The phone call brought a comforting voice on the other end.
Zhu Qing quickly jotted down the nursing instructions when she heard faint rustling sounds from the children's room. Rushing over, she saw Fangfang stretching his little arms with great effort, half his body dangling off the edge of the bed, his flushed face drooping weakly.
He was just a little unwell—he could tough it out.
There was no need to call a forensic doctor...
"Sweetie, don’t move."
She adjusted the child properly, tucking him back into bed, then rummaged through the first-aid kit.
The kit had been prepared by Aunt Ping, with children's medication neatly arranged inside. Sure enough, the fever-reducing medicine Doctor Cheng had mentioned was there.
Doctor Cheng’s recommended dosage was conservative, tailored precisely to Fangfang’s height and weight—a full third less than the instructions on the box.
Zhu Qing carefully poured the medicine into a measuring cup, the overly sweet scent only making her more anxious.
She held the cup to Sheng Fang’s lips. "Drink some strawberry juice."
Fangfang’s face burned, his eyelids heavy, yet even in this state, the sharp little boy corrected her weakly.
"It’s medicine," he murmured, his small voice trembling.
Doctor Cheng had said there was no need to panic over a child’s fever—just monitor the temperature. If the high fever persisted after taking the medicine, then they could consider a hospital visit.
This was Zhu Qing’s first time caring for a sick child. She knew she couldn’t leave his side, checking his forehead every few minutes. The heat radiated against her palm, his breaths quick and scorching.
It occurred to her that this might also be Fangfang’s first time being ill without the meticulous care he was used to. Back in the Sheng household, the young master would have the family doctor at his bedside the moment he showed the slightest discomfort. Marysa would stay up all night, monitoring his temperature and replacing ice packs, while the nutritionist specially prepared medicinal congee.
Now, in the dimly lit children’s room, there was only her.
Fangfang lay curled under the blankets, his tiny hand clutching hers as he endured the discomfort.
Zhu Qing gently ruffled his hair.
Poor little thing.
"Qing-jie," Fangfang suddenly spoke, his voice faint. "What did you do when you had a fever as a kid?"
Zhu Qing paused, struggling to recall.
She had always been robust, rarely falling ill—her perfect scores in police academy fitness tests were proof of that. The only memory that surfaced was a cold winter night when she’d shivered uncontrollably under a thin blanket by the window. The orphanage had a clinic, and Director Guo had pressed a rough palm to her forehead before handing her a white pill. After swallowing it with water, little Zhu Qing had drifted in and out of sleep on the metal-framed bed, listening to the comings and goings of the other children.
Back then, Sister Xinxin was still there. At lunchtime, she had carefully carried over a small bowl of plain congee, her hands red from the cold.
It was just rice porridge—no toppings, bland and simple—but Zhu Qing ate every bite obediently. Because Sister Xinxin had said eating would help her get better.
Those were memories of the past—some bittersweet, some warm.
Zhu Qing kept her answer light. "I just took medicine and got better."
Fangfang, weak and feverish, leaned against her, resting his head on her.
"Were you very lonely when you were little?"
Now that he was sick, his niece was here with him, even though she had work the next morning. She wouldn’t leave his side for a second.
But who had been there for her when she was sick? Fangfang thought of that cold orphanage and gave her a soft pat.
Qing-jie really had it rough.
"Worry about yourself first," Zhu Qing said, smoothing his sweat-dampened hair.
Sweating meant the fever would likely break soon.
"Qing-jie, are we going to kindergarten tomorrow?"
"No, we’re resting at home."
The listless child’s eyes flickered with a faint spark of relief.
Even in this state, he hadn’t forgotten about that.
"Good," Fangfang mumbled, wrapping both arms around her like a koala clinging to a tree, basking in the sense of safety.
His feverish mind drifted.
Zhu Qing hugged the little furnace close, thinking it might help cool him down.
But Fangfang knew better.
Qing-jie wasn’t cold at all—she was warm.
"Thank you, Qing-jie," he said in a tiny voice.
"Qing-jie, I think I’m a little hot."
"You’re sweating. Don’t kick off the blankets yet, or you’ll catch a chill again."
"Qing-jie, can my feet come out of the blanket?"
"..."
"Ta-da! Feet attack!" Fangfang lifted a tiny foot.
The feverish child was gradually becoming more talkative, a sign that he was feeling better. Doctor Cheng had said the medicine would take about thirty minutes to an hour to work. Zhu Qing pressed the back of her hand to his forehead—the burning heat had indeed subsided.
She disinfected a thermometer with alcohol and placed it under his tongue. "Let’s check your temperature again."
The cold metal and lingering alcohol smell made Fangfang scrunch up his face.
"Qing-jie, I’m drunk," he declared, swaying his head dramatically.
"..." Zhu Qing pinched his cheek. "Seems like you’re fully recovered."
The fever hadn’t completely broken, but as long as the medicine kept it under control, there was no need for the hospital.
Fangfang drifted in and out of sleep, his stomach eventually growling.
"Hold on," Zhu Qing said. "I’ll make you something to eat."
Fangfang gave her a doubtful look. "You?"
At this hour, with just the two of them home, she was the only option.
Shivering, he burrowed deeper into the blankets, leaving only his round little face exposed. He listened as Zhu Qing called Aunt Ping to ask for instructions on making pork and century egg congee.
Poor Aunt Ping—living in a haunted house, only to get a midnight cooking tutorial call.
Fangfang shook his head like a rattle drum. Too scary.
A three-year-old’s fever wasn’t something to take lightly. The night was long, requiring constant vigilance.
Fortunately, the inexperienced madam had backup. With Aunt Ping guiding her step-by-step over the phone and Doctor Cheng on standby for medical advice, she managed.
"Recovery takes time," Cheng Xinglang reassured her. "Don’t worry too much."
Hanging up, Zhu Qing hurried back to the kitchen. Following Aunt Ping’s directions, she stirred the congee in the clay pot until it bubbled softly. Lifting the lid with oven mitts, a cloud of fragrant steam rose—the rich aroma of rice filling the air.
Was she just hungry, or did it actually smell amazing?
As it turned out, it wasn’t her imagination.
The congee was a success!
Fangfang was a big boy of three and a half years old. Usually, Zhu Qing didn’t allow Aunt Ping to feed him, even if he ate slowly or made a mess—she didn’t want him developing the bad habit of being waited on hand and foot.
But today, Zhu Qing upgraded his treatment.
The little boy sat in his nest of blankets, mouth open wide.
"Ah—"
Zhu Qing was actually feeding him.
A sick child loves to act spoiled, yet Fangfang was surprisingly well-behaved, opening and closing his little mouth obediently until his tummy was round and full.
Zhu Qing patiently fed him another spoonful of porridge. "Feeling better now?"
A thin layer of sweat glistened on Sheng Fang’s back.
Satisfied, he declared, "If only I could have a fever every day."
Zhu Qing: "Quiet."
Sheng Fang clapped a hand over his mouth. "Shutting my little crow’s beak!"
......
Early the next morning, Aunt Ping rushed over, carrying enough chicken, duck, fish, and meat to nearly empty the entire market—all to nourish the little master back to health.
When she got the call last night, Aunt Ping had wanted to leave immediately, but Zhu Qing assured her that Fangfang’s fever had already broken, and there was no need to come over in the dead of night.
Now, Aunt Ping unlocked the door with her key and tiptoed inside.
The house looked like a battlefield. Zhu Qing had scrambled for the first-aid kit, Doctor Cheng’s number, and even cooked porridge—leaving behind a mess she hadn’t had time to clean up. It was unclear when the little master had finally fallen asleep, but Zhu Qing lay beside him, the aunt and nephew sprawled like starfish on the tiny children’s bed.
Seeing their peaceful sleeping faces, Aunt Ping finally let out a long sigh of relief.
She quietly tidied the living room.
Last night’s "battle" had been more intense than she’d imagined. Clearly, not only did the little master need nourishing, but the young miss did too.
Even though Aunt Ping closed the kitchen’s glass door and moved as quietly as possible, making breakfast couldn’t be done in complete silence. The clattering of pots and pans filled the air, and the aroma of food drifted into every corner of the house. Fangfang stretched lazily, rubbing his sleepy eyes before hopping out of bed and padding to the kitchen.
"Aunt Ping, shhh!"
Zhu Qing was still asleep.
The little uncle gently closed the door to the children’s room, only to hear his niece mumble sleepily—
"Sheng Fang, put your slippers on."
Fangfang looked down at his bare feet.
As expected of the sharp-eyed "madam"—she knew he wasn’t wearing slippers even with her eyes closed.
How could he possibly catch a cold in this sweltering heat?
Fangfang wanted to argue, but his niece was so exhausted that he obediently slipped on his little slippers.
The moment Sheng Fang was up, Aunt Ping handed him a thermometer. Confirming his temperature was back to normal, the worry lines on her forehead finally smoothed away.
"Little master, are you all better now?"
"All better!"
His tiny backpack still sat by the entrance. Aunt Ping said, "Eat your breakfast, then it’s off to kindergarten."
Sheng Fang closed his eyes and dramatically flopped onto the floor.
When Zhu Qing emerged from the room, she found the little rascal throwing a tantrum.
"We’ll have to ask the kindergarten for a week off." Zhu Qing ran a hand through her tousled hair. "Doctor Cheng said if it’s a viral cold, the contagious period could last about a week. The kids at kindergarten have weaker immune systems—it’s best to wait until he’s fully recovered before sending him back."
On the floor, Sheng Fang cracked one eye open, then the other, pressing his lips together tightly to keep from laughing—though his little milky teeth betrayed him.
The tiny troublemaker had already relocated from the floor to the sofa.
Hands folded behind his head, he kicked his feet up leisurely and fiddled with the remote.
Zhu Qing shook her head.
He’d gotten so upset about not wanting to go to school that he made himself sick—and now that he didn’t have to go, he was miraculously cured.
......
The little uncle knew Zhu Qing had stayed up late taking care of him and hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep.
The TV said lack of sleep was bad—the body couldn’t handle it.
He counted on his fingers seriously before deciding he’d make sure his niece caught up on her rest tonight.
When Zhu Qing returned, hearing Fangfang say this almost moved her to tears.
So small, yet so thoughtful…
But before 8 p.m., she was being herded back to her room.
Something didn’t feel right.
"It’s too early—even a ninety-year-old granny wouldn’t sleep this soon," Zhu Qing protested.
Sheng Fang, holding a tiny stool in one hand and a feather duster in the other, shooed her toward the bedroom. "I’ll tuck you in."
Zhu Qing: "..."
Since when did they own such an antique-looking feather duster?
"Found it while cleaning last week…" Aunt Ping coughed lightly, peeking out from the kitchen. "Works well."
Little Sheng Fang was like a professional butler, supervising Zhu Qing and insisting she go to bed early tonight.
Of course, Zhu Qing could have ignored him.
But if she did, he’d chirp endlessly in her ear like a noisy little bird.
To avoid the hassle, Zhu Qing reluctantly burrowed under the covers.
Before she could even settle into a comfortable position, a gentle patting began on her shoulder.
Zhu Qing froze.
Fangfang’s small hand rested on her shoulder, rhythmically patting—imitating how adults lull children to sleep.
He said Marysa used to do this for him.
Though Marysa’s pats were so strong they nearly rattled his tiny limbs apart.
Zhu Qing lay on her side, listening to the little uncle’s murmurs.
Fragments of memories, faded by time, resurfaced in the child’s rambling words.
The little master’s recollections were of Marysa chasing him around the garden to feed him, of tutors pushing up their prim gold-rimmed glasses, never daring to stray from the lesson plan.
Zhu Qing’s memories were of curling up with Sister Xinxin on a worn-out mat in the orphanage’s storage room, counting raindrops through a crack in the window, of receiving secondhand stuffed animals donated by kind strangers.
Somehow, in this moment, these scattered fragments intertwined.
Fate was strange. Now, the two of them lived under the same roof.
They had become inseparable—family.
Family.
Did Sheng Fang’s patient patting really have a hypnotic effect?
After staying up so late last night and sorting through old case files all day, Zhu Qing was exhausted. Her eyelids grew heavy, and drowsiness pulled her under.
"Zhu Qing… I’ll celebrate your birthday for you."
"You don’t have a birthday, so we’ll pretend!"
Sheng Fang still couldn’t get over the fact that Zhu Qing had no birthday.
His long-lost niece—
She’d never even blown out birthday candles!
Sheng Fang decided that when it came time to celebrate Zhu Qing’s birthday, he’d do it properly. A birthday cake, a party hat, and a real birthday present.
And he’d sing her a birthday song.
"This one’s special—Aunt Ping taught me." Fangfang began singing, "Wishing you happiness and longevity…"
"Celebrating your joyous birthday…" Sheng Fang sat on his little stool, peeking at Zhu Qing before gasping in disbelief. "Asleep already?"
Out like a light by 8 p.m.
Even earlier than a ninety-year-old granny!
......
Weng Zhaolin treated the entire Serious Crimes Team B to afternoon tea for a whole day, stuffing their mouths with egg tarts and egg waffles to keep them quiet.
In contrast, Mo Zhenbang was far more generous, organizing a group barbecue outing to Lantau Island.
According to protocol, after the case closure debriefing, the team could apply for a collective 24-hour break.
Sir Mo suggested departing on Wednesday afternoon to avoid the weekend tourist rush.
Little Sun said, "Boss, I’ll skip this one. I’ve been pulling too many late shifts lately, and Ah Ling is about to break up with me. I’ll stay back and handle the sudden paperwork—someone’s gotta do it."
"Bring her along," Zeng Yongshan chimed in. "The more, the merrier."
Little Sun laughed. "She gets off at six today. I need to take her out for a nice meal to make it up to her. You guys have fun—count me in next time."
In just a few words, the plan was settled. Sir Mo’s arrangements were always thoughtful, leaving no colleague dissatisfied.
Zhu Qing opened her mouth to decline, but before she could, she heard that her little uncle had already agreed on her behalf.
Zeng Yongshan, ever efficient, had called her home directly. A barbecue trip to Lantau Island? Fangfang didn’t hesitate for even a second—both hands and feet went up in enthusiastic approval.
"I’ll get the pork chops from the Sham Shui Po market, along with the grill and charcoal."
"I’ll handle the beer—"
"Make sure it’s chilled overnight, and bring extra ice!"
"And grab a bag of marshmallows for the kids. Roasted marshmallows puff up and go all stringy—they’ll finish a whole bag each."
When Zhu Qing got home, Sheng Fang was busy skewering honey-glazed chicken wings and beef ribs.
Aunt Ping had prepped the ingredients meticulously. "The pork and lamb at the market are all frozen—nothing beats fresh," she said with a smile.
"I know you all hate veggies, but you still gotta eat some."
The task of threading corn kernels onto skewers was entirely entrusted to Sheng Fang.
Aunt Ping was too considerate—knowing that corn on the cob was messy to eat, she’d shucked the kernels and strung them up neatly, ensuring no one would skip them.
Only after working on it for so long did Sheng Fang realize her intention, his fingers nearly numb. "If they don’t wanna eat it, that’s their problem!"
All the ingredients were prepped on metal trays at the dining table.
Zhu Qing washed her hands and sat beside Sheng Fang, lending a hand.
"Qing, what time are we leaving tomorrow?"
"Afternoon."
Sir Liang would drive his family car, picking up Zeng Yongshan, Zhu Qing, and Fangfang along the most convenient route.
"Is Nannan coming?"
"Nannan has school tomorrow." Zhu Qing said.
Every kid had to go to school.
Except Sheng Fang.
But he was perfectly content with that, completely unbothered.
"Is Uncle Li—" Sheng Fang blinked innocently, "—coming?"
"Everyone from the team is going except Little Sun."
"Is John coming too?"
"Don’t you dare call Sir Weng!" Zhu Qing warned immediately. "Or you’ll become Public Enemy No. 1 of the entire B team!"
The way Qing said it sounded like a threat.
And it worked. Offending the whole B team? Becoming an outcast? What if they stopped inviting him on future outings?
Sheng Fang nodded vigorously. "Don’t worry, I won’t say a word!"
But then again, if the whole team was taking leave, did they really think Zhaolin wouldn’t notice?
John wasn’t stupid!
Either way, after sticking close to Qing for so long, Fangfang had finally scored a chance to join a trip.
All night, he hummed cartoon theme songs excitedly. Spotting his little backpack still by the entryway, he casually strolled over, hands behind his back, and crouched down slowly.
He hugged the bag to his chest and dashed—"Da-da-da!"—straight to Aunt Ping’s room.
"Bang!" He shut the door behind him.
Keep it far away!
......
The Lantau Island trip had Sheng Fang buzzing all night.
But somehow, despite all the planning, they still couldn’t leave first thing in the morning. They had to wait.
Wasting a whole morning of perfect weather.
He chanted "BBQ" nonstop until Zhu Qing’s ears nearly bled.
"Little ancestor," Aunt Ping steadied the young master by his shoulders. "Look how scorching it is outside. If we go now, are we grilling meat or ourselves?"
Fangfang paced circles around the living room.
Finally, after lunch, Zhu Qing’s phone rang.
Sheng Fang was already at the entryway, slipping on his shoes. "Let’s go."
Zhu Qing rubbed her temples.
Next time, she wouldn’t tell him about outings in advance.
Sir Liang set out from home, picking up Zhu Qing and Sheng Fang first before swinging by Zeng Yongshan’s place.
"This car is my dad’s baby—he’s usually the one driving it," Liang Qikai joked, hands tight on the wheel as he glanced at the aunt-nephew duo in the backseat. "Better buckle up and hold on tight."
Zhu Qing secured the cooler packed with Aunt Ping’s prepped barbecue ingredients.
She’d also brought two small containers of secret sauce—must not spill those.
Sheng Fang: "So Sir Liang is a road hazard!"
"Well, not exactly—" Liang Qikai started awkwardly, but the kid was already shaking his head in the rearview mirror.
No chance to explain.
This Sir Liang’s driving skills were subpar—nothing like Qing, who could drift even in a trainer’s car.
At Lantau Island’s beach, John was indeed absent.
But Ben from Forensics—the one who flashed a toothy grin—showed up.
Even more surprising to Zhu Qing was Cheng Xinglang’s presence.
He was helping Hao Zai set up the grill.
The disciplined services’ flexible shift system clearly allowed him to swap shifts for this.
When their eyes met, Zhu Qing gave a slight nod. She hadn’t run into him at the station lately and hadn’t yet thanked him for last time.
Cheng Xinglang was easygoing. Before the previous forensic doctor’s long leave, he’d collaborated smoothly with B team officers.
Ben had long since blended in, cracking open an ice-cold beer with a "pop," then rummaging through the food.
"This steak’s mine—hands off."
"Wait, marshmallows too?"
Sheng Fang silently hugged the marshmallow bag to his chest.
Waves lapped at the shore as Sir Mo secured a prime spot in the shade, smoke curling from the grill.
The charcoal crackled. Fangfang tiptoed, eager to help.
"I wanna try too."
"Careful, it’s hot—keep your distance."
"Or you’ll end up with roasted pig trotters—"
"Xu Jiale, why’re you calling a kid’s hands pig trotters?!"
Chaotic, yes—but somehow, it felt like rare, peaceful bliss.
Zhu Qing stood by the grill, squinting slightly from the smoke.
She flipped the corn skewers Aunt Ping and Fangfang had prepared, the golden kernels glistening with oil. Then, a sudden coolness brushed her hand.
Cheng Xinglang had appeared beside her, offering an iced lemon tea.
Condensation dripped from the bottle, down his fingers.
Both her hands were full with skewers. "Open it for me?"
The summer evening sea breeze carried an unexpectedly gentle coolness.
The bottle cap popped open, and Fangfang watched with drooling anticipation.
If Doctor Cheng would offer him a sip, he—as the elder—might exceptionally allow them to play together.
The refreshing scent of lemon tea mingled with the sea air.
Not far away, Ah Ben shouted at the top of his lungs, "Xinglang, grab one for me too!"
Doctor Cheng didn’t even turn his head. "Get it yourself."
"What did you say?" Ah Ben pretended to clean his ear theatrically.
Little Fangfang immediately spun around and stuck out his tongue, making a playful grimace. "He said get it yourself!"
...
Zhu Qing held the chilled lemon tea, suddenly realizing this was the first time she had ever blended into such a lively gathering.
She had never been part of a boisterous crowd like this before.
Life in the orphanage, school, or police training—those environments had clear boundaries between people.
Just as she had always believed, work and study were meant to be separate from personal life.
But now, those lines had completely dissolved.
Uncle Li and Sir Liang sat under a sun umbrella, waiting to be served. Ah Ben and Hao Zai were bickering over the last piece of steak. Sir Liang’s sleeve was stained with sauce...
"What are you spacing out for?"
Zeng Yongshan plopped down beside her with a slice of toasted bread, breaking off a small piece.
"Want some?" she said. "I made it myself—crispy and fragrant!"
Zhu Qing reached out. "Thank—"
Before she could finish, Zeng Yongshan had already stuffed the bread into her mouth.
Zhu Qing froze for a second.
She chewed slowly, savoring the sweet and salty flavors blooming on her tongue.
Zeng Yongshan’s eyes sparkled eagerly. "Well? How is it? Good?"
The bread was brushed with her secret garlic-honey glaze, lightly charred, then topped with fresh strawberry jam.
Two contrasting flavors, yet they paired surprisingly well.
Zhu Qing’s lips curled up unconsciously. "Delicious."
Fangfang was a privileged little idler who didn’t need to attend school, patrolling the adult crowd and stopping whenever he spotted something tasty.
Doctor Cheng wasn’t just skilled in autopsies and forensics—he also knew how to grill pork belly to perfection.
"Can I try some?" Fangfang halted nearby, swallowing hard.
Cheng Xinglang crouched down and beckoned him over.
Fangfang stepped forward, tilting his head back and opening his mouth like a baby bird when the skewer was offered.
With a fluid motion, Cheng Xinglang fed him the meat, one hand gently supporting his chin while the other steadied his fluffy little head.
He deftly withdrew the skewer, leaving only the juicy pork belly in Fangfang’s mouth.
It was a masterclass in seamless feeding.
"Good?"
Sheng Fang nodded vigorously, utterly won over, and plopped down beside Cheng Xinglang.
From then on, Doctor Cheng manned the grill while Fangfang handled the eating.
"Why are you eating so fast?"
"Why are you grilling so slow!"
As the sun began to set, Fangfang leaned against Cheng Xinglang, watching him play a handheld game, his tiny fingers tapping impatiently on his knees.
"My turn yet?" The little boy asked every thirty seconds.
And Doctor Cheng always answered with endless patience.
"I cleared this level."
"And another one."
Sheng Fang puffed his cheeks. "You promised we’d take turns! Stop hogging it!"
Zhu Qing had expected taking the kid out to be more exhausting than work, but to her surprise, someone had taken over childcare duties entirely.
Fangfang adored sticking close to Doctor Cheng, engaging in their little battles of wits.
So Zhu Qing sat with Zeng Yongshan instead, digging in the sand, building miniature castles, and chatting.
"Actually, that day at the dessert shop—" Zeng Yongshan said, "I was the one who invited Sir Liang, but he seemed..."
She shrugged. "I don’t know how to explain it."
Though a major plot point from the original storyline had been altered, the main thread continued.
Zeng Yongshan confided that she’d called Sir Liang for casual chats, invited him for desserts and noodles—he never refused, yet never seemed particularly engaged either.
In the original story, the female lead was healed by the male lead’s warmth, and gradually, they fell for each other.
But in reality, without those pivotal moments drawing them together, their relationship remained stagnant at the colleague stage.
Zhu Qing knew, though, that if Zeng Yongshan understood the truth, she wouldn’t regret it. The unconditional love and companionship of family was a bond far more precious than romance.
"Zhu Qing, what do you think I should do?" Zeng Yongshan kicked at the sand, her voice muffled.
Zhu Qing didn’t answer immediately.
Zeng Yongshan slumped, assuming Zhu Qing had no interest in discussing this with her.
But who else could she talk to? Certainly not Hao Zai or Uncle Li!
The annoying sea breeze shifted between cool and stifling, mirroring her restless mood.
Just as Zeng Yongshan grew frustrated with this unfamiliar version of herself, Zhu Qing’s clear voice cut through.
"Anyway..." Zhu Qing turned to face her directly. "Don’t settle for less than you deserve."
Zeng Yongshan looked up, startled.
Chasing after someone who gave half-hearted responses, never fully rejected yet never fully embraced—it was impossible not to feel conflicted. She was naturally optimistic, never one to tally what she gave, but Zhu Qing’s reminder not to endure unhappiness left her momentarily dazed.
"Okay," Zeng Yongshan murmured.
Under the sunset, little Fangfang finally got his hands on the game console after Cheng Xinglang relinquished it.
He breezed through level after level—if not for deliberate losses, the kid would never get a turn. Ah Ben had seen the young master sulking earlier, but now the two were shoulder to shoulder, thick as thieves.
"Made up already?" Ah Ben asked around a mouthful of grilled shrimp, sidling over curiously.
Sheng Fang didn’t even glance up from the game.
"Because he cured me."
That night, Qing had stayed by his bedside, using Doctor Cheng’s methods to wipe his sweat and feed him medicine.
"Didn’t know forensic doctors could treat people too," Fangfang mumbled, jabbing at the buttons.
"Of course." Doctor Cheng paused, lips quirking. "Vets can too."
The young master’s head snapped up, eyes wide.
The setting sun framed Cheng Xinglang’s silhouette.
The blinding glow forced him to squint, but it couldn’t hide his smile.
Nearby, Zhu Qing took a seat beside Uncle Li on a foldable chair, handing him a cold drink.
"Uncle Li, last time you mentioned why he collects those newspaper clippings?"
Uncle Li accepted the bottle.
A youthful mistake involving alcohol had made him swear off drinking for life.
"Him?" Uncle Li glanced up. "Ever hear about the Cheng family case seventeen years ago?"
Seventeen years ago, Zhu Qing had been too young to even read.
Even if the tragedy had once shaken the city, she would’ve known nothing of it.
"Doctor Cheng's father was a top neurosurgery expert in the country. His mother was even more remarkable—an authority in genetic psychiatry."
"Both were internationally renowned medical experts who had published numerous groundbreaking papers."
"They also had a younger son, introverted and withdrawn, completely different from Doctor Cheng."
Uncle Li watched Cheng Xinglang's figure as his voice gradually lowered.
It was an unusually quiet night when the police arrived at the Cheng residence after receiving an emergency call. Time seemed to freeze.
Pushing open the door, a thick metallic scent of blood filled the air. Cheng Xinglang's parents lay in a pool of blood in the living room, while he himself was covered in blood, unconscious in his own bedroom.
His younger brother's room, however, showed no signs of struggle.
"Back then, I hadn’t yet been transferred to my current unit. My old partner and I were assigned to the Cheng family case. The attacker used a blunt weapon—nearly shattered Xinglang’s skull. I still remember, it took three full days of intensive care before he was out of danger."
"The case was solved quickly. The killer was a homeless man with a history of mental illness, already responsible for multiple homicides. During the police chase, he panicked and ran into the road, where a truck struck and killed him instantly."
"The strange thing was, this madman had been brutal with all his other victims—yet he showed unusual kindness toward Cheng Xinglang’s brother. The child’s bed was neatly made, a few clothes were missing from the closet, and even the little teddy bear he slept with had been taken."
"Did they—" Zhu Qing couldn’t help but ask, "know each other?"
For seventeen years, Doctor Cheng had been asking the same question.
Did they know each other?
Where had the killer taken his brother?
His office was filled with clippings of violent crimes, each meticulously annotated with details about the victims or missing persons.
Cheng Xinglang stubbornly believed his brother was still alive.
Just existing in another way.
"Even now, Xinglang hasn’t moved out. Every corner of that house remains exactly as it was back then. Who knows if it’s nostalgia, waiting for his brother to return, or searching for clues we might have missed."
"During the day, he can walk in and out like nothing’s wrong. But at night… I’ve heard there’s a folding bed in the morgue where he often sleeps."
"Wouldn’t have guessed, huh?" Uncle Li’s expression was complicated as he tilted his chin toward Doctor Cheng.
Following his gaze, Zhu Qing looked at Doctor Cheng, who was currently playfully wrestling with Fangfang over a game console.
He lounged lazily, one hand shielding his eyes from the glaring sunset while the other blocked the light for Fangfang.
In her memories, Doctor Cheng always smiled like this.
No one would ever guess the blood-soaked past he carried.
"You win," Cheng Xinglang nudged the little one beside him with his shoulder.
Sheng Fang cheered as the words "LEVEL CLEAR" flashed brightly on the screen.
The chubby little fist of the young master shot up, gently bumping against Doctor Cheng’s.
"We did it!"
......
Sheng Fang had clearly heard Brother Hua say that getting a driver’s license wasn’t this easy—pass rates weren’t high. Some students took the test again and again, even bringing their instructor a cup of yuanyang tea before the exam with a note begging for leniency.
Whenever this came up, Brother Hua would just sigh.
No amount of milk tea could make up for bad driving.
Sheng Fang had assumed getting a license was near-impossible. He’d been watching Zhu Qing closely, hoping she’d pass soon.
Yet who could’ve guessed his niece would get hers so fast?
Zhu Qing flicked the brand-new license carelessly toward her little uncle.
Getting a license? Easy as pie.
Sheng Fang jumped up, cheering.
Ever since Zhu Qing had reminded him to carry his card, the little uncle had been taking his black credit card everywhere.
Now, he tucked her license away and dragged her off to look at cars.
There wasn’t a single thing in the household—big or small—that the little uncle didn’t fuss over.
He was willing to meddle in everything… except tomorrow’s kindergarten enrollment.
Another week had flown by. There was no escaping it.
But at least having Zhu Qing drive him to school would soften the blow.
"Zhu Qing, what about this one?" Sheng Fang stood on tiptoe, patting the hood.
A sharply dressed sales consultant immediately approached, her smile polished.
"Miss, you’ve got excellent taste. This is a newly imported model—only three available in all of Hong Kong."
Her heels clicked crisply as she circled the car.
"Four-wheel drive, perfect for mountains or beaches, with a sunroof and genuine leather seats—"
Leaning in, she lowered her voice. "A gentleman was eyeing it last week, but his loan’s still processing. If you’re interested, a deposit today means plates by tomorrow."
Sheng Fang was always an easy sell.
His eyes instantly sparkled as he accepted the glossy brochure.
Zhu Qing aced the test in no time—of course she did. Even if she quit being a detective and switched to driving taxis, she’d still earn "Top Honors" from any cab company.
His job as uncle? Handle the logistics so his niece could focus.
Sheng Fang yanked open the driver’s door, though his stubby legs couldn’t quite reach the off-roader’s pedals. He settled for craning his neck inside.
Zhu Qing, meanwhile, was still holding the yellowed newspaper she’d dug out from the flea market’s depths.
Normally, old papers like this required a trip to the public library’s archives. But after days of searching, every librarian had shaken their heads. Luckily, Old Huang at the newsstand had dragged out a dust-covered box from under piles of expired magazines.
She’d finally found it—the report on the Cheng family tragedy from seventeen years ago.
The article described how the withdrawn little boy, just six years old, had been gently led away by the hollow-eyed killer.
Sheng Fang circled the luxury SUV.
A flashy car for a tiny tycoon—perfect, thanks to Zhu Qing’s shiny new license.
One second, Sheng Fang was lavishing praise—
Our Zhu Qing is good at everything!
"Let’s drive it home," the little master urged. "Charge it?"
But Zhu Qing’s gaze stayed glued to the old newspaper. "Whatever."
The next instant, Uncle Fangfang threw up his hands—
That’s just how our Zhu Qing is.
