The little one’s mouth was pinched shut, but as long as there was even the slightest chance of breaking free, he would keep causing mischief. As the saying goes, adults shouldn’t hold grudges against children—couldn’t John tell who was the adult and who was the child here?
Weng Zhaolin stuffed his hands into his pockets and paced around the hospital room, the heels of his leather shoes tapping out a steady "click-clack" on the floor.
"What do you mean by that?"
"..." Zhu Qing stepped in to explain, "Sir Weng, he doesn’t know what ‘child’ means in this context."
Sheng Fang seized the moment: "But I do!"
No, he really didn’t.
Zhu Qing’s collarbone no longer hurt, but now her head was throbbing. The more she tried to explain, the messier it got, so she simply stopped talking and covered the kid’s mouth with both hands, leaving no gap for him to speak.
The uncle and nephew duo, now silenced.
Aunt Ping was frantic inside. Earlier, this superior officer had seemed to really enjoy the fish maw chicken soup, so she kept pouring more from the thermos into his bowl, hoping to scrape out some leftover bits. But then she suddenly realized—she’d been too diligent. The thermos had been scrubbed spotless.
"Are you two going to make up or not?" Fangfang was losing patience.
Zhu Qing: "..."
She lay back quietly but could still see the two of them locked in their standoff. Aunt Ping hurried over to adjust the hospital bed’s hand crank, helping her lie flat.
No one knew when this battle would end. After all, John was a senior inspector—arguing endlessly with a child would only tarnish his dignity. In the end, he waved it off, silently reminding himself:
There’s no need to stoop to a child’s level.
It wasn’t until the young master of the Sheng family escorted John out of the ward that Zhu Qing sat up again.
Aunt Ping fretted, "Young master, you’ve offended Qingqing’s boss. What if this ruins her chances for promotions and raises?"
A raise didn’t matter much—her little uncle could always cover her salary.
But a promotion? That was serious.
"John isn’t that petty," Sheng Fang said firmly.
Then, as an afterthought, he added—
"Besides, promotions aren’t up to senior inspectors. Our Qingqing is going to be a chief superintendent someday."
A caretaker from the neighboring ward walked over. "Did you all need to borrow a wheelchair?"
Zhu Qing hadn’t expected that a minor collarbone fracture would land her in one. As her little caretaker, Fangfang threw himself into his role, sticking to her like a shadow and helping her out of bed.
The young master of the Sheng family had a natural talent for doting on his niece—this much was clear.
Aunt Ping hovered nearby. "Be careful—"
The young master stood straight, still shorter than the wheelchair’s headrest, and had to tiptoe to push it. When Aunt Ping moved to help, he stubbornly refused. The little one was practically Zhu Qing’s most devoted attendant, fussing over her, even turning back to drape a small blanket over her legs, bouncing around as if this were the most fun game in the world.
The private hospital had a landscaped courtyard with greenery, a fountain, and lounge chairs. During his "visit" to the nurses’ station, Sheng Fang had overheard the nurses saying that if a patient was stable, they could be wheeled around the courtyard for a stroll.
No one had a more stable condition than their family’s Qingqing. Fangfang followed closely behind, pushing the wheelchair, soaking in the evening sunset and breeze while humming a cheerful tune, his bright eyes crinkling with laughter.
Aunt Ping also tilted her head back, feeling the cool breeze brush against her cheeks.
Halfway through the walk, little Sheng Fang discovered a new game. He gripped the wheelchair with both hands and slowly lifted himself off the ground. By the time Aunt Ping realized what was happening, the little troublemaker was already hanging onto the backrest, kicking his short legs in the air as he propelled them downhill.
"Charge!" His tiny voice rang with excitement—this was thrilling!
"Young master, stop! Qingqing, be careful!"
The wheelchair wheels rattled as they picked up speed, rolling faster and faster down the wide, open path.
Aunt Ping chased after them, one hand covering her eyes, her heart pounding as if it might leap out of her chest. She counted down in her head—three, two, one…
But the expected crash never came. Nervously, she peeked through her fingers, breaking into a cold sweat from the scare.
Sheng Fang’s eyes sparkled. "Qingqing, how did you stop it? You’re amazing! Can you teach me?"
The little boy looked at her as if she were a martial arts master, ready to kneel and beg for lessons. His niece was truly incredible—she could even brake a wheelchair!
Aunt Ping’s heart was still racing as she hurried to catch up.
When she reached them, she overheard the uncle-niece pair locked in a heated debate.
"I want to go home."
"No way! You need a full check-up!"
"The doctor said yesterday I only had to stay one night."
"That doesn’t matter—if we leave without permission, what will the nurses say?"
Zhu Qing pulled a slip of paper from her pocket. "The doctor’s discharge note."
Under the tree, the autumn wind rustled, sending dry leaves fluttering down.
Little Master Sheng also seemed to wither, letting out a long, dramatic sigh.
Since when did an elder have to take orders from his niece? Was there no justice left in the world?
...
Little Sheng Fang didn’t want to go home—the hospital was way more fun!
But alas, arms couldn’t twist legs, and kids couldn’t out-stubborn adults.
Qingqing had even gotten the discharge note prepared in advance, which meant going home was non-negotiable!
Back in the hospital room, Aunt Ping busied herself with packing.
They’d only stayed one night, yet she somehow had a mountain of things to organize. The officers from the precinct had brought soup in the morning, so she had to wash the thermos and containers to return. The flowers Zeng Yongshan picked were just starting to bloom, so of course, she’d take them home for the vase. Uncle Li and Inspector Mo had brought milk and calcium tablets, while the forensics team had dropped off a stack of comic books… In short, all these were gifts from their colleagues at the precinct, and she couldn’t let their kindness go to waste.
Aunt Ping rubbed her temples, wondering how she’d haul everything back. For a moment, she couldn’t help but think fondly of that one superior who’d shown up empty-handed—now that was considerate.
Even though Zhu Qing had secured the discharge note, they still had to follow the hospital’s formalities. Aunt Ping rushed back and forth until everything was settled, only to return and stare helplessly at the pile of "luggage." Just then, footsteps approached.
"They’re here!" Fangfang waved enthusiastically.
"Here we are."
Zhu Qing had no idea when the little master had secretly taken her mobile phone to contact Cheng Xinglang.
In any case, now Dr. Cheng had come to play the role of a laborer, officially becoming the baby’s chauffeur.
Aunt Ping, relieved of her pressing worries, instantly beamed with joy.
"Qingqing," she said, supporting Zhu Qing as they walked behind, "wasn’t it this colleague who came in the evening? Right after he left, your boss showed up—talk about being on call!"
Zhu Qing nodded.
He had just visited in the evening, gone back, and not long after, was summoned again by a phone call from Little Fangfang.
Dr. Cheng sure had a lot of free time.
Qing needed a spacious spot to rest, while Fangfang insisted on sitting right beside her as her little attendant.
Aunt Ping took the passenger seat, fastening her seatbelt.
As Driver Cheng started the car, he overheard the aunt-nephew duo in the backseat chatting about the comic book set he’d gifted them.
Cheng Xinglang had picked up the comics on a whim while passing a bookstore that afternoon—he hadn’t even read them himself. Originally meant to help the patient pass the time, he hadn’t expected the little rascal to finish them already.
"Qing, buy me another set," Fangfang demanded.
Only then did Zhu Qing flip through the tiny comic book tucked in the child’s pocket.
It was a currently trending shoujo manga, always displayed on bookstore bestseller shelves.
"Do you even understand it?" she asked.
"Of course!" Sheng Fang pointed at the promotional blurb on the cover. "For all ages!"
"So what’s the story about?"
Fangfang struggled to summarize but tapped the tagline again: "Sweeter than dating, spicier than heartbreak!"
Cheng Xinglang chimed in, "Which part did you like the most?"
Little Sheng Fang couldn’t answer.
The truth was, the kid had just made up his own stories from the pictures, paying no attention to the actual plot.
Zhu Qing patted his little head.
Clearly clueless—why act so grown-up?
...
Zhu Qing didn’t make it home until after dark. She went straight to bed, collapsing into sleep.
The next morning, sunlight streamed through the curtains when she woke, but her alarm never rang.
Still groggy, she stretched and realized Little Sheng Fang had already left for kindergarten.
Yesterday, Fangfang had refused to go to school, insisting on staying to "take care" of his injured niece at the hospital, so Aunt Ping had no choice but to excuse him. But today, no matter how much he whined, threw tantrums, or rolled around, staying home wasn’t an option. Even if it meant upsetting her little boss, Aunt Ping had to drag him out the door with his backpack.
The house felt empty without the chatter of the tiny troublemaker.
Before leaving, the young master had assigned Aunt Ping a task—one that, naturally, revolved around his niece. So for most of the day, Zhu Qing rested in bed, closely monitored by Aunt Ping’s strict care regimen.
Breakfast and lunch were mandatory, and they had to be nutritious. The aroma of medicinal tonics filled every corner of the house. There were pre- and post-lunch snacks too—Aunt Ping insisted that after the recently closed case, Zhu Qing had been running around and losing sleep, draining her vitality. She needed to replenish it all.
And that wasn’t all. The fridge door was plastered with a crumpled, crooked sticky note torn by Little Sheng Fang. A checklist, underlined, to record Qing’s daily meals.
Under the little boss’s orders, Aunt Ping had scribbled meticulous notes all over it.
When Zhu Qing went to grab water from the fridge, she leaned in to read the entries—
After breakfast—a bowl of shrimp wonton noodles, crab roe soup dumplings, and a glass of milk—Zhu Qing had another glass of warm milk with calcium supplements at 10 a.m. as a snack. Lunch featured a nourishing soup of cordyceps flower and chicken broth. By afternoon...
Sheng Fang was meticulous about everything, like a little butler.
The whole day, Zhu Qing lazed around at home, alternating between eating and sleeping until the back of her head nearly grew calluses from lying on the pillow.
The clock ticked away, and as it approached 4 p.m., she perked up with excitement.
Sheng Fang would soon be home from school.
For the first time, Zhu Qing truly understood the little boy’s feelings.
Whenever he waited for her to return from work, dragging her to eat fries, play games, or just watch TV and listen to stories together... it was because he missed her so much.
Aunt Ping had calculated the school bus’s arrival time and went downstairs ten minutes early to wait.
Zhu Qing sat on the sofa, her gaze flickering toward the front door now and then. Just like how Sheng Fang would press his ear to the door, listening for the elevator’s ding, she now stood by the entrance, hands clasped behind her back, pacing in anticipation.
A "ding" sounded, followed by the patter of tiny footsteps.
Zhu Qing swung the door open, leaning against the frame, ready to welcome her little rocket of a child.
But from around the elevator corner came a chorus of high-pitched, chattering voices.
"Sheng Fang, is your house fun?"
"Of course! He has tons of toys. So many limited editions—I played with them for ages last time!"
"What kind of toys? Weren’t you guys supposed to be visiting a patient?"
Zhu Qing could easily distinguish the three voices: Little Yesi, Jin Bao, and Sheng Fang.
Aunt Ping trailed behind them, carrying three tiny backpacks while fretting nonstop, "Careful, don’t run! The hallway near the stairs is slippery!"
"Don’t trip!"
Sheng Fang hadn’t come home alone—he’d brought his best friends, Yesi and Jin Bao, along.
This time, he hadn’t "kidnapped" them like before. Instead, he’d made sure they called their parents first and got permission. Jin Bao and Little Yesi’s moms and dads were considerate—they’d sent over gift baskets of nourishing treats to the kindergarten before school ended and even coordinated with the bus driver to keep an eye on the kids.
Aunt Ping said, "Their parents will pick them up at eight tonight..."
She held two small notes handed to her by the bus driver, each scribbled with the kids’ home numbers. She’d need to call their parents later to confirm they’d arrived safely.
Yesi and Jin Bao had brought enormous gift boxes for the patient, nearly as tall as themselves.
The little ones stood by the door, greeting Zhu Qing in unison with their sweet, childish voices.
"Hello, niece."
"Niece, we hope you get better soon."
This was all prearranged among the three kids.
When it came to the "family hierarchy" game, Sheng Fang had full control. At the police station, he was everyone’s "Little Uncle." So naturally, at kindergarten, Zhu Qing became everyone’s "niece."
Something about this felt off to Zhu Qing.
But what exactly?
The ever-thoughtful Little Yesi piped up softly, "Niece, you shouldn’t be standing. You should lie down and rest."
Sheng Fang was great at making friends, and his two buddies were fiercely loyal. Even though they’d come to his house, they weren’t interested in toys.
They’d found a new plaything—their "niece."
In this game of make-believe, Zhu Qing was both the protagonist and the supporting character.
She lay on the sofa, arms outstretched, as Little Yesi, the caregiver, gently massaged her hands to help her relax. Aunt Ping’s reading glasses had a delicate chain attached, so Sheng Fang borrowed them, pretending they were a stethoscope. Jin Bao played the role of the hospital chef, preparing meals and pushing a cart to distribute lunchboxes. The chef was especially enthusiastic, sitting beside Zhu Qing to help feed her.
“Ah—”
Every time Jin Bao opened his mouth, Zhu Qing mimicked him.
The two best friends’ eyes sparkled with excitement.
Sheng Fang’s niece was simply wonderful—back home, their parents never wanted to play such games with them.
It wasn’t childish at all! Their niece was an adult, yet she was having just as much fun.
“Ah—”
Zhu Qing: “Ah—”
She played along the entire time, while Sheng Fang beamed with satisfaction, grinning from ear to ear.
Jin Bao kept pretending to feed Zhu Qing, stretching the game out endlessly.
Suddenly, Little Yesi asked, “Why not feed her for real? Let’s give her some chips!”
The little girl was too adorable, her puffy skirt swaying like a dance as she turned around.
Zhu Qing touched her braids, tied with colorful ribbons—such a dainty little thing.
Little Yesi grabbed a bag of chips from the coffee table and fed them to Zhu Qing one by one.
Seeing how touched their niece looked, the other two children immediately joined in.
Several times, Zhu Qing hadn’t even finished chewing before another chip was offered.
From left to right, the three children wore innocent expressions, their eyes full of pure delight.
How could she possibly refuse any of them?
Zhu Qing accepted everything, sprawled on the sofa.
She was stuffed.
Her eyes kept drifting to the clock on the living room wall.
Finally, at eight in the evening, she saw the light at the end of the tunnel.
As agreed, Aunt Ping escorted Jin Bao and Little Yesi downstairs—their parents should have arrived by now.
The pitter-patter of little footsteps faded away, and Zhu Qing flopped back onto the sofa. “I want to go to work.”
Sheng Fang shook his head.
Silly niece, what was so great about work?
“I—want—to—work—”
“I definitely don’t want to go to school.”
…
As long as Zhu Qing was home, Sheng Fang refused to go to school. This week, he’d been incredibly lucky—aside from taking a day off to care for his niece in the hospital, he got to skip another day.
Because the uncle-niece duo were going to Weng Zhaolin’s house for a gathering!
Weng Zhaolin had specifically mentioned that the private chef at the Peninsula Hotel was booked for the evening, so they should arrive later.
The little boy was so excited about their trip to Repulse Bay that he woke up at seven in the morning, itching to leave.
Aunt Ping coaxed the young master onto the balcony and closed the glass door. “It’s still so early—don’t wake Qingqing.”
Sheng Fang sat on the balcony, watching the cars coming and going below. So many people were already on the move—why couldn’t he be one of them?
Preparations for the kindergarten’s talent show were still underway. When sign-ups opened, Sheng Fang had raised his hand eagerly, finally securing a spot. Jin Bao had real talent—the little rich kid could play the drums, having practiced for ages.
Now, Sheng Fang could play the drums too, though his skills were learned from Jin Bao and still a bit rough. The teacher had assigned him a spot in the corner of the ensemble.
For children, sitting in the center or the corner makes no difference at all.
As long as Zhu Qing is willing to come, even in a sea of people, she’ll be able to spot her little uncle!
When Zhu Qing finally got up, Sheng Fang sidled up to her: "Can you come to our performance?"
Zhu Qing had already received the invitation Sheng Fang made by hand.
The glittery card was still sitting on the corner of her desk, where the little boy had written in his best handwriting—
"Welcome, Ms. Zhu Qing."
Sheng Fang recognized most characters, but writing was still a challenge. Clearly, this line had been copied from a model provided by Teacher Ji, traced stroke by stroke with painstaking effort.
Each mark was pressed so hard it nearly tore the cardstock—his seriousness was downright heart-melting.
"Can you come?"
Zhu Qing: "I’ll try."
Sheng Fang shook his head like a rattle drum: "You have to!"
Zhu Qing couldn’t give him a definite answer.
Being a police officer meant there were no absolutes—her promise could easily be broken by an emergency call. But how could she explain that to this hopeful little kid?
"If I really can’t make it…" she hedged.
Sheng Fang’s head drooped, his chubby fingers fidgeting, tips lightly tapping together.
Zhu Qing knew he’d been rehearsing every day lately. Even at bedtime, he’d pretend his stubby fingers were drumsticks, tapping rhythms against the wall.
It was Twinkle Twinkle Little Star Variations—Sheng Fang took his first kindergarten stage performance very seriously.
"If you really don’t have time," Sheng Fang suddenly glared, his tone turning threatening, "then—"
Zhu Qing raised an eyebrow.
"Then you’ll buy a DV camera, record my show, and watch it a hundred times after work!"
"Aunt Ping, call the electronics store for a DV camera!"
Buying a camcorder was completely pointless—it’d just gather dust.
But what’s the harm in a little tycoon wasting some money?
Sheng Fang, ever the whimsical child, was already dragging Aunt Ping to rummage through the TV cabinet drawers for the electronics store owner’s business card.
The little master’s energy instantly revived, and Zhu Qing’s eyes crinkled with amusement as she sat at the dining table.
The newspaper lay spread across the table.
Her gaze caught the front-page headline about a top scholarship student at Hartwell High School attempting suicide.
Beside it was the school’s "zero tolerance" statement—unambiguous, resolute, with no hint of evasion.
It reminded her of Zeng Yongshan’s call last night.
Lin Xiyin had finally received an apology, though those flimsy "sorrys" were nothing compared to the harm done. Still, this time, someone had caught her before she fell.
That teetering figure had been pulled back from the edge.
"Young master, don’t lie on the floor!"
"The rug’s underneath!"
"It’s cold down there—"
Aunt Ping’s scolding snapped Zhu Qing out of her thoughts.
A few days ago, Sheng Fang and Aunt Ping had gone shopping and bought a plush, fluffy mat for the living room.
They’d assumed the mat would keep the little master from catching a chill on the increasingly cold autumn floors—
But now, Sheng Fang was rolling around happily in the spacious living room, having deliberately found a spot without carpet.
"Young master, be careful not to catch a chill—"
"You little rascal..."
...
The trip to Repulse Bay was finally arranged. This time, John went all out—when the police officers arrived, they happened to see the Peninsula Hotel’s culinary team entering the villa in an impressive procession, looking utterly professional.
The villa was so large it was impossible to take it all in at once.
Sheng Fang leaned by the pool, dipping a small hand into the shimmering water under the sunlight.
"Let’s go inside," Zeng Yongshan said with a smile. "Let’s take a look around Inspector Weng’s home."
It was their first time visiting Inspector Weng’s place, and even the seasoned colleagues from the Serious Crimes Unit unconsciously softened their footsteps. Mrs. Weng took a fruit tray from a servant and came forward to greet the guests.
The curled ends of her hair swayed gently with her movements, and her silk blouse carried a soft sheen. Even from a distance, one could sense the elegant drape of the fabric.
What a refined Mrs. Weng—and what a contrast to the rough-around-the-edges Inspector Weng.
"Please, everyone, help yourselves. Make yourselves at home," Mrs. Weng Zhaolin said warmly.
Zeng Yongshan tugged at Zhu Qing’s sleeve and whispered,
"She looks like she’s ready to attend a charity gala at any moment!"
"The heiress of the martial arts clinic..."
"Back then, I couldn’t figure out how she ended up with Inspector Weng—but guess what happened!"
Zhu Qing: "Was Inspector Weng quite dashing in his youth?"
Zeng Yongshan nodded emphatically. "The Thunder Jewelry Store heist back then was huge news! Who would’ve guessed the woman buying an engagement ring at the counter was the famous martial arts clinic’s young mistress? The news even covered it—her name is Zhou Baoxuan—but we were just kids in school back then, so even if we saw it, we wouldn’t remember."
It was a case from over a decade ago. Back then, Weng Zhaolin, still a sergeant, rushed to the scene after receiving the report and found the robbers holding the seemingly delicate Zhou Baoxuan hostage.
At the critical moment, the poised young heiress suddenly struck one of the assailants in the temple with her jade bracelet—and Inspector Weng seized the opportunity to tackle the man—
"A classic hero-saves-the-beauty moment!"
As for what happened afterward, the younger officers didn’t know the details. Only veterans like Uncle Li and Inspector Mo could recount the full story from memory.
Though Zhou Baoxuan only suffered minor injuries, Weng Zhaolin insisted on sending her to the hospital. During her stay, the sergeant visited her daily, attentive to every need. In contrast, her then-fiancé seemed far less concerned. Before long, the police station received wedding invitations from Inspector Weng. As for the ex-fiancé? He became the defeated rival, fading quietly from the tale.
"Wow, I had no idea about that."
"Mrs. Weng is quite impressive too."
"Back then, the Zhou family’s martial arts clinic worked closely with the Wing Chun school next door. Mrs. Weng grew up immersed in that environment—she’s formally trained in martial arts."
"At their wedding banquet, some of the senior officers even joked with Inspector Weng, warning him to give his wife the upper hand whenever they argued."
Little Sheng Fang had no interest in his colleagues’ hushed gossip.
Gazing at the beautiful scenery outside the villa, he asked, "Is Dr. Cheng not coming?"
On the way here by car, he had already made up his mind—taking a motorcycle ride around Repulse Bay would be so cool.
"What’s the forensic team doing here?" Weng Zhaolin shot him a glance. "We’re the serious crimes unit."
"And you’re acting all righteous about it!" Sheng Fang piped up in a childish voice.
So what if they’re the serious crimes unit? The Yau Ma Tei Police Station is one big family!
On this point, the younger elders had something to say about Zhaolin—his social circle was far too limited.
"Auntie Chen, just leave it here—"
Zhou Baoxuan’s voice rang out.
Curious, Sheng Fang turned around and saw John already striding forward to greet her.
"These bird’s nest gift sets are specially prepared for all of you."
"One box each, even the little ones get one."
"Nannan, here’s yours… and that little boy over there—"
Mrs. Weng’s generosity knew no bounds, while Inspector Weng stood beside her, tugging at her sleeve with a cold sweat.
"This is too extravagant, really unnecessary. I’ll treat them to iced lemon tea tomorrow—this bunch—"
Mrs. Weng gave him a sidelong glance.
At this, everyone exchanged awkward looks, too embarrassed to accept such lavish gifts.
That was until little Sheng Fang, hand in hand with Inspector Mo’s daughter Nannan, ran up and stopped in front of Zhou Baoxuan.
"Thank you, pretty aunty!" Sheng Fang said sweetly. "You shouldn’t have!"
Nannan also expressed her thanks before running back to her parents, clutching her bird’s nest gift box.
Zhou Baoxuan insisted, and since it was clear who really called the shots in this household, the other officers reluctantly accepted the gifts, though their eyes all held the same unspoken question:
How on earth did Inspector Weng manage to win over Mrs. Weng?
Weng Zhaolin clutched his chest, as if he could feel his heart shattering into pieces with a soft "plop."
After today, two months’ salary wouldn’t be enough to cover this.
……
They had all agreed—today was for relaxation only, no work talk allowed.
Little Sheng Fang wholeheartedly approved, treating John’s home as his own.
In the kitchen, a professional culinary team bustled about, preparing dishes while tantalizing aromas wafted through the air.
But Sheng Fang was far more interested in the swimming pool in the courtyard than the food.
Since there were no children’s swimming gear at home, the hospitable Zhou Baoxuan borrowed floaties and goggles from a neighbor.
Even more considerate, she even procured brand-new children’s swimwear.
"The neighbors bought these last year but realized the size was too small, so they’ve never been used," Zhou Baoxuan explained with a laugh.
The autumn-heated pool was comfortably warm, with no hint of chill.
Zhu Qing sat on a rattan chair by the poolside, the white bandage on her shoulder still intact, making her look like she was carrying a "backpack"—impossible to miss. Because of this, Sheng Fang could always spot his niece at a glance.
In the pool, little Sheng Fang and Nannan splashed around, sending water flying everywhere.
Weng Zhaolin wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulders. "How about we have a kid like this?"
The words drifted past Zhu Qing’s ears.
A kid like this… as if children could be custom-ordered?
Zeng Yongshan listened quietly.
After all this time as Inspector Weng’s subordinate, this was the first time she’d seen such a tender side of him.
"Who’s going to take care of it, you or me?" Mrs. Weng raised an eyebrow. "Raising a child isn’t as simple as you think."
Little Sheng Fang suddenly popped up from the water: "Let me take you there!"
Weng Zhaolin clicked his tongue in annoyance.
His sweet nothings had been cut short by this kid.
"Did Madam Yu from O.C.C.B. not come?" Zeng Yongshan had already changed the subject, asking around.
"Uncle Li, do you know?"
Mo Zhenbang laughed heartily: "You're asking the right person—her ex-husband!"
Last time, Weng Zhaolin mentioned inviting Madam Yu to their gathering, but it got postponed because the serious crime unit hadn't wrapped up their case.
Madam Yu had actually visited alone days earlier, narrowly missing Uncle Li.
"What a shame."
"I thought we'd get some drama…"
Uncle Li feigned composure, retreating to the kitchen to pretend fascination with the Peninsula chef's skills.
The younger crowd huddled together, teasing.
"Notice anything? Uncle Li looks extra sharp today—must've styled his hair at the salon! That's definitely hair gel!"
"New trousers too! Since when does Uncle Li wear dress pants? Crisp creases—brand new, no doubt."
The "divorce saga" of Uncle Li became their pre-dinner appetizer.
Rumor had it, in his youth, he "drank himself into trouble," prompting his wife to demand divorce. Since then, he'd sworn off alcohol, turning over a new leaf.
They'd all wondered just how reformed he was—until the chef served drunken shrimp, and Uncle Li didn't touch a single one.
Little Sheng Fang sat primly at the table, chubby fingers peeling shrimp shells in silence—his secret grab when the lazy Susan turned.
Earlier, John had bragged about this signature Peninsula dish, so famous even Andy Lau would make special trips to taste it.
"Andy who?" Sheng Fang whispered to Nannan.
Nannan hesitated.
See? She was practically grown now—no common ground with such a little kid.
"This dish is exceptional," Weng Zhaolin rambled on. "Live shrimp marinated in huadiao wine for six hours, plus a dozen spices—"
Having peeled several shrimp, Sheng Fang nudged Nannan again: "Want a bite?"
Nannan blinked. "Will I get drunk?"
The little master scoffed: "Scared of this?"
He lifted the peeled shrimp toward his mouth.
"Qing-jie!" Nannan shrieked. "He's drinking alcohol!"
All eyes snapped to the Sheng heir.
Under collective scrutiny, the drunken shrimp were confiscated by his niece.
"Didn't you hear the chef's warning?" Inspector Mo chided. "Not for children."
"Daddy, I heard," Nannan said.
Sheng Fang stared at her. "You remind me of someone."
"Who?"
With theatrical gravity, he drawled: "Ah Juan."
...
Mo Zhenbang had initially granted Zhu Qing a half-month leave, but at her insistence, it was shortened to seven days.
Her niece Nannan begged her uncle not to bring more visitors, and Sheng Fang obeyed strictly.
During such a long holiday, Zhu Qing had plenty of time to visit Sheng Peirong at the rehabilitation center. Sometimes, she would sit quietly in the hospital room alone, while other times, Sheng Fang would join her. She would pick him up from kindergarten during his lunch break, and they would set off together.
Zhu Qing loved listening to Sheng Fang’s chatter from the backseat of the car.
"Before we see your mom, we have to take off the cast, or she’ll worry."
"Qing, don’t think Auntie can’t see or hear anything! She definitely knows everything—don’t make her anxious."
In Sheng Fang’s mind, Sheng Peirong was simply resting with her eyes closed for now, still fully aware of everything happening around her.
Because of this, Zhu Qing learned to share only good news, avoiding any mention of injuries.
"But we have to tell Auntie about saving someone," Sheng Fang whispered in Zhu Qing’s ear. "She’ll be so proud."
This little one was always bossing the adults around.
"Let me do it!"
Sheng Fang pulled up a stool and sat properly in front of Sheng Peirong. His tiny hands held hers—stiff but still warm.
"Auntie, Auntie, it’s me, your little brother. Do you remember? I’m here to see you again."
"Let me tell you something—Qing was amazing! A sister was about to float down like a balloon, and Qing just lunged forward and caught her! Even the Chief Superintendent praised Qing for being so quick!"
"Wait—you know Qing is Qing, right?"
"She grabbed that sister’s wrist with one hand, just like a superhero."
Zhu Qing narrowed her eyes.
Just moments ago, he had insisted on not saying anything that would worry "his auntie," yet now he was recounting every thrilling detail of the incident, making sure she didn’t miss a thing.
"But it wasn’t dangerous, don’t worry," he added. "Our Qing is trained for this!"
"Protesting too much."
Called out by his niece, Sheng Fang puffed up indignantly. "Qing?"
The little boy scrunched up his nose and marched toward her with all the authority he could muster.
"How dare you talk to your uncle like that!"
Zhu Qing responded by squishing his little face with one hand.
"Hey!"
"Hey what?"
Just as the two were playfully bickering, they suddenly froze, their hearts pounding like drums.
In unison, they cautiously turned their gaze toward the hospital bed.
"Qing… did you see that?"
Zhu Qing took a deep breath.
"I saw it."
They had both seen it—the faintest twitch of Sheng Peirong’s fingers where her hand lay at her side.
That afternoon, Sheng Fang didn’t return to kindergarten.
He stayed at the rehabilitation center with his niece, waiting.
Doctors hurried in and out, the hospital room door opening and closing. Each time it shut, Zhu Qing’s heart trembled.
They sat on the plastic chairs in the hallway outside the room. The window at the end of the corridor was open, letting in a strong breeze that carried the scent of disinfectant.
Zhu Qing wanted to feel joy—but she didn’t dare.
Sheng Fang was usually lively and talkative, but now he was uncharacteristically quiet. Back in the Sheng household, he often saw his superstitious parents make wishes, praying for their business to thrive. Marysa would always wish to trade twenty pounds of her own weight for her child’s fever back home to be cured. And there was Aunt Ping—whenever he said something innocent yet blunt, she would clasp her hands together and murmur, "No offense meant, no offense taken."
Sheng Fang didn’t know who they were praying to, but at this moment, he too made a silent wish in his heart.
Please let Big Sister wake up. From now on, let Qing become a child with a mother’s love.
Sheng Fang closed his eyes and pressed his chubby little palms together.
The hurried footsteps of doctors and nurses echoed down the hallway until they were finally ushered into Dean Luo’s office.
The office was so quiet that Sheng Fang could even hear Zhu Qing’s uneven breathing.
"Doctor, how is my mother?"
Dean Luo spread a stack of reports in front of them.
Thick and filled with medical jargon, none of it made sense to Zhu Qing.
"From the latest EEG readings, Ms. Sheng has shown some abnormal brain activity. However, this isn’t uncommon among long-term comatose patients—most of the time, it’s just unconscious neural reflexes."
"There’s a lot of misunderstanding out there, probably because of TV dramas—people think that if a vegetative patient moves a finger, they’ll wake up. But that’s not the case. These movements are often just spinal reflexes and don’t necessarily indicate regained consciousness or the likelihood of recovery."
Sheng Fang watched as the light in Zhu Qing’s eyes dimmed.
He lowered his little head and slumped his tiny shoulders.
"Ms. Sheng has been in a coma for so many years. I know you’re waiting for a miracle."
"As a doctor, I have to be honest—with conventional treatment methods, the chances of her waking up are extremely slim."
Zhu Qing’s fingers clenched tightly around the report showing the brainwave fluctuations.
The doctor’s words might as well have spelled it out plainly: the odds of Sheng Peirong waking up were next to none.
But just moments ago, Zhu Qing had clearly seen her mother’s fingers twitch slightly.
Even if her vitality was faint, she was still undeniably there.
"You now have two options. The first—maintain the status quo. Given Ms. Sheng’s current condition, she could hold on for a while longer. But the eventual outcome… you understand."
In the original timeline, after years in a coma, Sheng Peirong had passed away due to organ failure.
And now, Dean Luo’s words pointed to the same possibility.
"The second option—" Dean Luo paused. "There’s an experimental new treatment abroad currently recruiting volunteers."
"Based on preliminary data, the success rate is about thirty percent."
"The surgery carries significant risks. A thirty percent success rate means a seventy percent chance of failure."
The consequences of failure were obvious—the worst-case scenario being that they might not even have the time they had now.
"This is a difficult decision. I understand."
"You’ll need to think carefully—whether to continue as things are…"
"Or take the gamble?"
The air in the dean’s office grew heavy with silence.
Sheng Fang still hadn’t heard Zhu Qing answer. He kept his head down, staring at his own ten tiny fingers.
Fangfang clenched her small fist and solemnly raised three fingers.
A thirty percent chance.
Her little uncle was now the only elder left in the family.
He had to hold his ground, had to hold this family together!
Her heart pounded like a drumbeat: "Should I take the gamble?"
