Zhu Qing fastened her seatbelt in the passenger seat, the metal buckle emitting a crisp click.
Riding in Inspector Mo's car meant sitting in the front—this was something Zeng Yongshan had taught her. You shouldn’t treat your superior like a chauffeur.
The moment she heard those words, a memory surfaced in Zhu Qing’s mind. She vaguely recalled sitting in the backseat of Weng Zhaolin’s car with Fangfang, the little one. Had they treated Weng Zhaolin like a driver back then?
The kid had always been perceptive. Fangfang had said it long ago—
Zhaolin is truly a big-hearted man.
“Inspector Mo,” Cheng Xinglang asked from the backseat, “where’s the scene?”
“Kwun Tong garbage station. An old woman scavenging found a black plastic bag.” Mo Zhenbang gripped the steering wheel. “The bag wasn’t tied shut—she saw it immediately and nearly fainted from fright.”
At first, they thought it was just another domestic dispute—some cousin looking for her missing relative. The police would follow procedure, nothing more. Cases like this were common, hardly worth discussing.
But then, a severed toe appeared, wrapped in yellow paper inscribed with the missing person’s birth details. The calligraphy was neat, almost ceremonial.
It had been nearly twenty days since the You Minmin case closed, the team lulled into quiet. But now, that eerie melody of Moonlight, Moonbright had shattered the peace.
“Just two days ago, Qi Kai was complaining about how slow things were,” Mo Zhenbang shook his head. “And the moment he said it, Rong Zimei filed a report. Now this—a severed toe.”
Zhu Qing thought, If Fangfang were here, she’d call him a jinx.
She lifted her gaze past the windshield and spotted Liang Qikai standing by the roadside. Her brow furrowed slightly.
“Inspector Liang,” she pointed.
“Speak of the devil,” Mo Zhenbang joked.
The car pulled over. Liang Qikai bent down, recognized the occupants, and slid into the backseat. When he saw Dr. Cheng, he nodded politely, maintaining just the right distance.
“At this hour, requesting a squad car means paperwork,” Liang Qikai said lightly. “I was about to hail a cab to the scene—lucky I ran into you guys.”
His voice was as warm as ever.
After months in CID, Liang Qikai had blended seamlessly with the team. Now, he effortlessly lightened the mood inside the car. Just as he was about to strike up a conversation with Zhu Qing, she suddenly turned away.
His thoughts drifted back to their police academy days.
Back then, this junior had been a perennial topic in the boys’ dorm.
But Liang Qikai had always believed his interest was different. He wasn’t as shallow as the others. What truly caught his attention—
Was the solitary figure on the training grounds.
When they reunited months ago in the CID office, he recognized her instantly.
Learning about her connection to the Sheng family’s skeletal remains case, hearing how she’d spent twenty years lost to the world—those hazy feelings from the past deepened into something more complicated. Yet even now, they remained nothing more than colleagues.
Their relationship—
Not even as close as hers with Hao Zai or Uncle Li.
The sunset glow filtered through the window, casting a soft warmth over Zhu Qing’s profile.
This wasn’t the same as when they first met.
“Dr. Cheng, what’s the garage’s address?”
Zhu Qing’s voice snapped Liang Qikai back to the present.
After her car broke down, Cheng Xinglang had arranged for a tow.
“I’ll drop it off tomorrow—it’s on my way,” Cheng Xinglang replied casually.
Liang Qikai looked out the window, ears tuned to the conversation behind him.
He remembered giving Zhu Qing glow-in-the-dark stars once, only for her to promptly hand him cash in return.
He thought she kept everyone at arm’s length—until he noticed how naturally she nodded at Cheng Xinglang.
“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll treat you to tea sometime.”
Cheng Xinglang chuckled. “Picking up empty pleasantries from the kid?”
They both knew it was just small talk. Zhu Qing would never actually show up at the forensics office one day, inviting Dr. Cheng for tea.
But Liang Qikai hadn’t realized they were already this familiar—enough to tease each other.
His expression dimmed. This was his last chance.
Always gentle and accommodating, the pride in his bones refused to let him chase what was never his.
Only now did Liang Qikai truly let go, exhaling softly.
——
By the time they reached the Kwun Tong back-alley garbage station, dusk had settled, but the streetlights hadn’t fully brightened yet.
Zeng Yongshan stood in a corner, fingers pinching her nose, face twisted in disgust.
She took a deep breath—instantly regretting it. The mingled scents of restaurant steam and rotting garbage hit her like a punch to the skull.
“Inspector Mo,” she croaked.
Mo Zhenbang strode over. “What’ve we got?”
Further down the alley, Hao Zai was dry-heaving against a wall.
“Uncle Li, my mom thinks being a detective is glamorous,” he groaned. “If she knew I was digging through restaurant slop, she’d cry herself unconscious.”
Uncle Li looped his badge around his neck and smacked the younger man lightly with it. “Less whining, more searching.”
Seeing the kid’s green complexion, he sighed and pulled a fresh mask from his pocket.
“Here. Double up.”
Meanwhile, Xu Jiale was taking statements from the scavenger.
“Auntie, do you come to this alley every day?”
The old woman nodded eagerly, rambling. “There’s two cafés here, a roast meat shop, and… the kitchen staff at the restaurant are kind. They save meals for me—fresh ones, not leftovers!”
“Auntie, how did you find the toe?”
“I was stacking empty containers, about to check the next pile, when I saw this plastic bag.”
“It wasn’t tied. There was red string around yellow paper—I thought it was a lucky envelope. But when I pulled—”
“That toe rolled right out!”
Her scream had nearly blown the roof off the alley, drawing even the kitchen hands out for a look.
One of them, Ah Kit, recounted what he saw.
“At first I thought it was pork bones… but Auntie Chung said she’s lived long enough to know human from animal.” His eyes flicked toward the garbage. “When I got closer… that toe was wrapped up like some ritual. Red thread coiled tight, just like those Taoist ceremonies on TV.”
“None of us touched it. Auntie Chung used a hook—who’d dare?”
Dr. Cheng had already gloved up, using tweezers to carefully unfold the black plastic.
Inside lay a pale severed toe, cleanly sliced, bound in crimson thread and yellow parchment.
Cheng Xinglang placed the note and the red thread into separate evidence bags.
The severed toe was coated in a layer of dark red gelatinous substance, which Cheng Xinglang carefully lifted with tweezers.
Zhu Qing leaned in for a closer look. "The cut is so clean, yet the surface is a mess of flesh and blood?"
"It's not natural blood," Cheng Xinglang murmured. "Could be chicken or pig blood."
"What a sin! Using animal blood to wrap around a birthdate—that way, the vengeful spirit can't find its target!" Aunt Ping gasped. "It's true! I heard about this when I was little. Doing this... it stops the ghost from coming to claim a life!"
"Aunt Ping," Uncle Li cut in sharply. "We don't deal in superstitions during police investigations."
"The incision is extremely smooth," Cheng Xinglang continued. "Like it was made in one clean cut with a professional scalpel or bone saw."
Zeng Yongshan's gaze settled on the bottom of the plastic bag.
There lay a blood-soaked newspaper, the date still faintly visible.
"I remember the information registered by that cousin about the missing person..." She paused, recalling, then immediately looked at the yellow paper already sealed in the evidence bag. "It's the same date—Kuang Xiaoyan's birthdate."
"It's a newspaper from that exact day."
"The date on the paper and the birthdate on the yellow slip—it's too deliberate."
"Inspector Mo," Liang Qikai asked, "could this be a dismemberment case?"
The question hung heavy in the air, making the alley feel even more silent.
Mo Zhenbang didn’t answer right away, turning instead to Cheng Xinglang, who was packing up his tools.
"Can you tell if this was cut before or after death?"
"Right now, we only have this one toe—no other body parts for reference." Cheng Xinglang hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Judging solely from the muscle tissue around the incision, there's slight contraction, which could also mean it was severed shortly after death."
As Cheng Xinglang handed the evidence to his assistant and removed his gloves, his eyes briefly met Zhu Qing's.
Both recognized the same unspoken thought—this was no ordinary case.
After a moment of silence, Mo Zhenbang raised his voice.
"Listen up—search the dumpster again. Comb through every nearby alley."
"Expand the perimeter. Check if anyone in the area saw anything suspicious."
Hao Zai sighed. "Inspector Mo, this is Kwun Tong. Hundreds, if not thousands, of people pass through here every day just to dump trash."
Night deepened.
Time crawled by in the stench of rotting garbage.
The officers sifted through bags and boxes, all with the same goal in mind.
The rest of the body.
The same question weighed on everyone: Was this just the beginning?
If it really was Kuang Xiaoyan, if this really was a dismemberment—
Would more body parts start appearing across the city in the days to come?
......
Even when wandering, little Fangfang had to return home.
He wasn’t just any child—he was a wealthy one, and safety was naturally the top priority. He couldn’t just run off.
What if he got kidnapped?
"After all, we don’t have bodyguards watching the young master around the clock right now," Aunt Ping said with a smile.
Fangfang wagged his tiny index finger mysteriously.
He’d seen plenty of bodyguards, but none as impressive as Zhu Qing. They might look tough, but they were all show—good enough to fool his dad, but not him.
Only Zhu Qing could truly win him over.
She was a flying detective! Just the way the other kids clamored for photos with her that afternoon was enough to make Fangfang glow with pride for days.
Having such an amazing niece made him, the little uncle, look extra cool.
For the longest time, Fangfang had stuck to Zhu Qing like glue, growing used to her presence.
Who knew a new case would suddenly pop up, leaving him bored again, wandering around the house whining about how dull everything was.
He drifted to the dining table, devoured the lavish meal Aunt Ping prepared, then wandered to the balcony to doodle on a whiteboard with markers. Next, he roamed into the playroom and, on a whim, started peeling off the glow-in-the-dark star stickers.
The wall was covered in them, and at night, when he closed his eyes, it felt like the stars were throwing a concert right beside him—way too bright.
Finally, Fangfang ended up in his niece’s room, plopping down in front of the computer.
"I’m gonna play games—"
"Young master, Zhu Qing said only on weekends."
The little lord had his reasoning down pat. Ever since Zhu Qing laid down that rule, he’d completely forgotten about it and hadn’t touched the computer since.
Now, even if it wasn’t the weekend, surely she’d let him make up for lost time.
Aunt Ping was no match for his logic. Watching him climb onto the chair and hit the power button, she could only note the time. The usual rule was half an hour max, followed by eye exercises. But it was already late—he could play until 9:30 at most, then straight to bed.
Aunt Ping had worked for the Sheng family for twenty-three years. At first, her duties were just cooking three meals a day. Now, even with only two people left to care for, she put in more effort than ever.
She never imagined she’d overstep like this—nagging the young master about jackets, making sure he brushed his teeth.
With Zhu Qing away, these tasks fell squarely on her.
The new case at the station had come right after Fangfang’s kindergarten recital. Aunt Ping knew Zhu Qing would likely be pulling long hours again.
She couldn’t help with the complicated arrangements for sending Sheng Peirong abroad for surgery or the medical coordination. But what she could do, she did without fail—like visiting the hospital daily to adjust Sheng Peirong’s position, whispering updates about Zhu Qing into her ear.
Just as she’d done these past months.
Aunt Ping would always adjust the IV drip while murmuring the latest news. How Zhu Qing cracked another major case and was personally commended by the chief superintendent. How she seemed to have made friends, even spending hours on the phone with female colleagues...
Whenever she spoke of Zhu Qing’s achievements, Aunt Ping’s eyes sparkled with pride.
She was certain Sheng Peirong would be even prouder of her daughter.
"Hold down two keys before drawing the card—" Fangfang knelt on the chair, tiny hands struggling with the keyboard.
On screen, the character miraculously dodged imprisonment.
Fangfang’s eyes widened.
Dr. Cheng was right! Pressing two keys really could skip a stroke of "bad luck"!
The little boy leapt off the chair and dashed to the living room.
"Ding."
The elevator chimed softly as it arrived.
Zhu Qing stepped out, stretching before instinctively sniffing her palm.
They spent several hours at the garbage dump, going from barely enduring the stench to eventually growing completely accustomed to it—their sense of smell still seemed numb even now.
A new case had arrived, and it was time to dive back into work.
Just yesterday, she had been playing at the amusement park...
Zhu Qing unlocked the door with her key.
The cheerful, childish voice of a little one reached her from the living room, near the telephone.
"When is Qing-jie coming home?"
"Put her on the phone!"
"What—is—going—on!"
The little elder—Fangfang—gripped the receiver, grumbling about his niece behind her back.
Once she got busy, she became impossible to reach. Even her mobile phone turned into a mere decoration, let alone her pager.
Being this absorbed in work wasn’t necessarily a good thing!
"And then you use Madame Money to unlock the hidden map—" Fangfang steered the conversation back, "How do you trigger it?"
Zhu Qing leaned against the doorframe, listening to the well-connected little kid chatting on the phone.
When had he even memorized Cheng Xinglang’s number?
Was it when they went on that motorcycle ride?
"You’re already off work, but Qing-jie still isn’t home," Fangfang continued. "Should’ve told her to study forensic medicine—no overtime."
Zhu Qing: "..."
As if they’d even known each other back when she was applying for university.
"You go study forensic medicine yourself," she said from the doorway.
Hearing his niece’s voice, Sheng Fang turned around, grinning. "You’re back?"
Fangfang promptly mimicked Yesi’s catchphrase—
"No way. Being a cop has been my dream since I was little."
At the early morning case briefing, Mo Zhenbang pinned Kuang Xiaoyan’s profile onto the whiteboard.
"Kuang Xiaoyan, twenty-three years old. According to her cousin, she went missing three years ago at the age of twenty."
Liang Qikai flipped through the education records. "Dropped out in middle school. Last registered address was a tin shack at No. 23, Fuhe Street."
"Forensics and the lab are working overtime on comparisons, but the DNA database is incomplete. Out of six million people in Hong Kong, three hundred and four thousand are women. Someone like Kuang Xiaoyan—an ordinary person with no criminal record—wouldn’t have a sample on file."
"The report on the severed toe isn’t ready yet."
"Tin shack?" Mo Zhenbang tapped the photo Rong Zimei had left behind on the whiteboard. "This one?"
He marked it heavily with a marker.
In the photo, the girl stood backlit, her face blurred from overexposure. Only her slightly raised chin and the hand clutching her backpack strap were visible.
Zeng Yongshan studied the image for a long moment. "That backpack strap—"
"That shack’s long gone," Hao Zai said. "It’s a herbal medicine shop now."
"The old neighbors couldn’t have all vanished," Mo Zhenbang turned to the team. "What to do next—do I really need to spell it out?"
The officers split up, heading to Fuhe Street for fieldwork.
The area, once crammed with tin shacks, had been demolished. A few construction workers squatted by the roadside, eating boxed lunches.
"Everyone moved out ages ago."
"Cleared out by the end of last year. Who even remembers who lived here?"
The old neighbors had long since relocated. Shopkeepers might’ve seen Kuang Xiaoyan, but without a name or clearer details beyond the blurry photo, no one could recall her.
After hours of searching, they’d made almost no progress.
"I’m grabbing water from the convenience store," Xu Jiale said.
Zhu Qing: "There’s a corner shop up ahead—I saw it."
"Where would—"
Before he could finish, Zhu Qing had already turned into a narrow alley.
At the end stood "Chao Kee Store," its plastic sign swaying in the wind.
The elderly shopkeeper didn’t look up. "Take what you want yourself."
Only when the officers showed their badges and mentioned "Kuang Xiaoyan" did she call over her shoulder, "Old man, wasn’t the Kuang girl called Kuang Xiaoyan?"
Finally, a lead. Zhu Qing flipped open her notepad.
"Her dad was a gambler—people came to splash red paint on their door every other day. And he drank from morning till night, never sober. Her mom was worse—rumor was she was in that kind of business. All sorts of shady men came and went."
"Xiaoyan was pretty, pale as snow, but she always looked down her nose at people."
"What good did it do her? Born into a family like that, the prettier she was, the more she suffered."
The old woman suddenly remembered something. "When she was little, she’d sit outside my shop doing homework because her house was too noisy. Her pencil case would slam down like thunder."
"When she got older, guess she realized school wasn’t her thing..."
"Anyone else around here who might know her?"
"My son knew her—they were in the same class in primary school."
"Only let her study here out of pity..."
Xu Jiale had the shopkeeper call her son.
The sound of mahjong tiles clattered through the receiver.
Her son hesitated. "Xiaoyan? I forgot about her ages ago."
The call ended abruptly.
Teacher Ji could tell the kids were still buzzing even after the performance had ended.
The documentary was supposed to be watched quietly, but the children chirped like a nest of sparrows, their whispers rising and falling in the dim screening room.
The most conspicuous was Sheng Fang in the center of the third row.
The young master of the Sheng family leaned one arm on Jin Bao’s chairback, the other resting on his knee, his short legs crossed. He looked as relaxed as if he were in a private theater.
Teacher Ji tiptoed behind him and tapped the hand on the chairback.
"What’s wrong?" Fangfang looked up, round eyes full of innocence.
Teacher Ji pressed her lips together.
She couldn’t exactly say that ever since the class found out the Powerpuff Girl was his niece, Fangfang’s influence had grown. Last week, he’d casually mentioned disliking carrots—soon, half the class was picking them out too.
The little master’s sway was undeniable.
She couldn’t have the whole class lounging like him during documentaries.
"Wow, the gorilla’s so smart!"
The kids were now glued to the screen, all gasping in unison.
Teacher Ji seized the moment to point at Fangfang’s crossed legs, then his knees.
Fangfang pouted but straightened up, mimicking the gorilla’s posture onscreen.
Teacher Ji returned to the front.
"Scientists say gorillas have the intelligence of a five-year-old. Some exceptionally smart ones even reach a ten-year-old’s level."
"Trained chimps can solve simple math and understand basic language."
The camera zoomed in on a chimp deftly tying its shoelaces.
"Even like this, tying shoelaces all by myself."
"That means if we invited a gorilla to attend our Weston Kindergarten, it could do morning exercises and learn skills just like the kids—"
The children listened with wide eyes, while Sheng Fang lowered his head to stare at his little sneakers.
A new discovery: gorillas could tie shoelaces, but he couldn’t.
Fangfang clenched his fists—he was going to learn how to tie his shoelaces!
From the back row, Yesi poked Fangfang. "Fangfang, Teacher said a gorilla could be our classmate!"
"Blowhard Ji," Fangfang muttered.
As he spoke, he glanced up at the clock on the wall of the AV room.
School was almost over. He wondered what Blowhard Qing was busy with.
Little Uncle hadn’t picked her up from work in so long.
……
In the CID meeting room, complaints from the officers rose intermittently.
"Is this cousin a ghost? We still can’t find any trace of her."
"When she filed the report, Rong Zimei only left the supermarket address and their office number. Called it, but the line’s dead."
"The folks at the report desk are too careless. They didn’t even verify basic details before letting her walk out."
"Found her registered home address, though," someone piped up from behind a stack of files. "But it’s outdated—who knows how many times she’s moved since then? When will the records department update their data?"
Liang Qikai flipped through the documents, then glanced up as a figure appeared at the door. "Little Sun’s back."
Little Sun pushed in, dust still clinging to his clothes, and shook his head. "Just got back from the supermarket. Confirmed—Rong Zimei was fired on Sunday afternoon."
"Sunday?" Mo Zhenbang raised an eyebrow. "The same day she came to file the report?"
"Exactly, the timing lines up." Little Sun took a sip of water and opened his notebook. "The HR manager said she’d been there three months but was all thumbs. Started as a sales promoter but couldn’t even push detergent. Then they moved her to checkout, but she kept messing up the math."
When Rong Zimei filed the report, Zeng Yongshan and Xu Jiale happened to be chatting with colleagues in the report room.
Now, Xu Jiale chuckled. "That Rong Zimei really didn’t seem the sharpest."
"On Sunday, she wasn’t even supposed to be on shift, but she swapped with a coworker. Problem was, the coworker didn’t clarify the timing. During the busiest promotion hours, her register was unmanned. Customers queued for twenty minutes and tore into the manager."
"The manager couldn’t take it out on the customers, so he just smiled and apologized. Once they were finally calmed down with coupons and stamps, he blew up and fired Rong Zimei on the spot."
"Apparently, she begged for another chance, but the manager just kicked her out."
"Honestly, it wasn’t her fault. Just bad luck, and the manager was already fed up with her—kinda sad."
Someone sighed. "Pity Rong Zimei? Pity us instead. Another dead end. No leads, no idea where to dig next."
"A person missing for three years, and only her cousin cares enough to report it? No one else gives a damn?"
"What was she doing before? After dropping out, did she never work? Sounds like Kuang Xiaoyan’s parents weren’t exactly responsible—were they really supporting her?"
"How does someone vanish for three years without a trace… unless it’s really—"
"A life swap?"
The room fell silent again.
Zhu Qing stood by the evidence table, staring through the plastic bag at the birth date note tied to the severed toe.
"According to Rong Zimei’s statement," Liang Qikai broke the silence, "ever since Kuang Xiaoyan started imitating Lin Tingchao, weird things kept happening."
"The cousin suspects Lin Tingchao deliberately got close to Kuang Xiaoyan."
"Something about the rich swapping fates with the poor…"
"Maybe we should shift focus," Uncle Li suddenly set down his teacup.
"What focus?"
All eyes turned to him.
But Uncle Li’s gaze stayed fixed on the evidence bag in Zhu Qing’s hands.
"Go ask a spirit medium."
Hao Zai nearly choked on his coffee. "Uncle Li, you’re serious?"
"I’m not saying we believe in this stuff," Uncle Li shot him a look, tapping the case file. "But Rong Zimei couldn’t stop talking about ‘life swaps’ when she filed the report. Whether this is her own scheme or something darker, her ‘life swap’ theory has to connect to motive or method."
He pointed at the yellow paper in the evidence bag and the newspaper from Kuang Xiaoyan’s birth date.
Mo Zhenbang pondered, then nodded. "Understanding these folk beliefs might give us a lead."
The clock struck five, but no one noticed quitting time.
Mo Zhenbang began assigning tasks, his voice cutting through the chatter.
"Dig into Kuang Xiaoyan’s social ties, especially her parents’ whereabouts. Even if they’re dodging debt, they can’t have vanished completely. A person missing for three years—how do her parents not know a thing?"
"Check her work history after dropping out. Clothing stores, restaurants, convenience shops—interview anyone who might’ve crossed paths with her."
"Keep pressing the supermarket. Even if HR didn’t record her details, surely her coworkers know where Rong Zimei lived?"
"Track Lin Tingchao’s connections. Get a list of her classmates before she dropped out by tonight."
Little Sun was hastily gathering files for fieldwork when the door swung open again.
Mo Zhenbang added, "And about Uncle Li’s spirit medium—"
A bright, childish voice cut in from behind—
"Qing and I will go!"
Zhu Qing didn’t need to turn to know who’d arrived.
……
The young master of the Sheng family leaned against the doorframe, one tiny foot tapping the ground, a chocolate bar in hand. Behind him stood Aunt Ping, looking exasperated.
Aunt Ping carried the little lord’s backpack, clearly having been "kidnapped" straight from the school bus to the police station.
"I checked the time, thought you’d be off work… didn’t realize you were still in a meeting…"
Aunt Ping couldn’t even recall how the little rascal had talked her into this.
Those big, dark eyes blinking up at her, the sweet, pleading "Aunt Ping, you’re the best," paired with that pitiful pout—no one stood a chance. She’d scolded him not to disturb Qingqing at work, yet somehow, step by reluctant step, she’d wound up at the station.
This wasn’t the first time. Probably wouldn’t be the last.
The young master of the Sheng family only had a few tricks up his sleeve, but those few tricks never failed him.
He had already arrived at his destination, standing next to Zhu Qing as he waved at Aunt Ping.
"Aunt Ping, you can go home and rest," he said in his childish voice, effectively dismissing her. "I'll take Zhu Qing to work overtime."
It was clear that little Sheng Fang had the evening's itinerary all planned out.
Step one: Uncle and nephew would have dinner at the police station canteen.
Zhu Qing ordered their meals and told the little boy to find a seat.
Fangfang, however, didn’t listen. Instead, he propped himself up on the counter, standing on his tiptoes.
"Sister Xiao, I want extra salad pork chops, blanched Chinese broccoli, a roasted meat platter, and—"
Uncle Ming peeked out from the kitchen. "Little one, can you really eat all that?"
Fangfang shrugged. "A growing boy needs his food."
This line was clearly aimed at Zhu Qing.
Sister Xiao and Uncle Ming both turned their gazes toward her.
Zhu Qing was unfazed.
She figured Fangfang must have picked up this new phrase from the aunties at his kindergarten cafeteria.
By the time they left the police station, night had fallen.
Little Fangfang knew the streets of Temple Street like the back of his hand. After a few visits to the mango shaved ice stall, he could find his way there even in the dark.
But this time, Zhu Qing wasn’t taking him to the usual spot.
Holding her little uncle’s hand, she led him through the bustling crowd.
She had heard that while nine out of ten fortune-tellers in this area were frauds, there was one genuine seer—a stall behind a watch repair shop.
The narrow alley was too tight for cars, so they wound through several turns until their feet ached.
Fangfang still wouldn’t let it go, muttering about how much easier it would be if Zhu Qing rode a motorcycle with him.
"I asked Dr. Cheng—getting a motorcycle license is super easy," he said.
"How about tomorrow, Aunt Ping and I sign you up for lessons? At most, fifteen days, and you’ll be riding!"
Zhu Qing rapped lightly on his little head.
"I’m busy," she said. "You go get the license yourself."
Fangfang sighed dramatically.
Zhu Qing really was busy—between her sister’s surgery and everything else, she had no time to spare for motorcycles.
"I see it," Zhu Qing said, pointing at a sign. "Over there!"
The sign read "Under Repair." They had finally found the watch shop.
The shop had long closed down, but Fangfang craned his neck and spotted a dark blue curtain swaying gently at the end of the alley.
Embroidered with a Bagua symbol at the corners, the curtain grew more fragrant with incense as they approached.
Fangfang’s eyes watered from the smoke. He rubbed them and blinked—
A dozen devotees stood quietly outside the tent, clutching red slips of paper, their expressions varied.
Only when they joined the line did they overhear hushed murmurs.
"At least an hour’s wait. Who knows if we’ll even get our turn today."
"Granny Huang only reads twenty fortunes a day… If we’re lucky, no matter how long it takes, it’ll be worth it."
Fangfang stood on his toes, counting heads as the line inched forward.
He was on another adventure with Zhu Qing, occasionally peeking toward the fortune-teller behind the curtain.
So mysterious.
Then, suddenly, he felt a tug on his sleeve.
A middle-aged man in a suit leaned down toward him and Zhu Qing.
"Miss, little one…"
"I’m in a hurry. How about I give you six hundred bucks to swap places?"
The young master of the Sheng family barely spared him a glance.
The man chuckled awkwardly. "Eight hundred?"
The little boy kept a straight face.
"Fine, a thousand! You can’t just keep raising the price!"
Zhu Qing turned away, stifling a laugh—
This guy had just tried to bribe the one child in Hong Kong least swayed by money.
Fangfang crossed his arms, utterly unmoved, and shooed the man away.
The guy went down the line, eventually buying a spot much closer to the front.
"Business is booming," Fangfang mused. "Maybe Jin Bao should grow up to be a fortune-teller."
After all, Jin Bao was still searching for his calling.
Fangfang reconsidered and corrected himself. "A fortune-teller… but male."
Neon lights danced on the little boy’s hair.
Ever the dutiful junior officer, he never complained about the wait. To pass the time, he even assigned himself a mission.
Now, Fangfang was going undercover, blending in with the crowd.
Like an alert little creature, he pricked up his ears, eavesdropping on the whispers around him.
"They say Granny Huang even solved a twenty-year-old cold case!" one old woman whispered. "That headless corpse—the cops searched for half a year with no leads. She just pointed where the killer buried the body."
"Last month, Mrs. Chen came to ask about her daughter’s love life. Guess what—" another woman with permed hair chimed in.
A childish voice interrupted their hushed exchange—
"What happened?"
Fangfang shuffled closer.
The two women exchanged glances and took a step forward, lowering their voices even further.
The little master followed.
They took another step.
Too bad—the old lady and the permed auntie weren’t going to let him in on the gossip.
Fangfang turned and tugged Zhu Qing’s sleeve, his face alight with excitement. "Zhu Qing, they say the fortune-teller is really accurate!"
Zhu Qing ruffled his messy hair, teasing him. "So, what do you want to ask her?"
"When my niece will finally get a day off," Fangfang said, studying his palm. "And also when kindergarten will—"
Zhu Qing knew that during her lighter workload a while back, Fangfang had resented having to go to kindergarten every day.
Each morning, he’d shake her arm, begging her to call Teacher Ji and get him excused.
"Even if your kindergarten shuts down," Zhu Qing said, "I’ll just send you to another one."
Fangfang huffed. "Then I have nothing to ask."
