full story of what had happened.
"I’ve been searching all this time for the identity of that 'Fang' mentioned in the letter."
"When I was little, barely scraping by, survival was hard enough—how could I have the energy to investigate?"
"Later, I met Dai Feng. We lived well together, our tiny rented room feeling like a real home... For a while, I almost let go of my obsession. But the memories from ages fourteen to seventeen took root in my heart. I... I couldn’t move on."
"By then, I had some leads. Ni Fangting’s letter mentioned that the man was surnamed Fang, over a decade older than my mother, and a piano teacher."
That was months ago. Li Ziyao had already quit her job at Lan Kwai Fong and was working as an apprentice in a hair salon.
They called her a "shampoo girl." As clients lay back, flipping through magazines, Li Ziyao’s hands were buried in suds—until her eyes caught an interview with Fang Yayun. Her gaze froze on the name of Fang Yayun’s father, Fang Songsheng, so long that the shampoo dripped onto the client’s face. She was scolded by the manager, but her mind remained numb.
After ten years of searching, she had finally found the man who had hurt her mother and torn their family apart for fourteen years.
"What happened to my mother—I never told Dai Feng," Li Ziyao said. "By then, our lives were finally stabilizing. But I had found Fang Songsheng. I knew, whether for my parents or for myself... I had to kill him."
Li Ziyao lifted her eyes.
There wasn’t a trace of regret in her gaze as she emphasized, "Living to sixty was more than he deserved."
Li Ziyao broke up with Dai Feng, moved out of their rented room, and went back to live with Luo Weiwei.
"I didn’t get much education, and I’m not that clever," she said with a self-deprecating smile. "The only plan I could come up with... well, you’ve seen it."
She applied for a job as a receptionist at a piano studio.
Young and pretty, she only needed to show a little initiative before Fang Songsheng took the bait.
"He asked me to move in with him. I refused."
"At the time, I thought I’d just find an opportunity to kill him. As for escaping punishment—I didn’t care."
"But you didn’t expect Fang Yayun to approach you," Uncle Li said gravely.
Li Ziyao nodded. "She asked me if I wanted to marry Fang Songsheng."
After a long pause, she shook her head with a faint smile. "Yayun is smarter than me."
......
Fang Yayun had lost count of how many times she’d sat in this interrogation room at the Yau Ma Tei Police Station.
Before, she had been holding onto a thread of determination, but now, she was suddenly exhausted.
Her tightly wound nerves unraveled as she clasped her elegant hands on the table.
"Smart? Not really. I just thought two people working together had better odds than one."
"Ziyao wanted to go down with him... What a joke. Why throw your life away for someone like that? We deserve to live—and live well."
"Getting them married first... made it easier to create an opportunity. Ziyao agreed. I don’t know why, but even though we’d just met, we trusted each other completely."
Fang Yayun spoke in fragments, saying whatever came to mind.
But at least this time, she was willing to cooperate with the police.
"Let’s talk about Zhou Lingyi—your mother," the officer said.
"My mother..."
In Fang Yayun’s memories, her mother was gentle and kind, always smiling.
When they were home together, her mother would guide her small hands over the piano keys, filling the air with melodies that became her first love for music.
Compared to Zhou Lingyi, Fang Songsheng was far stricter. He had spent his life playing piano without achieving fame, so he poured all his hopes into his only daughter.
"I got beaten often," Fang Yayun recalled. "The ruler stung like fire against my palms. As a child, I was terrified of him."
The day Zhou Lingyi jumped to her death, the sky was overcast. Her father held her close and said wearily—
"Your mother died because of you."
Grief, guilt, and self-doubt twisted together, day after day, year after year.
Fang Yayun grew up carrying that invisible weight.
There was no doubt Fang Songsheng was an exceptional piano teacher.
As Fang Yayun’s fingers danced across the keys, her pain transformed into hauntingly beautiful music. Slowly, she even began to believe that her father’s harshness was just another form of love.
She truly thought he wanted what was best for her.
She thought her father had been good enough to her—after all, when her mother committed suicide, he had lost so much weight, yet he never truly blamed her...
"But I never imagined he fabricated such excuses to cover up his own crimes," Fang Yayun said.
She had stumbled upon her mother's old diary by chance.
Zhou Lingyi had once loved reading, and among the stacks of yellowed books, the diary had gone unnoticed through multiple moves. Until that day, after reconciling with Henry, encouraged by him, she began sorting through her mother's belongings.
The forgotten diary, along with the buried past, revealed the truth behind her mother's suicide.
"Mom knew very well that if she left, my life would be hard. But she couldn’t endure it anymore—every minute by Dad’s side was torture."
"I don’t know why she didn’t just divorce him. Was she trying her hardest to deceive herself?"
"She was so foolish. A crime is a crime. She was the victim—the law should have punished the abuser, not her tormenting herself."
Fang Yayun’s voice was soft, laced with confusion.
But deep down, she already had the answer.
"The law..." she murmured. "Would the law really have helped her punish Dad?"
That day, Fang Yayun held her mother’s diary, turning page after page.
From dawn till dusk, she sat in a daze, until finally, she resolved to expose her father’s true nature.
For herself—and even more, for her mother.
Like the police, Fang Yayun suspected Fang Songsheng had preyed on more than one young girl over the years.
"But I couldn’t find proof... They probably all reacted like Mom—helpless, afraid, choosing silence. That only made him bolder."
"I tried everything, but hit dead ends—until Li Ziyao appeared in his life."
Li Ziyao’s arrival was too sudden, too calculated. Was she after Fang Songsheng’s wealth alone?
Fang Yayun received a private investigator’s report. Li Ziyao had once been deeply in love with her boyfriend, yet they broke up abruptly... Most suspiciously, traces of her past seemed deliberately erased, impossible to verify.
Everything about Li Ziyao felt unreal.
A bold idea took shape in her mind.
She suspected Li Ziyao shared her goal.
"Turns out, I didn’t find a victim—I met a victim’s daughter," Fang Yayun said. "From then on, we became allies."
"We planned for so long, but—"
"Grandma stopped us. She refused to let us dirty our hands."
Grandma said their lives were still long—they shouldn’t waste them on such a man.
At first glance, Yan Fengying seemed like any ordinary elderly woman.
No one could have guessed she was the murderer behind the piano shop case.
Yan Fengying said the two girls were naive, thinking they could outsmart fate.
But she had known this day would come.
"Back then, we were poor. Lingyi was my only hope. Her father died young—I raised her alone."
"Lingyi was always gentle and quiet. Even when teachers called on her in class, she’d answer in the softest voice."
Yan Fengying spoke slowly, recounting stories from a bygone era, her eyes warm with nostalgia.
She said in her youth, she worked as a seamstress in Kowloon Walled City’s garment factories.
Years of labor hardened her, earning her the nickname "Iron Lady Fengying." This iron lady feared no hardship—her only concern was her daughter.
That year, Zhou Lingyi turned eighteen. In their time, that was old enough to work. But Zhou Lingyi excelled in school, so Yan Fengying scraped by to keep her studying.
"One day, Lingyi told me she was going to Yingying’s house."
"Yingying was her classmate. Her family had a piano, and her parents hired a piano teacher..."
Zhou Lingyi began visiting Yingying’s house often.
That was how she met Fang Songsheng—the start of her nightmare.
"I don’t know when it happened," Yan Fengying’s eyes glistened. "Lingyi never told me."
Not long after, Zhou Lingyi got pregnant and brought Fang Songsheng home.
She said she would marry this piano teacher, decades her senior.
"Lingyi left school and became Mrs. Fang."
"I thought dropping out was fine—she’d found happiness. But if Fang Songsheng was truly good, why did my daughter jump from that rooftop?"
Yan Fengying’s last hope died on that sunny afternoon.
For decades, she relived every detail—her daughter’s every glance, every word—chewing on them endlessly.
She guessed Zhou Lingyi’s death was tied to Fang Songsheng.
But she never imagined the marriage’s "happy" facade hid such a vile beginning.
"Yayun came asking about the past," Yan Fengying said. "The child assumed I already knew."
"In truth, I failed as a mother—I didn’t even know what my daughter suffered..."
Later, Yan Fengying joined their plan.
Fang Songsheng was a master of disguise.
After Zhou Lingyi’s death, though he rarely appeared, he sent Fang Yayun with expensive gifts for her grandmother, always asking her to pass on his regards. The neighbors praised his devotion—a widower who still cared for his late wife’s mother.
So when Yan Fengying asked to stay over, he agreed without hesitation.
"I told him I had a check-up at Hong Kong Island General Hospital and that the trip was too far. He agreed immediately."
"He cares more about Yayun’s future than anyone. With her performance coming up, he wouldn’t want me distracting her during rehearsals."
The full picture of the crime finally came to light.
On Tuesday evening, Yan Fengying moved into Fang Songsheng’s apartment, bringing an old photo of her granddaughter. That night, Fang Yayun stood in an old phone booth on North Point’s King’s Road, calling home to invite Fang Songsheng to her dress rehearsal Wednesday morning.
The rehearsals were in their final stages, each run-through mirroring the actual performance.
Fang Songsheng had never missed an important rehearsal—this time was no exception.
He dressed in a crisp new shirt—his daughter had said she’d thank him during curtain call for his guidance.
According to plan, Yan Fengying hitched a ride with Fang Songsheng. Along the way, they passed by the Elegant Melody Music Store in Wan Chai.
"I said I wanted to stop by the music store," Yan Fengying recounted. "He refused—until I suddenly brought up Lingyi. He thought I might know something."
Fang Songsheng couldn’t bear the thought of his carefully cultivated image crumbling before his daughter after over twenty years.
So, he pulled the car over and took out the spare key to the store from the glove compartment.
In Room No. 6, he brought in two cups of warm water.
While he wasn’t looking, Yan Fengying slipped sleeping pills into one of the cups.
"He tried to justify himself, saying marrying Lingyi was already taking responsibility—that in the end, it was her own choice to give up."
"When the drugs took effect, he grew drowsy and slumped onto the piano bench. I covered his mouth from behind."
"After that, I stabbed him—over and over… With every strike, I remembered Lingyi at eighteen. My daughter, in her school uniform, her hair in two braids. She was so well-behaved..."
"If she had just told me the truth from the start, I would have fought tooth and nail to stand up for her."
Yan Fengying said that after it was over, she cleaned up the scene wearing rubber gloves and took the disposable cups and the murder weapon with her when she left.
Hiring a new housemaid was to mislead the police into thinking she had been living with Fang Songsheng all along.
An elderly woman staying with her son, cared for by a maid—that made much more sense.
As for her hair, she dyed it herself at home.
Going fully white was to better resemble Fang Songsheng’s birth mother.
"This was the only thing I worried might give me away," she said, touching the white strands at her temples. "But at first, even you were fooled."
"How did you convince Fang Yayun and Li Ziyao?"
"Who could stop an old woman throwing a tantrum?"
"I told them if they didn’t take me along, I’d go settle the score myself."
Yan Fengying thought back to the scene.
Even though it had just happened, it felt like a distant memory now.
The interrogation room fell silent.
After a pause, Yan Fengying cautiously asked, "Officer… those two girls…"
She clenched the hem of her shirt. "Will the judge… go easy on them?"
……
The case was nearing its conclusion, but the police investigation continued at full speed. Every detail had to be verified, every statement cross-checked.
After all, this wasn’t a simple case with an easy verdict.
Even if Yan Fengying claimed full responsibility—from the very beginning, Fang Yayun and Li Ziyao had meticulously crafted alibis and planted misleading clues to draw the police’s attention to themselves.
Everyone knew this couldn’t have been the act of just one person seeking revenge.
Yan Fengying asked how they would be sentenced.
The same heavy question weighed on the minds of Team B’s officers.
"What’ll happen to them?" Fangfang, the little one, asked curiously.
Zhu Qing shook her head.
With the case still unresolved, she couldn’t give a definitive answer.
Before clocking out, she asked Mo Zhenbang if she could see Xin Xin again. Only after getting confirmation for a meeting the next day did she leave the station.
Now, she flipped through the legal books Zeng Yongshan had found, stopping at a bookmarked page.
A section detailing Hong Kong’s jury system was highlighted in fluorescent marker.
In Zhu Qing’s mind, Yan Fengying’s calm but piercing question lingered—
"Didn’t he deserve to die?"
She lowered her gaze to the cold legal text on the page.
"Anyway, Qing’s the hero here!" Sheng Fang declared. "Good news!"
"Actually, double good news!" Aunt Ping walked in, holding an envelope with a bright smile. "Guess what?"
Little Sheng Fang immediately recognized the Weston Kindergarten emblem on the envelope.
He froze—
This couldn’t be good news!
"Kindergarten acceptance letter?" Zhu Qing quickly took it and opened it.
Sheng Fang was going to kindergarten.
Zhu Qing pulled out a desk calendar and pointed to a date. "I’ll take you on your first day."
Qing was being so thoughtful.
No school bus for him on day one.
Fangfang’s pout was bigger than his little nose.
No matter how much he resisted, the dreaded day had arrived.
Seeing his reluctance, Zhu Qing coaxed him—a rare gesture.
"Once Fangfang starts kindergarten, he’ll make lots of friends."
In the original story, Sheng Fang had no close friends.
Even now, in real life, he still didn’t. Would he feel lonely?
Zhu Qing assured him that in kindergarten, he’d meet many children.
They’d attend class together, play together, and by the end of the day, he might not even want to come home.
"No." The proud little master turned his face away. "I won’t play with those ordinary kids."
Zhu Qing placed her hands on his small shoulders.
Her uncle was showing signs of school aversion. As his niece, she had to guide him properly.
"Why not?"
Sheng Fang sat cross-legged on the sofa, his expression oddly mature with worry.
After all, he’d been spending time with police colleagues—they had more in common. What could he possibly talk about with kids his age?
"Like Zhenbang’s daughter," Fangfang said in his tiny voice.
Chun Ri.
Zhu Qing pressed her lips together, holding back a remark.
Was he sure it wasn’t because Nannan thought he was too little to play with?
……
There was one thing little Sheng Fang couldn’t stop fidgeting about.
The other day, he’d seen another child casually pull out a mobile phone, and he was determined to get one for himself.
But Zhu Qing had been swamped lately, so the shopping trip kept getting postponed.
Finally, today, she wasn’t working overtime.
As soon as she finished reviewing the last few legal pages, Fangfang rushed her out the door, practically bouncing with excitement.
"To the electronics mall!"
Zhu Qing didn’t protest this time.
Zeng Yongshan had said when elders give you something, you should accept it—otherwise, you’d just disappoint them.
At the mall, uncle and niece stood before rows of gleaming gadgets.
Last time Fangfang was here, he’d bought a pager. Now he was back for more.
Any other kid would’ve been overjoyed, but his niece was different.
Not a hint of worldly desire in her eyes.
Noticing this, the shopkeeper’s enthusiasm waned. He sighed inwardly.
Mobile phones were expensive. If the adult wasn’t keen, what was the point of the kid’s excitement?
"Give me a mobile phone," Sheng Fang said, then held up two fingers. "No, two."
Zhu Qing turned. "Why two?"
"One for you, one for me."
"You don’t need a mobile phone!"
Sheng Fang puffed his cheeks. "You have one!"
"I don’t need one either."
Fangfang’s eyes went wide.
She was utterly infuriating.
"Don't mind her," Sheng Fang said. "We'll take two."
The shopkeeper nearly laughed out loud.
This pair—one tall, one small—seemed to be treating the electronics store like a playground, buying two of everything.
"Little one," the chubby shopkeeper leaned on the counter, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together, "did you bring enough of this?"
Sheng Fang puffed out his chest, his shirt fluttering.
Like a superhero flipping his cape, he lifted his little T-shirt and patted his bulging pockets.
The young master of the Sheng family beckoned mysteriously, opening his pocket wide.
That morning, he’d made a special trip to HSBC with Aunt Ping to withdraw enough cash for today’s grand outing.
Eyes turned toward them in the electronics store.
The little boy pulled out bills—one after another, an endless stream—and stacked them before the shopkeeper.
"Enough?"
"Is this enough?"
"You have to tell me how much it costs."
Zhu Qing: ?
By now, she’d grown used to having a wealthy uncle.
But still—
She offered a gentle suggestion, whispering, "Don’t you have a card?"
You could just swipe it, right?
Every time she went out with this little tycoon, he hauled around mountains of cash…
The pressure on his niece was immense.
"Try this, little rich boy?" The shopkeeper grinned, handing over a mobile phone.
The young master held it between his ear and shoulder, putting on his most serious face. "Hello, who’s this?"
His niece just didn’t understand.
A proper grown-up (even if he was just starting kindergarten) needed the latest gear.
How else was he supposed to invite his friends out for tea without a mobile phone?
