The school anniversary ceremony had not yet concluded when the live broadcast signal was abruptly cut off. The television screen froze on the moment Lin Xiyin was rescued.
But in Sheng Fang’s mind, the image lingered on the even more heart-stopping instant before.
At this moment, he stood beside the TV, tilting his little head. His bright, wide eyes reflected not just Qing Zai’s figure but also the colleagues who had thrown themselves fearlessly toward the railing. Every face was tense, arms bursting with astonishing strength. Sheng Fang’s blood boiled with excitement—he longed to rush forward and stretch out his own small hands too.
The Kindergarten Principal found the remote, her hands trembling as she pressed the power button. Beads of sweat dotted her forehead, her chest still heaving. Glancing around the AV room, she saw the other young teachers equally pale, exchanging shaken looks.
Everyone knew exactly what that harrowing scene had meant—
The girl in the white dress had clearly been about to leap. If the police hadn’t grabbed her in time… the consequences would have been unthinkable.
The Principal whispered to a teacher beside her, "Report this to the headmaster of the main campus immediately."
In multiple AV rooms across Weston Kindergarten, the children of the toddler, junior, middle, and senior classes had all been eagerly watching the anniversary performance.
Hundreds of innocent eyes had been fixed on the screen, nearly witnessing the loss of a young life.
The more the Principal thought about it, the more terrified she became. Several teachers’ hearts still pounded like thunder.
To see the older sister from Hart Academy "take flight" along with the balloons she released—
How deeply would such a sight scar their tender hearts?
Teacher Ji’s brow remained furrowed as she pondered how to comfort them—only to turn and find the children growing more animated by the second.
“‘Whoosh!’ She flew like this!” one child exclaimed, waving his arms excitedly, eyes sparkling as he mimicked the officers’ diving motions, tiny fists raised high. “Just like Superman!”
“They grabbed her wrist in one go!”
The children chattered fervently about how the big sister had almost fallen. Falling hurt—one child shared his experience of tumbling off the bed, describing how it made him cry. And yet, the police had managed to catch someone about to fall from such a high place!
“Even cooler than Ultraman…”
“When I grow up, I wanna be a flying police officer!”
The innocent, lively chatter gradually eased Teacher Ji’s frown.
Thankfully, far from frightening them, the scene had ignited the children’s admiration for heroism.
The Madams and Sirs hadn’t just saved the girl—they’d unwittingly safeguarded the purity of these young hearts.
“Everyone wants to be a police officer?” Teacher Ji crouched down, teasing them with a smile. “Aren’t you stealing Sheng Fang’s future job?”
Sheng Fang crossed his arms like a little adult, utterly unperturbed.
In his eyes, this wasn’t competition at all—police academy required real skill, and the title of top graduate would undoubtedly be his alone. As for the other kids? At best, they could become his capable subordinates.
The little Sir solemnly dragged over a small stool and began assigning his classmates to police teams.
Major Crime Units A, B, C, D… Not only did he pick team members, but he also assigned superiors to lead them.
Little Yesi, to her confusion, was appointed head of Unit D.
The other children were green with envy—
Lucky Yesi, being friends with Fang Fang, got promoted straight to leader!
But Yesi pouted, her little face downcast.
“What’s wrong?” Sheng Fang noticed her mood immediately.
“Being a Madam is cool and all,” Yesi sighed. “But my dream since I was little was to be a model!”
“Kids should stick to their dreams!” Sheng Fang promptly demoted her. “Who wants to lead Unit D?”
“Me!”
“Pick me! I wanna do it!”
Jin Bao, an easygoing child, was happy to join the force. Being a police officer was awesome—you could save so many people.
The children lost themselves in their make-believe game.
Watching them, the Kindergarten Principal felt a surge of emotion.
She resolved to personally visit the Yau Ma Tei Police Station to express her gratitude—and to prepare a few beautifully embroidered commendation banners.
A little girl suddenly piped up, “Which team is Juan in?”
The little tattletale was always raising his hand to report others, earning Sheng Fang many a scolding from the teachers.
Sheng Fang stroked his chin, pretending to deliberate deeply.
“Assign him to Zhaolin’s team,” he declared firmly, waving his hand. “Under John’s command.”
……
Back on the rooftop of Hart Academy’s new building, the autumn wind still howled.
Lin Xiyin huddled by the railing, head bowed.
She trembled uncontrollably, her once-white dress now smudged with grime.
The red ribbon that had been tied around her waist was gently untied by Zeng Yongshan and discarded.
Zeng Yongshan guessed the ribbon matched the balloon strings—just another carefully staged gimmick by Xu Mingyuan for the media’s follow-up coverage. It held no special meaning, much like the eerie "water ghost" call during the premiere of that supernatural show—macabre, unsettling, yet undeniably viral.
“It’s over now. You’re safe,” Zeng Yongshan murmured softly but firmly, draping her own coat over Lin Xiyin’s shoulders.
Around them, the Major Crime Unit officers still panted, their heartbeats yet to steady.
Seconds ago, Lin Xiyin had already been in midair—one instant more, and she would have slipped through their fingers.
But now, she was safe.
“Can you stand?” Zhu Qing asked, supporting her arm.
Lin Xiyin didn’t answer, her trembling only intensifying.
The photographers, hosts, and school staff finally snapped out of their shock, whispering among themselves in hushed tones.
“How did the police appear out of nowhere?”
“I didn’t even notice them coming up.”
But they hadn’t appeared suddenly.
For this moment, the Major Crime Unit had been working tirelessly for six straight hours.
Rewind six hours earlier, and every officer in the unit had been racing against time in their final search.
Of the remaining unconfirmed names from the therapy group, only three remained—but their investigations hit a wall. Lin Xiyin was still a student with no personal contact number, too afraid to leave her parents’ or home details, so she’d fabricated a pager number. Every time the police called, they were met with an irritated—
“Wrong number!”
Fake address, fake number, fake school…
By then, the officers had exhausted all options, praying at least her name was real.
This name was the only clue they had, but over twenty years ago, a Cantonese film swept across the nation, and its female lead was named "Xiyin." Countless parents followed the trend and gave their children the same name.
In all of Hong Kong, the number of people sharing her exact name was overwhelming. Following conventional investigative methods would be far too slow.
Suddenly, an idea flashed through Mo Zhenbang's mind.
Was Xu Mingyuan playing the "countdown" game again? Just like with You Minmin, was the death timer he set for Lin Xiyin meant to coincide with some public event?
Meanwhile, Zhu Qing and Uncle Li once again entered the observation room next to the interrogation chamber, keeping a close watch on the silent Xu Mingyuan.
Within fifteen minutes, he checked his watch four times.
Perhaps Xu Mingyuan was counting down, waiting for his forty-eight-hour detention period to expire.
Or perhaps, in his mind, he was counting down to the death of his fifth "prey."
The Major Crimes Unit began investigating large-scale events recently held in Hong Kong.
Eventually, the 60th-anniversary celebration of Hartwell Academy caught their attention.
They rushed to the school and obtained the program list for the event.
Mechanically scanning through it, none of them dared to think—what if they were wrong? What if they missed the real countdown?
Then, suddenly, their eyes locked onto a name.
On the list for the ceremonial wish-making event, the name "Lin Xiyin" leaped out at them. Everyone’s breath hitched.
For now, the dust had settled—at least temporarily.
Zhu Qing helped Lin Xiyin to her feet.
A gust of wind howled past, tousling the girl’s disheveled hair.
The scratches on her scalp, now scabbed over, stood as silent evidence of her struggle.
The media captured the moment, and the crowd erupted in shock.
Zhu Qing and Zeng Yongshan flanked Lin Xiyin, shielding her as they guided her downstairs.
The girl’s steps were unsteady, her mind still dazed.
But the moment they stepped out of the school building, a barrage of camera flashes assaulted them like a storm.
Reporters surged forward, thrusting dozens of microphones in her face.
"Miss, what happened to you?"
"Did you jump because you felt hopeless?"
"Did the school know about this? Why didn’t they take action?"
Almost in unison, Zhu Qing and Zeng Yongshan raised their arms, using their bodies as a barrier.
"Step back. No filming."
The crowd fell silent.
Amid the noise, Lin Xiyin slowly lifted her head.
Her hollow gaze drifted over them, as if searching for something.
So this was what it felt like—not having to face everything alone.
Her chapped lips parted slightly, but no words came out. She simply lowered her head again.
...
By the time they returned to the police station, dusk was approaching.
Lin Xiyin sat in a corner of the interrogation room, wrapped in a female officer’s jacket, clutching a disposable paper cup. The warmth of the water seeped through the thin material, thawing her icy palms.
When Zeng Yongshan leaned closer, she gasped.
Under the harsh fluorescent lights, the hidden scars were impossible to ignore.
Scratches marred the shaved patches of her scalp, and when she lifted her arm, the cigarette burns on the inside of her upper arm made the officers recoil in horror.
Lin Xiyin’s parents arrived an hour and forty minutes later.
Her father, a briefcase tucked under his arm, frowned as he borrowed a phone from an officer to handle work matters. Her mother, heavily pregnant, shuffled in behind him.
Records showed that Lin Xiyin’s parents had divorced and started new families.
She alternated between living with her mother and staying with her father.
"Are you even fit to be a mother? How could you not know your child was being bullied like this?"
"Don’t act like you care! Last month, for her birthday, all you did was call and promise to buy her a toy—as if that’s enough! Xiyin is seventeen. She doesn’t need toys!"
"Did I say I was buying her a toy? I meant school supplies! How many dictionaries and reference books have I bought? And you? You just fixate on one word and twist it!"
"At least I try to understand her. All you ever say is, ‘Go ask your mother!’"
Seventeen years old.
Zeng Yongshan looked at the girl curled up in the chair, gripping her school skirt so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her frail shoulders trembled, as if she believed the bullying was her own fault.
Liang Qikai softened his voice. "Do you remember what Xu Mingyuan said to you? The psychologist who offered free counseling?"
Lin Xiyin didn’t react.
Zeng Yongshan crouched to meet her eye level. "Or maybe we can start with what happened at school? We’ll help you, no matter what."
Still, silence.
The clock in the interrogation room ticked on—until Zhu Qing finally spoke.
"When you were hanging there, did you regret it?"
Lin Xiyin’s grip on her skirt froze.
The memory surged back—the dizzying speed of it all, the wind screaming in her ears, the fleeting thought that maybe, if she just let go and crashed down in front of them, it would all be over.
But then, the warmth of the hands that grabbed her wrists—reminding her there was still something worth holding onto.
"Death won’t make them pay," Zhu Qing murmured. "But courage will."
Outside the door, Sister Zhen’s cheerful voice drifted in.
"My son’s classmate had her hair shaved too."
"Now those little thugs are scrubbing toilets in juvenile detention."
Her tone was casual, as if she were discussing a supermarket sale.
As if nothing in the world was truly unbearable.
"Let her rest for now."
"If she doesn’t want to talk yet, that’s fine..."
Just as the officers turned to leave, Zhu Qing felt a faint tug on her sleeve.
Lin Xiyin looked up at her.
This woman—the one who had pulled her back from the edge—now gazed down with unwavering resolve.
Maybe, just maybe, Madam could save her one more time.
At last, she spoke. "I..."
...
The Major Crimes Unit split up again.
The tech team rushed to analyze audio comparisons.
Meanwhile, Xu Jiale, Hao Zai, and Little Sun returned to Hartwell Academy. Even in the twilight, the school blazed with lights—the celebration had resumed after the earlier chaos. When Xu Jiale pushed open the auditorium doors, a cheerful choir performance echoed from the stage.
Following Lin Xiyin’s leads, they quickly identified the students involved in the bullying and summoned their parents for questioning.
Xu Jiale scoffed. "Some parents actually called it ‘kids being kids.’ Even a three-year-old knows bullying isn’t normal."
"The worst was that lawyer father—coaching his daughter on how to defend herself."
"Let’s see what excuses they come up with."
"Now that the media’s involved, the school can’t cover this up even if they wanted to."
Liang Qikai and Uncle Li headed to Xu Mingyuan’s clinic.
They held up Lin Xiyin’s photo. "Have you seen this girl?"
"Her? I remember her, she came a few times." The nurse hesitated. "But Dr. Xu managed all his own treatment records. The sessions were conducted in the soundproof room inside his office—we couldn’t hear anything."
"What about the visit logs?"
"There used to be a log at the front desk, but it disappeared suddenly a while ago. We were all shocked, but Dr. Xu said not to worry about it."
The nurse paused, then lowered her voice. "Officer, is Dr. Xu really involved in the case?"
The detective didn’t answer directly, only countered, "What do you think?"
"I don’t know. He rarely talked to us, always polite but distant." She shook her head. "I could never tell what he was thinking."
At the Yau Ma Tei Police Station, the 48-hour detention limit had expired, yet Xu Mingyuan remained in the interrogation room.
Mo Zhenbang slid a stack of documents across the table.
"You are now formally arrested for instigating four suicides and one attempted suicide."
Xu Mingyuan’s expression didn’t change.
"Lin Xiyin identified you." Zhu Qing stared into his eyes. "You probably didn’t expect this—the girl who won top scholarships every year, who recorded every lecture to review key points just to keep her parents’ attention."
It was the same habit that led her to place a recorder in her bag during her therapy sessions.
Forensics confirmed the voiceprint matched that of psychologist Xu Mingyuan.
"Lin Xiyin wrote down your words, listened to them over and over. She trusted you completely."
"The voice analysis is right here." Mo Zhenbang tapped the report on the interrogation table. "Time to talk."
Xu Mingyuan sighed softly.
"What a shame," he said. "It could’ve been a perfect finale."
……
Silence stretched in the interrogation room.
Xu Mingyuan wasn’t bothered by the arrest—only disappointed.
The show he’d planned to watch had ended prematurely.
A meticulously crafted performance, cut short.
"Jumping amid the school’s cheers, abandoned by the crowd… I timed it perfectly." He smiled. "The kindergarten kids would’ve seen balloons rising and a body falling. Quite the spectacle, don’t you think?"
"Why do this?"
"Because I wanted to know," he said, his gaze distant. "If someone had stopped my mother, would she still have died?"
Twenty-four years ago, Xu Mingyuan watched his mother swallow pills. His father followed soon after.
"Did the kindergarten kids cry when you saved her?" he asked.
He remembered crying himself—wailing so violently the neighbors called the police.
Back then, young Xu Mingyuan couldn’t understand why his father chose to leave with her.
For years, he tried to rationalize it: his mother, tormented by depression, escaping her pain. His father? Maybe just blindly following, trapped in a sick emotional dependency.
But as he grew older, his perspective shifted.
Was it really liberation? Or just cowardice, dragging everyone down?
His father didn’t have to die. He didn’t have to grow up with his aunt. His aunt could’ve pursued her own happiness.
But one selfish decision shattered three lives.
"That year, I was just a child," Xu Mingyuan said. "I couldn’t stop her."
"Her choice ruined all of us."
Case files lay scattered on the table.
Xu Mingyuan described the victims as he saw them:
The first, a woman who despised herself for being infertile—worthless if she couldn’t bear a child.
The second, a mother with a mentally disabled son, her identity reduced to just "Mom," found dead still shielding him.
The third, an eldest daughter who sacrificed everything for scraps of approval, her every breath begging for love.
The fourth, a girl raised in a family that favored sons, hiding in shadows yet desperate to be seen—pathetic and foolish.
His eyes skimmed their photos like they were lab rats.
Over two years, he’d seen his mother in each of them.
For a fleeting moment, he wondered: if someone had intervened, would his mother have lived?
But the thought vanished, replaced by resentment.
Why should he carry this pain alone while others lived untouched?
Unsaved himself, he pushed them into the abyss instead.
"They, like my mother, were lives without value," Xu Mingyuan said coldly. "Freeing them was a service to society."
"That fake single mother on the phone—you realized it was me?"
"So that was you?" A flicker of recognition crossed his eyes. "I didn’t place the voice."
He recalled their brief encounter before the call. But he was always careful with his targets. Those truly ready to die didn’t talk about the future.
The twenty-minute call had been a game of mutual testing.
By the end, he knew this "single mother" wouldn’t break easily.
His gaze drifted to the autopsy report for You Minmin.
Cheng Xinglang’s signature marked the bottom.
Not everyone bowed to his influence.
Cheng Xinglang, who forgot the incident due to trauma yet resisted hypnosis. Song Sijia, deaf and mute, clutching a copy of A Guide to Speech for the Deaf in her shabby, airless home.
They’d all chosen their paths clearly.
"Some people just don’t know what’s good for them," Xu Mingyuan said, rattling his handcuffs.
……
In the observation room next door, officers watched through the one-way glass.
The seemingly gentle psychologist sat composed in the interrogation chair, his eyes still tinged with tender regret.
His first victim had been Wang Yingtong.
No trigger, no warning—just something that happened naturally.
"No clear motive."
"Maybe Xu Mingyuan never realized how twisted his thoughts had become."
As he spoke, names echoed in the interrogation room.
Ding Panxiang, Deng Qiaorong, You Minmin… Like an artist showcasing his work, his eyes gleamed with sick excitement as he relived each moment.
"Consistent with our investigation, he used the healing group to screen his targets, luring them with free treatments, then meticulously designed death traps during the sessions."
"He even provided 'tutorials'—teaching You Minmin how to transfer DNA with a toothbrush to frame her brother, You Yikang. He instructed Lin Xiyin on how to secure the chance to release a wishing balloon."
"After completing his 'creations,' Xu Mingyuan would withdraw in advance, ensuring he left no traces behind."
"Using his private number to contact You Minmin wasn’t an accident. He believed her will to die wasn’t strong enough, and with the 'Yin Yang' program airing earlier than scheduled, he called to remind her—this was an opportunity she couldn’t miss."
That unregistered private number should have been safer than his clinic’s registered line or public payphones that might be caught on surveillance.
But unexpectedly, his number resembled "Cocoa’s" birthday, which was how the little detective, Sheng Fang, spotted the flaw.
"As the manipulator, he patiently built psychological dependency in his patients, equating 'death' with 'liberation.'"
"Bit by bit, he eroded their hope to live. To him, it was just an experiment."
"If today’s 'experiment' with Lin Xiyin had succeeded, Xu Mingyuan’s next step would’ve been waiting for the kindergarten children who witnessed death to grow up... guiding them to become the next versions of himself."
The young officers shuddered, their spines turning cold.
Uncle Li shook his head. "You know what’s most ironic?"
"Wang Yingtong’s husband has already remarried and had children, living a happy life."
"Ding Panxiang and her son vanished completely—only their unlucky landlord was left dealing with the fallout."
"Deng Qiaorong’s family merely lost a cash cow."
"You Minmin’s parents are grieving, but who can say whether their heartbreak is for their daughter’s death or their son’s imprisonment?"
They’re gone forever, yet the world keeps turning.
With time, the traces of their existence will fade until they’re nearly invisible.
The observation room door opened.
This case had twisted and turned—from tracing the DNA on a liquor bottle to You Yikang, to closing You Minmin’s case as a suicide, then arresting You Yikang and uncovering the deeper truth behind it all...
Now, everything had an answer.
Xu Mingyuan would face justice. The silent dead had finally found their voice.
In the police station hallway, the deaf-mute girl Song Sijia retrieved her notebook and signed to Zhu Qing.
Zhu Qing clumsily curled her fingers and pushed her palm outward.
Zeng Yongshan watched, baffled. "What does that mean?"
"She’s saying thank you."
"And you replied with 'you’re welcome,' right?"
The interrogation room door was ajar. Lin Xiyin still sat in the corner, her expression desolate and silent.
Song Sijia suddenly turned to her and signed again, this time with a smile, sharing warmth with the lonely figure.
Zeng Yongshan asked, "And this time?"
Zhu Qing watched the girl’s straight-backed figure. "Probably 'hang in there.'"
She paused, then added, "Or maybe—'life is long. Push through this, and the world will open up for you.'"
Zeng Yongshan laughed and nudged her. "There’s no way a gesture’s that complicated!"
Before she could finish, Zhu Qing suddenly winced, clutching her shoulder.
"You okay?" Zeng Yongshan tensed. "Did you get hurt during the rescue?"
...
The sunset cast golden light across the living room as Sheng Fang, barefoot, paced the floor like a tiny patrol officer.
Humming a little tune, he circled the room.
"Qing Zai, Qing Zai, my amazing niece..."
"Catches bad guys, runs so fast..."
The melody was simple and catchy, the lyrics easy to remember.
Aunt Ping peeked out from the kitchen, flour dusting her apron. "What song is that? I’ve never heard it."
Sheng Fang lifted his chin proudly. "I made it up."
"Our little master can compose lyrics too," Aunt Ping teased. "You could be a pop star when you grow up."
Sheng Fang waved a dismissive hand. "It’s no big deal—"
Suddenly, the phone rang, cutting him off.
Aunt Ping hurried to answer.
"Hello? Qing Qing?"
Sheng Fang immediately scrambled onto the sofa, pressing his ear to the receiver.
Qing Zai, Qing Zai—his heroic niece!
"Aunt Ping, I’m at the hospital. Got a minor injury on duty. After bandaging, I’m waiting for the report." Zhu Qing’s voice was hushed. "Go ahead with dinner, and don’t tell Sheng Fang."
Sheng Fang’s tiny voice exploded. "I heard!"
Hanging up, his little feet slapped against the floor as he sprinted to the entryway.
Stretching on tiptoe, he grabbed the car keys in one smooth motion.
"Aunt Ping, to the hospital!"
"Little master, are you driving?"
Sheng Fang stared at the keys in his hand, his face falling as he reluctantly put them back.
Aunt Ping swiftly turned off the stove, grabbing a bag of bread slices while muttering, "Eat these in the cab, little master."
Like a whirlwind, the old woman and the child shoved on their shoes and dashed into the elevator.
In the taxi, Aunt Ping kept tapping the driver’s seat. "Can’t you go faster?"
The moment the cab stopped at the hospital entrance, Sheng Fang bolted inside.
He raced like a tiny rocket, barely slowing at corners until he spotted Zhu Qing and skidded to a halt.
"A slight clavicle fracture?" Zhu Qing frowned at the X-ray. "Are my bones made of tofu?"
Aunt Ping arrived just in time to hear "fracture" and nearly collapsed.
"Doctor, what does that mean? Will she need surgery?"
Sheng Fang’s face was etched with worry. "Does it hurt?"
The doctor pointed at the X-ray. "Likely from her shoulder hitting the edge of a rooftop during the mission. See this tiny crack in the mid-clavicle? At this level, it doesn’t even require a cast."
"But a figure-eight brace is advisable to limit shoulder movement. Otherwise, the crack could widen and complicate things."
"Young people heal fast—three to four weeks, and it’ll mend. No need to worry."
The curtain drew back, revealing Zhu Qing with the white brace strapped across her like an odd backpack.
Her bandaged knee was just a superficial scrape.
"Admit her," Sheng Fang ordered, his small face stern.
"?" Zhu Qing glanced at her brace, adjusting uncomfortably. "Really, it’s fine. And there aren’t even beds—"
"Transfer to a private hospital." The little tycoon turned to Aunt Ping, his tone brooking no argument.
The doctor cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses. "While it’s a minor fracture, the clavicle is delicate. An overnight observation would be prudent."
Sheng Fang tugged Zhu Qing’s sleeve, his brow furrowed. "Listen to the doctor."
The young master of the Sheng household stood his ground, refusing to yield an inch.
Not long after, the ambulance parked by the roadside, and the medical staff swiftly lifted Zhu Qing onto a stretcher. She covered her face with her jacket.
Sheng Fang trotted alongside, anxiously calling out, "Be careful! Take it slow!"
Half an hour later, Zhu Qing was transferred to a VIP room at a private hospital.
Aunt Ping peeled an apple, the skin spiraling down in one unbroken strip. Her niece and little uncle each held one, munching contentedly, savoring the rare moment of peace.
Soon, the hotel delivered steaming pork bone soup, its rich aroma filling the room.
"Pork bone soup—like heals like," declared little Sheng Fang, standing beside Zhu Qing to supervise her as she drank.
He took a sip himself, pairing it with perfectly cooked rice and five light but flavorful dishes, his cheeks puffing out as he ate.
As night fell, Zhu Qing tossed and turned in her hospital bed.
"I want to go home."
"No!"
"Then you all should go rest first."
"Not a chance!"
What was he even doing here?
Zhu Qing insisted she could move freely, had water by her bedside, and could call the nurse if needed.
She added, "And one more thing—"
"I just want to stay with Qing Zai."
That soft, pleading tone instantly melted all of Zhu Qing's resistance.
Little Sheng Fang tilted his head, grinning triumphantly.
He was amazing—just one sentence, and Qing Zai was completely won over.
Before visiting hours ended—
Zhu Qing lay in the hospital bed, while Sheng Fang sprawled on the adjacent caregiver's cot.
He propped up his fluffy little head, waving at Aunt Ping.
"Take care on your way back."
……
The night in the private room was exceptionally quiet.
This was the fourth place Sheng Fang and Qing Zai had lived together.
Unlike the cramped pigeon cages of the Wong Chuk Hang Police Academy, the opulent but eerie haunted mansion on the hillside, or their cozy home, this sterile white room reeked of disinfectant, adding a unique chapter to their shared memories.
"Let's not do this again," Zhu Qing muttered.
Hospital life was dull.
Staring at the ceiling, she watched the faint streetlights seep through the thin curtains, casting shifting patterns on the wall.
Sheng Fang mimicked her, hands clasped behind his head.
The makeshift caregiver's cot hosted the youngest caregiver in history.
Zhu Qing couldn’t help recalling the harrowing scene on the rooftop of Hertford School that afternoon, her collarbone still throbbing faintly.
"Sheng Fang," she suddenly spoke, her voice cutting through the quiet night, "if anyone ever bullies you, you have to tell me. No matter what happens at school, you must let me know."
"Okay," Sheng Fang agreed readily.
"And you’re not allowed to bully others either."
"No problem!"
No one had ever said these words to her growing up.
Similarly, the little antagonist from the original plotline had probably never heard such advice either.
Sheng Fang rolled onto his side on the narrow cot.
Without a pillow, his cheek squished adorably against his arm, his eyelashes fluttering like tiny fans as they gradually stilled.
"Sleep if you're tired," Zhu Qing whispered.
"Goodnight, Qing Zai."
She didn’t know when she drifted off, but that night, they both slept soundly.
Moonlight bathed the room, guarding their peace.
Uncle and niece shared sweet dreams.
……
The next morning, a soft knock sounded at the door.
Colleagues came in waves, turning the room into a lively celebration.
The first group was young officers, bearing fruit baskets and flowers.
Zeng Yongshan placed the bouquet by the bed, sniffed it, then held it out to Zhu Qing.
"Want a whiff?"
"Smells nice, right?"
Sheng Fang had already climbed onto the bed, sitting cross-legged, shaking his head knowingly.
After all this time, Yongshan still didn’t realize—Qing Zai would never react with delight to flowers.
Because she was the niece with zero romantic flair.
"I wanted to bring you something tasty, but I wasn’t sure about dietary restrictions."
"How bad is the injury? Will it scar?"
"A bone injury takes a hundred days to heal. My dad specially made crucian carp soup for you."
"Move aside, hot soup coming through! Freshly brewed, good for your bones."
Xu Jiale’s dad had prepared the crucian carp soup, enhanced with dried octopus for umami, its aroma irresistible. Hao Zai brought his mom’s Sanqi chicken soup, insisting only aged Sanqi had real medicinal effects. Aunt Ping’s contribution was a luxurious version of fish maw chicken soup—no cooking wine added, yet her skills ensured not a hint of gaminess.
An array of soups lined Zhu Qing’s bedside.
All given with love, all to be finished—
By the time everyone left, Zhu Qing was still struggling.
Little Sheng Fang stood by, cheering her on.
"One more bowl! Hang in there!"
Qing Zai groaned, "I really can’t."
The second wave of visitors included Uncle Li and Mo Zhenbang.
Mo Sir updated them on the case—Weng Zhaolin had already briefed the media that morning, and the bravery of Zhu Qing and the B Team officers had been captured on camera.
"This counts as a commendable act," Uncle Li said with a smile.
"What about Lin Xiyin’s situation?"
"Sister Zhen couldn’t stand it—she scolded the parents when they brought the kid in for additional statements this morning. The bullies at school have been identified too. It’ll be handled properly."
Weng Zhaolin arrived in the evening, just as Cheng Xinglang was leaving.
Watching the young forensic doctor’s retreating figure, Weng Sir recalled how, three months ago when Zhu Qing first joined the force, Uncle Li had nicknamed her "Ice Queen." Who’d have thought even the forensics team would visit her now?
Her social circle had truly expanded.
Aunt Ping’s chicken soup filled an entire thermos. She reheated a portion, hoping to persuade Zhu Qing to take one last bowl.
Zhu Qing offered, "Weng Sir, have some soup. It’s nourishing."
"Me?" Weng Sir beamed, accepting it without hesitation.
Aunt Ping’s hands hung empty, stunned.
What kind of boss was this? Shamelessly stealing soup from a patient with a fractured bone.
"Perfectly cooked," Weng Zhaolin said, not refusing Zhu Qing’s kindness, a flicker of approval in his eyes.
This young one was finally learning the ways of the world.
"Rest well," Weng Zhaolin blew on a spoonful of hot broth. "The case is closed, and the team’s fully staffed. The station runs fine without anyone."
As he spoke, little Sheng Fang lounged on the caregiver’s cot, flipping through a comic book—a gift from the motorcycle courier to pass the time.
Hearing Weng’s words, Sheng Fang lazily lifted an eyelid.
Their last disagreement remained unresolved.
"Oh, come to my place for dinner the day after tomorrow," Weng Zhaolin added. "Repulse Bay. I’ve booked a private chef."
Young Master Sheng’s eyebrows shot up. The round-cheeked toddler scrambled upright.
Hands clasped behind his back, he paced a slow circle around Weng Zhaolin.
The young master was generous and decided to make up with Weng Zhaolin.
After all, he knew how to correct his mistakes.
"Alright, John." Sheng Fang waved his little hand, shaking his head. "Someone as grown-up as you shouldn’t bother holding a grudge against a kid."
Seeing the child offering him an out, Weng Zhaolin cleared his throat. "It’s not like I was trying to pick a fight with you..."
Little Fangfang stared at him in disbelief.
They say adults shouldn’t dwell on the faults of children—
Zhu Qing acted swiftly, pressing down on his tiny shoulders in warning.
Don’t stir up trouble!
"Oh?" Little Fangfang narrowed his eyes.
Zhu Qing quickly clamped a hand over the child’s mouth.
What’s with the ‘oh’?
Sheng Fang’s little mouth escaped through the gaps of Zhu Qing’s fingers. "Do you even know who the real grown-up is here?"
