During the day, Zhu Qing spent a considerable amount of time retracing the deceased's final steps, letting the crime scene "speak for itself."
She immersed herself in the victim's perspective.
She imagined herself as You Minmin, imagining Sheng Fang wasn’t by her side.
But in reality, how could Sheng Fang not be there? At the abandoned pier, Fangfang tilted his little face up to chat with the clouds. At the teahouse, he bargained with her even after eating until he was stuffed. On the rooftop of Chui Shui Hui’s home, he practiced shadowboxing, aiming at the drying laundry. Outside the record store, he sang; while eating fish balls, he sneakily sipped pineapple iced tea, his eyes crinkling with mischief…
Throughout the journey, Fangfang had been by her side.
Yet You Minmin, the deceased, had walked every path alone.
From beginning to end, her final journey had been one of solitude.
"Come out, I won’t hurt you," Sheng Fang said, his hands still propped against the doorframe. Suddenly, he clapped them together with a loud "smack!"
The crisp sound faded, and he looked down—his palms were empty, just flushed red from the impact.
He had tried to lure the mosquito out, planning to strike when it least expected. But the mosquito that had evaded Madam all night was no fool.
This was no ordinary opponent!
Fangfang focused intently, hands clasped behind his back as he patrolled silently.
His ears perked up, refusing to let Zhu Qing and Aunt Ping exchange even a single word.
He looked utterly absorbed in his mission.
Zhu Qing leaned back, watching him.
The kid was always busy, though no one knew what exactly he was up to—only that it usually ended in fruitless effort.
Aunt Ping’s warm, gentle voice chimed in, sparing the proud little boy’s dignity.
"Oh dear—that mosquito must have been terrified of our young master’s might and hid away!"
"If it’s already flown off, little master, you should rest now."
Aunt Ping built a grand staircase of excuses for Sheng Fang to descend gracefully.
But the child didn’t take the out. Instead, he flopped onto the floor dramatically.
The young master had decided to stand guard in Zhu Qing’s bedroom.
Tonight, Officer Fang was on duty—no sleep until the mosquito met its doom.
"I’m dueling that mosquito," Fangfang declared.
As everyone busied themselves with their own tasks, the voices around them gradually softened, and the night grew still.
Time slipped away between Fangfang’s tiny fingers as he swatted at the air, searching for his elusive foe…
When the first light of dawn spilled into the room, Sheng Fang opened his eyes to find himself back in the children’s bedroom.
He hadn’t fought the mosquito until daybreak—Officer Fang had accidentally fallen asleep and been carried back by his niece. Fangfang marveled silently at Zhu Qing’s strength.
Still half-asleep, the little boy padded barefoot across the floor with soft "pitter-patter" steps.
When he reached the living room, he noticed the whiteboard from the balcony had been moved inside. After gathering dust for over a month, it was now densely covered in writing.
Clearly, Zhu Qing had pulled an all-nighter piecing together the case.
And early that morning, she had rushed off to work without pause.
Sheng Fang saw how hard his niece worked. Being around her had rubbed off on him, filling his heart with determination.
He couldn’t afford to slack off either. First, he needed to earn his kindergarten diploma. More diplomas meant better chances of getting into the Wong Chuk Hang Police Academy—investigating cases required brains, and illiterates couldn’t cut it. In today’s society, diplomas were everything. Even at his tender age, Sheng Fang understood this deeply. Energized, he dashed back to his room and emerged moments later in his school uniform, backpack strapped on.
Aunt Ping peeked out from the kitchen.
"Young master, where are you off to?"
"School!"
"Today’s Sunday."
The little master of the Sheng household froze for a few seconds before his eyes lit up.
He’d almost forgotten—weekends had two days!
---
The morning meeting room was thick with the aroma of coffee.
Zhu Qing wasn’t the only one who suspected You Minmin’s death was a suicide.
The day before, while retracing the route, Mo Zhenbang and Liang Qikai had also begun to suspect the same.
The radio show Yin Yang had been heavily promoted, and You Minmin had inadvertently learned its premiere was scheduled for Tuesday at 10 PM.
Her life had been painfully ordinary. To give it a grand finale, her first step was calling the paranormal radio station. During the listener call-in segment, she smoothly dialed in and delivered her rehearsed lines, even mimicking the sound of dripping water and struggling underwater. The record store girl had an acute sensitivity to sound—creating these effects was child’s play for her.
"Survival instinct makes drowning victims struggle. But drugs and alcohol dull reactions. It’s like—you’re suffocating, but you can’t even grip the edge of the bathtub."
"The nylon rope was a double insurance," Mo Zhenbang continued. "It restrained her limbs to prevent instinctive thrashing and made the scene look more like a homicide."
"Wait—" Xu Jiale scratched his head, flipping through the autopsy report. "Let me process this."
"The wound on her lip matches fibers from the bathrobe, meaning she bit it herself to stage the scene."
"The ligature marks on her neck are perfectly parallel, and there’s no foreign skin under her nails—meaning no signs of resistance. In short, there was no struggle. All the injuries were self-inflicted."
Step by step, the police reconstructed the truth, testing whether You Minmin’s suicide theory held.
Zeng Yongshan added, "You Minmin’s grandfather passed away last December. The day she died was his birthday… Probably no one in the family remembered except her."
"Her parents always had excuses for neglecting her. If not for her brother, she might’ve received more love."
"When her brother scolded her for snooping in his study, she remembered how her parents had moved in with his family to care for their sick nephew. They could even laugh with their daughter-in-law but treated her with tension."
"You Minmin never considered that she might be the problem. She pushed everyone away, twisting their care and concern into malice—until she chose revenge, framing her brother for her murder."
Mo Zhenbang placed the DNA report from the wine bottle on the table.
"The one thing she overlooked was the wine."
---
You Yikang had climbed to regional manager at his company, earning a private office.
His sister’s death weighed on him, and he rubbed his temples wearily.
Papers lay scattered across his desk. He was tidying them when Hao Zai spoke, making him look up in confusion.
"She didn’t know I was allergic to wine."
You Yikang had mentioned before that even he himself wasn’t initially aware of his allergy to red wine. Working in sales at his company, social drinking was a regular part of the job, and he had been rushed to the emergency room multiple times due to difficulty breathing and full-body rashes. It wasn’t until last year’s company annual dinner, when the same symptoms recurred, that a doctor ordered a thorough examination, ultimately diagnosing him with an allergy to sulfites in red wine.
This detail was later confirmed by the police through his medical records.
But You Minmin had no idea.
"By the time I was diagnosed, we had already moved out. Minmin didn’t come home for meals often, and allergens aren’t exactly a topic you bring up casually. I don’t think we ever mentioned it to her."
As his words trailed off, the police brought up the matter of the "missing toothbrush."
"How did you know about that?"
"My wife and I both have green toothbrush handles, just different shades. I was so groggy in the mornings that I used hers for several days without realizing until she noticed by chance. That’s how I found out how absentminded I’d been."
"Honestly, it was a trivial matter. My wife wouldn’t normally get upset over something like that. But with everything that’s happened with Minmin recently, she’s been on edge, so she made a bigger deal out of it. I managed to smooth things over afterward."
A missing toothbrush in the household wasn’t something anyone dwelled on—they just replaced it.
But now, with the police specifically asking about it, You Yikang could only try to recall and explain.
"Did You Minmin know which toothbrush you used?"
"I’m not sure if she was aware, but the toothbrush was always in my own cup—the one I brought from our old place—before it went missing."
"Officer, are you suggesting…" Suddenly, You Yikang paused. "That Minmin framed me?"
His brows furrowed, and it took him a long moment to find his voice again. "Was it suicide? But that doesn’t make sense. You said she was tied up, with injuries—"
Initially, the police had classified the case as a homicide for precisely this reason.
You Minmin had injuries, her hands and feet bound, and a collection of essays found on the floor suggested she had intended to enjoy a relaxing bath while reading.
But if they set aside preconceptions and considered the possibility of suicide—that she had meticulously staged everything—it also made sense.
Not only did it make sense, but it seemed even more plausible.
"The case is still under investigation," Hao Zai replied without directly answering You Yikang’s question.
You Yikang fell silent for a long time.
"It was suicide, wasn’t it?" he murmured. "The way you’re questioning me, it must be the reason."
Leaning back in his chair, his fingers unconsciously tightened around the armrests before slowly relaxing.
"There’s a seven-year gap between us siblings. From the moment I could remember, my parents drilled it into me that as the older brother, it was my duty to take care of my sister."
"Back then, my parents worked hard but didn’t earn much. My weekly allowance was meager, but I saved every bit, and during holidays at Grandpa’s place, I’d use that money to buy Minmin fruit candies. The kind wrapped in cellophane that shimmered in the sunlight. We’d sit on the rocking chair at Grandpa’s doorstep, unfolding the wrappers under the sun—" You Yikang’s voice grew distant as he recounted memories from over a decade ago, as if they belonged to another lifetime.
"And the dolls. Minmin loved dolls."
"The kind with blinking eyes—cheap, but when I brought one home that time, she ran out to greet us."
Here, his narration abruptly halted.
His Adam’s apple bobbed, and it took him a long while to steady his voice again.
"But at some point, she changed."
"She became indifferent toward me."
"She stopped acting spoiled in front of our parents. At meals, she’d keep her head down, shoveling rice into her mouth, answering only after being asked three times."
"Sometimes, I didn’t know what to say to her. It felt like anything I said might hurt her. Was it my fault that I was sickly as a child? I was just a kid back then—I didn’t have a choice."
You Yikang sifted through fragments of their childhood together.
Closing his eyes, he absentmindedly twisted the wedding ring on his left hand, its surface already showing signs of wear.
"My sister always claimed our parents favored me."
"But the truth is, they always wanted to make it up to her. Aren’t both children equally precious?"
"Every one of us was willing to accept her. To this family, Minmin was never an outsider. On the contrary, it was because of her that our family felt whole."
"But Minmin always saw things differently. She misunderstood…"
You Yikang said that as an adult, he went out of his way to be good to his sister.
But she never believed him. You Minmin trusted no one.
She built a wall around herself, shutting everyone out.
This time, during the police interview, You Yikang spoke more than before.
Perhaps his sister’s actions had left him utterly disillusioned. With a bitter smile, he shook his head, unsure whether he was laughing at Minmin’s foolishness or his own wasted efforts.
The forensics team had been present throughout.
After the interview, they needed to collect additional DNA samples.
One of the forensic officers opened a toolkit. "Mr. You, the DNA traces on the toothbrush aren’t clear enough. We’ll need to collect oral mucosal cells from you directly."
Pulling on gloves, he retrieved a swab.
This was to determine whether You Minmin had transferred DNA to the bottle’s rim using the toothbrush.
You Yikang snapped out of his daze. "What do you need me to do?"
...
Even with all evidence pointing toward suicide, investigative procedures couldn’t be rushed.
The police needed to verify the credibility of testimonies from multiple angles. When questioned about their daughter’s state before her death, You Minmin’s parents responded numbly, as if still reeling from the shock.
They had visibly aged since their daughter’s passing. Zhu Qing remembered how different their demeanor had been when they first arrived at the scene on West Ring Tail Street. Now, streaks of white had appeared at their temples. Zeng Yongshan whispered to Zhu Qing that the TV trope of "hair turning white overnight" wasn’t an exaggeration after all.
"Suicidal tendencies?" You's Father repeated blankly. "Suicidal tendencies…"
The elderly man seemed unable to grasp the meaning of the term—or perhaps he couldn’t bear the thought of it being linked to his daughter.
They had no answers.
Their daughter had always kept things to herself. No one even knew she was taking antidepressants, let alone the suicidal thoughts buried deep in her heart.
"I don't know... We never knew what was going on in her heart."
Over a decade ago, they had guiltily brought You Minmin back into their lives, believing it would make up for the lost years of familial warmth.
Now, more than ten years later, the same guilt surged over them again, threatening to drown them entirely.
"We should have noticed sooner."
"Why wouldn’t this child ever say anything?"
"Minmin was too extreme." You's Mother lifted a hand to wipe the tears from the corner of her eye, but they still trickled down the lines of her aged face. "She was our daughter. How could we, as parents, not love her?"
Wen Qiu stood nearby, holding Bobo in her arms.
The child was too young to understand the adults' grief, squirming restlessly, eager to go downstairs and play.
"Madam, did Minmin drink and take pills to numb the pain?" Wen Qiu’s expression was heavy with sorrow.
She was older than You Minmin—when she first married, her sister-in-law had still been a teenager.
Their relationship had never been smooth, but the lipsticks and dresses she had gifted Minmin were carefully chosen. At least in those moments, Wen Qiu had genuinely wanted to bring her joy.
"Drowning herself..." You's Mother covered her face, sobbing uncontrollably. "How much pain must she have been in? What kind of resolve would it take to do such a thing?"
Wen Qiu rested a hand on You's Mother’s shoulder, offering her a tissue. "Mom..."
You's Father bowed his head, pressing his hands over his eyes as tears seeped through his fingers.
You's Mother kept repeating—how could they not have loved her?
How could this child have hurt herself and then framed her own brother?
"Like that time we brought her white sugar cakes. Yikang waited in line for ages to get them for her, but Minmin barely even glanced at them. She said she was grown now, that she wouldn’t be swayed by such trivial gestures."
"Last month, Yikang’s company gave him a set of toiletries, and we took them to Minmin. But for some reason, she accused him of being insincere. How could he be insincere? He’s always cared for his little sister."
"Why did she think that way?" You's Father’s voice was hoarse. "Minmin made a terrible choice, and it cost her everything."
Bobo didn’t understand why all the adults were crying. He tilted his head, watching for a long moment before clumsily wiping the tears from his mother’s cheeks with his small hands.
Wen Qiu carried the child into the bedroom and opened the drawer again.
Inside a jewelry box lay a pale purple hairpin adorned with pearls—a gift originally meant for You Minmin.
A few days ago, when she had opened this velvet box, Wen Qiu had scoffed at Minmin’s ingratitude, thinking her dark personality made her a magnet for misfortune. But now, looking at the hairpin again, her feelings were entirely different.
She couldn’t put it into words. If only she had known Minmin would come to this...
Maybe she would have given her more kindness and patience.
Wen Qiu gently clasped the hairpin in her palm.
In her mind, the image of Minmin grew clearer.
A nineteen-year-old girl, her life just beginning—yet it had ended so abruptly.
When Zeng Yongshan left the home of Minmin’s brother and sister-in-law, her eyes were red.
She was too emotional—Inspector Mo had often reminded her to stay professional during investigations. But her sensitivity was both her flaw and her strength. It was what allowed her to truly understand the pain and struggle hidden beneath the surface of each case.
"You Minmin became an unsolvable problem for this family."
"Was her death a release for her?"
Would her family really carry this guilt for the rest of their lives?
"That was just her own choice." Zeng Yongshan lowered her gaze. "In truth, her brother loved her. Her parents loved her too."
Zhu Qing paused, looking back at the flight of stairs.
According to their investigation, You Minmin had visited her brother’s home for dinner almost every week.
If she truly hadn’t yearned for love, she could have stayed away.
What had she been thinking as she climbed those steps each time?
...
Step by step, the members of the Serious Crimes Team B felt as though they had retraced the short life of You Minmin.
Her story had ended days ago, and now this case was drawing to a close.
Zhu Qing sorted through the victim’s evidence one last time.
Her fingers brushed over the uneven ink strokes in the diary.
Pages flickered before her eyes—
"March 19th, sunny. Stray dogs actually look at traffic lights before crossing the street."
"April 13th, heavy rain. I didn’t want to go out in this weather, but a customer requested me to find a record for them."
"May 7th, cloudy. The air is stifling. Summer is almost here."
Beyond her grievances toward her family and her turbulent feelings for "Blowhard Hui," the diary also held fragments of her ordinary days.
You Minmin had once been a living, breathing person. But when Zhu Qing saw her, all that remained was a pale face staring upward from the bathtub.
"Yongshan," Zhu Qing suddenly spoke, "when do you think she first started wanting to die?"
Zeng Yongshan twirled a pen between her fingers and sighed. "Was it when she realized her brother’s family and parents were happy together, while she felt like an outsider?"
In the diary, Minmin had once described standing awkwardly at the doorway, watching her parents and brother’s family laughing together. When they noticed her, they hurried to welcome her inside.
They seemed to want her there—but their smiles were stiff and forced.
"Or was it when she realized Blowhard Hui never loved her? That his sweet words were just to swindle money from her?"
"Or worse—that he saw her as free labor."
"Or maybe she just found life meaningless." Zeng Yongshan shrugged helplessly. "Who knows?"
In this case, initially ruled as murder, You Minmin had never been a perfect victim.
She was gloomy, seen by others as insignificant—a speck of dust. Now that her death was confirmed as suicide, colleagues whispered even more about her flaws.
"That was her own brother." Hao Zai packed the essay collection and her graduation photo into an evidence bag. "If he hadn’t been allergic to red wine, he really would’ve been convicted of murder."
"Not to mention, they did argue. Plenty of relatives saw it at Grandpa’s funeral." Xu Jiale glanced at the book’s cover. "The client was abroad, and the bar owner and staff couldn’t confirm You Yikang’s alibi. Add the torn diary page and his DNA on the wine bottle—she was dead set on framing her own brother."
The team murmured in dismay.
You Minmin wasn’t a perfect victim—but she had come dangerously close to orchestrating a perfect murder.
"It’s too extreme. We can analyze her motives, but we can’t comprehend them, much less sympathize."
"That was her own brother. His family has a young child and elderly parents to care for. If he’d been wrongfully convicted, their lives would’ve been ruined. Just because—"
The words trailed off, unfinished.
"Just because she felt neglected, she had to drag everyone down with her?"
"Her brother really had terrible luck. Thankfully the truth came out—he should go home and cleanse himself with pomelo leaves to ward off the bad energy."
Zeng Yongshan frowned. "She's already gone. Show some respect."
"Where am I wrong? Just because You Minmin is dead, we should treat her as sacred? She framed someone!"
"How vile. What kind of deep hatred did she have to want her own brother to be labeled a murderer?"
Uncle Li chuckled. "As if her brother was actually going to jail. Do you think we cops are just for show?"
"Got time to chat?" Mo Zhenbang stepped out of his office, his tone noticeably lighter than the past few days. "Even a suicide case has to be closed properly. That 'ghost call' stirred up a storm—the public is waiting for our statement."
"Inspector Weng will handle the press."
"Did you notice he hasn’t slicked back his hair these past two days? Probably didn’t expect the case to wrap up so fast."
Mo Zhenbang ignored the younger officers’ banter.
Closing a suicide case required thorough documentation, so he assigned the experienced Uncle Li to guide the newcomers through the process.
"Death certificate, police investigation report."
"And a suicide note—though this case doesn’t have one."
"Plus mental health evaluation records. Psychiatrists have confidentiality agreements—unauthorized disclosure could lead to complaints or lawsuits. I’ll need to apply for a disclosure order, and you’ll accompany me when we retrieve them."
This was Zhu Qing’s first time handling the full procedure for closing a suicide case.
Beyond the standard paperwork, they needed supplementary evidence—tools used in the suicide (nylon rope, pill bottles, liquor bottles), re-examined DNA from the liquor bottle, You Yikang’s DNA comparison records…
"Lastly, witness statements," Mo Zhenbang added. "This case is special—we’ll archive it along with that radio call."
Colleagues murmured among themselves.
The evidence was solid. The record store clerk next door and the teahouse waitress who saw the victim on Tuesday both confirmed her low spirits.
Zhu Qing carefully noted the closing details.
Little Sun sat at his computer, pulling up the original recording of You Minmin’s radio call.
The distant voice echoed through the CID office.
Sister Zhen, the admin staff, shivered and rubbed her arms.
"Host, this is You Minmin. I’m dead."
"I’m You Minmin. I’m dead."
"West End Corner Street, No. 17. The bathtub—that’s where I died."
With her final act, she made sure all of Hong Kong remembered her name.
…
By the time Zhu Qing got home, Sheng Fang had just returned too.
Yesterday, Aunt Ping had suggested ways for him to pass the time—feeding pigeons at the park, buying strawberries at the supermarket, or snagging a limited-edition model at the department store—but he’d rejected them all.
The little master complained about being bored, yet today his short legs had been unstoppable, darting around nonstop.
When he came back, hands in his pockets, Aunt Ping followed behind, carrying a Transformers figure in one arm and a bag of bright red strawberries in the other.
"Qing, I named the gray pigeon at the park."
"What’s the name?"
"Silver Treasure." Sheng Fang tilted his head and put a finger to his lips. "Shh—don’t let Golden Treasure’s mommy know."
After dinner, Sheng Fang sprawled on the floor, playing with his new toy.
The Transformers model could shift into amazing forms, and he kept muttering "so cool" while showing off to Zhu Qing.
But Detective Sheng noticed something off—Zhu Qing, who usually buried herself in casework, hadn’t retreated to her room or touched the whiteboard today.
"Case closed?"
When she confirmed, Sheng Fang hugged his Transformers and bounced onto the sofa.
As nimble as a little monkey from Flower-Fruit Mountain.
"It’s over?"
"Really over?"
"Qing, how’d it end so fast?"
Even though Zhao Lin had said they had three days to solve it, everyone knew cases took time—meticulous, step-by-step investigation. How could it wrap up this quickly?
Yet against all odds, Team B had actually met the deadline.
"How was it so fast this time?" Sheng Fang’s excited face loomed in front of Zhu Qing.
"Isn’t that good?"
"Of course!" He sprang high on the sofa. "We get a break now!"
In his mind, "case closed" directly equaled "Zhu Qing on vacation."
Aunt Ping laughed. "Even after closing a case, you still have to work."
"Then can we go to the amusement park?"
The little master hadn’t forgotten their aborted plans.
They’d even prepared a full itinerary, only for that radio call to shatter their free time.
Now, Sheng Fang resumed his research.
"Roller coasters, Ferris wheels, sky swings—"
The ringing phone cut off his excitement.
Aunt Ping answered, then set down the receiver. "Qing, it’s for you."
Sheng Fang perked up. "Who is it?"
"Teacher Ji."
The little master’s grin vanished, transferring straight to Aunt Ping’s face.
Zhu Qing hung up and turned back. "Teacher Ji says we have a parent-teacher meeting tomorrow."
Bringing Golden Treasure home last Friday afternoon wasn’t over yet.
Not only did Teacher Ji want to talk, but the principal did too.
"Look at the mess you made," Zhu Qing said.
Sheng Fang yawned dramatically. "So sleepy."
He kicked his little feet, eyeing his niece’s expression as he slowly inched toward his room.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Zhu Qing: "…"
"It’s only seven," Aunt Ping said, stifling a laugh. "The little master’s turning in early tonight."
…
Zhu Qing spent all of Monday running around.
As the rookie, she was involved in every step of closing the suicide case.
She and Zeng Yongshan went to Central, following the address to the psychiatric clinic where You Minmin had been treated.
"Xu Mingyuan Psychiatric Clinic." Zhu Qing looked up at the sign. "This is the place."
The waiting area was quiet and cozy, with plush sofas under soft lighting.
Zeng Yongshan idly flipped through a well-worn psychology magazine from the rack.
Zhu Qing stood in the hallway, studying Dr. Xu Mingyuan’s gleaming credentials on the wall.
Behind the closed consultation room door, low voices murmured. Not wanting to eavesdrop, Zhu Qing returned to the sofa.
A nurse brought them tea. "Please wait—there’s still a patient inside."
They sat for forty minutes before the door finally opened.
A young woman stepped out, eyes red, clutching a tissue. She’d clearly been crying, but her expression was lighter now.
"Officers, this way," the nurse said, ushering them in.
Dr. Xu nodded slightly, his gaze gentle behind his glasses.
The officers presented their badges and the court-issued disclosure order.
After verifying the documents, the psychiatrist retrieved a file from the cabinet.
"I've been following this news too."
"I often tell Miss You that life has many beautiful experiences worth having."
"It's a shame my abilities were limited, and I couldn't help her."
Zeng Yongshan took the file: "The police force also has psychological counselors, but the causes of mental health issues are too complex. Doctors can only do their best."
Bound by professional ethics, the psychologist couldn’t disclose treatment details.
He paused, his tone restrained: "But I can responsibly say that Miss You did exhibit suicidal tendencies."
The evaluation records showed You Minmin had been diagnosed with severe depression.
The front desk nurse pulled up her medical history.
"She was supposed to attend weekly sessions, but Miss You hasn’t come for the past two weeks."
"Many patients give up treatment due to financial constraints."
Leaving the clinic, Zhu Qing and Zeng Yongshan both wore solemn expressions.
Psychological therapy wasn’t cheap. You Minmin had tried to save herself, but in the end, she couldn’t hold on.
The sunlight was harsh but not scorching.
Zhu Qing raised a hand to shield her eyes: "If she wasn’t suffering from the persecution delusions You Yikang claimed... why would she suspiciously go through her brother’s letters and receipts?"
Zeng Yongshan shook her head. What illness the deceased truly had could no longer be determined.
If she had deliberately closed herself off, even the best doctor would be powerless.
"Don’t overthink it," Zeng Yongshan said gently. "Not every question has an answer."
"And why add ice to the bathtub?" Zhu Qing frowned slightly, staring into the distance. "To delay the time of death? What’s the point?"
"If You Minmin wanted to create the illusion that she was already dead during the phone call, adding ice to delay death makes even less sense."
The wind carried away her murmur, leaving no one to answer.
Spring.
The only person who knew the answer was now forever silent.
...
At 8:30 PM, only a few people remained in the Criminal Investigation Division office.
Zhu Qing finished compiling the final report, ready to submit it to Mo Zhenbang for signing the next morning.
The case name on the report had changed from "The Murder of You Minmin" to "The Suicide of You Minmin."
Closing the case file, she rubbed her stiff neck.
Though she’d called to say she wouldn’t be home for dinner, Sheng Fang, ever the worrier, had brought over soup prepared by Aunt Ping to the station.
Each colleague got a bowl, praising it endlessly.
"So nourishing—warms you from head to toe."
"Xu Jiale, you’re exaggerating!"
"If only we could have Aunt Ping’s soup every day."
"Dream on..."
After finishing their soup, the team stretched in unison.
Though exhausted, the case was finally closed.
"Drinks?" Xu Jiale tossed his pen into the holder. "The case is wrapped up—time to unwind."
"Let’s go," Hao Zai agreed. "If I stare at these files any longer, I’ll go bald."
Xu Jiale ruffled his hair. "Still plenty left here."
Zeng Yongshan chuckled. "Where to?"
"Ask Sir Liang," Hao Zai said with a wink. "He lives near Lan Kwai Fong—knows all the spots."
Zhu Qing usually skipped these gatherings.
But catching Sheng Fang’s small figure sneaking away, she suddenly stood.
"Sheng Fang?"
"Happy Hour!" Sheng Fang waved a tiny hand without looking back.
The bar was Hao Zai’s pick—he was familiar with the forensics team, who frequented the place.
"Mention Ben’s name for a discount," Hao Zai said with a grin.
Xu Jiale raised a brow. "Can we just put it on Ben’s tab?"
"Hey, if CID detectives dine and dash, how’s that gonna look for the Serious Crimes Division?"
"Just say it was Team A—has nothing to do with us in Team B."
Laughter filled the air.
Sheng Fang remembered this place.
Last time, when he and Zhu Qing came to Lan Kwai Fong looking for her "boyfriend," Doctor Cheng had entered this very bar at the end of the slope.
"Qing Qing," Sheng Fang blinked. "Will we see Doctor Cheng?"
Zhu Qing didn’t answer.
She knew exactly what the little one was thinking—whether they’d meet Doctor Cheng wasn’t the point; Sheng Fang just wanted another motorcycle ride.
Though it was a quiet bar, he was still too young.
Zhu Qing reminded him: "Sheng Fang, thirty minutes max."
Sheng Fang gave a thumbs-up. "No problem!"
Under dim amber lights, jazz music flowed softly.
Behind the counter, the bartender polished a glass, catching Sheng Fang’s eager gaze before launching into a dazzling display—cocktails materialized like magic.
Sheng Fang watched, mesmerized. If only he hadn’t rushed out empty-pocketed, he’d have tipped generously!
Zhu Qing suppressed a smile.
Was there any place the young master of the Sheng family hadn’t been?
A waiter brought their drinks to the window-side table.
Sheng Fang sipped his freshly squeezed orange juice through a straw, bright eyes darting around.
Tart and sweet—the taste of early autumn.
He savored every minute of his thirty, celebrating with his future colleagues.
"Finally, we can breathe," Zeng Yongshan raised her glass. "To—"
Liang Qikai finished: "Case closed?"
"To closing the case!"
Glasses clinked, ice chiming.
Sheng Fang lifted his juice. "Cheers!"
As they prepared to leave, the glass door swung open. Sheng Fang spotted Ben—all teeth and smiles—and pointedly looked away.
Then another figure appeared.
Sheng Fang instantly recognized the one he’d been hoping for—Doctor Cheng!
"What a coincidence!"
The forensics team were regulars here.
Sheng Fang greeted Cheng Xinglang in his most endearing voice.
Zhu Qing pinched his nose.
So much for the child prodigy—his three-year-old scheming was written all over his face.
Condensation slid down the chilled glass.
Truthfully, Zhu Qing didn’t feel the case was truly over.
An unlikable girl, a convenient resolution.
You Minmin’s family would move on, as would others involved.
The report was complete, the evidence airtight...
Yet she stubbornly chased unanswered questions.
Cheng Xinglang took the empty seat beside Zhu Qing.
As she turned, his cool, clean scent drifted closer.
"There’s an issue with the re-examination of the body."
Zhu Qing’s head snapped up.
In the dim light, her eyes burned bright.
"What?"
"Several faint purple bruises appeared on the back of the deceased's neck," he said in a low voice.
"Delayed subcutaneous hemorrhage, only becoming visible 72 hours after death."
During the re-examination, Doctor Cheng noticed the bruising on the victim's neck.
Gradually, the marks became more pronounced, and by the afternoon, the subcutaneous bleeding had fully emerged.
"This indicates the force was applied during the agonal stage."
Zhu Qing's heart skipped a beat as she immediately realized: "She tried to kill herself but regretted it."
Cheng Xinglang added, "Someone pressed down on the back of her neck, forcing her back into the bathtub."
Little Sheng Fang didn’t interrupt their whispered conversation.
Were they discussing when to take Uncle out for a bike ride?
The child silently buzzed with excitement, glancing over at Liang Qikai, who was drowning his sorrows in alcohol.
This Sir Liang kept stealing glances at his niece and her motorcycle-riding companion.
His gaze darkened repeatedly, yet he couldn’t tear his eyes away.
Sheng Fang propped his chubby cheeks in his hands, slurping orange juice noisily through a straw.
Gulp, gulp, gulp…
Suddenly, he locked eyes with Liang Qikai—
Sir Liang looked so gloomy. Couldn’t he lighten up a little?
Meanwhile, Cheng Xinglang and Zhu Qing continued discussing the case in the corner.
Doctor Cheng clarified that this was only a preliminary inference—the final conclusion would have to wait for the government lab’s report.
He had already submitted the re-examination findings to Inspector Mo, but the others remained unaware.
Zhu Qing fell silent for a long moment.
For the victim, You Minmin, death had not been an escape.
At the very last moment, she had wanted to live.
"So it’s still murder," Zhu Qing murmured.
Cheng Xinglang gave a slight nod.
"It’s getting late," Liang Qikai finally broke his stare and turned to Sheng Fang. "Don’t you have school tomorrow?"
Sheng Fang’s eyes widened in exaggerated shock—
If you’ve got nothing to say, just shut up!
Zhu Qing suddenly remembered something. "Sheng Fang, I completely forgot about the parent-teacher meeting today!"
The day had been so hectic that her appointment at the kindergarten had slipped her mind entirely.
Strangely, Teacher Ji and the principal hadn’t followed up.
"How did you handle it?"
"What?" The little lord swayed to the music, dramatically covering his ears. "Too loud, can’t hear!"
In this quiet bar, what exactly was he grooving to?
Zhu Qing sighed. "We’ll talk at home."
The child froze. "Heard that."
