Sheng Fang acted like an elder every day, this little uncle would nag from morning till night, just like a curse hanging over his niece. If she didn’t eat breakfast properly, he would lecture her. If she only had a sandwich for lunch, he would scold her. If she worked late, he would fuss. Even if she stayed up late, he always had something to say…
Slowly, Zhu Qing grew accustomed to having a mature three-year-old uncle.
And so, at this moment, when the child stood before her with teary eyes, looking utterly wronged, her mind moved sluggishly, as if rusted over.
When Zhu Qing and Aunt Ping chatted about the "ghost calls on the radio," Sheng Fang didn’t even bat an eyelid, completely unfazed. He trusted Qing Zai—if she said there were no ghosts in the world, then there were none.
As for the hanging ghosts and elevator grannies on TV, those were definitely fake.
But if Zhu Qing claimed there were no giant monsters in the world, Sheng Fang would never believe it.
How could giant monsters be fake? If there were no giant monsters, then what did Ultraman fight?
His beloved niece had been eaten by a giant monster—this, Fang Fang firmly believed.
The tears welling in his eyes gradually formed into droplets, rolling down his chubby little cheeks.
Sheng Fang could accept his niece being inside the monster’s stomach—he was even willing to go in and keep her company. But now… the monster might have flushed her down the toilet.
His beloved colorful marbles had once slipped into the toilet and vanished without a trace.
From quiet sniffles to overwhelming sorrow, Fang Fang finally let out a loud, heart-wrenching wail.
His little mouth stretched wide open, revealing the back of his throat.
Perhaps exhausted from crying, he plopped down on the floor, crossing his short legs.
His cries grew even louder, drawing Aunt Ping, who had been testing her new radio in her room.
Aunt Ping stepped in, baffled by the scene.
The young master was crying his heart out, his face streaked with tears, while Zhu Qing flustered about, handing him tissues and wiping his cheeks.
Fang Fang: "Go away!"
Aunt Ping found her voice amid the chaos: "Did… did you two have a fight?"
Sheng Fang was in too foul a mood to explain. Tears streamed down as his niece kept trying to console him.
Zhu Qing realized—Fang Fang was still so little.
Still at an age where he could be easily fooled.
"Alright, alright, don’t cry."
"It was me."
"There’s no giant monster, I was just teasing you."
"That was a voice changer, bought from the electronics store. If you don’t believe me, try it yourself?"
Sheng Fang continued to sob.
When Qing Zai put a hand on his shoulder, he shook it off. When she took his little hand, he yanked it away.
Until Qing Zai finally mustered the courage to speak again—
"Uncle, it was me!"
Fang Fang wiped his tear-streaked face on Zhu Qing’s clothes, his lips trembling pitifully.
"You… you didn’t get eaten?"
"No." Zhu Qing sighed softly, struggling to say it. "And I didn’t get flushed either."
The so-called "Magic Voice Box" voice changer had long been tossed onto the desk. Even though she was now speaking in her normal voice, it still took forever to calm the child down.
Zhu Qing swore to herself—she would never scare him like this again.
Finally, peace returned to the night. Zhu Qing took Sheng Fang downstairs to buy him a large serving of fries as an apology.
Besides the fries, the niece also had to dutifully serve Uncle Fang Fang—tearing open the small ketchup packets and holding them ready for him to dip.
Autumn was approaching, and the night breeze carried a slight chill.
They strolled in circles, walking leisurely.
Sheng Fang stuffed fries into his mouth—one, two, three…
They revisited the "giant monster" topic.
When his niece ruffled his hair and called him a crybaby, the little one pouted indignantly.
All kids cry a lot. The children at kindergarten would even cry while putting on their bibs—some of them just couldn’t figure out how to fasten the buttons, and after struggling, they’d whimper in frustration. Once one started crying, three or five others would join in. Whenever that happened, Fang Fang would plug his ears with his fingers, utterly exasperated.
"So it’s normal!" He munched on fries, defending himself. "Didn’t you cry when you were little?"
"Nope."
"Really?!"
Zhu Qing couldn’t remember the last time she had cried. Maybe it was when she fell as a child in the orphanage, scraping her knee on the concrete—the pain had been sharp, and tears had spilled uncontrollably. But she quickly wiped them away with the back of her hand.
After all, crying wouldn’t bring anyone to comfort her. She had learned that early on, and over time, even the sensation of tears felt unfamiliar.
"How can it be unfamiliar? Tears are salty!"
"You… you tasted them?"
"Qing Zai, eating tears? Are you joking?"
"Drinking tears!" Fang Fang corrected with utmost seriousness.
Having finished his fries, Sheng Fang slipped his greasy little hand into Zhu Qing’s palm.
So impressive.
She didn’t even know how to cry!
"Hey, you didn’t wash your hands!" Zhu Qing patted his hand. "They’re covered in grease from the fries."
"Qing Zai, I licked them clean!"
"No way!"
"Here I come—"
The more Qing Zai dodged, the more Fang Fang insisted on grabbing her hand.
Uncle and niece chased each other downstairs.
He had short legs; she had long ones. He was a kindergarten kid; she was a police officer… The gap in their abilities was vast. Yet every time, Fang Fang came so close to catching her—just a little short.
Zhu Qing was obviously going easy on him. The child behind her panted heavily, eventually squatting down to catch his breath.
Sheng Fang admired his niece more and more.
Qing Zai was amazing at everything—
If only she weren’t so obsessed with cleanliness, she’d be perfect!
……
After two days of school, Sheng Fang had settled into a routine. Now, heading to kindergarten in the morning was as natural for him as his niece reporting to the police station.
Though he still didn’t love school, the three-year-old understood many things—children had to prioritize their education.
Since Sheng Fang started school, Zhu Qing woke up even earlier.
Her ever-worrying little uncle would drag her to the dining table and watch her finish breakfast. He even lectured her—Teacher Ji had told the class not to play with their food, but they also shouldn’t wolf it down, or it’d be hard to digest.
"Chew slowly, Qing Zai."
Zhu Qing did everything with swift efficiency, often moving to the next step before others even realized.
Lately, Aunt Ping had grown closer to Zhu Qing. Watching her mannerisms—the slight lift of her chin when she spoke, her decisive actions—Aunt Ping would sometimes freeze, struck by how much she resembled her mother.
In memory, Sheng Peirong was always decisive and assertive. Now, watching her daughter, it felt like time had reversed—Aunt Ping was seeing the young mistress of the past all over again.
Truth be told, Aunt Ping had always felt that this child had a tough journey, carrying so much on her shoulders alone, barely finding a moment to catch her breath. She wished Zhu Qing would learn to slow down and truly savor life.
And now, Sheng Fang had finally taught his niece—to pace herself.
Breakfast should be eaten slowly, milk sipped leisurely.
Sheng Fang would say, why rush to work? Being a few minutes early won’t mean catching the thief any faster!
Somewhere along the way, Zhu Qing began mirroring his habits, taking the time to appreciate every meal.
Today, there were two extra slices of Spam in the noodles—golden and crispy, pan-fried beforehand. The milk, heated until a rich skin formed on the surface, wafted a creamy aroma… These small details, ones Zhu Qing might have overlooked before, she now noticed and cherished.
Aunt Ping listened with a beaming smile, while Little Uncle gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up.
Even grown-ups love praise!
"Done eating—off to work!" Zhu Qing set down her chopsticks.
Sheng Fang stood too, swinging his backpack over one shoulder with a flourish.
It landed on his small frame.
His shoulders weren’t quite broad enough to keep the strap from slipping.
Luckily, the bag was light as a feather, so he kept his balance.
The cool-kid routine was at least half a success.
...
Morning at the police station found the officers of Major Crimes Team B already organizing their files, carrying folders into the conference room.
The clatter of folding chairs being pulled out filled the air as they settled in, immediately diving into discussions about You Minmin’s case.
"My dad went to the market this morning—even the fishmonger was talking about that radio show!"
"Pulled off air after just one day, but insiders say it might just be temporary."
"The whole city’s buzzing about it—more hype than if the station had paid for ads! If that host—what’s her name, Ouyang Peiling?—can just hold her ground..."
"It’s Situ Peiling!"
"Doesn’t matter, who cares about a host’s surname? The victim’s name, though—You Minmin… People are spinning it into some creepy fate, saying her surname ‘You’ means ‘wander,’ and she died in water. Like some destined drowning ghost seeking a replacement."
Uncle Li walked in with his thermos, the scent of cigarettes clinging to him.
He set the cup down with a chuckle. "Is this a police station or Temple Street? You lot sound more superstitious than the fortune-tellers under the bridge."
Of course, banter aside, the case demanded professional rigor.
Solid evidence was key. The team had been working tirelessly, gathering statements, scrutinizing every detail, leaving no room for error.
"You Minmin’s parents gave formal statements. They said she was a good girl, never caused them any trouble."
"The callers to the radio show were her high school classmates. They weren’t close—just tuning in for fun when they recognized her voice. None of them expected it to end like this… with You Minmin dead in a bathtub."
"We’ve got their statements. Nothing suspicious, just a freak coincidence. Though I doubt they’ll ever dabble in urban legends again, especially ones about drowning ghosts. Late-night ghost-story sessions? Not happening."
Xiao Sun flipped through You Minmin’s file.
"After her parents moved in with her brother, she’d occasionally drop by for meals, but mostly kept to herself. Didn’t want to intrude on their lives. Her parents said she’d always been considerate like that."
"Family and classmates all described her as someone who avoided conflict. Quiet, almost invisible—the kind of person who could vanish without anyone noticing. Yet her death somehow became the talk of the town."
Mo Zhenbang took the stack of reports from his team. "Any word on the autopsy?"
"Zhu Qing’s handling that," Zeng Yongshan said. "Probably still chasing it down."
"Pretty sure Doctor Cheng mentioned the autopsy’s done, but the report’s stuck in the government lab queue."
"How long’s the wait?"
Liang Qikai checked his watch. "Standard procedure—earliest tomorrow noon."
...
Zhu Qing knocked on the door of the forensics office.
At Doctor Cheng’s response, she turned the handle and stepped inside.
Cheng Xinglang was meticulously labeling a microscope slide.
"Doctor Cheng, the report."
This wasn’t her first visit to his office this week.
In the corner, the foldable bed was already put away, his white coat draped over the chair.
On the desk, You Minmin’s autopsy report lay open. Doctor Cheng had anticipated her visit—even left a pen beside it.
"Abnormal water temperature," his fingers traced the data column. "The tub was significantly colder—must’ve been iced."
"Foam evenly distributed in airways, diatom test positive. Confirmed drowning."
"Stomach contents showed drugs and heavy alcohol intake shortly before death."
Zhu Qing: "So the killer drugged her, sped up unconsciousness, staged the drowning?"
Doctor Cheng didn’t answer directly, just turned the page.
"Fibers in the mouth wound match the bathrobe."
"Oddest part—the nylon rope marks on her ankles were deep, tied in a double-loop knot. But—" he pointed to comparison photos, "the wrist marks were faint."
"The rest is your job." He closed the file.
The room fell silent except for pen scratching paper. Zhu Qing’s head remained bowed, a loose strand of hair slipping unnoticed as she transcribed every detail with precision.
Doctor Cheng leaned against the desk, waiting patiently.
This inspector was like a straight-A student—even her punctuation was immaculate.
Only after the final period did she look up.
"Can I take this?" She’d already scooped up the report, notebook in hand.
"Wait—" Doctor Cheng barely got a word out before she spun on her heel.
Madam came and went in a hurry, leaving only a crisp farewell, yet the tail end of her tone carried an inexplicable lightness.
"Leaving first."
With a soft "click," the office door gently closed.
...
When Zhu Qing returned to the Criminal Investigation Unit, the office was empty, with no one at their workstations. Sister Zhen gestured toward the conference room with a tilt of her chin.
Pushing the door open, she found her colleagues gathered around a whiteboard analyzing clues.
Zhu Qing’s arrival didn’t draw much attention, but when she placed the autopsy report on the table, Mo Zhenbang’s eyes immediately lit up.
"No need to hassle the Forensics Department for a follow-up—Madam Zhu’s got quite the pull," Hao Zai remarked, flicking the cover of the report with his finger.
Mo Zhenbang took the report and flipped it open, spotting the issuance time stamped at 3 a.m. in the bottom right corner.
Clearly, Doctor Cheng had pulled an all-nighter for this case.
Liang Qikai looked up from the case files, his gaze settling on Zhu Qing.
The once icy junior from the police academy seemed to have slowly transformed. She’d learned to navigate bureaucracy, even managing to pry this autopsy report early from Doctor Cheng. He should’ve been proud of her growth, yet for some reason, his mind kept drifting back to that lone figure training extra hours on the field… the setting sun stretching her shadow long, stubborn and solitary.
Maybe he was overthinking it. This junior maintained a strictly professional demeanor with everyone—except him. With him, there was not just indifference but also a hint of avoidance.
Liang Qikai shook off his thoughts and slid another file toward her. "This is You Minmin’s psychological counseling records."
Mo Zhenbang had already skimmed through the autopsy report and passed it to the other officers.
"The drug test results from the victim’s stomach—just ordinary antidepressants, matching the bottle found by the bathtub."
"The alcohol levels are off. The concentration in her blood was way too high—at least two hundred milliliters of unabsorbed red wine still in her system."
Xu Jiale: "Drowning pills with alcohol?"
"That’s not just a casual drink. Someone might’ve been forcing it down her throat."
Zeng Yongshan’s expression darkened. "The killer!"
"As for the time of death," Mo Zhenbang noted the details from Doctor Cheng’s autopsy report on the whiteboard, "there’s a discrepancy between stomach contents and body temperature. But with our ancient equipment, who knows when we’ll get results? Might have to send it to HQ’s lab."
Zeng Yongshan flipped through her own notes. "The call received by the radio station was made from the victim’s home."
"According to the forensic report, the killer added ice to the bathtub to obscure the time of death," Zhu Qing wrote the key point on the whiteboard. "What we need to confirm now is whether that ‘ghost call’ was made before or after death."
"The tech team analyzed the raw audio from the radio station. Voiceprint comparison confirms it was a real-time call, not a pre-recorded tape."
"If it wasn’t a ghost call, then You Minmin was still alive when it was made."
Following this logic, the victim’s time of death could be pushed later.
Meaning, at the very least, You Minmin was alive when the program aired.
"Could it have been coercion?"
"In that call, You Minmin repeatedly claimed she was already dead… and even gave her home address."
"Could she have been trying to call for help?"
"Boss." Sister Zhen knocked on the conference room door and peeked in. "The victim’s brother called. Said his sister might’ve had a boyfriend."
"A boyfriend?" Mo Zhenbang frowned. "Why wasn’t this mentioned before?"
"He said she rarely talked about dating. Apparently, they met at a record store."
"Should we bring him in?"
Mo Zhenbang: "Hold off. Let’s verify the man’s identity first."
...
Sheng Fang had come to realize that kindergarten might be more fun than home.
When Zhu Qing was at work during the day, only Aunt Ping kept him company at home, making it feel a bit lonely. But kindergarten was different—the classroom was full of kids, voices chattering nonstop, rarely a quiet moment. Only after experiencing it himself did Sheng Fang understand why Zhu Qing called him a chirpy little sparrow…
Now, surrounded by these childish three-year-olds, he often felt like he’d wandered into a duck pond.
These immature toddlers were like ducklings—
"Quack quack quack quack."
So noisy.
Still, compared to staring at Aunt Ping all day, school had its perks.
After grudgingly accepting the inevitability of school, Sheng Fang began to harbor new hopes for kindergarten.
If only they’d let him roam free.
He wanted to attend class when he felt like it and sneak out to the playground to swing when he didn’t.
Sheng Fang thought this—and acted on it.
During recess, he used the evasion tactics Zhao Lin had taught him, dodging left and right in an attempt to slip away.
Suddenly, his collar was yanked from behind, nearly choking him as he skidded to a stop.
"Fangfang!" Little Yesi’s eyes sparkled. "Where are you going?"
Three minutes later, they were both in the vast outdoor play area.
The space had swings, slides, and mini monkey bars—empty except for them, since all the other kids were still in class.
Sheng Fang swung gently, the string of beads he’d tucked in his pocket falling out.
The day before, he’d struck a secret deal with Teacher Ji.
If he didn’t lie down during class, he could take the beads home. He’d carefully hidden them in his backpack, planning to give them to Zhu Qing as a bracelet.
Last night, while Aunt Ping was busy in the kitchen, he’d packed his bag.
Life in kindergarten was dull, so Sheng Fang had devised a plan. He’d smuggle his toys from home to school, bit by bit, like an ant moving its nest.
But this morning, riding the school bus, his little hand reached into his backpack—and found nothing.
Aunt Ping had somehow confiscated all his contraband toys!
Truly, the older ginger was spicier. Only the beads remained, reminding him he’d forgotten to gift them to his niece.
Sheng Fang tucked the beads back into his pocket, saving them for tonight. Now that they’d fallen, he quickly crouched to pick them up.
"Do you think Zhu Qing will like these?" Sheng Fang asked.
Little Yesi nodded vigorously. "Of course!"
The swing barely moved, their legs too short to touch the ground.
Gradually, the swing stilled. Neither of them got off to push, just sat there bouncing with all their might, hoping the swing would take the hint.
What a lackluster game.
Sheng Fang mused, "Zhu Qing doesn’t seem to like shiny things."
Little Yesi gasped. "How can anyone not like shiny things?!"
The two kids chatted about everything under the sun, from favorite foods to most hated smells.
Sheng Fang suddenly remembered something: "Zhao Lin definitely doesn’t like you."
Zhao Lin had said he disliked anything with a coconut scent—food, toiletries… even coconut candies!
"Who’s Zhao Lin?" Little Yesi asked.
"A colleague from the police station," Sheng Fang replied, sounding both mysterious and proud, as if the man were his own coworker.
Yesi scrunched up her little brows.
They didn’t know each other, and they never would. Why would this Zhao Lin person dislike her for no reason? Yesi was still young and couldn’t wrap her head around such questions. All she knew was that it was rude.
Little Yesi declared, "Well, I don’t like him either."
Teacher Ji searched the entire classroom, only to realize two children were missing. A cold sweat broke out on her back as she handed the class over to two childcare assistants and rushed out in a panic.
Outside, the sunlight was bright. When she spotted the two children in the play area, her heart, which had been lodged in her throat, finally settled back into place.
Sheng Fang and Little Yesi were deep in conversation.
Children of the same age understood each other’s thoughts effortlessly. Their imaginations ran wild, yet every word flowed seamlessly between them, each sentence naturally leading to the next.
"Yesi, do you have an English name?"
Having already exchanged nicknames, Sheng Fang was now moving on to English names—a new milestone in their friendship.
"I have a few, but I don’t like any of them."
"Let me give you one."
Sheng Fang had taken plenty of English classes and considered himself an expert at naming.
Yesi: "Sure!"
Sheng Fang: "Yes!"
"Okay!"
"Yes!"
"Go ahead!"
"Then it’s Yes!"
In the quiet afternoon, the two children hung upside down on the kindergarten monkey bars, their feet pointing skyward, completely at ease.
Teacher Ji couldn’t help but laugh at first, but halfway through, she realized the situation wasn’t as harmless as it seemed and sighed instead.
From that day on, Sheng Fang and Yesi would be her top priorities.
---
Sheng Fang got scolded.
The teacher said he shouldn’t have sneaked out during class to play. What if he got lost?
Sheng Fang thought the teacher was overreacting. The kindergarten gates were locked, he couldn’t fly, and kidnappers couldn’t either—there was no way he’d go missing.
Still, Sheng Fang knew when to keep his mouth shut.
He was worried Teacher Ji might tattle to Zhu Qing.
After school, Sheng Fang kept a close eye on Zhu Qing’s demeanor.
She seemed lost in thought, even jotting down notes during dinner.
Aunt Ping had served her soup, but it was going cold. Instead of using a spoon, Zhu Qing lifted the bowl to her lips, her eyes fixed on her notebook as she scribbled away.
Doctor Cheng had mentioned that the water in the bathtub was abnormally cold.
Suddenly, Zhu Qing noticed a contradiction—
If the killer had placed ice in the tub to delay the time of death, why force You Minmin to make that call during the live radio broadcast?
A post-10 PM time of death, combined with the ice, should have misled the police into thinking she died after midnight. But that "ghost call" at 10 o’clock pinned her death squarely within the show’s airtime.
Unless the killer acted without any logic, this made no sense.
Or was the ice meant to hide something else?
Zhu Qing couldn’t figure it out.
She quietly noted it down and tucked the notebook away.
Sheng Fang tilted his head, thinking this notebook was Zhu Qing’s treasure—just like Ultraman, Iron Man, Spider-Man, and the Ninja Turtles were his.
Zhu Qing had too few hobbies.
Sheng Fang shook his head, about to encourage his niece to broaden her interests, when he saw her flip open the notebook and dial a string of numbers.
His heart nearly leaped out of his chest.
Was she calling Teacher Ji?
The guilty child immediately sat up straight.
"Yongshan," Zhu Qing said into the phone, crossing out a line in her to-do list.
"What time does the record store open?"
Sheng Fang slumped back into his usual lazy posture.
After hanging up, Zhu Qing glanced at him. "What mischief have you been up to?"
Sheng Fang put on his best innocent face. "Nothing~"
---
Not only did Zhu Qing not find out about Sheng Fang’s kindergarten misadventures, but she even took him—
On a case!
Zhu Qing brought Sheng Fang to the record store where You Minmin had worked.
That afternoon, Sister Zhen at the station had received a call—the victim’s brother suddenly remembered his sister might have had a boyfriend, though he knew little about it.
He suggested the store owner or coworkers might know more.
Armed with snacks and toys, the child followed Zhu Qing, obediently keeping his promise—no talking, just tagging along quietly.
The record store stood out like a sore thumb on the street corner. The owner, a former rock band guitarist, opened shop only when he felt like it.
Earlier, officers had been told the owner kept irregular hours, sometimes disappearing for days.
Zhu Qing and Sheng Fang had come on a whim, but luck was on their side—when they arrived, a young female clerk with multiple ear piercings was restocking shelves.
"Looking for anything?" she asked. "Classic rock or new releases?"
When Zhu Qing flashed her badge, the clerk’s fingers paused on a record sleeve.
Her gaze drifted to the cash register—You Minmin’s old spot, now empty.
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Minmin and I used to sit there doing inventory."
The city was buzzing about You Minmin’s death. Everyone knew.
The clerk cooperated with the questioning, though her brows remained furrowed.
"Minmin started here at the beginning of the year. She was quiet but had a sharp memory. Very responsible. The boss keeps rare editions in the back, and she could always find them instantly…
"Some regulars would ask for her by name."
The clerk glanced outside, the neon lights giving her courage.
She ventured, "Madam… it wasn’t really a drowned ghost seeking a replacement, was it?"
Before Zhu Qing could answer, she shook her head. "No, of course not. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here asking these questions."
Zhu Qing took notes. "We heard she had a boyfriend?"
"Boyfriend? You must be mistaken." The clerk paused. "Wait—are you talking about Blowhard Hui?"
Blowhard Hui, real name Xie Donghui, was a local loafer who occasionally helped move stock at the store. He also collected debts, sold bootleg CDs—basically anything for quick cash.
"They were never a couple!
"That guy’s all talk, always saying sleazy things to Minmin… I warned her countless times—men like him can’t be trusted."
"And then that silly girl went and told him everything I said..."
The shop assistant shook her head, her tone exasperated.
"Minmin usually won’t even add an egg to her noodles, yet the moment her paycheck comes in, he borrows it all."
"Borrows? More like takes—I’ve never seen him return a single cent!"
"And now? She’s lost both the money and the man..."
The shop assistant explained that just recently, after the boss handed out salaries, Blowhard Hui showed up again.
He took all of You Minmin’s savings, sweet-talking her as usual.
"The next day, Minmin came to work with red eyes—clearly, she’d been crying," the shop assistant said. "I asked her what happened, but she wouldn’t tell me. After all, we’re just coworkers, and some private matters… well, she might not share them with me. Especially since I’d already warned her about Blowhard Hui before."
"You mentioned financial disputes or personal grudges—" she concluded firmly, "look no further than Blowhard Hui."
Stepping out of the record store, little Sheng Fang bounced along behind Zhu Qing, grinning from ear to ear.
Watching the police work a case was the most exciting game ever. He memorized the interrogation tactics, already planning to play cops and robbers at kindergarten tomorrow.
Sheng Fang quietly rehearsed in his mind.
Whenever he didn’t understand something, he’d ask right away.
"Qing, what does 'Blowhard Hui' mean?"
"His name’s Hui, and he loves bragging, so people call him Blowhard Hui," Zhu Qing explained.
Nighttime investigations meant putting her uncle’s car to good use.
And for Sheng Fang, it was also a chance to enjoy the breeze.
He rolled down the window, resting his cheek against the frame, feeling the cool wind on his face.
Time flew so fast—the warm air turned chilly as quickly as adjusting a hairdryer’s settings.
"Qing, let’s go buy glow-in-the-dark stars!"
Sheng Fang suddenly remembered—Zhu Qing had promised to cover his bedroom walls with them.
The children’s store was in Causeway Bay, right where the record shop was.
But by now, they’d already driven two blocks away.
"Turning back now would be such a hassle," Zhu Qing bargained. "How about we get them next time we’re nearby?"
"Fine."
Sheng Fang agreed easily.
A long silence later, Zhu Qing heard three faint words drift from the backseat—
"Blowhard Qing."
……
Determined to shake off the nickname, Zhu Qing flipped open her notebook and scribbled a reminder:
Buy glow-in-the-dark star stickers for Sheng Fang.
Her work notepad now held this crucial entry—something just for the little one.
Sheng Fang, of course, had already forgotten all about it.
The next morning, he peeked out from his bedroom doorway.
"Qing! Qing—" he drawled, rubbing his sleepy eyes, "Is it the weekend yet?"
Ever since starting school, this was his daily ritual.
Is it the weekend? The weekend?
As if weekends magically appeared overnight!
Zhu Qing circled a date on the calendar. "Today’s Thursday."
Aunt Ping chuckled. "Little master, count how many days until Saturday."
Sheng Fang tilted his head, suddenly sharp. "Who needs to count?"
With a click, he shut his door.
When he reappeared, he was already in his school uniform.
Backpack on, he swung open the front door, leaning casually against the frame.
"If I miss the school bus, I’m not going."
Zhu Qing covered her uncle’s mouth.
He talked too much.
The school bus wasn’t a problem—even if he missed one, another would come in thirty minutes.
Zhu Qing walked him downstairs but left him with Aunt Ping instead of waiting.
Last night, after returning home, Sheng Fang had overheard her calling colleagues.
Early this morning, she’d rush back to the station to track down that runaway Blowhard Hui.
"Blowhard Qing’s off to catch Blowhard Hui."
"Little master!" Aunt Ping chided gently. "You mustn’t call your teachers names like that at school, understand?"
"Aunt Ping, what’s Teacher Ji’s full name?"
Aunt Ping shook her head.
Though the boy usually wrapped her around his finger, she wouldn’t indulge him this time.
"Little master, what would you like for dinner tonight?"
"Aunt Ping’s changing the subject," Sheng Fang said in his tiny voice.
Adults were tricky—whether it was Aunt Ping or Zhu Qing, neither was so easily fooled.
As the school bus approached, Sheng Fang’s hand brushed against his pants pocket.
Two days had passed, and he’d still forgotten to give Zhu Qing the bracelet.
Between 8 and 9 a.m., school buses ran every half hour.
Sheng Fang wheedled and pleaded—he had to deliver the bracelet to the police station.
A child’s worries were always this simple and pure.
What seemed monumental to them barely registered on an adult’s radar. Aunt Ping held Sheng Fang’s hand as they walked toward the Yau Ma Tei Police Station, each step deliberate.
Taking a cue from the boy’s niece, she did her best to preserve this slice of childhood innocence.
It had been ages since the little master last visited the station—not since starting school.
The moment they stepped inside, he spotted a dejected Weng Zhaolin.
Sheng Fang had noticed long ago—Zhao Lin’s outfits always stood out from his colleagues’.
"Suits and ties, huh?" Sheng Fang waved. "You’re the fanciest."
Officers bustled around them, but Weng Zhaolin paused.
"Mind your manners."
Sheng Fang tiptoed closer. "Your dark circles are huge!"
Weng Zhaolin instinctively touched under his eyes. "That obvious?"
Sheng Fang studied him, wrinkling his nose.
The man looked miserable—more bitter than the herbal tea from the old lady’s shop in Wan Chai.
"You need rest!" the tiny elder declared solemnly.
Those few words struck a chord. Weng Zhaolin’s heart softened instantly.
"Every case turns into a circus now. Half of Hong Kong’s heard the broadcasts," Weng Zhaolin sighed, massaging his temples. "And now headquarters wants it solved in three days. Investigations aren’t rocket science—you can’t just snap your fingers and crack a case."
He rubbed his forehead. "Why am I telling you this? You wouldn’t—"
Before he could finish, the little voice piped up with utter sincerity:
"I get it!"
Weng Zhaolin froze.
He knew how it was—rank came with gossip.
The younger officers often muttered about him being attention-seeking, doing it all for the Police Magazine features… Even his own team thought that way. Yet here was a three-year-old who saw right through him.
This tiny bundle of nobility, gazing up with earnest eyes—understood him!
"You’re under so much pressure too."
Weng Zhaolin exhaled, giving Sheng Fang’s shoulder a gentle pat.
He’d found a kindred spirit.
Side by side, the mismatched pair headed for the CID room.
When the B-team detectives spotted them, the room fell silent.
"John," Sheng Fang called casually.
Not a soul in the CID room dared breathe.
How did this little young master sneak in here!
Everyone knows how bad-tempered Officer Weng has been these past two days—absolutely furious.
Someone decided to mix personal matters with official duty, bringing a kid to work… and now, of all times, they’ve walked right into his line of fire. They’ve got no one to blame but themselves.
All eyes turned to Zhu Qing, filled with pity.
Poor thing.
Little Fangfang clasped his chubby hands together and raised them high above his head.
"Ah John, it’s been so long since anyone picked me up after school."
Zhao Lin, the most notoriously disliked person in the entire police station, issued a stern order—
"Zhu Qing, you go."
