Cheng Xinglang noticed that the previously well-behaved child had subtly changed his form of address as their joyride neared its end.
Earlier, he’d called him "Dr. Cheng," but now it was back to the casual "Hey."
Dr. Cheng didn’t bother correcting Sheng Fang—after all, he’d been calling the kid "brat" the whole time.
The motorcycle gradually slowed, but Zhu Qing maintained a deliberate distance, neither too close nor too far. Neither of them suggested heading home.
Passing through the streets of Sham Shui Po, Cheng Xinglang led them to a familiar roadside stall with the ease of a regular.
"What’s this?" the little young master asked in his milky voice.
It was an old stall specializing in cart noodles. Aside from his habit of loitering at the police station like a "lobby tenant," Cheng Xinglang also seemed to love wandering the streets, intimately familiar with every hole-in-the-wall eatery. The stall owner greeted him warmly—clearly, Dr. Cheng was a regular here.
Last time, even Zhu Qing had to admit the fish congee here rivaled Aunt Ping’s cooking. Now, they stood before a steaming metal vat, the rich aroma of broth curling into the night air.
A faded chalkboard menu listed the prices for extra toppings.
Sheng Fang tiptoed, straining to see the small plates of ingredients behind the counter, when suddenly his feet left the ground.
Dr. Cheng had lifted him up effortlessly.
"What do you want?"
The little one was now at an unprecedented height.
Wow—the air up here was so fresh!
"Beef brisket and fish ball noodles!" Sheng Fang kicked his short legs excitedly. "With tripe, tendon, beef slices, and—"
His face lit up with every word.
Zhu Qing pinched his chattering lips shut and pointed at the chalkboard. "It says three toppings max."
Sheng Fang puffed his cheeks, wrinkling his nose as he schemed. Just as he opened his mouth to protest, Zhu Qing tapped his head.
"What, are you a puppy? Thinking of biting me now?"
What kind of niece calls her uncle a puppy? This wasn’t the first time!
The little one crossed his arms, shooting her a warning look.
Dr. Cheng intervened, "Brat, go grab us a table."
Task assigned, Sheng Fang scampered off to claim a spot.
Perched on a plastic stool, he surveyed the scene—only adults around.
In all of Sham Shui Po, he was the only kid who’d just finished a night ride and was now about to feast on cart noodles!
When the steaming bowl arrived, the young master of the Sheng household still insisted on wiping the table meticulously with a napkin.
"Let’s eat!" He eagerly leaned over, chopsticks and spoon at the ready, about to slurp his first mouthful.
The steam flushed his round cheeks pink.
So fragrant!
Cheng Xinglang watched the bustling crowd at the stall.
Office workers who’d just clocked out jostled to place orders.
"Uncle, flat noodles with satay broth, add blood pudding!"
"Extra sauce on the fish balls!"
The elderly stall owner moved like he had three pairs of arms and ears everywhere, his ladle swirling through the broth with practiced arcs.
"This stall’s been here since I was a kid," Dr. Cheng mused.
Years ago, a young Cheng Xinglang would sneak here with his little brother, money clutched tight. Back home, no matter how tight-lipped they were, the curry stains at the corners of their mouths always gave them away, leaving them to "reflect" against the wall. Though really, it was just another game—pressing his cheek to the wall, young Cheng dreamed of mastering the art of walking through it. A skill he’d yet to acquire.
By the time the night breeze turned cool, Sheng Fang’s bowl was empty.
Cheeks stuffed like a hamster’s, he popped one fish ball after another until his face bulged. Finally, he crushed a ball between his tiny teeth, savoring the burst of savory juice.
At parting, the uncle-niece pair bid Cheng Xinglang goodbye under the streetlights.
From noise to quiet, Sheng Fang blinked as he watched Dr. Cheng disappear into the distance.
"Qing, I think he still wants to play with us."
"You just want another bike ride!"
"Of course not! I want to stay with Qing..."
Hand in hand on their way home, the child swung their clasped hands high, then let them drop, over and over.
"Like a rollercoaster!"
"Have you even been on one?"
"That’s how it looks on TV! Qing doesn’t know anything."
They stepped on each other’s shadows all the way back, only for Zhu Qing to realize—
"We forgot to check the taxi company!"
The little elder was pleased.
Who knew even Qing could get so caught up in fun that she’d forget business?
"Had that much fun?" Aunt Ping chuckled, ironing a school uniform. "Go again when you’re free."
Sheng Fang was already dialing. "I’ll call him to schedule next time."
Zhu Qing raised an eyebrow.
Tonight’s motorcycle adventure had clearly left the kid wanting more—Dr. Cheng might now rank just below his niece in Sheng Fang’s esteem.
"Wrong." The boy wagged a finger mysteriously. "It’s the bike."
Clutching the cordless phone, he searched for the number.
Aunt Ping suppressed a laugh. "How will the young master phrase it? Surely not—'I miss your motorcycle.'"
"Xinglang." Sheng Fang pressed the phone to his ear, mimicking adult decorum. With grave seriousness, he parroted the classic Hong Kong farewell:
"Let’s have tea sometime!"
——
On Wednesday morning, Teacher Ji walked into the classroom in high spirits.
But after morning exercises, her world collapsed.
Yesterday, Jin Bao had brought a hefty gold bar to kindergarten, attempting to bribe his English teacher—Sheng Fang. Teacher Ji had intercepted the transaction just in time.
At pickup, Jin Bao’s mom arrived, and Teacher Ji spent thirty minutes delicately addressing the importance of proper money values for privileged children. Apparently, the gold bar had been swiped from the family’s jewelry store counter, sending staff into a panic until surveillance footage cleared things up.
Exhausted after the ordeal, Teacher Ji had needed a full night’s rest to recover.
And just as she caught her breath—
Young Master Sheng pulled a wad of cash from his backpack.
"I’m buying my niece a computer," he declared matter-of-factly.
Sheng Fang, kindergarten philanthropist, was purchasing his niece a computer.
Actually, using a card would be more convenient, but a few days ago, Sheng Fang and Zhu Qing went to the bank to withdraw cash to pay Aunt Ping her monthly salary. By accident, they took out too much, so they simply kept it at home. Since there was cash at home, he decided to bring it directly to the kindergarten, saving himself another trip.
Teacher Ji felt a throbbing pain in her temples.
She took a deep breath and tried to approach the situation from the most basic safety perspective: "Keeping so much cash at home isn’t safe."
"Teacher," Sheng Fang replied with an incredulous look, "my niece is a police officer!"
Teacher Ji silently massaged her forehead and eventually just let him keep watch over his backpack himself.
"Don’t bring this much again in the future," she instructed. "Just make sure you keep it safe today."
Sheng Fang watched Teacher Ji’s retreating figure.
That bitter expression—more bitter than the herbal tea from the old lady’s shop in Mong Kok—was one he recognized all too well.
John looked the same way sometimes.
Adults were so pitiful. The pressures of work made it impossible for them to even relax their frowns.
Since Teacher Ji had given him a task, Sheng Fang would take it seriously.
He pulled up a small stool and sat properly in front of the storage cabinet, guarding his backpack like a tiny security guard, with nothing else to do.
Eventually, Jin Bao and Little Yesi wandered over, equally bored.
Three idle children sat in a row.
"I rode a motorcycle yesterday for fun..."
"Fangfang, can you take me next time?"
"Sure!"
"Me too!"
"No problem. The three of us can sit together on Cheng Xinglang’s bike."
Fangfang’s mind conjured up a delightful image—Dr. Cheng riding the motorcycle with the three of them clinging on behind, wobbling and swaying.
Just the thought of it made him grin.
"Just the thought of it gives me a headache," Teacher Ji muttered under her breath to her teaching assistant from a short distance away.
"Don’t worry," the assistant reassured her. "He’ll keep an eye on the money himself. At worst, we can remind his parents at pickup time."
Teacher Ji nodded.
However, by naptime, the responsibility of guarding this "small fortune" fell to her.
Since the start of the school year, Young Master Sheng had never once taken a nap at kindergarten.
But today, instead of patrolling like a little guard, he lay down on his cot for the first time.
Fangfang’s chubby little hands gripped the railing. "Good afternoon," he chirped.
...
Zhu Qing reported her and Zeng Yongshan’s latest findings to Mo Zhenbang.
"Mo sir, these are the documents we just retrieved from the Housing Department."
Mo Zhenbang took the file. "So the victim’s grandfather left her a property?"
"You Yikang earns a decent income, but with a family to support, adding a mortgage would put him under significant financial strain."
"Meanwhile, the victim, You Minmin, only needed to present the will to inherit the property outright. That’s his motive."
Mo Zhenbang pondered for a moment. "What about that client surnamed Chen? Any leads?"
"He left Hong Kong the day after meeting You Yikang. International calls don’t go through, and he isn’t responding to emails."
"However, we just found out he might be staying with relatives overseas."
This lead was purely accidental.
General Manager Chen’s secretary casually mentioned that he might visit his cousins during this business trip. Following that thread, they finally had a lead.
"Still no contact?"
"Should I really call?" Zhu Qing was on the same wavelength.
As she made the call, Mo Zhenbang stood nearby.
Hearing the furious voice on the other end, he cleared his throat. He couldn’t recall which country General Manager Chen was in now, but judging by the tone, it was clearly the middle of the night there.
Zhu Qing cradled the phone between her ear and shoulder, scribbling down key details.
On the other end, General Manager Chen sounded impatient and furious.
"Do you know what time it is? I just got to sleep after working overtime!"
"That night, I left at 9:45 sharp—I remember because there was a football match at 10, and I wanted to catch it."
"That You guy wouldn’t stop rambling about useless things. I wasn’t even listening. A partnership? Of course I’d go with an established company—why would I wait for him to get his act together? I’m not running a charity!"
"Are we done here? Calling at this hour—I’ll file a complaint if you don’t—"
The call ended abruptly.
Zhu Qing’s eyes sparkled. "You Yikang’s alibi really doesn’t hold up!"
Mo Zhenbang almost laughed.
Who else would look so thrilled after being yelled at?
The door clicked open as Hao Zai and Xu Jiale walked in.
"The client who argued with the victim at the record store couldn’t provide an alibi at first—we thought we had something," Hao Zai said. "But then we followed up and found out he checked into a hotel that night. There’s a record. His wife was there too—they had a huge fight. Total chaos."
Xu Jiale added excitedly, "You should’ve seen it! His face kept changing colors, like a Sichuan opera mask!"
Normally, this kind of gossip would spark lively discussion.
But right now, everyone’s focus was on You Yikang.
After all this, was he still the killer?
Before long, Zeng Yongshan rushed back.
"You Yikang contacted a real estate agent half a month ago," she said urgently. "He had them appraise the grandfather’s property!"
"If the house belonged to his sister, why was he assessing its value? Given how strained their relationship was, You Minmin would never willingly give up her inheritance. She wasn’t even dead yet—why was he in such a hurry?"
"This clearly shows he was planning something."
"Regardless, the fact that he was eyeing his sister’s property is undeniable."
"Could it be that after the client left, he went to Tail Corner Street to kill her, then returned to Lan Kwai Fong to keep drinking? The bar owner and staff only remember a man sitting in the corner—they didn’t notice when he left or came back."
Mo Zhenbang’s expression hardened. "Keep digging. If You Yikang is the killer, the distance between Lan Kwai Fong and Sai Wan is too far to walk—he must’ve taken a vehicle."
"Minibuses, buses, taxis..."
"Especially taxis. After committing murder, he’d be in a panic and choose the fastest way back to Lan Kwai Fong to maintain his alibi."
Mo Zhenbang gave the order, and the entire Serious Crimes Team B sprang into action.
Inside the CID office, officers moved in and out, urgency in their steps.
But each time someone returned, they shook their heads.
Taxi companies, minibus routes, bus drivers, passengers...
Nothing.
You Yikang was the prime suspect, but without concrete evidence, it was all speculation.
They still couldn’t charge him.
"How did he pull this off?" Hao Zai scratched his head.
"Even if he could fly, he’d leave traces!" Mo Zhenbang said firmly. "Keep searching. I refuse to believe he covered every single track."
...
In Sheng Fang’s bedroom, a new high-end addition had been made.
After school in the afternoon, he excitedly dragged Aunt Ping straight to the Golden Computer Plaza in Sham Shui Po. With a wave of his small hand, he boldly purchased a top-of-the-line computer. When the young master pulled out a wad of cash from his backpack, the store clerk immediately upgraded their service. Troublesome processes like installation, internet setup, and debugging were handled without him or Aunt Ping needing to worry—the young and old pair simply had to wait patiently.
As they were leaving, his eyes were drawn to the dazzling array of game discs on the shelves.
"Young master, what are you buying?"
"Rich Man!" Sheng Fang held up the colorful box, its cover glittering with cartoon characters.
It was Rich Man 2, highly recommended by the clerk as simple, fun, and perfect for smart kids.
The vibrant graphics on the disc alone had Sheng Fang mesmerized, and without hesitation, the young master handed over the money.
At the time, Aunt Ping wondered—could such a little child really understand how to play?
But now, standing in the children's room, she was utterly stunned. The young master's small hands deftly maneuvered the mouse, his bright eyes fixed intently on the screen.
Aunt Ping tried it herself, but the mouse refused to obey her commands. The cursor glided smoothly yet always slipped past where she wanted to click.
On the computer screen, the colorful game map looked like a fairy-tale world.
It was like watching a cartoon—the young master selected his character, and with each roll of the dice, the figure advanced across the grid.
"So this is a video game?" Aunt Ping said.
She bent down, adjusting her reading glasses. "Is this little person you? Why did you pick a girl?"
"This is Madame Qian!" Sheng Fang exclaimed, just as the game played Madame Qian’s signature laugh—"Tonight, I’ll laugh even in my dreams—"
The little one immediately mimicked it in his childish voice, "Tonight, I’ll laugh even in my dreams, lah!"
Kids will be kids. He was supposed to be upgrading his niece’s investigation equipment, but he ended up playing first.
In the evening, Zhu Qing called home to say she’d be working late. Aunt Ping had assumed, given the young master’s obsessive focus, she’d have to sit by the computer feeding him dinner. But to her surprise, the good habits his niece had instilled in him stuck. When dinnertime came, Fangfang dashed to the table, ate quickly, and hurried back to the computer.
Aunt Ping remembered Zhu Qing’s usual advice.
Kids shouldn’t watch too much TV—it hurts their eyes. A computer screen was no different. So for the next few hours, she became a human alarm clock, urging the young master every half hour to stand by the window and look into the distance.
By ten at night, when Zhu Qing finally dragged her exhausted self home, cheerful game sounds were still drifting from the children’s room.
"Qing-jie!"
Sheng Fang shot over like a little rocket, "pitter-patter."
"Qing-jie, Qing-jie! We bought a computer!"
"Wanna play a game with me?"
"It’s Rich Man!"
Zhu Qing ruffled his little head. "A little rich boy playing Rich Man?"
Her voice carried an unmasked weariness.
After a whole day of investigation, they’d made no progress. They knew You Yikang was involved, but without solid evidence, they could only detain him for forty-eight hours—nothing more.
How had he gone to Sai Wan and returned?
The serious crime unit had followed this case for so long, their emotions swinging between highs and lows.
The bitter words from the victim’s diary lingered in their minds. In her final moments, the warmth of her memories had held her back—she hadn’t wanted to die.
You Minmin could have lived a full life.
"Qing-jie?"
Sheng Fang tilted his face up, blinking at her.
"I’m a little tired," Zhu Qing forced a smile. "I’ll rest first."
"Okay." Fangfang’s voice was soft.
His little shoulders slumped instantly as he trudged back to the children’s room, even the back of his head radiating disappointment.
Ever since buying the computer, Sheng Fang had been eagerly waiting for Qing-jie to come home. Especially now that he was deep into the game, he wanted nothing more than to share it with her.
But Qing-jie was always so busy.
Sheng Fang hung his head.
Suddenly, Zhu Qing’s voice came from behind.
"How do you play this game?" she asked. "I don’t know how—teach me."
Sheng Fang whirled around, eyes wide like a spring uncoiling as he bounced up. "Yay!"
"But only twenty minutes."
"Qing-jie, tomorrow morning is the school fair, and we have the afternoon off!"
"Did you forget?"
"Who said that?" Zhu Qing feigned innocence, pretending she hadn’t forgotten. "Anyway, no kid stays up ‘late’ past ten."
Right now, no matter what his niece said, Fangfang would obey.
He was a well-behaved little lamb, nodding earnestly as he guided Zhu Qing’s hand to the mouse.
The game rules left Aunt Ping utterly lost.
But Zhu Qing understood immediately.
"Your character is called Princess Sarah," Sheng Fang explained seriously.
This crown-wearing character was spoiled, willful, and did as she pleased—Princess Sarah.
As the game progressed, Zhu Qing’s tense nerves slowly relaxed.
"What’s this?" She pointed at a suddenly appearing card interface.
"Chance and Fate cards!" Sheng Fang directed excitedly. "Click here to draw!"
Zhu Qing clicked.
The card flipped over—
Aunt Ping leaned in and read aloud, "Meet an old boatman friend—he gives you a free ride. Advance three spaces."
She chuckled. "Great luck!"
The sound effect of oars splashing was surprisingly realistic.
One, two, three… landing on the third space, her character stopped.
Zhu Qing stared at the screen, eyes widening. "It’s a ferry!"
Sheng Fang had been careful the whole time, afraid of triggering Qing-jie’s "bedtime alarm."
Her sudden shout made the little master jump.
"What’s the big deal!"
The next second, his cheeks were squished by Zhu Qing’s hands.
"Thank you, Fangfang! You’re a lifesaver!"
The figure at the computer vanished in a flash. Before Sheng Fang could react, Zhu Qing had already rushed off to make a call like a whirlwind.
The little one shrugged at Aunt Ping like a miniature adult. "Casework obsession strikes again."
From the living room came Zhu Qing’s excited voice.
"Mo Zhenbang, it’s a private ferry!"
"You Yikang could’ve taken a fishing boat from Sai Wan Pier to Central—walking back to the bar would only take three minutes!"
In the room, the young master propped his chin on one hand, still playing the game.
Little Fangfang’s lips curled up proudly.
His niece was definitely the smartest person in the whole world, right?
...
Morning light filtered through the window as Bobo sat on the floor fiddling with toys.
With a child in the house, no matter how often they tidied up, it always looked messy. When You Yikang pulled his son out from under the sofa, he was both exasperated and amused, dusting the boy off.
"Daddy—" Bobo clutched a crumpled piece of paper in his small hand.
You Yikang’s eyes tightened as he swiftly bent down to snatch the item and stuffed it into his pocket.
His tone was stiff: "Don’t crawl under the sofa again next time."
His wife, Wen Qiu, walked out of the kitchen holding a freshly poured glass of milk.
"Dad, Mom, once this is all over, let’s go out and relax a bit."
"Minmin is gone, but those of us still living need to move forward. Staying cooped up at home isn’t the answer."
You Yikang’s parents sat at the dining table, their gazes hollow as they stared at the seat their daughter used to occupy.
For a fleeting moment, it felt as if she were still there, quietly eating. She had always been reserved, rarely helping herself to dishes during meals. As grandparents, they had been too busy tending to the rambunctious Bobo, and no one had spared her a second glance.
"How could she have taken her own life…?" You’s mother murmured. "And then frame your brother for it…"
These days, his parents were always like this.
You Yikang had grown used to it. He quietly instructed his wife to keep an eye on them, straightened his tie, and picked up his briefcase. "I’m heading to work."
As he opened the door, he froze.
Behind him, his mother forced a semblance of composure and said, "The pomelo leaves aren’t ready yet. We’ll cleanse the bad luck when you get back."
But You Yikang no longer heard her.
Three police officers stood at the doorway, holding up their badges.
"You Yikang, you are suspected of involvement in a murder case."
"You have the right to remain silent—"
His heart pounded like thunder, cold sweat soaking his back.
He forced a stiff smile. "Here we go again. Can’t find the real culprit, so you just pin it on anyone?"
"At 10:45 p.m. on Tuesday," the officer cut him off, "you boarded a private fishing boat at West Pier to flee the scene."
"The boat owner has identified you." Uncle Li took a step forward. "Cooperate with the investigation."
You’s mother stumbled toward them, her bony fingers clutching her son’s sleeve.
"Didn’t you say Minmin killed herself? Last time, you said she framed Yikang!"
"Don’t wrong an innocent man—my son adored his sister! Yikang, explain it to them!"
Before she could finish, Bobo suddenly tugged at his father’s suit jacket.
Under everyone’s stunned gaze, the child pulled a crumpled piece of paper from You Yikang’s pocket.
Mimicking his father’s earlier gesture, he crushed the paper in his tiny hands, scowling before angrily crumpling it again.
Wen Qiu bent down to pick it up. The moment she unfolded it, her face turned deathly pale.
It was the letter from Uncle.
This was what You Minmin had been searching for in the study. By some twist of fate, Bobo had stuffed it into his toy bucket, and it had rolled under the sofa.
"Yikang." Wen Qiu’s voice trembled. "What’s going on? Explain it to the officers."
You Yikang lowered his head.
How could his family, who had lived with him day and night, not see the guilt in his demeanor? The room fell into a suffocating silence. His parents stood frozen, as if struck by lightning.
They had always insisted their son doted on his sister, that they had never played favorites, that Minmin was just a dark, troubled soul…
As if they had given everything, and she had simply refused to appreciate it.
The brother had been so good to his sister—it was always her pushing him away, always her twisting his kindness into something sinister. That was how the parents saw it, how they justified it, as if every fault lay with their ungrateful daughter.
When they learned You Minmin had "framed" her brother, they weren’t even surprised. After all, that was just who she was—twisted, always misunderstanding her brother.
And yet, in the cruelest irony, her suspicions had not been a misunderstanding at all.
You Yikang really had killed You Minmin.
A metallic click echoed as the officers clamped handcuffs around his wrists.
Tears, murky with age, streamed down his mother’s wrinkled face before she erupted into heart-wrenching sobs.
Bobo buried himself in his mother’s arms, his terrified wails piercing the cramped rental apartment.
......
The interrogation room was harshly lit.
You Yikang sat in the chair, his hands tightly cuffed.
He stared at the restraints, his fingers interlaced and knuckles white from the strain.
Uncle Li tapped the table. "Confess to the crime."
The police had expected resistance—more lies, more excuses. After all, this cunning suspect had slipped through their fingers before without leaving a trace.
But after a long silence, You Yikang spoke, his voice hoarse.
"I begged her."
He lifted his head, his face ghastly pale. His eyes were empty, as if even he couldn’t understand how things had come to this.
"Only after marriage did I realize how hard life could be. My wife and I fought endlessly over the house. Letting my parents live with us was already her biggest compromise. She made it clear—that was her limit. Without our own home, she couldn’t accept it."
"Did your wife not know you didn’t own a house before marriage?"
"At the time, she didn’t realize how difficult it would be living with my parents and sister. They clashed constantly. My wife is blunt, and Minmin was always—they just couldn’t get along."
"After we moved out, we struggled with the kids, so my parents moved in with us. In a way… we gave the house to Minmin."
"I was trying to find a solution. I even considered asking Minmin to rent a place. But then Grandpa passed away and left her a property."
You Yikang repeated, "I really did beg her."
His voice grew quieter.
"I told her—what does a girl need a house for?"
"I know she thought our parents favored me. But that was their choice. What did it have to do with me? Hadn’t I always treated her well?"
His gaze dropped.
That day, he had scoured the entire city to buy the sugar cakes she loved as a child. He had been so excited to bring them to her at the record store, only to be met with another vicious fight.
He couldn’t even remember what they had argued about. Only the image of Minmin standing in the wind remained.
It had been winter, the biting cold shredding her accusations into fragments. She kept repeating—everything had always gone to her brother, and now even the house?
"Minmin never fought for anything…"
"I would have given her anything. But I needed that house."
Uncle Li cut in. "Was it premeditated?"
You Yikang shook his head.
After his meeting with General Manager Chen fell through, he had gone drinking alone.
He finished an entire pack of cigarettes before stepping out to buy more, telling the bartender not to clear his table—he’d be back.
But the autumn chill outside the bar jolted him awake. Drinking wouldn’t solve anything. He needed a real solution.
Truth was, his income wasn’t bad. As long as he didn’t buy a house, it was enough.
Once the housing issue was resolved, he could finally breathe easier—everything would get better.
"I was walking alone in Lan Kwai Fong when I saw a bus heading to Sai Wan."
The police had checked all buses passing through Lan Kwai Fong during that time slot, but neither the drivers nor passengers had any recollection of You Yikang.
Bus drivers ferry countless passengers daily, and those inside the bus were usually half-asleep. No one would pay special attention to a man in a tailored suit.
"My sister and I have clashed over this more than once."
"Minmin could barely articulate her thoughts, bottling up her anger… Except for that one time. She was rummaging through my room for Uncle’s letter. When she couldn’t find it, everyone accused her of being paranoid. They said, ‘How could you possibly be secretly contacting Uncle?’"
"I went back to the old house in Sai Wan to talk things out with Minmin properly. She could stay in the house on Tail Corner Street as long as she wanted—I had no objections. Even after marriage, she could return anytime, provided Mom and Dad didn’t mind. Wen Qiu and I wouldn’t say a word."
"But Grandpa’s house had to go to me."
You Yikang admitted that You Minmin had refused him many times over the property.
Truthfully, he hadn’t held much hope.
Yet when the door opened and he stepped inside—
A choked, struggling sound came from the bathroom.
His movements grew quieter.
And then—
You Yikang closed his eyes. "I thought… fine. Her death would be better for all of us."
The interrogation room fell silent for a few seconds.
"Do you regret it?" Zeng Yongshan asked.
His shoulders slumped slightly. He nodded, then shook his head.
These past few days, guilt had gnawed at him. Was killing his sister over a house really worth it?
Until the police told him—
Before her suicide, You Minmin had staged the scene, even trying to frame him.
Finally, his remorse found an outlet.
He no longer felt guilty.
After all, hadn’t You Minmin wanted him dead too? He’d just acted first.
In the interrogation room, You Yikang lowered his head in defeat.
"Wasn’t she at fault too?" he muttered. "She definitely had issues…"
Zeng Yongshan took a deep breath. "No matter what, you shouldn’t have killed her."
Behind the one-way glass, Zhu Qing observed everything in silence.
The dead couldn’t return. She didn’t care whether the murderer repented—she only wanted to know what You Minmin had endured in that final year.
Why had her condition deteriorated? Why had she withdrawn further into silence?
And in the end, why had she chosen to end everything this way?
Had something happened, pushing that girl into the abyss?
"Zhu Qing." Liang Qikai entered the observation room.
Inspector Liang informed her that little Sheng Fang had brought a thermos.
During the kindergarten fair’s snack time, the boy had made sweet soup himself and generously offered it to all his colleagues.
"Fangfang is here?"
Liang Qikai: "He already left."
After a pause, he added, "Heard he went to the morgue."
...
Little Sheng Fang hadn’t just treated the CID officers to sweet soup—he’d also remembered his colleagues in the Forensics and Evidence departments.
Unfortunately, he hadn’t brought enough. After pouring the last serving, his thermos was empty, cutting short his office visits.
The young master knew almost everyone at the Yau Ma Tei Police Station, but only Cheng Xinglang knew how to truly relax.
His office chair was the comfiest. Perched on it, the child swung his short legs contentedly.
Dr. Cheng was busy. When he returned, he carried a document.
He set it casually on the desk.
Little Sheng Fang peeked. "What’s this?"
"Hong Kong Medical Association’s 10th Anniversary Symposium," Cheng Xinglang said. "Registration form for those interested."
It was a cross-disciplinary medical networking event, attended by doctors from major Hong Kong hospitals—
Forensic pathologists, psychiatrists, surgeons, and others—gathering periodically for academic exchange.
The form was neatly categorized. To persuade Dr. Cheng to join, Ah Ben had even used a pen to check a box in his alumni group.
Sheng Fang leaned closer, noticing Ah Ben’s markings.
The child tilted his head. "This number—"
Two knocks sounded. After rapping lightly, Zhu Qing pushed the half-open office door wider.
"Dr. Cheng, is Sheng Fang here?"
"Networking event," Ah Ben teased, grinning. "Plenty of single doctors."
Cheng Xinglang shot him a cool glance. "Don’t drag me into this."
"He’s here." The doctor gestured toward Sheng Fang.
Zhu Qing stepped inside, finding the boy still studying the registration form.
"Interested?" Ah Ben winked. "Uncle can take you."
The young master and Ah Ben seemed cosmically incompatible. Whenever the latter spouted nonsense, the child ignored him.
After scrutinizing the list, Sheng Fang declared, "Qing, I’ve seen this number before—on a paper at home."
Last night, Zhu Qing had left You Minmin’s call records on the coffee table.
When Sheng Fang returned, he’d spotted it.
Though the original story claimed the boy was a prodigy—
But…
Zhu Qing: "It’s a long string of digits. How could you memorize it at a glance?"
Sheng Fang shook his head, his small voice firm. "This number matches Keke’s birthday."
Zhu Qing froze.
She didn’t have a birthday.
But "Keke" did. Sheng Fang had researched extensively, even asking Aunt Ping, then committed the date to memory.
When the time came, he’d celebrate his niece’s birthday.
The little genius’s logic was methodical—
"The last four digits match your birthday."
An eight-digit pager number coincidentally aligning with Zhu Qing’s birthdate—just a fluke.
"Look!" Sheng Fang stood on tiptoe, handing her the Medical Association’s list.
Touched that the boy had remembered her birthday, Zhu Qing glanced at the form—
Her gaze halted. She frowned slightly.
The police had scoured You Minmin’s call records from her final month, verifying each number.
But not all numbers were registered. Some couldn’t be traced, their owners unknown.
Brief calls made long before her death were dismissed as irrelevant.
Now, thanks to Sheng Fang, Zhu Qing had a name.
"Him?" She took the symposium list.
Xu Mingyuan—
You Minmin’s psychiatrist.
He’d once called the deceased from his private number.
