In moments of extreme grief, people often find themselves unable to utter a single coherent sentence.
The elderly couple, who were illiterate, could barely stand steady, supporting each other as they stared fixedly at the words on the evidence display. For a moment, the only sound in their ears was the creaking noise of the old ceiling fan, and they forgot to ask anything.
Zhu Qing said, "The inner ring of the ring doesn’t have—"
"The evidence is still undergoing further testing," Uncle Li interrupted, raising his hand to cut her off.
The ring, found alongside the skeletal remains in the fireplace, had been carefully bagged by Zhu Qing herself, wearing gloves. She clearly remembered that there were no engraved letters on the inner surface.
But Uncle Li, with his seasoned experience, knew better. The world didn’t work on coincidences—the timeline of the couple’s daughter’s disappearance a decade ago, her physique, the location of her past surgery, and the description of the ring’s design all pointed unmistakably to the characteristics of the remains.
"Let’s wait for the forensics team’s detailed report before jumping to conclusions," Uncle Li said cautiously.
The couple remained dazed.
The scent of Mother He’s rheumatism ointment drifted into Zhu Qing’s nose as she asked, "How did He Jia'er go missing?"
The elderly woman wiped her tears with a handkerchief.
The couple ran a newspaper stand, working tirelessly to support their only daughter’s education. He Jia'er was determined, excelling in her studies from a young age and eventually earning a place at the University of Hong Kong.
A university student who had risen from the humble tin-roofed newsstand in Kwun Tong, He Jia'er carried an unyielding spirit in her bones.
"Jia'er always said that once she graduated, she’d make enough money to buy us a thousand-square-foot flat."
"People like us, used to living in subdivided units, wouldn’t even dare dream of such things."
As the old woman reminisced, a mist clouded her eyes.
In her memories, her diligent daughter bent over a low table studying, enduring the hottest days without even turning on the fan… It felt like a dream, until the voice of the female inspector snapped her back to reality.
"Why did she start working at a nightclub?"
Father He avoided Zhu Qing’s sharp gaze, hesitating as he adjusted his collar, revealing a faded green dragon tattoo on his forearm.
The old woman clenched her withered hands, glaring at her husband. "It’s all his fault—he started gambling again!"
In his youth, Father He had sworn off gambling by cutting off a finger as a vow. But when their daughter’s university acceptance letter arrived, he straightened his back—only to fall back into his old habits. He lost money, borrowed more, and soon loan sharks were splashing red paint on their door, the thick liquid dripping down the house number. Mother He wept helplessly, but their university-educated daughter stepped up, confronting the lenders alone.
Using her prestigious student ID as collateral, He Jia'er saved her father’s remaining fingers—but the debt still had to be repaid. She took a job as a waitress at a nightclub, using her commission earnings to settle the debt, finally shaking her father awake.
"Jia'er was capable—she paid off the debt in just three months."
"But once she saw how fast the money came in, she kept going back during holidays…"
"We’ve lived in poverty our whole lives. Jia'er—she had never seen such beautiful handbags and clothes before."
According to Mother He, their once-dutiful daughter had been dazzled by the glamorous world, choosing a shortcut to wealth.
Zhu Qing flipped through the missing person case file.
He Jia'er disappeared after a heated argument with her parents. Their daughter, who had never stayed out overnight before, didn’t return home for an entire night.
One night turned into another, and still, there was no word from her.
Only then did the couple report her missing.
"Why did you hide the fact that she worked at a nightclub?"
"We couldn’t let anyone know. The neighbors said the university would revoke her degree if they found out."
"At first, we thought it was the crowd in Portland Street who led her astray…"
"But in truth, it was us, her parents, who dragged her down. If only her scholarship money hadn’t been gambled away—"
"It was me." Father He suddenly slapped himself. "My fault… all my fault…"
The old woman broke down sobbing. "Who could be so cruel? Killing her and hiding her body in a fireplace, burning her bones black without turning them to ash… What kind of injustice did Jia'er suffer?"
Zhu Qing turned to look at Uncle Li.
Uncle Li gave a slight nod. "The DNA results will be out by next Wednesday at the latest. Arrange for them to give a more detailed statement."
......
Zhu Qing sat at her desk, a takeout cup of iced lemon tea beside the case file—every officer in Team B had one.
Inspector Mo had treated them to afternoon tea. The progress in identifying the victim meant another all-nighter for the team.
Mo Zhenbang pinned a graduation photo of He Jia'er from the decade-old missing person file onto the whiteboard.
In the yellowed photograph, the ponytailed university student smiled brightly at the camera—a stark contrast to the skeletal remains found in the fireplace.
"The victim had undergone leg surgery. Based on detailed medical records, the remains are highly likely to be He Jia'er."
"According to her parents, though she worked in a nightclub—a place with a rough crowd—she was diplomatic, good at reading people, and skilled at defusing conflicts."
"As far as they knew, He Jia'er hadn’t made any enemies or had disputes with anyone."
Hao Zai took a sip of his iced lemon tea and popped a throat lozenge into his mouth, the icy sensation sharpening his focus.
"University students are independent. Do you really think she’d tell her parents everything?"
A few colleagues murmured in agreement.
Even if you’ve never been a parent, you’ve been a child. No matter how filial, some things are kept hidden to spare worry—especially since Mother He had repeatedly clashed with He Jia'er over the nightclub job. The two didn’t understand each other, and bringing up work troubles at home would only add to the tension.
"Boss, I didn’t tell my mum about getting chewed out as a 'damn cop' last week…"
"During the Central shootout, I even said I was on a date at Ocean Park!"
As they chatted, someone tossed the conversation to Zhu Qing, who had been silent. "Right?"
Inspector Mo rapped the whiteboard sharply with a file folder. "Focus!"
After the meeting, he asked Zhu Qing to stay behind and handed her a dormitory application form.
"Your salary exceeds the public housing threshold, but you can apply for the disciplined services quarters reserved for police personnel."
"It’ll take at least a few months to process. Hang in there."
Mo Zhenbang had reviewed her police academy records and transfer documents.
An orphan raised in a welfare home, she was still living in the academy dormitory, commuting with three bus transfers before dawn from Wong Chuk Hang. Sometimes, after late shifts, the young woman simply crashed on the floor of the CID room—she was tough.
"Even if it’s small and shared, it’s better than sleeping in the CID room."
"Thank you, Inspector Mo." Zhu Qing was brief, shifting the topic back to the case file, which now included a hastily scribbled note. "But He Jia'er’s parents said the plain ring had engraved letters. How do we explain that?"
Inspector Mo took the note from her.
The elderly couple had tried to sketch the engraving from memory, but the result looked more like invented symbols than recognizable letters.
Mo Zhenbang frowned. "Looks like scribbles."
"Should I request an expedited scan, Inspector Mo?"
The rookie’s efficiency was almost intimidating.
Mo Zhenbang shot her a sidelong glance, biting down on his flattened cigarette as he signed the form, ash drifting onto the paper. "Inspector Ge at forensics is going to blame me for rushing him again."
Zhu Qing left with the expedited request slip in hand.
"Tell them I want the scan of the metal imprint inside the ring before the end of the day!"
"Yes, Sir."
...
Knock knock knock—
Xu Jiale returned shortly, lightly rapping on the conference room door and lowering his voice. "Inspector Mo."
"The Sheng family is in trouble again."
Not long after the death of jewelry tycoon Sheng Wenchang, the Sheng household had been plagued by incidents. The case of the skeletal remains found in the fireplace had just been filed, and rumors were already spreading like wildfire.
The news channels had only scraps of information, recycling nearly identical reports with slightly different headlines from morning till night. Inspector Weng had rushed to the CID office three times in a row, loosening his tie in frustration each time. By the end of the day, Mo Zhenbang’s expression darkened every time the internal phone rang.
Now, hearing that the Sheng family was embroiled in yet another incident, Team B left Zhu Qing at the forensics lab to submit a follow-up request while the rest of the team followed Sergeant Mo to the hillside estate.
The old butler’s trousers were still dusted with grass stains. The moment he spotted the familiar officers, he hurried forward. "Sir, Bo-Bo is dead!"
When Mo Zhenbang learned that Bo-Bo was the Sheng family’s Maltese dog, he took a deep breath to keep his composure.
Did taxpayers really think the police had nothing better to do? Now even a pet’s death warranted a report? Since when did the West Kowloon Serious Crimes Unit handle pet funerals?
The butler continued, "Bo-Bo was perfectly fine yesterday, running around happily. Then this morning, he just... collapsed. Could it be—poisoning?"
A luxury car pulled into the garage as Chen Chaosheng rushed in, having heard about the incident over the phone. He headed straight for his wife’s room the moment he entered.
Mo Zhenbang watched his anxious retreating figure.
"He canceled his meeting the second his wife called," Zeng Yongshan remarked. "No wonder people say he’s the perfect doting husband!"
...
Sheng Peishan took a moment to compose herself before her husband wheeled her into the living room.
"I apologize for the trouble," she said, her eyes red and swollen as she dabbed at her tears with a tissue.
The second young mistress clutched a photo frame—a picture of her and Bo-Bo from happier times.
Her pale fingers gently traced the image of the little dog nestled in her arms before fresh tears spilled over.
"Bo-Bo got me through the hardest days of my life..."
"Now, what terrifies me most is the thought of something happening to Chaosheng."
"At first, I thought it was just a coincidence. But if Bo-Bo’s death wasn’t an accident... could that brake failure have been...?"
Chen Chaosheng squeezed her hand. "Vintage cars are prone to malfunctions. It was just an accident—you’re overthinking things again."
After a pause, he coaxed, "How about I talk to Lawyer Hu? Rules are rigid, but people aren’t. Staying in the old house for a full hundred days—I’m worried it’ll be too much for you."
"But..."
They made a striking pair, a perfect match. In Mr. Chen’s eyes, Zeng Yongshan saw nothing but deep affection and concern.
Even after years of marriage, the couple remained inseparable, drawing envious glances.
Mo Zhenbang interjected, "You mentioned earlier that Mr. Chen’s car once had brake failure?"
...
The young master rarely ventured out in broad daylight, much less sneaked down the secret passageway to play.
But Marysa had grown wiser—she no longer carelessly left the key to the children’s room lying around. The commotion outside had piqued his curiosity, and the little repeat offender couldn’t resist trying his old tricks again.
The night before, the child had fiddled with the air conditioner, setting the temperature to its lowest. By morning, he was sniffling, so Marysa tucked a cartoon handkerchief into his collar and added an extra layer to his pants.
Strange—today, his trousers had an unusual amount of friction.
Sliding slowly down the pipe, Sheng Fang moved at a sloth’s pace.
As he descended, he caught sight of the female officer he’d just quarreled with the previous night.
Zhu Qing quickened her steps toward the Sheng residence.
Typically, the forensics team preserved evidence in its original state during preliminary examinations. The platinum ring had been hidden in the fireplace ashes for so long that the high temperatures formed a dense oxide layer on its surface. Ordinary cleaning could only remove superficial stains.
But a special reducing agent could strip it away.
Zhu Qing waited as the forensics team worked overtime. As the oxide layer dissolved, engraved letters gradually emerged inside the ring.
The English inscription on the inner band could very well break the case wide open.
With this exciting discovery, Zhu Qing and a senior forensics colleague sped toward the Sheng estate.
But just as she rounded the wrought-iron arched gateway, she spotted the young master dusting off his hands after landing from the pipe.
The little lord wore a triumphant smirk.
Puffing his cheeks, he pinched his handkerchief and blew his nose noisily.
Seeing the snot bubble at the tip of the child’s nose, Zhu Qing recoiled.
And Sheng Fang—who had sworn just hours earlier never to acknowledge this officer again—suddenly dropped into a horse stance.
The young master of the Sheng family channeled his grudge into a Wing Chun opening pose, stretching his short arms in and out, waving his grubby handkerchief like a weapon.
"Eww—!"
