Zhu Qing didn’t have many rules when it came to raising a child.
She had always been unrestrained and didn’t impose too many restrictions on Sheng Fang. After all, she herself had grown up in an environment of freedom.
Listening to topics related to criminal cases was fine—this little young master always emphasized that he came from a family of police officers. Since that was the case, he might as well get used to it early. Who asked him to be the future "Officer Fang"? Little Officer Fang could now hear about murder cases without batting an eye, which saved Zhu Qing a lot of effort. Investigating cases was part of her daily routine, and it would be troublesome if she had to cover his little ears every time a case was mentioned.
Bringing him to a quiet bar was no big deal either. The place was no different from a Western restaurant, and she had even deliberately chosen a non-smoking area so Sheng Fang could freely experience new things.
Truthfully, if Sheng Fang didn’t have that villainous identity from the original storyline, she could have let him be even more carefree.
But alas, the fate of a genius villain was too tragic, so when it came to the big picture, his niece had to keep him in check.
Little Uncle Sheng Fang knew very well—his niece meant what she said.
They had agreed to stay for only thirty minutes, and once the time was up, she stood up and left without hesitation.
Sheng Fang quickly gulped down the remaining third of his orange juice, cheeks puffed up, not even having time to say goodbye to Dr. Cheng before his little hand was grabbed by Zhu Qing.
Zhu Qing noticed that whenever kids drank something, especially the last sip, they always liked to hold it in their mouths, reluctant to swallow.
Now, Sheng Fang reluctantly swallowed the sweet-and-sour juice and turned back to shout, "Dr. Cheng, call us!"
Cheng Xinglang was still sitting there.
Under the dim lighting, his eyes held a hint of amusement.
"Tomorrow?"
Sheng Fang curled his tiny fingers into an "OK" sign.
At that moment, Liang Qikai stood up. "Zhu Qing, let me walk you two back."
"Why? Your place is right next door."
"But you drank—"
Zhu Qing waved him off—that little bit of alcohol was nothing.
She pushed open the glass door and left, holding Sheng Fang’s chubby little wrist.
"Zhu Qing, how are we getting home?"
"Take the MTR to Mong Kok Station, then—"
Sheng Fang tilted his head, studying her under the moonlight and streetlights.
Suddenly, he turned and trotted down the slope to the roadside, waving his short little arm.
Zhu Qing had no choice but to get into the taxi’s back seat.
Ever since her life had improved thanks to her little uncle, she hadn’t taken minibuses, buses, or the MTR in a long time. As the meter ticked away, she looked back at the winding alleys of Lan Kwai Fong, recalling what Dr. Cheng had said.
The bruise on the victim’s neck indicated that the killer had attacked from behind.
At that moment, You Minmin’s survival instinct had overcome her resolve to die, yet she was still robbed of her life.
The cityscape flashed past outside the window as Zhu Qing leaned against the glass.
What had You Minmin been thinking in her final moments? She had still wanted to live. The fragments of daily life in her diary—the trivial musings of a young girl, the dog that watched streetlights, the summer she loved, the customers at the record store who specifically requested her service…
Who knew which moment it had been? But at the very least, the warmth in those memories had once made her hesitate.
She had been so young—she could have had so much more time to heal.
If she had lived, maybe she would have eventually learned to coexist with loneliness. It wasn’t really that scary.
The streetlights were blinding. Zhu Qing closed her eyes.
Was the driver just bad at driving? The bumpy ride was making her dizzy.
"Zhu Qing, I’m hungry," Sheng Fang announced.
"Still hungry this late?"
Sheng Fang’s head snapped up in surprise.
Zhu Qing’s tone had actually lifted at the end—playful and light!
"I’m really hungry."
"Go home. You won’t be hungry once you fall asleep."
Young Master Sheng’s eyes widened. "Zhu Qing, you’re drunk!"
"Huh?" She gave him a sidelong glance. "No, I’m not."
The taxi entered the Yau Ma Tei district, and Sheng Fang directed the driver.
After getting out, instead of bouncing around like usual, he clung to Zhu Qing’s arm, squinting up at her with careful scrutiny.
"Zhu Qing?"
"What?"
In the elevator, shadows suddenly loomed over them.
Sheng Fang tilted his little face up.
Zhu Qing cupped his cheeks in her hands.
Like kneading dough, she squeezed and rubbed his face. "Fang Fang, you’re so cute."
Sheng Fang’s face was squished into a puffy mess.
Zhu Qing had actually—complimented him!
In the entire police station, even Uncle Ming from the canteen said the kid was adorable, but Zhu Qing had never once voluntarily praised him.
Today, she had! Little Fang Fang felt like one of those balloons sold by the old man on the street—his hand was being held, but his heart was floating high in the sky.
By the time the aunt-nephew duo got home, it was only a little past nine. The nightlife in Lan Kwai Fong was just getting started, but they were already calling it a night.
At this hour, the radio was playing Cantonese opera.
Aunt Ping, hearing the door open, was about to come out when she heard the young master’s shout—
"Aunt Ping, Zhu Qing’s drunk!"
Under the light, Zhu Qing’s cheeks were slightly flushed as she lazily slumped on the sofa.
She pointed at the coffee table. "Sheng Fang, pass me the remote."
She was quiet, but Aunt Ping could tell—this wasn’t normal.
She wasn’t acting like herself!
"How much did she drink?"
"One glass!"
"What kind of alcohol is this strong?" Aunt Ping hurried to brew sobering tea.
Little Fang Fang obediently sat beside Zhu Qing, ready to run errands.
"Sheng Fang, get me chips."
The kid scrambled to find the chips.
"Sheng Fang, pour me water."
"Warm water?"
Zhu Qing: "With ice."
The young master bustled about, busy as a bee.
Zhu Qing, for once, let herself relax completely, curling up comfortably on the sofa. "Get me a blanket."
The kid ran back and forth, thoroughly enjoying his role.
Just before dozing off, Zhu Qing thought drowsily—
Having a little servant wasn’t so bad.
……
The next morning, Zhu Qing woke up back to her usual cool, composed self.
Little Sheng Fang stood with his hands behind his back, expression serious like an old scholar, circling his niece once, twice, before finally stopping.
"Do you not remember pinching my face yesterday and saying I was cute?"
"You also said—'Fang Fang, having you is the best!'"
Zhu Qing ate her wonton noodles unhurriedly.
After listening to Sheng Fang’s exaggerated retelling, she remained unfazed. "Impossible."
Aunt Ping vouched: "It’s true."
A little drink was pleasant—it was Zhu Qing’s first time experiencing that tipsy, floaty feeling.
They said she had talked a lot after drinking, turning into a chatterbox just like Sheng Fang.
Zhu Qing didn’t remember much and instead asked, "What’s this about meeting the parents?"
The kid gave her an exasperated look.
She forgot all the heartwarming moments but remembered the most random things!
"You were working late, so I forgot to tell you," Aunt Ping quickly explained. "Here’s what happened—"
Teacher Ji had called the night before to arrange for Zhu Qing to visit the kindergarten on Monday afternoon after school. The teacher and principal needed to speak with her privately.
Fangfang was usually a carefree child, but this time was different. Meeting the parents was a big deal—even the most unruly little uncle couldn't help but feel nervous. His face was etched with worry, and after just one day, the three-and-a-half-year-old uncle looked half a year older.
"Yesterday after school, he waited in the classroom, but you never showed up."
"Teacher Ji was about to call you, but the little master stopped her. He said..."
"Said what?"
Fangfang piped up in his childish voice, "Madam is cracking a big case. How could the teacher disturb her?"
"The little master told the teacher to call home instead, so I went," Aunt Ping said. "I wrote down all the key points from the teacher and the principal. Hold on, I’ll fetch my notes for you."
Aunt Ping hurried back to her room and returned with a small notebook.
Each point was neatly listed inside. She handed it to Zhu Qing.
Zhu Qing read carefully.
Sheng Fang quickly covered her eyes with his tiny hands. "Don’t look!"
Everything written there was stuff he didn’t want to hear!
"We’ll settle this tonight." Zhu Qing set down the notebook with her left hand and her spoon with her right. "I’m done eating. Heading back to the station."
She shuffled her shoes on and dashed into the elevator.
"Qing, wasn’t the case already solved?"
Just before the doors closed, Zhu Qing’s voice floated out—
"Wrong lead. Starting over!"
Little Sheng Fang sipped milk from his glass.
Silly Qing, so happy even when re-investigating a case!
...
The case report had already been printed, and the evidence boxes were nearly sealed, just waiting for the final approval from higher-ups.
But now, everything had to be overturned and restarted.
The officers of Homicide Team B, however, weren’t discouraged. On the contrary, they were energized by the new discovery. Closing a case wasn’t the end—bringing the truth to light was. Ensuring every report they submitted was one they could stand behind was the real reason they’d become cops.
The forensic re-examination report, retrieved from the central lab, was slammed onto the conference table by Mo Zhenbang.
"Confirmed homicide," Mo Zhenbang declared. "The victim had gone through all the preparations for suicide. But drowning requires immense resolve. Just as she tried to fight for her life, the killer forced her back into the bathtub."
"An overdose left her too weak to struggle."
"All that effort just to frame her brother... Yet in her final moments, survival instinct won out."
"That killer’s ruthless. Snuffing out her last hope—imagine how desperate she must’ve felt."
Xu Jiale reopened You Yikang’s statement.
"Because the victim meticulously staged the scene to implicate her brother, our initial investigation was steered in that direction."
"But after days of digging, You Yikang really doesn’t have direct involvement. He provided financial support, handled every detail at home, and even mediated between his sister and the family, trying to help her fit in."
"Remember that detail? He deliberately bought an extra toy, giving it to Bobo in his sister’s name... And yet, she schemed to ruin him."
The team discussed why the victim had framed You Yikang.
"As a kid living with her grandparents, she didn’t understand. She’d always eagerly wait for them to visit."
"But as she grew older—maybe from friends, neighbors, or the grandparents themselves—she realized those occasional visits from her parents and brother were just pity. Even a child has pride. So she shut them out, closed herself off."
"Like her family said, she built walls, rejecting their attempts to get close. She twisted kindness into malice. That’s probably where it started."
"Her brother did a lot for her. Maybe in her last moments, survival overpowered her hatred. Or maybe You Minmin finally realized her brother didn’t owe her anything."
Liang Qikai flipped through the files. "Off-topic, no? The real question isn’t why You Minmin framed You Yikang. It’s who the hidden killer is."
"You Yikang’s unlucky. First, his sister tries to pin it on him. Now, the killer might’ve used that to shift blame."
Zhu Qing’s focus lingered on the earlier discussion.
"But why such deep hatred?" Piles of reports and records cluttered Zhu Qing’s desk, her thoughts tangled.
Blowhard Hui was a scumbag, but the victim never harmed him. She didn’t like Rou, but she just kept her distance. Her strained relationship with her sister-in-law only showed up as complaints in her diary...
Yet toward her brother, her emotions were explosive.
"Was she just paranoid, extreme, even pathological?" Zeng Yongshan murmured, frowning. "She couldn’t forgive herself or her family..."
Zhu Qing: "What about You Yikang—"
This brother was too perfect. So perfect that his sister’s resentment seemed irrational.
Hao Zai looked up from the case files. "He’s probably clean. We zeroed in on him first, but every piece of evidence fell apart."
"We’ve wasted too much time on him. Time to change direction."
"No point fixating. It’s a dead end."
Zhu Qing’s gaze stayed fixed on the records. "But his alibi’s still shaky. Doesn’t hold up."
Truth was, the brother’s suspicion had never been cleared.
The "suicide" conclusion just made everyone subconsciously cross him off the suspect list. The doubts faded, making everything seem logical.
Except—You Minmin’s death was still a homicide.
"I think we can rule out You Yikang."
"If we keep fixating on him, the real killer might slip away."
"We should pivot. You Minmin interacted with more people than just her brother. Shouldn’t we follow other leads?"
"Her family’s grieving too..."
Zhu Qing held firm. "I still think You Yikang’s suspicious."
Eventually, Zeng Yongshan sided with her.
"I agree. There’s something off about the brother."
...
In the statements from the brother and family, they praised the victim as obedient and sensible on the surface. But between the lines, every memory of You Minmin painted her as unreasonable.
But was that really true?
What if her seemingly irrational hatred had always had a reason?
Zhu Qing and Zeng Yongshan exchanged a glance. They decided to reinvestigate the entire case from scratch.
They continued following the leads, stepping out of the Yau Ma Tei Police Station early in the morning and not stopping their pursuit.
The two madams revisited the record store, the streets of Sai Wan, the psychologist’s clinic, and questioned the record store owner again—along with the deceased’s former classmates, Rou, and even Blowhard Hui.
The record store owner kept nocturnal hours, making it difficult to catch him during the day.
Finally, Zeng Yongshan and Zhu Qing managed to corner him.
It was a trick they’d learned from their seniors.
Uncle Li had told them that young people needed to be flexible. If they directly announced they were police officers on duty, the record store owner might not cooperate—after all, he’d already given multiple statements. But if they told him they had a rare vinyl record…
Zeng Yongshan employed this tactic, and the clumsy lie surprisingly worked. By 2 p.m., the owner arrived at the storefront, panting from the rush.
Zhu Qing followed suit, luring out the shop assistant as well—two people might recall more overlooked details together.
The owner was sharp. The moment he saw them at the door, before they could even flash their badges, he was both exasperated and amused.
“Madams, I recognize you—we’ve met before.”
“You’d joke about this? Do you know how long I’ve been searching for that record? I nearly got rear-ended rushing here!”
Rou arrived shortly after. She had no personal interest in rare records but had come specifically to help the owner collect them. After understanding the situation, she rolled up the shutter and invited them inside.
The owner, cigarette in hand, looked resigned.
“I barely knew her—what else can I tell you?”
“No matter how many times you ask, my answer’s the same… You Minmin was quiet but meticulous with her work.”
“In that regard, she was far more thorough than Rou—she organized every record by year and genre.”
“She started working here right after graduating last year, usually from six or seven in the evening. There were shifts—the schedule’s with Rou.”
Zeng Yongshan: “We know. We’ve already got the schedule. By the way, how much did You Minmin earn?”
The owner, a former rock band guitarist, still dressed like an artist.
Every movement made the metal chains on his black leather jacket jingle, the holes in his knees glaringly obvious.
“Business is slow—salaries aren’t high. Last month was bad, so I paid even less.”
“Bonuses? Forget about it.”
Zeng Yongshan pressed further: “Did you know she was seeing a psychologist?”
The police had checked You Minmin’s bank records.
She had no major expenses or income—what little she earned went straight to Blowhard Hui.
“Where would she get the money for a psychologist?”
The owner didn’t even know about her therapy sessions. He was already browsing the shelves, picking out records.
Rou chimed in: “Her grandfather had money. The old man had his own savings and often worried his granddaughter didn’t have enough. He gave her cash and told her not to tell her parents. Minmin mentioned it to me once—I was envious.”
“But last December, her grandfather passed away.”
“The winter was too harsh—the old man didn’t make it.”
Rou said the grandfather had likely left You Minmin some money.
“Probably cash. Older folks don’t trust banks—they prefer stashing money at home. Ours do the same.”
“She told me her grandfather always reminded her—” Rou lowered her voice, “—to be good to herself.”
Rou still remembered how she’d sighed when she heard about the old man’s death.
And now, in such a short time, even You Minmin was gone. It made her reflect on how unpredictable life could be.
Zeng Yongshan: “So, her grandfather gave her money?”
Rou nodded.
Suddenly, Zhu Qing asked: “Do you remember You Yikang bringing her white sugar cakes to the shop?”
The deceased’s parents had mentioned it.
They said You Yikang doted on his sister—he’d once bought her favorite cakes and brought them over, only to find her with Blowhard Hui. You Minmin hadn’t even glanced at the cakes, declaring she was grown up now and wouldn’t be swayed by such small gestures.
“White sugar cakes?” Rou thought for a moment. “Yeah, that happened. She said she didn’t like them and let me take them home.”
“Do you remember when?”
“Not exactly.”
Zhu Qing narrowed it down: “Before or after her grandfather died?”
Rou pondered for a long time.
“After.” Her tone turned firm. “I remember Minmin mentioning her grandfather used to love them too, but he couldn’t eat too much sugar in his old age.”
Zhu Qing noted this detail in her report, underlining it for emphasis.
Outside the record store, Zeng Yongshan mused: “You Yikang bought white sugar cakes to cheer her up after their grandfather died—what’s so special about that?”
“It wasn’t to ‘cheer her up.’” Zhu Qing corrected. “He was probably trying to win her over.”
Zeng Yongshan paused: “To get something from her?”
...
The nouveau riche kid, Jin Bao, was true to his word. When he promised Sheng Fang a gold bar, he meant it.
The night before, he’d snuck into his family’s gold shop and, while the adults weren’t looking, swiped a thick, hefty bar.
The gold was weighty, engraved with auspicious phrases—though he couldn’t read most of them.
“‘Boundless longevity!’” Sheng Fang declared. “You don’t even know that?”
Jin Bao pressed: “What does it mean?”
The young master of the Sheng family waved him off: “No point explaining—you wouldn’t get it.”
“Fangfang.” Little Yesi squeezed between them. “You don’t actually know either, do you?”
Sheng Fang couldn’t answer that.
The question was downright undignified!
“Here, take it.” Jin Bao pushed the gold bar forward politely. “Consider this payment for English lessons.”
Sheng Fang accepted it with one hand—it was so heavy his wrist dipped.
He quickly switched to holding it with both hands.
His schoolbag was in the locker. Fully justified in collecting his “tuition,” he turned to stash it away—only to find Teacher Ji blocking his path.
CR
In the blink of an eye, the three little troublemakers were seated in a row before the teacher.
They whispered among themselves.
“Teacher’s gonna scold us.”
“Why?”
“No idea!”
Teacher Ji took a deep breath.
These three were at that tricky age—clever enough to cause trouble but still clueless when it came to reasoning.
“This is a valuable item. Unless your parents or guardians have given permission, you shouldn’t bring it to school.” Teacher Ji said sternly.
Jin Bao shook his head earnestly: "Our family has plenty of these. They're not valuable."
"Teacher, do you want it?"
"...No, thank you."
Teacher Ji rubbed her temples and turned to Sheng Fang: "Valuable items shouldn't be stuffed in your backpack. You should keep them on you..."
She ultimately didn't say the words "you shouldn't accept expensive gifts."
The young master's profile clearly stated that he was the child of a jewelry tycoon. Even though the Sheng family had faced troubles, their business hadn't collapsed—professionals still managed their affairs. If she were to say, "Don't accept valuable gifts," he would likely argue back.
"Teacher, it's too heavy. I can't keep it in my pocket," Sheng Fang interrupted.
Jin Bao added matter-of-factly: "His pants would fall down."
The young master of the Sheng family rolled his eyes at this.
This Jin Bao was utterly uncivilized.
Teacher Ji sighed and turned her stern gaze to Little Yesi: "As for you, Little Yesi—"
Little Yesi's eyes welled up with tears as she looked at her pitifully. "Teacher, I was just passing by."
"Don't cry yet!"
Tears shimmered in Little Yesi's eyes. At the teacher's words, she blinked hard.
Her lashes fluttered, and with a soft plop, a fat teardrop splashed onto the floor.
"Ohhh—" Sheng Fang drawled, narrowing his eyes at Teacher Ji.
Jin Bao mimicked him: "Oh!"
A fine sweat broke out on Teacher Ji's forehead.
Why was their little group growing larger by the minute?
......
Zhu Qing continued digging deeper into the clues left by Grandpa You.
"I found it. Grandpa left a property for You Minmin."
"The reason it hasn't been transferred all this time is because the paperwork got stuck. Although Grandpa's will specified that the house should go to You Minmin, her uncle, as the first heir, had to provide a written statement relinquishing his claim. As long as he didn't respond, the process couldn't move forward, and the transfer couldn't be completed."
"Her uncle wasn’t deliberately making things difficult. After his family immigrated, communication became inconvenient. Making a special trip back just to sign or arranging for notarized documents to be mailed was too much hassle, so it kept getting delayed."
Zeng Yongshan flipped through You Minmin’s file.
Since the property remained registered under the grandfather’s name, the police hadn’t noticed this detail earlier.
"Her uncle was willing to sign the waiver, and You Minmin’s father wouldn’t fight his children over inheritance," Zhu Qing said, looking up. "In other words, if You Minmin were gone, the house would naturally go to her brother, You Yikang."
When they were about to close the case yesterday, Zhu Qing had stood outside the psychiatric clinic, her mind clouded with unanswered questions.
Initially, she had suspected suicide. But when the conclusion pointed to You Minmin taking her own life, she couldn’t shake the feeling that too many things didn’t add up.
You Yikang had painted himself as the innocent older brother, claiming his sister likely suffered from persecution complex.
That was why her snooping through his study seemed justified—a paranoid girl digging through her brother’s things wouldn’t raise eyebrows.
But in reality, You Minmin had only ever taken antidepressants. She didn’t have a persecution complex at all.
So why had she gone through her brother’s letters and receipts?
Now, Zeng Yongshan and Zhu Qing sat in a cha chaan teng at the corner of Causeway Bay.
"Back then, You Minmin was caught rifling through her brother’s study, and he scolded her harshly. That led to a huge fight. She even wrote extreme accusations in her diary, saying her brother wanted to kill her," Zeng Yongshan mused. "According to You Yikang and their parents, it was just a sibling spat. But we still don’t have a reasonable explanation for why she was searching his study in the first place."
The argument had ultimately been dismissed as—
"That’s just how Minmin was."
But if the victim hadn’t been unstable at all, and her brother had deliberately framed her as delusional—
"You Yikang kept in touch with his uncle privately," Zhu Qing tapped the table lightly. "Maybe there were letters in his study asking his uncle to delay returning. Her brother was intentionally stalling the transfer, and when You Minmin found out, she had a breakdown."
If this theory held, it gave You Yikang a solid motive for murder.
After all, the property was worth a fortune, given its location.
You Yikang was still renting. If he could get his hands on his grandfather’s house—whether to sell it or live in it—it would solve his financial troubles.
"Also, the ice in the bathtub was meant to delay the time of death."
"When the body was discovered, You Yikang didn’t show up until 1 a.m. Is that related?"
Perhaps the ice was used to buy time because You Yikang hadn’t known his sister had called the radio station beforehand.
He hadn’t been aware of her suicide plan and assumed the police would only find the body late at night or the next day.
But the paranormal radio show had blown the case wide open, rendering the ice trick pointless.
Even if the bar owner and staff at Lan Kwai Fong could confirm You Yikang had been drinking that night, it didn’t matter.
They couldn’t provide a solid alibi.
Where was You Yikang during the estimated time of death?
Or, to put it another way—
Zhu Qing said grimly, "How do we prove he was at No. 17 Sai Wan Tail Street between 10 and 11 p.m. that night?"
......
Young Sheng Fang was settling into kindergarten quite nicely.
After just a week, he had already acquired two "underlings."
The little master was quite pleased, considering Little Yesi and Jin Bao his followers. Little Yesi, however, believed the other two were her sidekicks. As for good-natured Jin Bao, though a few months older, he was happy to play the role of a junior—as long as he had friends.
Now, the class had become a battleground for supremacy between Fang Fang and Little Yesi. Both wanted to be the boss and expand their influence. This rivalry only made Sheng Fang more enthusiastic about kindergarten.
After school, Aunt Ping waited downstairs for the young master as usual.
When they entered the house and saw the shoes at the entrance, the little one cheered and dashed into the living room.
"Qing-jie is home early today!"
Zhu Qing was staring at a whiteboard, deep in thought and utterly stumped.
Sheng Fang plopped down beside her and picked up a document from the coffee table.
"What’s this?"
The page was covered in rows of phone numbers.
It was a printout of You Minmin’s pager records from the month before her death.
According to police records, the victim hadn’t been in frequent contact with anyone. Even during her "relationship" with Blowhard Hui, they rarely called each other. Most of the time, You Minmin waited for him at the record store. When she couldn’t bear the longing anymore, she simply used her key to visit Xie Donghui at home.
The colleagues had shifted their focus to investigating disputes at the record store. It was a trivial conflict—Rou had reserved a record for a customer, but You Minmin sold it to someone else... The deceased had argued with that customer, and that was it.
But even the smallest details could hold the key to cracking the case.
Now, only Zhu Qing and Zeng Yongshan remained fixated on You Yikang.
You Yikang had returned to his normal routine, commuting daily between his company and home.
Zhu Qing wasn’t sure if she was overthinking things, but those unanswered questions might only be resolved by the victim’s brother.
She wiped the whiteboard clean and wrote two words on it—
Client.
"How can we get in touch with the client You Yikang met that day?" she muttered to herself.
"What about the client?" Sheng Fang, sitting cross-legged, piped up.
"He’s overseas."
Sheng Fang mimed dialing a phone. "Call him internationally!"
"No one’s picking up."
Even now, the police still couldn’t reach that client.
Zhu Qing continued piecing together You Yikang’s alibi.
There had to be a breakthrough somewhere.
That client couldn’t have just vanished. If he could confirm that his meeting with You Yikang had ended before 10 p.m. on Tuesday night...
"Send an email!" Sheng Fang suggested.
As soon as the words left his mouth, the little rich boy snapped his fingers.
Their household needed to buy a computer.
If Zhu Qing was going to crack the case, her little uncle had to handle all the logistics!
......
The young master made a mental note.
After school tomorrow, he’d head straight to the electronics store to pick out a top-tier computer for Zhu Qing.
His niece had no idea what scheme her little uncle was hatching.
Right now, she was completely absorbed in the whiteboard, her fingers tracing over the Hong Kong map spread across the coffee table.
From Lan Kwai Fong to Sai Wan Corner Street, the drive took at least twenty minutes.
If the killer was You Yikang, he wouldn’t have wasted time walking.
You Yikang didn’t own a car—he usually took the MTR to and from work.
From Lan Kwai Fong to Sai Wan Corner Street, what transportation would he have used?
"A taxi?" she frowned.
Little Sheng Fang propped his chin in his hands, watching his niece sit in front of the whiteboard from dawn till dusk.
Zhu Qing was muttering to herself, so deep in the case she was practically losing her mind.
"Why not check with the taxi companies?" Sheng Fang suggested, drawing a bright red circle around the mode of transportation. "Better than waiting around at home."
Aunt Ping always said red was auspicious—symbolizing prosperity and smooth sailing.
The moment the red circle was drawn, Zhu Qing’s cell phone suddenly rang.
Truly, fortune had smiled upon them!
The young master jumped up. "Dr. Cheng!"
......
After days of anticipation, Sheng Fang’s wish had finally come true.
His dream was coming true—Dr. Cheng was taking him out for a ride!
Sheng Fang dashed to the entryway, sitting on the shoe bench to put on his shoes.
To be honest, Zhu Qing and Cheng Xinglang weren’t that close.
She wasn’t comfortable leaving her little uncle in his care, so she had to tag along.
"Young master, it’s windy outside—don’t forget a jacket!"
Before the uncle-niece duo stepped out, Aunt Ping hurried over with a coat.
The black windbreaker was sleek and practical. The little one zipped it all the way up, the collar snug against his chubby chin.
But as soon as they got downstairs, they realized—he and Dr. Cheng were twinning.
"What a cool bike!"
This wasn’t a police department motorcycle—official vehicles weren’t allowed to be borrowed.
Cheng Xinglang was riding his personal ride, its streamlined body gleaming under the streetlights.
"Helmet." Cheng Xinglang handed over a mini-sized one.
He’d even prepared a child-sized helmet.
Zhu Qing stepped forward to adjust it for Sheng Fang. "How does this buckle work?"
Dr. Cheng planted one foot on the ground, tilting the bike slightly as he leaned over to fasten the strap.
The little one eagerly climbed onto the backseat, wrapping his arms and legs around Cheng Xinglang like a koala.
"Madam?" Cheng Xinglang turned to ask.
Zhu Qing jingled her car keys. "I’ll follow in my car."
Before she could say more, she glanced at her little uncle in the backseat.
The kid’s eyes were sparkling, every tiny tooth on full display.
Zhu Qing was about to add something when Cheng Xinglang spoke first.
"Don’t worry, I’ve got steady hands."
Sheng Fang threw his arms around Cheng Xinglang’s waist. "Let’s go!"
This was a trip the young master of the Sheng family had been looking forward to for ages.
They cruised through neon-lit streets while Zhu Qing followed at a leisurely pace in her SUV, window rolled down.
The night breeze brushed her cheeks, lifting a few strands of hair.
The radio played nostalgic golden oldies. She rested her hand lightly on the steering wheel, stopping at a red light.
Dr. Cheng’s bike pulled up right beside her.
As they passed the Lan Kwai Fong intersection, Zhu Qing’s gaze landed on a minibus stop sign.
"The overnight buses run fixed routes. Do you think there was a direct line from Lan Kwai Fong to Sai Wan Corner Street that night?"
Cheng Xinglang chuckled. "Madam, even on a joyride, you’re still working the case?"
"Who said anything about a joyride?" Zhu Qing kept her eyes on the road. "I’m on duty."
The light turned green, engines roaring.
Before the SUV could move, the nimble bike shot ahead.
"Woo—!" Sheng Fang clung to Dr. Cheng like a little koala. "Faster!"
But Dr. Cheng slowed down instead.
Safety first, he said.
Lan Kwai Fong and Central were practically neighbors. As the bike rounded the Central intersection, Zhu Qing suddenly pulled over.
Cheng Xinglang braked as well.
"What’s wrong?"
Cheng Xinglang answered for her. "Your niece is back on the case."
The young master waved it off. "Occupational hazard."
Zhu Qing stared at the sign of a psychology clinic.
For a long time, You Minmin had received weekly treatment here, paid for with money her grandfather secretly gave her. He always urged her to take better care of herself, and she obediently followed his advice. But in the last two weeks of her life, she abruptly stopped therapy—had Blowhard Hui swindled her out of her last savings?
Could she no longer afford the steep consultation fees?
Cheng Xinglang followed Zhu Qing’s gaze across the street—
Xu Mingyuan Psychology Clinic.
"They moved here?"
Zhu Qing glanced at him. "You know them?"
"Graduated from the same school as their doctor." Cheng Xinglang said. "We’ve crossed paths before."
Memories from years ago resurfaced.
Back then, Cheng Xinglang had tried hypnotherapy.
It hadn’t worked out in the end.
"Let’s go," Sheng Fang whined, pouting at Zhu Qing. "Madam."
This trip was hard to define—was it Sheng Fang and Dr. Cheng accompanying Zhu Qing on her investigation, or was it Zhu Qing joining them for a ride?
The car started moving again.
Through the window, Zhu Qing watched the bike’s sleek silhouette.
No wonder Sheng Fang was over the moon—even she couldn’t resist the thrill.
Driving a car really couldn’t compare to the convenience of a motorcycle.
She’d already forgotten the grueling hours spent getting her driver’s license—now she was itching to try something new.
The streetlights carved sharp contrasts across Cheng Xinglang’s profile.
The corner of his lips curled up. "Ready?"
"Huh?" Before Sheng Fang could react, the bike sped into the tunnel.
Streaks of colored light streaked past as they rode through.
The little one in the backseat suddenly stretched out his short arms, shouting, "Ahhh—"
The night wind rushed into his mouth.
Little Sheng Fang was eating the wind, his cheeks puffed up—now he was full!
Up front, Cheng Xinglang suddenly laughed.
Tilting his face up slightly, he let the breeze tousle his bangs and joined in the shouting.
Zhu Qing watched them quietly, a small smile curling at the corners of her lips.
One wasn’t the prodigy from the original story.
The other wasn’t the forensic expert who could pinpoint subcutaneous bleeding in a morgue.
"Qing Zai!" Sheng Fang turned around, cupping his hands like a tiny megaphone. "You eat wind too!"
"Come on, try some!"
Dr. Cheng continued, "Ahhh—"
Fangfang echoed, "Ahhh—"
Zhu Qing silently rolled up the car window.
"Hey, don’t you think it’s cool?" The little young master leaned his head out as if it were the most natural thing. "The Four Heavenly Kings ought to save a spot for our Qing Zai."
She’d be the fifth.
The baby’s milky voice rang out, slow and deliberate, echoing through the tunnel: "So. Damn. Cool!"
