Sheng Fang was being quite the little actor, mastering the art of playing pitiful. His tiny figure sat alone at his workstation, nibbling on a pineapple puff with an air of solitude.
He looked like a lonely old man.
Zhu Qing froze on the spot.
Was Sheng Fang upset? She’d heard that children’s hearts were fragile—if hurt even slightly, they might cry silently in their rooms late at night.
She reached out and tugged at the hem of his shirt.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Don’t misunderstand.”
“I get it.” The little master turned his head to gaze out the window, sighing dramatically. “Don’t worry about me. I just need some quiet time to myself.”
Sheng Fang was solving his problems the mature, grown-up way.
Until the sound of frantic scribbling came from behind him. He whipped his head around in disbelief.
He’d told Zhu Qing to leave him alone, and she actually listened—how heartless.
Zhu Qing had no idea where Sheng Fang’s train of thought had derailed this time.
In any case, she had refocused on the case.
The pencil tracings of the handwriting were partially blurred in places, but some parts were clear enough to read. Zhu Qing copied them down meticulously, trying to reconstruct the victim’s fragmented words.
The childish, colorful plastic bracelet on her slender wrist swayed gently as she wrote, but her pen strokes remained steady and firm.
Sheng Fang took a bite of his crispy pineapple puff, chewing noisily—
Our Zhu Qing is truly a professional madam!
The page she had transcribed was at least three hundred words long, with multiple blank spaces where the writing was illegible. But she didn’t attempt to fill them in arbitrarily.
Unlike the cautious tone of earlier entries, this passage was filled with rage. Though the exact reason wasn’t stated, the words all pointed toward one final conclusion:
“He’s going to kill me.”
What could have provoked such a desperate accusation?
“Let’s play puzzle,” Sheng Fang said.
“Huh?”
The little one sprawled over the workstation, his bright eyes fixed on the diary page.
To him, Zhu Qing was like someone assembling a jigsaw puzzle—those blank spaces were just missing pieces. Only when every “piece” was in place would the full picture emerge.
“Maybe then…” Zhu Qing mused, “the truth will come to light?”
Worried that closing the diary might cause the indentations to fade faster, she left it open on the desk.
Zeng Yongshan, Sir Liang, and Hao Zai were out bringing people in for questioning, while Mo Zhenbang paced in and out of the office, his hurried footsteps echoing sharply. Clearly, he was just as anxious.
The rest of the team continued discussing the diary’s contents.
“‘He’s going to kill me’—this ‘he’ probably isn’t Xie Donghui.”
“Definitely not. Otherwise, why would her parents tear out this page?”
“Writing ‘he wants to kill me’ right before death—this ‘he’ is almost certainly the killer—”
Mo Zhenbang returned from the print room, clutching a file.
“Zhu Qing, go check downstairs—why aren’t they here yet?”
“Yes, Sir!”
That overly eager, milky voice definitely didn’t come from Zhu Qing.
PC8888 saluted with a tiny hand pressed to his temple, then grabbed his niece and bolted downstairs.
He’d eaten too much and had been itching to walk it off.
The open-air parking lot behind the police station was filled with vehicles.
But what caught Sheng Fang’s attention wasn’t the private cars or official vehicles—it was the rows upon rows of police motorcycles.
“Zhu Qing, Zhu Qing! Police bikes!”
“I’ve seen them on TV—traffic officers ride these!”
Sheng Fang scampered over to one of the bikes.
His small hands gripped the throttle as he leaned left, mimicking the bike tilting into a sharp turn.
Leaning left wasn’t enough—he had to lean right too. The little boy tilted his whole body sharply, as if weaving through narrow alleys before executing a perfect drift to corner a suspect.
Just twisting the throttle wasn’t satisfying enough.
Sheng Fang turned pleading eyes on his niece. “Zhu Qing, can I—”
“They’re back!” Zhu Qing spotted the police car pulling into the station.
The suspects had arrived.
As Zhu Qing hurried forward, Sheng Fang clung to the heavy motorcycle, standing on tiptoe.
“Hey, kid.”
Sheng Fang looked up glumly—who dared interrupt him?
Didn’t they know the young master didn’t appreciate it?
It was rush hour, and Doctor Cheng happened to walk by, keys in hand, just in time to see the familiar little boy hugging a police bike for dear life.
The bike was heavy, and Sheng Fang’s precarious tiptoe stance made it easy to lose balance—if it tipped over, he’d be flattened like a pancake.
Cheng Xinglang steadied the bike. “Dangerous.”
With someone holding it up, Sheng Fang grew even bolder, putting no effort into supporting himself and just dangling from the handlebars.
“…” Cheng Xinglang chuckled. “Careful, or I’ll tattle.”
Sheng Fang glanced back but didn’t budge. “Madam’s busy.”
Zhu Qing was occupied with matters related to You Minmin’s case.
You Minmin’s parents had been brought in for questioning. The two kept their heads down, wanting to speak but being told to wait until the formal interview.
“Inspector Mo has already prepared the interrogation room,” Zhu Qing said.
“Then let’s get started,” Hao Zai urged. “It’s almost dark—let’s not drag this out till midnight.”
Zhu Qing motioned for Sheng Fang to follow, only then noticing Doctor Cheng’s presence.
The little boy’s eyes lit up like lightbulbs.
“Really? You can ride one?”
“You have a motorcycle license?”
“Can we go for a spin right now?”
Doctor Cheng checked his watch. “I have things to do.”
Zhu Qing was still watching them when a hand clapped her shoulder.
Liang Qikai held a shopping bag from a children’s store.
“Passed by Causeway Bay earlier—while the others grabbed dinner, I spotted this place.”
“Heard the kid wanted glow-in-the-dark stars, so I picked some up for you.”
Sir Liang had just solved a big problem for Zhu Qing.
That torn-out diary page was a crucial lead, and who knew how late the team would have to work to follow up on it… She didn’t want to disappoint Sheng Fang—
“Thanks.” Zhu Qing reached for her wallet. “Let me pay you back.”
Liang Qikai noticed how her eyes sparkled when she saw the glow-in-the-dark stickers.
Clear and bright.
But the next second, she was shoving money into his hand.
“No need—” Sir Liang tried to refuse, but Zhu Qing had already turned to hurry Sheng Fang along.
She didn’t know the exact price of the stickers, and there was no receipt in the bag.
But her little rich uncle had once told her—when in doubt, overpay.
Right now, said little rich uncle was pestering Cheng Xinglang, probably wheedling for something.
"When will you have time?"
"Let's make plans later, Doctor Cheng!"
This was the first time Zhu Qing heard Little Fangfang use such a serious tone of address.
The corners of his mouth turned down, his dark grape-like eyes blinking—though not exactly teary, they were undeniably adorable enough to make refusal impossible.
Sure enough, even Doctor Cheng cracked.
"Should I call you when I'm free?"
Little Fangfang nodded eagerly. "Call me!"
As Zhu Qing pulled him away, Sheng Fang suddenly felt his phrasing wasn't precise enough. He turned back, miming a phone gesture by his ear.
"Call my niece!"
......
In two adjacent interrogation rooms, You Minmin's parents were being questioned separately.
Zhu Qing still vividly remembered the first time she saw You Minmin's mother—on West Ring's Tail End Street.
The woman had collapsed in tears outside a funeral supplies shop, beneath the faded obituary hanging above the door. At that point, You's mother was beyond caring about such taboos; the news of her daughter's death had shattered her completely.
"Minmin was always a good child. No matter how many times you ask, I'll say the same thing."
"Back then, both of us were busy with work—especially her father, always traveling for business."
"Yikang was sickly as a child, and now Bobo takes after him, always falling ill."
Perhaps the pressure of the police station made You's mother nervous; her account was disjointed.
She explained to the two officers that in their younger years, she and her husband had been too occupied making ends meet to care for their two children properly. While they should have kept their young daughter with them, their son's poor health required frequent hospital visits. Worried the grandparents couldn't handle it alone, they had no choice but to take the boy with them.
"Minmin was raised by her grandparents. We only came home once a year, and when we did, we devoted all our time to her."
"At first, nothing seemed off... but gradually, we noticed issues with how the elders were raising her. Minmin became excessively quiet and withdrawn—not just shy, but resentful, as if blaming us."
"She always assumed the worst of us. Maybe the grandparents said things they shouldn't have while raising her. You young people might not understand—some elders love teasing kids with things like 'Mom and Dad abandoned you.' I know we shouldn’t blame her grandparents, but because of this, Minmin grew distant from us."
After years of hard work, they hadn’t even managed to earn much money, and worse, their daughter had turned out this way. You Minmin's parents were consumed by guilt. So when Minmin was ten, they brought her back to live with them.
Sometimes, they wondered—was their daughter's personality shaped by her upbringing, or was it innate?
After taking her home, they tiptoed around her. Even trivial matters became sources of immense grievance in the hypersensitive eyes of You Minmin.
Hao Zai kept his head down as he recorded the statement, glancing up briefly at You's mother. He understood her perspective; he’d noticed the same peculiarities long ago.
You Minmin seemed born with a talent for misinterpreting kindness. When her sister-in-law gave her a dress and lipstick, she insisted they were castoffs. When her parents let her nephew play in the bathtub, she threw a tantrum over a two-year-old’s fun. Even when her coworker Rou kindly warned her to be wary of Blowhard Hui, she turned around and mocked Rou’s own boyfriend.
Such incidents weren’t rare.
The fragments pieced together from her diary painted a clear picture—this was You Minmin’s daily life, filled with endless suspicion.
"I actually peeked at Minmin’s diary once," You's mother admitted uneasily. "I knew she bottled things up, never sharing her true feelings with us. But the more I read, the more it chilled me... We always thought she was so well-behaved, but in reality, she hoarded every grievance and doubt in those pages."
"No matter how much we doted on her, she always believed we treated her poorly."
"I used to joke with Yikang that raising him was worse than raising a piece of char siu—but I never dared say such things to Minmin. She’d take it to heart."
"So the page you tore from the diary was about You Minmin’s conflict with her brother?" Zhu Qing asked.
You's mother nodded. "What she wrote was too cruel, so we..."
......
Meanwhile, in the other interrogation room, You's father pulled a folded diary page from his pocket.
"When we went home to get our IDs, we did what we always did—snooped in her diary."
"This page was too horrifying... so while the officers weren’t looking, we tore it out and took it with us."
"But it’s still part of Minmin’s belongings. Now that she’s gone, we couldn’t bear to burn it—it’s all we have left."
You's father recalled that three days before the incident, You Minmin and You Yikang had a vicious argument.
The trigger? Minmin had sneaked into her brother’s study during a family dinner and rifled through his letters and receipts. When Yikang caught her, he scolded her harshly.
"She’s always been like this. As a kid, when her brother fixed her bike and she fell later, she swore he’d loosened the chain on purpose."
"The whole family bought toys for Bobo—except Minmin. On his birthday, Yikang bought an extra gift and told the boy it was from his aunt... but she took it as her brother and sister-in-law deliberately humiliating her."
"Honestly, Yikang has endured a lot over the years. He knew that because of his childhood illnesses, his sister couldn’t live with us, so he always let her have her way. But that day, when she started snooping through his things again, he finally snapped."
The argument that day was explosive. You Minmin, usually so restrained, screamed hysterically, accusing her entire family—especially her brother.
Zeng Yongshan interjected, "That was the same day she 'broke up' with Xie Donghui."
You's father froze.
He shook his head. "I didn’t know. Minmin never told us about these things... It was her brother who cared. That day, he brought her favorite childhood snack—sugar cakes—to the record store and happened to see them together. Yikang truly adored his sister, but she never trusted him."
"Minmin had a habit of exaggerating. Siblings fight, but she covered her ears and shrieked that her brother was trying to kill her."
"Kill her? That’s absurd. She was just venting."
"Bobo was so scared he started crying. Qiu—my daughter-in-law—had to carry him downstairs. They didn’t dare come back until after Minmin left."
You's father sighed. They still didn’t understand how their daughter had become like this.
The act of tearing out the diary page wasn’t to cover for the "murderer." He and his wife simply wanted to protect their family.
"We took the diary because we were afraid you’d misunderstand," You's Father said hoarsely. "How did things escalate to this point…"
…
Forensic analysis confirmed that the torn-out diary page matched You Minmin’s notebook perfectly—down to the paper fibers, ink composition, and even the pressure marks left by the pen.
"The parents’ testimonies also align closely."
"You Minmin accused You Yikang in her diary, but in their eyes, it was just sibling conflict. They worried it would draw unnecessary police attention, so they tore out the page, thinking it best to avoid trouble."
"Honestly, it’s understandable—they didn’t want complications—"
Mo Zhenbang pondered for a moment. "Dig deeper, but keep it low-key. First, break the alibi of the victim’s brother."
"Oh, and were the DNA samples collected?"
That night, the only one with any free time in the entire police station was little Sheng Fang.
He wandered from the CID office to the station canteen, then to the duty room… Zhu Qing suggested Aunt Ping take him home, but the little one refused. Instead, he sprawled over a desk, tilting his head as his tiny hand doodled on a blank statement form.
Uncle Li had given him the sheet, and the child treated it like treasure—he planned to use it the next day in kindergarten to "interrogate" two classmates who had fought over building blocks.
"Xie Donghui’s been cleared."
"During the time of the crime, he was selling DVDs on Apliu Street. At least a dozen witnesses can vouch for him."
Since he hadn’t been held for the full 48 hours, Mo Zhenbang ordered his release.
According to the officers downstairs, Xie Donghui had stumbled on the staircase on his way out, face-planting hard enough to chip half a tooth.
"Scared out of his wits? Serves him right."
"Guess he’s really terrified of ‘ghosts seeking revenge.’ Guilty conscience."
"Terrified? If the radio hadn’t blown this up, he’d have forgotten You Minmin’s name."
Someone sighed. "He’ll lay low for two months at most, then go back to his wild ways—like none of this ever happened…"
But the one who was gone would never return.
A heavy silence fell over the officers, emotions churning beneath the surface.
Until Mo Zhenbang circled You Yikang’s photo on the whiteboard with a red marker.
"So right now, the prime suspect is still the victim’s brother."
"Three days before the murder, he had a violent argument with her. She even wrote in her diary, ‘He wants to kill me.’"
"On the night of the crime, You Yikang didn’t show up until 1 a.m., reeking of alcohol."
Uncle Li scoffed, mimicking his tone: "‘Client dinner… Which bar? Can’t remember! Where’s the client? Out of the country!’"
Mo Zhenbang stood before the whiteboard, deep in thought.
"Keep investigating. Lan Kwai Fong isn’t that big. If he really wasn’t involved, I refuse to believe he drank all night without a single witness to back him up."
"And hurry up Forensics—get that DNA match from the bottle’s mouth."
Exhaustion hung in the air, and no one responded immediately.
Then, from outside the meeting room, a tiny voice piped up on their behalf.
"Yes, Sir!"
…
Hao Zai’s catchphrase was, "Even a hanged man needs to catch his breath."
Now, little Sheng Fang had repurposed it to remind the officers of Team B to clock out and go home.
Hearing such grown-up words from a chubby-cheeked toddler made everyone burst into laughter—even Mo Zhenbang. He glanced at the wall clock and relented, urging the team to call it a night. The case wouldn’t be solved in a day; every lead needed time to unfold.
"I’ll swing by Lan Kwai Fong," Liang Qikai said. "I live nearby anyway. Might get lucky."
"Yongshan, wanna tag along?" Hao Zai, aware of Zeng Yongshan’s crush, nudged her. "It’s still early."
Zeng Yongshan hesitated, her gaze drifting to the glow-in-the-dark star stickers on Zhu Qing’s desk.
"Me?" She forced a smile. "Not tonight. I’m beat."
Sheng Fang had been at the station since school ended, showing no signs of sleepiness.
He bounded down the steps of the Yau Ma Tei Police Headquarters alongside a group of sighing CID colleagues—literally bouncing off the last stair.
"Wait!" Hao Zai suddenly called out. "Did you leave your backpack at the station?"
For a split second, the little boy froze mid-hop.
He turned, feigning nonchalance. "Did I?"
"..." Zhu Qing, too drained to think, saw right through him. "Sheng Fang, you did that on purpose?"
The child grinned. "I’ll go get it!"
And with that, he hopped back up the stairs, one at a time.
As he passed Hao Zai, the innocent glint in his eyes seemed to spell out two words:
Big mouth.
Hao Zai pointed at himself.
Young Master Sheng nodded emphatically—yes, you!
Little "Inspector Sheng" seemed born for the Yau Ma Tei Police Station. Even at this hour, he marched upstairs alone without a hint of fear.
When footsteps echoed behind him moments later, he didn’t even blink.
"I know it’s you. Stop sneaking around."
Sheng Fang had sharp instincts—he’d recognize his niece’s footsteps anywhere.
"How do footsteps turn to ashes?"
The little lord tilted his head.
Wasn’t that how the line went on TV? Had he misremembered?
Under the clear moonlight on their walk home, the energetic child showed no signs of fatigue, while Zhu Qing kept rubbing her shoulders and neck.
Her little uncle shot her a disapproving look.
So young, yet acting like an achy old granny! He’d told her a million times—no need to work so hard!
They strolled leisurely instead of driving.
The boy’s latest obsession wasn’t the family SUV anymore—now, motorcycles held his heart.
"Qing, let me sign you up for a motorbike license!" Sheng Fang’s eyes sparkled. "It’s so fun!"
He mimicked the "vroom vroom" of a speeding bike, nearly transforming into a human motorcycle.
His niece remained unmoved.
"Even Doctor Cheng got one! You’re not scared, are you?" He deployed his trump card: reverse psychology.
Still no reaction. "Getting a license is exhausting. Pass."
Sheng Fang clasped his hands pleadingly. "It’s not that bad!"
"You’re so smart!"
"We’ll sign up for the seven-day crash course—"
"I’ll give you massages! Once you’re not tired anymore, we’ll register, okay?"
The child was relentless, clinging to Zhu Qing’s arm from the station entrance all the way to their apartment elevator.
When Aunt Ping stepped out of the room holding a brand-new radio, she saw Zhu Qing sprawled on the floor while Sheng Fang sat cross-legged beside her.
The Cantonese opera playing on the radio was melodious and moving, but Aunt Ping was frantic with worry.
"Oh dear, oh dear, get up quickly!"
"It's already autumn—lying on the floor will give you a chill!"
"What if you catch a cold?"
Sheng Fang had a special talent.
The skill of letting things go in one ear and out the other—he had mastered it.
"It's fine, Aunt Ping," Zhu Qing said lazily.
Young Master Sheng Fang longed for the day he could ride an "iron horse" and chase thieves through narrow alleys with Zhu Qing.
So the top priority now was to give his niece a good massage to help loosen her muscles.
If she was in a better mood, maybe she’d go take the motorcycle license test.
Fang Fang worked like a professional masseur, putting in superhuman effort, his techniques varied and never repetitive.
Zhu Qing found it strange—where did this pampered little kid learn such skills?
Sheng Fang tilted his head. "Miss Zhu, is the pressure alright?"
For the sake of his motorcycle dream, Fang Fang would stop at nothing.
Eventually, he even offered a foot-pressing service, balancing on Zhu Qing’s back like a tightrope walker, his tiny feet planted firmly as he spread his arms wide.
"Young Master!" Aunt Ping rushed over in a panic, grabbing his hands.
The child was reckless, and the adult was no better—the two of them were just fooling around.
If he slipped, the young master could fall, and Zhu Qing might strain her back!
"Sheng Fang," Zhu Qing asked suddenly, enjoying the treatment, "are your little feet clean?"
"Of course they are. Wanna smell?"
"No way."
"What’s there to be scared of…"
As they bickered, the little boy eventually lay down beside her.
Realizing she couldn’t persuade them, Aunt Ping gave up and went inside, returning with a blanket.
"Zhu Qing, my teacher said my English was the best today—she made me the class’s little teacher."
"What did you teach them?"
"Lots of things, let me think…"
The soft blanket slowly draped over the niece and her little uncle, light as a feather.
Zhu Qing rested against him, one eye open. "Why are you slacking off?"
Sheng Fang sprawled out, arms and short legs splayed.
"Massage session’s over. Come back tomorrow."
......
Early the next morning, while Zhu Qing was still eating breakfast, Mo Zhenbang called.
Five minutes later, she hurried out and got into Mo Sir’s car.
"Did the DNA test results come in?" Zhu Qing asked.
Mo Zhenbang kept one hand on the steering wheel and pointed to the back seat. "The lab worked overnight to get them."
Zhu Qing flipped through the report—dense lines of Chinese characters, numbers, and English—but before she could read much, she noticed Mo Sir speeding and quickly put it away.
The DNA on the wine bottle’s mouth belonged to the victim’s brother, You Yikang.
Mo Zhenbang and Zhu Qing’s minds raced with tangled clues, but nothing made sense yet.
"What was the motive? Could it really just be over that one argument?"
"The reverse knots on the wrists and ankles—that’s You Yikang’s signature. His son’s shoelaces were tied the same way. A two-year-old couldn’t possibly learn to tie them himself."
"If the killer wanted to stage a ‘water ghost’ murder, the victim shouldn’t have been in a bathrobe. No one soaks in a bathtub wearing one. Keeping the robe suggests the killer avoided direct contact—which fits if the murderer was her brother."
In the car, Mo Sir and Zhu Qing debated the case’s inconsistencies and leads.
"Empty wine bottle, empty pill bottle, bruises on the mouth and neck… The killer forced her to drink and take pills…"
"But what about the call to the radio station? If her brother was threatening her, why didn’t she say so on air? Radio calls aren’t edited—it would’ve been the fastest way to cry for help."
"No footprints or fingerprints from a second person at the scene. So, was this premeditated?"
The questions tangled together, impossible to unravel.
But one thing was undeniable—You Yikang’s DNA on the wine bottle was irrefutable evidence.
Zhu Qing and Mo Zhenbang stood at You Yikang’s doorstep.
You’s Father answered the door.
Inside, Bobo’s shrill cries echoed as You Yikang’s wife irritably mixed formula, telling the child to "wait" while slamming the bathroom door.
"Are you done yet? Can’t you even do this right—"
"Coming, coming!" You’s Mother hurried over. "Found the toothbrush. Yikang, it’s new."
The You household was chaotic in the early hours, the kitchen fragrant with breakfast.
Only then did You’s Mother and You Yikang’s wife notice the two officers at the door, stepping forward in shock.
When they heard the reason for the visit, both women paled.
"Yikang! Come out now!"
You Yikang, who had taken days off work, was preparing to return to the office. He emerged from the bathroom, toothbrush in hand, foam still at the corner of his mouth.
"You are suspected of involvement in the murder of You Minmin. Please come with us for questioning."
Beyond the DNA report, Zhu Qing also held a search warrant—specially authorized by Inspector Weng at Mo Sir’s request.
With a clatter, You Yikang’s toothbrush hit the floor.
He muttered, "The wine bottle… How is that possible?"
......
You Yikang sat at the interrogation table, fingers pressed to his temples.
Zhu Qing spoke calmly. "Tell us again where you were the night of the crime."
This was the third time he’d been asked.
His Adam’s apple bobbed. "I was entertaining a client, but I don’t remember the bar’s name… Somewhere in Lan Kwai Fong, but I’m not sure which alley. You know how many there are around there."
Zhu Qing and Uncle Li exchanged glances.
Still the same vague answer—he was clearly hiding something.
Uncle Li’s pen tapped sharply on the table. "The client’s name? Contact details?"
You Yikang rubbed the back of his neck, leaning forward slightly.
"He’s abroad," he said, voice tight. "Can’t reach him right now, but I’ve sent an email. Hopefully he’ll reply soon."
"What are you hiding? The evidence is right in front of you." Uncle Li lost patience, pausing deliberately. "If convicted of premeditated murder, you know the consequences."
You Yikang’s hands clenched, knuckles whitening, sweat beading at his temples.
After a long silence, he finally looked up, eyes bloodshot.
"I worked nine years in sales before finally getting promoted to regional manager last year. But my education isn’t great, and with the economy struggling, I’ve hit my limit."
"Last month, I found out our biggest client was unhappy and considering switching suppliers. For me, that was an opportunity."
Uncle Li: "You contacted the client privately?"
You Yikang lowered his head with a troubled expression. "Actually, that day, I wanted to test the waters and confirm whether he really intended to switch suppliers. If possible, I also wanted to start my own business."
"That would mean stealing a major client from the company. I couldn’t let the company find out, especially since the client hadn’t confirmed working with me yet. If discovered, I’d be fired immediately. Do you know how hard it is to find a job these days?"
Uncle Li raised an eyebrow. "So you had to hide your whereabouts that night?"
You Yikang nodded weakly.
"If the company finds out I met with a client privately, my career in this industry is over."
"My whole family depends on me. I can’t afford to lose this job."
Suddenly, he let out a bitter laugh and rubbed his temples.
"Actually, when we were kids, my sister and I were very close."
"But later, I don’t know what happened. Minmin always said our parents favored me."
"She’s too sensitive—she overanalyzes every little thing."
You Yikang said that at some point, his sister’s personality had grown increasingly paranoid, twisted, even pathological.
"Once, my wife blurted out in anger that Minmin had persecution delusions." You Yikang stared at the pen tip of the officer taking notes, his fingers tracing the edge of the table. "I scolded her for being unreasonable… but in private, I did urge Minmin to see a doctor."
He recalled his sister’s reaction at the time.
She stood there, staring at him with icy, mocking eyes.
"She said I’d definitely bribe the doctor—that they’d diagnose her with an illness even if she was fine."
"She’s my sister." You Yikang’s eyes reddened as he looked up at the two officers, emphasizing, "She’s my sister… How could I possibly kill her?"
Uncle Li slid the DNA report toward him. "But your DNA was found on the mouth of the wine bottle."
"I’m allergic to red wine." You Yikang leaned forward abruptly, pressing his hand on the report. "At last year’s company banquet, someone egged me on, and I took a sip to please General Manager Zhang. I immediately had trouble breathing and broke out in hives."
"I never considered that allergen before, so over the years, there are multiple emergency room records! If not for that banquet, I still wouldn’t know it was red wine causing it."
"How could someone allergic to it drink it?"
"I don’t know how my DNA got on that bottle. How accurate is this test?"
You Yikang stared at them.
"Are you just pinning this on me to close the case?"
"Just because Minmin and I argued, I’m the perfect scapegoat, is that it?"
The two officers closed the file, observing him impassively.
"We’ll verify everything."
You Yikang slumped back in his chair.
Exhausted, he covered his eyes, his hands trembling slightly.
"We always doted on her."
"Dresses, lipstick, sugar cakes… Even Bobo’s first word was ‘Auntie’… But she never appreciated any of it."
"What more do we have to do? How else can we prove ourselves?"
...
As Zhu Qing stepped out of the interrogation room, she caught sight of a tall figure disappearing around the corner of the hallway.
"Was Doctor Cheng here earlier?" she asked when she returned to her desk.
"He came looking for Sir Mo, but he wasn’t in." Zeng Yongshan pointed at the report on the desk. "When Sir Mo gets back, remind me to hand this over."
"Doctor Ye used to have his assistant deliver reports. Doctor Cheng’s been handling things personally lately."
Zhu Qing flipped open the report. "Any new findings?"
"Three parallel ligature marks on the neck, consistent depth and direction. And no traces of the killer’s skin under the victim’s fingernails."
Zheng Yongshan shrugged as she pointed at the photo of the marks. "We laymen wouldn’t understand… Doctor Cheng said a frozen re-examination is needed."
Zhu Qing rested her chin on her hand, studying the ligature marks in the photo.
"How’s You Yikang holding up?" Zeng Yongshan asked.
"He claims he’s allergic to red wine—that he can’t even touch it."
Ever since discovering that Sheng Fang was allergic to mangoes, Zhu Qing had looked into a lot of medical literature on allergies.
Back then, the material had specifically used alcohol allergies as an example.
"There are indeed medical studies showing that some people are allergic to specific components in red wine but not other alcoholic beverages."
"Could this be his clever ploy? Knowing he’s allergic, he deliberately left his DNA on the bottle. Most people would think, ‘Why would someone allergic to wine drink it?’—perfectly clearing his name."
"A killer who meticulously planned a bathroom murder and staged a ‘water ghost’ scene would’ve accounted for every detail."
"His red wine allergy might’ve been his best alibi."
Zhu Qing reopened the interrogation transcript.
"His alibi is vague, but we can’t confirm it’s fabricated yet. We need to dig deeper."
Zeng Yongshan sighed heavily. "So… we’re back to square one?"
"It’s still too early to draw conclusions." Zhu Qing turned a page.
Zeng Yongshan leaned in, scanning the text.
"Persecution delusions?" She frowned. "Honestly, her family must’ve had it rough all these years too."
...
Sheng Fang counted on his fingers very seriously.
One, two, three, four, five… Today was Friday. Once he got through today, it was the weekend!
Back when he had nothing to do at home all day, he never realized how precious days off could be.
Now, after five straight days of school, Sheng Fang was especially looking forward to the weekend.
Teacher Ji had told the kids that every Friday, the kindergarten arranged special activities.
After enjoying delicious snacks in the afternoon, they could play freely in the sunny outdoor play area. When the dismissal bell rang, it meant the fun weekend had officially begun!
Right now, Sheng Fang was hanging from the children’s horizontal bar.
The autumn breeze was cool. Upside down, his little head dangled a fair distance from the ground—the kid was practically working on his abs.
Today, the child hanging beside him wasn’t Little Yesi.
It was a new kid.
Because Young Master Sheng had been promoted at kindergarten—Teacher Ji made him the English team leader.
This was an international bilingual kindergarten. During admissions, every child had to pass a full English assessment. How could anyone not speak English?
Yet here was the exception.
Every Friday, Sheng Fang became this student’s personal tutor, giving one-on-one lessons all day.
The boy was slightly taller than Sheng Fang.
His golden sneakers practically glowed. He didn’t wear the uniform—from his cap to his socks, every item was plastered with oversized brand logos, as if he wanted to wear every luxury label in the world.
After a full day of tutoring, Sheng Fang tested his progress—only to find the boy forgetting everything as fast as he learned.
He couldn’t even say "Hello" without stuttering. Unbelievable.
The little master wasn’t exactly a patient child. Hanging from the toddler monkey bars, swinging back and forth, he was so frustrated his tiny head nearly steamed.
“Why can’t you get it? It’s so simple!”
The little boy pouted, twisting his fingers nervously. “But I really don’t know how…”
“Why not?” Sheng Fang huffed, hands on his hips. “Didn’t you pass the English test during the interview?”
The boy lowered his voice, whispering conspiratorially to Fang Fang. “Because my family’s nouveau riche!”
On interview day, Daddy paid his way in.
Sheng Fang spun a full circle on the bars before dropping down with a thud.
His eyes sparkled as he stared at the little rich kid.
Every time he splurged, Zhu Qing would boop his nose and tease him for being nouveau riche…
“Wanna come home with me?” Fang Fang invited.
The boy’s soft, round face lit up in disbelief. Had he just made a friend? Just like that?
Without hesitation, he chirped, “Yes!”
“School bus is over there. Let’s go,” Sheng Fang said.
As the dismissal bell rang, Fang Fang cheerfully whisked away someone else’s baby—
Now this was real nouveau riche behavior. Zhu Qing was about to see!
The two boys climbed onto the bus, sitting side by side, hands neatly on their knees.
Outside, Rich Mom—clutching her limited-edition designer bag—chased after the vehicle, shouting, “Jin Bao! Jin Bao!”
“Jin Bao, where are you going? Get off the bus right now!”
Fang Fang calmly rolled up the window.
Who even was that? Just babbling nonsense.
