The school bus of Weston Kindergarten raced down the road, with Jin Bao's mother chasing closely behind in her sports car.
Ordinary citizens are no professionals, after all—lacking the skills for pursuit. After two traffic lights, she lost sight of the bus. Frantic, she turned back to the kindergarten and found Teacher Ji, who was just about to leave for the day.
"Jin Bao's mother, don’t panic. Sit down and tell me slowly," Teacher Ji said gently, guiding her to the sofa in the reception room with a concerned yet warm smile. "Are you saying... a child took another child?"
"I arrived at the usual time to pick up Jin Bao," Jin Bao's mother explained, her voice trembling. "He knows my car is always parked right across from the kindergarten—a bright red sports car. Just last week, before school started, I even bought him a glowing Ultraman backpack so I could spot him easily."
"But today was so strange. He walked out of the kindergarten and just... followed another child straight onto the school bus."
"Jin Bao never takes the school bus home! Doesn’t that mean a child lured him away? Thank goodness I recognized him by that backpack—otherwise, with all the kids looking alike from behind, he could’ve vanished right under my nose!"
"Jin Bao's mother, please calm down. If what you’re saying is true, Jin Bao is safe on the school bus," Teacher Ji reassured her softly. "Do you remember what the other child looked like?"
Jin Bao's mother frowned, trying to recall.
Teacher Ji sighed inwardly.
Based on the parent’s account, Teacher Ji quickly pieced together the clues, directing her "investigation" toward Sheng Fang.
Truthfully, even without the detailed description, she had a vague suspicion that this incident was likely tied to that little young master. With a clear lead, the search became straightforward. The bus driver couldn’t answer calls while driving, but Jin Bao's mother couldn’t wait a second longer—she took the address and rushed straight to Sheng Fang’s home.
The roar of the sports car engine echoed once more outside the kindergarten before fading into the distance.
Rubbing her temples, Teacher Ji hurried to the principal’s office to report the situation. This matter could escalate if not handled carefully, so close monitoring was necessary. She planned to follow up later with both the driver and Jin Bao's mother, while also notifying Sheng Fang’s parents and having a talk with the boy himself.
Knock, knock, knock—
After three raps on the door, Teacher Ji turned the knob and stepped inside.
...
By the time the elevator reached her floor, dusk had settled. Zhu Qing finally tucked away the notebook she’d been reviewing the entire ride.
Thankfully, her little uncle wasn’t around—otherwise, he’d scold her again for multitasking, thinking about work while walking.
That kid always meddled too much.
Perhaps because she’d lived alone for so long, with no one waiting for her at home, Zhu Qing had always made a habit of carrying her keys.
She pulled them out now, unlocking the door while thinking—
Most likely, just like before, the little one would come darting out like a happy bird, tiny arms flapping excitedly.
But today was different.
The door swung open to silence. Zhu Qing glanced inside, then stepped back out.
She closed the door and checked the number plate again.
She hadn’t walked into the wrong place, but the person sitting inside was a stranger.
Click—
The door lock made a soft sound as Aunt Ping pushed it open, cautiously waving Zhu Qing inside.
She lowered her voice, whispering urgently, "Qingqing, something’s happened. The young master has brought someone else’s child home."
Zhu Qing froze. She heard every word clearly, but strung together, they made no sense to her.
What kind of mischief had Sheng Fang gotten into this time?
In the living room, Jin Bao's mother sat stiffly on the sofa.
Her meticulously styled curls trembled slightly as she crossed her legs, one over the other, her hands folded tightly on her knees. Three gold rings gleamed conspicuously on her fingers, and two thick gold chains swayed with each breath around her neck—an unmistakable display of wealth.
Zhu Qing observed silently.
The woman’s face was stern, her sharp eyes betraying her displeasure.
Meanwhile, at the dining table, Sheng Fang and Jin Bao sat side by side, each clutching a small spoon, happily digging into their food.
Jin Bao seemed entirely oblivious to the tension.
"Sheng Fang—" Jin Bao's mother began, her tone icy but faltering for a split second.
"Sheng Fang’s niece," the young master corrected casually.
"Sheng Fang’s niece," Jin Bao's mother repeated, her voice laced with irritation. "You already know what happened today, don’t you?"
Zhu Qing did not.
But five minutes later, she found out.
Normally, Teacher Ji’s private complaints were one thing. Zhu Qing understood—children were still adjusting to the rigid rules of kindergarten, and gentle guidance was key.
But this time, things had escalated to the point where a parent had stormed into their home demanding answers!
"Fangfang, your family’s food is so good," Jin Bao chirped, his cheeks dimpling with satisfaction as he waved his spoon. "I’m gonna steal your housekeeper to be my family’s chef!"
"She’s not a housekeeper," Sheng Fang corrected with a frown. "She’s Aunt Ping!"
Aunt Ping stood nearby, a warm smile on her face as she ladled soup into the children’s bowls.
As Sheng Fang bent to sip his soup, his gaze inevitably flickered toward Zhu Qing’s face.
It was rare to see Qing looking so flustered. The little boy tilted his head, watching curiously.
Breaking news—
Qing was losing her cool!
Aunt Ping subtly nudged his head back.
At a time like this, the young master still had the nerve to enjoy the show? He probably had no idea what was coming. Right now, it was best to stay quiet.
Sheng Fang turned back to his meal.
The two children resumed their own little world, chatting leisurely.
Their conversation drifted to English class, picking up right where they’d left off in kindergarten.
"My family’s nouveau riche," Jin Bao declared proudly. "Mom and Dad own a gold shop."
"Next time, I’ll sneak you a big gold bar."
"What about you, Fangfang?"
After a brief silence, Jin Bao got his answer.
At the same time, Jin Bao’s mother’s voice rose sharply: "You can’t just bring someone else’s child home without permission! If I hadn’t seen Jin Bao getting on the school bus with my own eyes—"
"Mommy, don’t shout," Jin Bao called from the table, a grain of rice still stuck to his cheek. "His family’s jewelry tycoons!"
Jin Bao’s mother fell silent.
A jewelry tycoon? But upon second thought, even a jewelry tycoon can’t just kidnap a child!
This matter could be taken lightly or seriously—she wouldn’t be overreacting if she called the police!
“No,” Zhu Qing waved her hand. “Just an ordinary cop.”
Sheng Fang straightened his little back proudly. “From an elite family.”
Jin Bao's mother was stunned again.
Now he’s a policeman?
Aunt Ping stifled a laugh.
This uncle-niece duo didn’t care one bit about inheriting billions.
Compared to that, they took far more pride in being called "Officer" and "Madam."
“Mommy,” Jin Bao called out again, “if you’re rude to my friend, I won’t go home with you today. I’ll stay here.”
Zhu Qing: ? No, thanks.
……
It was only after bringing the child home that Sheng Fang realized Golden’s real name was Jin Bao.
At that moment, the clues of the case fell into place, and Officer Fang had an epiphany—
No wonder his mom had chased their car.
Zhu Qing knew this still needed to be handled seriously.
Right in front of Jin Bao's mother, she gave Sheng Fang a proper scolding. Fangfang was a clever kid to begin with, so he listened thoughtfully.
“Why did you come with me?” Sheng Fang asked.
Jin Bao scratched his head. “You invited me.”
The little young master quickly regained control of the situation. “Next time, ask your mommy first.”
Though Fangfang was being lectured by his niece, he wasn’t about to just take it lying down.
Hanging his head, he pitifully explained his real reason for bringing Jin Bao home.
The Fangfang kid came from a family that had been wealthy for three generations—his dad was a big tycoon, he was a medium tycoon, and Qingzai was a little tycoon.
So, he was definitely not some nouveau riche.
“Qingzai, this one’s the real upstart.”
The air froze.
Zhu Qing sucked in a sharp breath, her lips twitching before she finally gave up resisting.
Aunt Ping was so embarrassed her scalp tingled. “Young master, you shouldn’t say that in front of others.”
“Say it behind their backs?”
“That’s… also not great.”
Luckily, Jin Bao’s easygoing personality took after his mom—neither of them was the type to hold grudges. After Sheng Fang’s niece sincerely apologized and clearly admitted, “That really wasn’t the right thing to do,” the matter was settled as far as Jin Bao's mother was concerned. After all, her child had just started kindergarten and had already made a friend. She didn’t want to sour their budding friendship.
Jin Bao had the time of his life at Sheng Fang’s place. The mountain of fancy toys from the Sheng family’s mansion had long since been shipped over, and the two little ones were completely lost in a sea of playthings, having way too much fun to think of going home.
Only as dusk fell, after repeated urging from Jin Bao's mother—and a final promise to buy him ice cream on the way home—did she finally manage to coax her overexcited child away.
As they left, Sheng Fang stood on tiptoe, craning his neck for one last look, reluctant to see the fun end.
“Come again next time!”
Jin Bao: “I’ll be back!”
Once the door closed, his niece was waiting on the couch.
“Sheng Fang, clean up your toys.”
The kidnapping incident was officially over—Zhu Qing wasn’t going to harp on the same moral lesson.
But nurturing good habits in a future little troublemaker had to start with everyday routines.
Of course, he had to tidy up his own messy toys. Did they expect Aunt Ping to bend over and slowly pick everything up for him?
Sheng Fang’s pout grew so exaggerated it nearly reached his nose.
Even as he pitifully whined about being tired, his niece didn’t even lift an eyelid… Young Master Sheng Fang puffed up his cheeks angrily as he picked up the toys, but when it came time to toss them back into the storage box, he bared his tiny teeth and gently set them down instead.
Though he was thoroughly displeased, slamming them down would earn him a scolding.
A scolding was one thing, but he couldn’t be sure whether his niece might eventually lose her temper and hit him. Zhu Qing was a top honors graduate from the police academy, with full marks in martial arts—getting beaten by her would definitely hurt.
"Don’t come next time, Jin Bao," he muttered to himself.
Young Master Sheng had quite the temper, but his anger flared up quickly and faded just as fast.
By the time he finished tidying the toys, his irritation had already dissipated. Like a little rocket, he dashed to the sofa and plopped down beside his niece.
"Qing, you’re off tomorrow—let’s play together, okay?"
Fangfang’s soft, chubby face loomed right in front of Zhu Qing’s eyes.
"I have work," Zhu Qing replied.
"Then let’s go to work together!" Sheng Fang repeated his usual tactic, pressing his little hands together and raising them above his head. "Pleeease."
Zhu Qing kept flipping channels with the TV remote, her expression unmoved. "How can we go to work together? Let Aunt Ping take you out to play."
Little Sheng Fang stared at his niece in disbelief.
Even John fell for this trick—how could Qing resist it?!
Deflated, Sheng Fang flopped back onto the sofa.
Who knew what Qing was trying to watch? The TV channels kept switching, never settling on one.
"Qing!" Suddenly, Sheng Fang sat bolt upright. "Buzz buzz—do you hear that? ‘Buzz buzz’?"
What a jumpy little kid.
Zhu Qing gave him a puzzled look. "All I hear is you going ‘buzz buzz.’"
Sheng Fang waved his hands wildly near his ears. "There’s a mosquito!"
Poor niece, so young…
And already going deaf!
……
The little uncle’s life revolved around two places: home and kindergarten.
His niece’s life was similarly routine: home and the police station.
In the early mornings, when Zhu Qing left for work, Fangfang was usually still lazing in bed. She made sure to tread lightly, grab breakfast, and close the door softly behind her.
Back at the station, after organizing case files, she joined her colleagues in the conference room.
Mo Zhenbang pressed a marker next to a photo of the victim’s older brother, You Yikang, then drew a heavy question mark.
The marker ran dry, the line growing fainter. Annoyed, he frowned and grabbed another one.
He tapped the whiteboard. "Let’s go over You Yikang’s alibi again from the top."
The sound of rustling papers filled the room as everyone flipped through their documents.
After interrogating You Yikang early yesterday, the officers had immediately launched an investigation into his activities.
But his private meeting with a major client of the company had only been confirmed through indirect sources. After all, they were just investigating a suspect—no need to cost him his job.
"The rent for that apartment isn’t cheap on a monthly salary. With his younger sister just gone, his parents without income, and a child still babbling… he’s carrying a heavy burden," Liang Qikai said sympathetically. "We confirmed that the client, surnamed Chen, did meet with You Yikang that night, but he left Hong Kong early the next morning."
"Four or five international calls were made, but none could get through."
"However, we did find the bar he mentioned. The owner and staff remember him—he was drinking with a businessman discussing a deal at first, but the other party left early, and he ended up drinking alone in a gloomy mood. Unfortunately, there’s no surveillance footage, so they couldn’t confirm the exact time."
Xu Jiale also stood up, handing the hospital medical records to Inspector Mo.
"This guy’s had terrible luck. The ER records show he’s been hospitalized multiple times for severe allergic reactions. But it wasn’t until last year that they finally identified the real allergen—sulfites in red wine."
"But then, how do we explain the DNA on the wine bottle?"
The investigation seemed to have circled back to square one.
A long silence settled over the conference room. If You Yikang was truly innocent, why did all the evidence point to him?
Was it just a coincidence?
"The crime scene will speak," Mo Zhenbang said firmly. "Let’s reconstruct the timeline from scratch."
With new assignments handed out, Zhu Qing flipped open her notebook, meticulously recording the timeline pieced together over the past few days.
Around her, colleagues murmured in hushed tones.
"Just because of his sister’s obsession, the brother gets dragged into this mess—how unfair. Caught up in his own sister’s murder case, with that diary making it impossible for him to defend himself. Who can You Yikang even turn to?"
"If luck isn’t on his side, he might even lose his job over this. Then who’s going to support his whole family?"
"When we saw their parents last night, they looked completely drained—like they’d aged a decade in just a few nights."
Liang Qikai sighed helplessly. "In the end, it all comes down to You Minmin’s psychological issues. If she never sought help, how could anyone save her?"
...
At 10 a.m., Mo Zhenbang assigned a new task to the entire Homicide Team B.
Every detective had to make the crime scene "speak"—retracing the victim’s exact movements that day to reconstruct events.
This was a process of tearing down and rebuilding, all in search of a new breakthrough.
Since the investigation method was flexible, Zhu Qing took the opportunity to swing by home and pick up her little assistant, Sheng Fang.
The moment she opened the door, the kid was sprawled on the floor, rolling around.
"So bored."
"So, so bored!"
Aunt Ping hovered nearby, offering suggestions.
"How about feeding pigeons at the park? Didn’t you say last time you wanted to name that little gray one?"
"Or maybe buy strawberries? At the market this morning, I heard the ladies say the supermarket downstairs just got a fresh batch of imported ones—big and sweet."
"Or the department store? Rumor has it the toy section just stocked a new batch of Transformers—a T-rex that turns into a car! Only three left in all of Hong Kong!"
Sheng Fang clutched his head in refusal. "Even more boring!"
Just then, the little master heard his niece’s footsteps.
"Want to come with me—"
He didn’t even let her finish before springing up from the floor.
"Yes!"
"Weekend adventure time!"
Zhu Qing slung a water bottle over his tiny shoulder. "It’s a case investigation."
And so, this special task force was formed—comprising only Zhu Qing and her "little assistant," Detective Fang.
While buckling his seatbelt, Zhu Qing suddenly remembered something. "There really were mosquitoes last night."
The night before, Fang had insisted he heard buzzing, but she hadn’t believed him. The little uncle had crossed his arms indignantly, only to be hauled back to bed in the end.
Who would have thought that when Zhu Qing finished washing up and returned to her bedroom to rest, she’d find something amiss? That pesky mosquito was indeed buzzing around her ear again—turn on the light, and it vanished; turn it off, and there it was...
After battling it almost all night, the valiant madam had somehow been defeated by a single mosquito. In the end, Zhu Qing could take no more and buried her head under the covers, barely managing to fall asleep.
"I told you so!" Sheng Fang gloated. "Deaf Qing."
The walls of Fangfang’s children’s room were already covered in glow-in-the-dark star stickers.
A bit dazzling, but since Qing had kept her word, he no longer called her "Blowhard Qing."
Now her nickname had leveled up—Deaf Qing.
"Did you finish your morning milk? Aunt Ping reminded you several times," Zhu Qing shot back. "Deaf Fang."
Fangfang patted the seat with an air of aged wisdom. "No respect for your elders."
When the car stopped at No. 17 Tail Corner Street in Western District, Zhu Qing held Sheng Fang’s hand as they stood at the stairwell.
She looked up, gazing at You Minmin’s former residence.
"Now, let’s assume I’m You Minmin—" Zhu Qing said.
"What about me?" Sheng Fang blinked.
"Assume you didn’t come."
Fangfang pressed his little lips together.
Something felt off, but a three-year-old was no match for a decades-old madam. He could only obediently shut up.
The niece began her case review.
Meanwhile, her little uncle trailed behind her like a dutiful accessory. Staying quiet was the price for spending the whole day with Qing.
Zhu Qing flipped through the case records.
At 10 a.m. on Tuesday, You Minmin had left the house wearing black trousers, a faded beige shirt, a simple ponytail, and thick black-framed glasses.
In the months before, for Blowhard Hui, she’d put in the effort—adorable hairstyles, pretty earrings, her best dresses. But now, they’d broken up. Blowhard Hui had said he’d never cared about her, that it was just fun. A girl that plain? He’d be embarrassed to be seen with her.
"She cried for a long time," Zhu Qing murmured. "Three days after the breakup, her eyes were probably still swollen."
Though Fangfang was sharp for his age, the tangled mess of adult romance was beyond him.
He bounced around beside Qing, urging her to keep moving.
The excitement in the little boy’s eyes was practically spilling over.
It was like playing a board game—move one space, two spaces, three... until victory was theirs!
"Qing, where to next?"
Zhu Qing thought back.
The victim’s diary had mentioned a special place.
She and Sheng Fang walked all the way to that abandoned pier.
Rusted chains dipped halfway into the seawater, swaying with the tide, clinking softly. Fangfang didn’t go near, tiptoeing to watch from a distance—Uncle was a cautious soul, afraid he might fall in.
Niece and uncle sat side by side on the seawall.
Early autumn weather only called for a light shirt; the breeze against their cheeks was cool. Fangfang leaned back on the bench, tilting his little face skyward, half-squinting at the clouds in greeting.
Zhu Qing, meanwhile, observed their surroundings intently.
Occasionally, an elderly passerby strolled by with a dog, unhurried. Couples held hands, sharing a box of egg waffles, their laughter scattered by the sea wind.
The little chatterbox Sheng Fang kept rambling about trivial things.
"Qing, are we feeling the sea breeze now?"
"We should've brought ingredients and marshmallows like last time for a BBQ here."
"Wait, no—this spot's too cramped. They'd never allow a BBQ here."
The child swallowed hard, remembering the perfectly grilled pork belly Doctor Cheng had made last time—juicy, well-marbled, and bursting with flavor in every bite.
Whenever he was around his niece, Sheng Fang turned into a little motormouth. Random, whimsical thoughts popped into his head, and he'd voice them intermittently while gazing at the sky. "The cloud from earlier is gone."
That cloud had been playing hide-and-seek with the young master of the Sheng family.
He searched but couldn’t find it, then spread his tiny hands in protest. "I never agreed to play with you."
Zhu Qing watched the calm sea, sitting quietly, occasionally glancing at the child amusing himself.
Silly kid.
They stayed at the abandoned dock until noon, when Fangfang patted his round little belly.
"Qing, I'm hungry."
His stomach growled, yet it remained plump.
The little one declared matter-of-factly—what filled it was all internal organs.
"Your uncle may be small, but he's fully equipped," Sheng Fang said with utmost seriousness.
Zhu Qing took Sheng Fang to the teahouse You Minmin used to frequent.
She pulled out a photo of the deceased. "Do you recognize her?"
"Madam, you asked about her just the other day," the hostess replied, recognizing the woman. "She was a regular—always ordered a basket of shrimp dumplings, a sticky rice chicken, and a glass of warm water."
"See—" The hostess pointed to a corner table. "She’d huddle there like she was afraid of being seen."
Meanwhile, little Sheng Fang grabbed the dim sum order sheet and checked off nearly every snack.
But before finalizing, Qing would review it.
"Waste is shameful," Zhu Qing said, picking up a pen.
Crossed out, crossed out, crossed out.
Sheng Fang propped his chubby cheeks on both hands.
Honestly, who’s the adult here?
...
Leaving the teahouse, they wound through two narrow alleys to reach Xie Donghui’s residence.
Hand in hand with Sheng Fang, Zhu Qing climbed the creaky stairs of the old building, following the address Xie Donghui—nicknamed "Blowhard Hui"—had given at the police station.
Finally, they reached the rooftop.
This was where You Minmin had quietly devoted herself. She’d tirelessly washed Blowhard Hui’s clothes, hanging them carefully under the sun. If she didn’t return to collect them, they’d stay there, weathering wind and rain.
Yet she never complained, just kept tending to his life day after day, maintaining order in his home.
Zhu Qing stood at the rooftop’s edge, staring at Blowhard Hui’s door below.
Had You Minmin stood there just like this that day? Frozen at his doorstep, too afraid to knock, dreading another rejection.
He’d already taken back the spare key he’d given her—that door would never open for her again.
Maybe she’d lingered helplessly up here for a long time before finally leaving.
"Let’s go," Zhu Qing said.
To Sheng Fang, this was nothing short of a thrilling urban adventure.
He followed behind Zhu Qing, brimming with excitement. As they passed by the record store, he recognized it as the place they had visited a few days earlier while investigating the case.
"Zhu Qing, why isn’t it open?"
"This record store only operates in the evening."
In truth, the police had an incomplete picture of You Minmin’s whereabouts on the day she was killed.
A girl so ordinary she was almost invisible—no one ever paid attention to her movements. The detectives could only piece together scattered clues: convenience store receipts, handwritten tea house bills, the hazy memories of Blowhard Hui’s neighbors, and the occasional glimpse from the shopkeeper next to the record store…
According to the neighboring shopkeeper’s recollection, You Minmin had merely passed by the record store, paused briefly, and then walked away.
"Madam, didn’t you already ask about this before?"
"I think I saw her, but then again, maybe not. She dressed the same every day—dull, muted colors, head always bowed, never greeting anyone."
"It’s already Saturday—who remembers what happened on Tuesday?"
"Besides," the shopkeeper suddenly raised her voice, "this is Causeway Bay! A busy district! How many people pass through here every day? Even if she really was loitering around, what’s so strange about that?"
With that, the shopkeeper pursed her lips and turned to walk back inside, muttering under her breath about how the record store owner had terrible judgment, hiring such a gloomy girl to work there. She never smiled, never greeted customers—wasn’t that just driving business away?
Zhu Qing’s gaze lingered for a moment before she looked away.
At this hour, the record store was still closed.
Even if it were open, when You Minmin wasn’t working, the store wouldn’t be playing heartbreak ballads.
With no music playing, Sheng Fang eagerly volunteered to be the human jukebox.
His sweet, childish voice carried a cheerful melody to Zhu Qing’s ears.
"Everyone hopes to find happiness, my joy soars higher than the sky."
"Everyone wishes for laughter and delight, leaping into sweet dreams to find beauty."
Zhu Qing ruffled his little head. "You only know how to sing Doraemon songs."
Sheng Fang corrected her seriously, "Zhu Qing, it’s Doraemon!"
The child’s innocent, tender singing lingered in the air, slow to fade.
Just then, Zeng Yongshan’s call came through.
Their friendship seemed to have started when Zhu Qing saved the original female lead’s family.
Since then, Zeng Yongshan had grown closer to her, always eager to share her emotional discoveries during investigations.
"Zhu Qing, You Minmin’s parents mentioned earlier that her grandparents had already passed away."
"But I just found out—her grandfather actually died not long ago."
You Minmin’s grandparents had raised her until she was ten, after which her parents took her back home.
The police only knew the two elders had passed, but they hadn’t realized her grandfather had died just last year.
"Honestly, her parents and older brother didn’t seem too bothered. People grow old, people die—it’s natural at their age."
"But You Minmin was deeply attached to her grandparents..."
"At her grandfather’s funeral last year, she had a fight with You Yikang—relatives saw it. She accused him of being heartless, not shedding a single tear when their grandfather died."
"Yongshan," Zhu Qing suddenly asked, "can you find out the exact date of the deceased's grandfather's passing?"
"I haven't asked about that yet," Zeng Yongshan replied over the phone. "Let me look into it."
After hanging up, Zeng Yongshan returned to her desk and only then realized—she had forgotten to mention her most important discovery.
If You Minmin had already publicly humiliated You Yikang at their grandfather's funeral, did that mean he had an even stronger motive for the crime?
The thought left Zeng Yongshan restless, but unfortunately, the office was empty at the moment. Everyone else was still out, leaving her with no one to discuss it with.
......
Zhu Qing and Sheng Fang walked through the city's streets and alleys.
Gradually, she realized You Minmin had nowhere to truly belong.
Occasionally, when she went to her eldest brother's house for meals, she would quietly curl up in a corner of the dining table, handling her chopsticks and bowl with delicate care, cautiously observing everyone's expressions to gauge whether her presence was welcome.
Even when she tried to get close to her little nephew Bobo, the child would squirm away. The family always said Bobo was shy around strangers, but she was his own aunt.
She had almost no friends in her life.
In her graduation photo from school, she stood at the very edge, shoulders slightly hunched, as if afraid to touch anyone. Her colleague Rou at the record store was kind to her, but because of the incident with Xie Donghui, she deliberately kept her distance, avoiding deeper connections. Even during lunch breaks, she would hide alone in the warehouse to eat her boxed meal.
And the only ones who had truly cherished her—her grandparents—had already passed away.
As the sun set, Zhu Qing and Sheng Fang returned to Tail End Street in Western District.
They randomly picked a roadside stall set up at the alley entrance. The folding table wobbled unsteadily, and the young master frowned, repeatedly wiping the greasy surface with tissues.
"Disgusting," he muttered, curling his lip in disdain.
They each ordered a bowl of fish ball noodles.
When the two steaming bowls arrived, Zhu Qing dumped a heaping spoonful of chili sauce into hers.
Doctor Cheng had mentioned this was the last undigested food found in You Minmin's stomach—her final dinner.
"I want chili too!" Sheng Fang said.
But as soon as the words left his mouth, he watched Zhu Qing's face scrunch up from the spice.
The owner hurried over with a teapot, apologizing, "I forgot to warn you earlier—our chili sauce is homemade and packs a serious punch. Half a spoon is the most anyone can handle."
"Want some pineapple ice to cool down?"
Seeing his niece rendered speechless by the heat, Sheng Fang quickly held up two fingers. "Two cups!"
On their way home, Zhu Qing remembered the book of essays found at the crime scene.
In the margins of some poems, You Minmin had occasionally jotted down her thoughts. Next to an essay about seashells, she had written in delicate script—Many years ago, Grandpa took me to the pier to collect seashells.
"Grandpa" referred to You Minmin's grandfather.
For some reason, the words of You Minmin's sister-in-law, Wen Qiu, suddenly echoed in Zhu Qing's ears—
"We were planning to sell the house once Minmin got married. After all, we can't keep renting forever. But now? It's a murder scene. Who would ever buy it?"
The faces of You Yikang, her boyfriend Xie Donghui, the record store owner, Rou, her sister-in-law, her parents...
These figures flashed through Zhu Qing's mind one by one.
You Yikang had told the police in a defeated tone that he suspected his sister suffered from persecutory delusions and had urged her to see a doctor.
But You Minmin had only responded with mocking defiance, claiming doctors could be bribed—that they'd diagnose illness where none existed.
Yet when You Minmin died, antidepressants lay beside the bathtub.
The truth was, she had known she was ill. She had been willing to accept treatment.
A solitary journey. A life starved of love.
Did You Minmin hate?
Zhu Qing couldn’t say.
She pulled out her Spring Day mobile phone and dialed Doctor Cheng’s number.
The deep, pleasant voice answered almost immediately.
"Doctor Cheng, if someone hasn’t been drinking, what other ways could their DNA end up on a liquor bottle?"
...
While Zhu Qing was on the call, little Sheng Fang hovered nearby, mouthing silent reminders.
Don’t forget to ask Doctor Cheng to take me for a motorcycle ride!
But Zhu Qing clapped a hand over his mouth, pressing down his small head as she continued discussing work.
Young Master Sheng fumed.
This was so disrespectful!
Standing at the doorstep, the aunt-nephew pair faced off.
Sheng Fang, thoroughly done with Zhu Qing, rapped his plump little knuckles against the door—knock knock knock.
The door swung open to reveal Aunt Ping, apron tied around her waist, her face bright with warmth.
The sweet aroma from the kitchen drifted past them.
"Perfect timing," Aunt Ping said, taking Sheng Fang’s water bottle. "I just made snow fungus and papaya dessert soup. Best to have it fresh."
She bent down to pinch the child’s cheek. "Did you have fun today, Young Master?"
Sheng Fang tilted his chin up, shooting Zhu Qing a sidelong glance. "It was fine."
Stupid Zhu Qing. She had no idea how upset he was.
She didn’t understand how much that motorcycle ride meant to him!
On the other end of the line, Doctor Cheng was engrossed in re-examining an autopsy.
The crisp clink of metal instruments carried through the receiver.
"There are many ways DNA could transfer to a bottle’s mouth," he explained mid-task.
"Secondary contamination, indirect contact transfer..."
It was clear Doctor Cheng was busy.
Not wanting to disturb him further, Zhu Qing ended the call.
"Focus on your work. We’ll talk at the station."
Aunt Ping brought over two bowls of glistening dessert soup.
"Must be tired after such a long day," she said warmly. "Have some soup, take a hot bath, and rest early."
Sheng Fang piped up: "And kill the mosquito."
Last night, Zhu Qing had waged war against a stubborn mosquito, burying her entire head under the blankets just to sleep.
Little Fang remembered everything. Even if Zhu Qing had annoyed him, he wouldn’t slack on his duties.
"The mosquito’s still here?" Zhu Qing looked surprised.
"Of course," Aunt Ping chuckled. "You didn’t kill it last night. Did you expect it to just fly out on its—"
Fang, pouting like an angry little dumpling, cut in with his babyish voice: "Or maybe the mosquito committed suicide."
Zhu Qing barely registered her uncle’s sarcasm.
She froze.
"What did you just say?"
"The mosquito killed itself!"
"Children's words are harmless, childhood is innocent!" Aunt Ping quickly interjected.
The young master lay sprawled on the table, swinging his short legs, completely oblivious to why such a phrase should be treated with caution.
The words "suicide" echoed in Zhu Qing's ears, rippling through her heart like a stone cast into still water.
A crucial question resurfaced in her mind:
If You Minmin had truly been coerced, why didn’t she cry for help during the radio broadcast?
Unless... it had all been her own choice.
Zhu Qing focused, piecing together the clues in her mind.
Why was You Yikang's DNA found on the wine bottle? With so much evidence pointing directly at him, was it really just a coincidence?
Memories sharpened into clarity.
That seemingly harmonious family had, in subtle ways, always shut You Minmin out. In the morning kitchen, the scent of milk and porridge mingled. Wen Qiu, the sister-in-law, busied herself preparing formula for Bobo, while the sound of running water came from the bathroom—You Yikang washing up, and their mother hastily delivering a new toothbrush.
The toothbrush.
When brushing teeth, the bristles collect cells shed from the oral mucosa, and saliva DNA lingers in the crevices.
Wen Qiu had scolded her husband for failing at even the simplest tasks—perhaps because only that morning had You Yikang realized his toothbrush was missing. The family’s toothbrushes were all the same brand, differing only in color. The absent-minded man had likely been grabbing any toothbrush at random, earning his wife’s ire.
But how could a toothbrush just vanish?
A theory finally emerged—
You Minmin might have taken her own life. She stole her brother’s toothbrush, transferring its DNA to the wine bottle’s rim. The scene was staged—an elaborate frame-up. You Minmin wanted revenge against You Yikang, against her entire family.
Calling the paranormal radio show was her way of making her death spectacular. She had always been overlooked; that was her one and only stage.
The bathrobe was for dignity.
The deep ligature marks on her ankles contrasted starkly with the loose knots on her wrists—because she had tied the nylon ropes herself.
Zhu Qing’s initial suspicion of You Yikang had stemmed from the distinctive knot on his son’s shoelaces.
But having lived under the same roof, how could the sister not know the same knot-tying method as her brother?
Neglected by family, betrayed by love, with even her doting grandparents gone...
This obsessive, extreme girl had always been forgotten. Her death was her retaliation.
She wanted those who failed her to live forever in guilt.
A creak sounded—
Sheng Fang pushed open the door to Zhu Qing’s bedroom.
"Don’t be scared. Tell me, where are you?" he said in a childish voice.
Zhu Qing snapped back to reality. "Who’s he talking to?"
"Shh." Aunt Ping played along. "The young master wants us to be quiet."
The little master was trying to coax a mosquito out.
Leaning against the doorframe with exaggerated nonchalance, he pretended to befriend it: "Buzz buzz?"
