In the dance studio, two rows of little swans dressed in pristine, fluffy white tutus stood gracefully. Though chubby, their postures were professional.
By comparison, Fangfang looked like a clumsy little penguin, standing right in the center of the front row.
This prime spot was specially reserved by the teacher for potential young clients, making it easier to correct his awkward movements at any moment.
“Ballet isn’t just for little girls,” the teacher gently straightened Fangfang’s tiny arm and smiled. “Our neighboring class has boys who dance ballet too. Mark has been learning since he was four and even won a silver medal at the interschool competition last year!”
“What’s your name?” the young master asked.
“Me? You can call me Teacher Lily,” came the reply.
Sheng Fang didn’t even bother to lift his eyelids.
It’s not like it’s a gold medal—Teacher Lily’s just bragging.
While the other kids steadily raised their arms, Fangfang’s short little hands struggled to find balance.
His fingertips trembled as he caught sight of the well-trained little dancers reflected in the mirror.
He hadn’t expected Yesi to be so impressive.
Leaning against the glass at the studio’s entrance, Zhu Qing’s lips curled into a subtle smile, pride swelling inside her just like when Aunt Ping stood outside the fencing hall.
But her ears perked up quietly, keenly picking up the low murmur coming from the reception room.
The deliberately hushed voices of an argument sounded unusually clear in the empty corridor.
“I’ve told you many times, there’s no need to boast about our achievements to parents, and no need to complain. If someone comes to sign up, just discuss the course arrangement,” Lin Tingchao said. “I just heard you pulling them into talking about how ‘Golden Ballet’ got beaten by us… What’s the point of that?”
Su Leyi replied, “Parents want to know about our school’s strength. I’m just being honest.”
“Even if we beat Golden Ballet in three months, is it necessary to make it public knowledge? Leyi, you’re really getting carried away.”
Su Leyi fell silent for a long moment, then suddenly sneered.
“Lin Tingchao, we’re equal partners. You’re not my boss.”
The reception door opened, and their reflections appeared on the glass wall.
Zhu Qing noticed the subtle tension between the two partners.
They needed each other in business, yet were secretly competing.
“It’s normal to have disagreements in business,” Lin Tingchao softened her tone. “We’ll work it out slowly.”
“Sometimes I really feel like you’ve changed a lot,” Su Leyi’s voice also softened. “You wouldn’t have been so aggressive before.”
“I’ve just been too anxious,” Lin Tingchao smiled warmly. “That cashmere shawl from Rongguang Department Store—the color you liked last time—”
“What does it look like?”
“Want to try it now? I put it in the trunk.”
A flicker of hesitation crossed Su Leyi’s eyes, but in the end, she stood up and followed.
Only after their backs disappeared around the corner did Zhu Qing slowly withdraw her gaze.
In their earlier conversation, Su Leyi had revealed the struggles of their startup days, showing how tight her finances were compared to Lin Tingchao’s. And now, with a simple cashmere shawl, Lin Tingchao had made her swallow all her grievances.
Given Su Leyi’s dependence on this partner, it seemed unlikely that this lead would uncover any real truth.
The only thing that caught Zhu Qing’s attention was Su Leyi’s casual complaint—that Lin Tingchao had changed a lot.
From the very beginning, the police had focused their attention on the absurd “switched fate” rumor.
A wealthy family using small favors to lure poor girls into some unspeakable deal.
But what if the one truly switched was the wealthy daughter’s life itself?
Out of jealousy, why not just take her place?
The polished glass reflected the resentment in the young master of the Sheng family’s eyes.
“Fangfang, it’s just a leg stretch!” Yesi said enthusiastically. “I’ll show you how.”
Fangfang looked at Yesi, slowly widening his eyes—wider and wider until they couldn’t get any bigger.
After being classmates for so long, he never expected little Yesi to have a secret skill that could fold her entire body like that!
The little boy was suddenly terrified, trembling all over.
“Do I have to stretch too?” The baby tried to keep calm. “No way, I want to go home.”
……
At the same time, Uncle Li and Hao Zai arrived at an oil painting studio on Hollywood Road.
Inside came the scent of sandalwood mixed with oil paint and watercolors. Pushing open the door, a few rough wooden sculptures were casually placed about, giving off an unrestrained artistic vibe.
By the floor-to-ceiling window, a man was intently painting. Sunlight spilled over the unfinished canvas. Hearing the noise, he turned his head.
“Who are you two?”
This young artist wore a linen shirt, its cuffs stained with paint but he paid no mind, casually rolling them up.
This man, exuding an artistic aura, was Lin Tingchao’s childhood sweetheart, having dated her for a year.
The police had learned of his existence through one of Lin Tingchao’s old classmates.
It was said that when Lin Tingchao fell ill, he left her without looking back, afraid of being a burden.
“Did you break up because of her health?” Hao Zai asked bluntly.
“Wasn’t the surgery successful?” The man looked up calmly. “The chief surgeon said the bone marrow function was rebuilding well.”
“Do you know what comes after a bone marrow transplant? At first, even breathing caused her to cough up blood. She was terrified, and I held her hand through those endless days and nights.”
“One night, she was in so much pain she pulled out her catheter. If I hadn’t noticed…”
“Officers, after the surgery, I was the one who helped her stand again. And now you come asking if we broke up because of her health?”
Several finished paintings hung on the studio walls. One had a yellowed award sticker in the corner, clearly some years old. The figure in the painting vaguely resembled Lin Tingchao.
“She disappeared without even leaving a note.” The man set down his brush, his voice low. “I went to her house. Her parents said Lin Tingchao just wanted to focus on her studies.”
He chuckled softly. “She didn’t care about school in middle school, but at twenty, she suddenly took it seriously.”
Their last meeting was three years ago.
He had flown for more than ten hours, going all the way to Julian Dance Academy to find her. She showed him around the campus, but in the end, she sealed the fate of their relationship with just one sentence: "We're not compatible."
"So, I broke up with her?" The man’s face turned cold. "Officer, you haven’t done your homework well enough."
Hao Zai hadn’t expected this response.
Uncle Li no longer wanted to listen to the tangled mess of youthful affairs long past; he was more concerned about the purpose of this trip.
“Have you ever heard Lin Tingchao mention Kuang Xiaoyan?”
Uncle Li pulled out the photo and pointed to a figure in the corner.
“She’s a lunatic,” he said, staring at the photo with disdain. “Once at the cinema, after the show ended, we found her sitting in the back row. Tingchao had forgotten his jacket and came back to get it, and she was trying it on.”
……
A single class felt like it would never end.
Fangfang followed the rhythm, lifting his chubby little legs.
The little undercover agent, feeling wronged, was well aware of his mission, but the contact had been way too cruel—betraying him at the crucial moment.
“Traitor,” Fangfang bit his tiny teeth.
“What’s that?” Yesi asked curiously.
“I’m counting the beats,” Fang sir explained calmly.
He had heard that professional undercover agents always kept diaries. Tonight, when he got home, he was definitely going to write down this dark day!
“Little swan, lift your wings a bit higher,” the teacher gently reminded.
The young master was dancing for the first time, his tiny hands and feet refusing to obey instructions.
Everyone could tell he didn’t look like an elegant little swan—instead, he resembled a clumsy goose.
Time ticked by slowly; playtime passed in a flash.
But at this moment, every minute felt like a full… sixty seconds.
Fangfang stood in front of the mirror, hands on hips, and noticed his niece’s figure. His eyes widened in disbelief.
Zhu Qing actually still had the nerve to stand there!
Under Fangfang’s sharp glare, Zhu Qing quietly turned around.
The pager had been buzzing non-stop just now—obviously a message from Zeng Yongshan. While tailing Lin Tingchao, they had discovered she doubled back to the dance center. Worried that Zhu Qing might blow their cover, Zeng Yongshan kept sending reminders.
In fact, the moment of silent eye contact with Lin Tingchao at that time wasn’t dangerous. If she were innocent, the encounter would have been a mere coincidence. But if she had something to hide, then both sides were pretending not to notice what they clearly understood.
Zhu Qing leaned toward the latter.
Her thoughts returned to the core of the case: from the very beginning, Kuang Xiaoyan had clung to Lin Tingchao like a shadow. Her cousin said Kuang Xiaoyan claimed she was trapped in the body of an ugly duckling, desperately studying and imitating every move of the real swan. Whether it was the tone of speech, the curve of her smile, the little habit of brushing back her hair, or her gait… Kuang Xiaoyan even copied her eating habits. A wealthy heiress had many dining etiquettes, and Kuang Xiaoyan said only a true lady would be so pampered.
“Details—” Zhu Qing recalled what Rong Zimei had said about Kuang Xiaoyan, “are the true mark of a person’s background.”
Kuang Xiaoyan wanted a complete transformation, to become the real Lin Tingchao one day.
The dance center’s soundproofing was poor. Zhu Qing took her phone and went downstairs to report to Mo Zhenbang.
“Mr. Mo, if two people already bear a six or seven-tenths resemblance, then with some cosmetic adjustments…” Zhu Qing spoke slowly, “that’s why she went to Southeast Asia, right? Delaying her enrollment by half a year was just enough time to complete the surgery and recovery.”
But when exactly did the replacement happen?
During the bone marrow matching surgery, the doctors would have strictly verified her identity. In other words, the real Lin Tingchao did undergo the operation. That thank-you letter after the surgery was indeed personally written by her from the hospital bed.
According to her promise to Doctor Nie, she was supposed to present a banner of gratitude once she recovered after discharge. But the real Lin Tingchao never fulfilled that promise — perhaps because by then, she had already been replaced.
A skeptical voice came from the other end of the phone: “But she’s still dancing.”
Zhu Qing recalled the moment before going downstairs. She had stood at the door of a dance studio.
At that time, Lin Tingchao had already returned to the practice room. A little girl clung to her unusually closely. With the apologetic smile of the child’s mother, she held the girl’s hand, demonstrating a spinning move. Her dance steps were as light as feathers. The sunset streamed through the glass window, overlapping her profile with an old poster on the wall — one showing the current dance instructor, the other the once brilliant girl standing on the winner’s podium.
“Teaching children only, does she need to perform at full strength?” Zhu Qing murmured, almost to herself. “The genius of the past — is she still a genius today?”
After a long silence, Mo Zhenbang dropped a fatal question—
“What about the parents? If their daughter was swapped, wouldn’t the parents notice?”
Zhu Qing suddenly froze.
She hadn’t considered that at all.
Zhu Qing had been alone since childhood. Even now, with a mother in her life, that sense of family was just a vague concept to her. She had never truly experienced the meticulous care of parents; relying only on imagination, she inevitably missed something crucial.
She had overlooked such a key piece.
Yes, how could someone pull off such a deception without even the closest parents catching on?
What kind of methods could fool those most intimately familiar with the child?
……
A class finally ended, and Fangfang’s little tummy was growling loudly.
The niece looked obviously guilty, holding her uncle’s chubby hand as they walked straight into McDonald’s.
“Large fries, and lots of ketchup.”
“And a burger, chicken nuggets… do kids’ meals still come with toys now?”
Sheng Fang lifted his chin, turning his little face to the side.
Hmph, does he look like a kid who only knows how to eat?
The truth was, Fangfang was not easily pacified.
Even minutes later, sitting in the car, stuffing crispy fries into his mouth with both hands, the little guy’s expression remained effortlessly cool.
The individually packed ketchup packets quickly ran out. The little master tapped the driver’s headrest, signaling with his eyes.
“Got it—” the niece stretched the word out, answering eagerly.
Sheng Fang had never seen his niece like this before.
It was clear she had gone way, way overboard this time!
From the back seat came the crisp crunching sounds as Zaizao ate with pure delight.
Zhu Qing seized the opportunity to lean over and plead softly, “Please, please, I was wrong.”
Sheng Fang’s cheeks puffed out, stuffed full of food, as he scrutinized his niece with a critical eye.
The lines were clearly copied from him, but the tone was off, and the effect was worlds apart. Who had taught his niece to act so coy? She should have blinked her eyes sweetly, cupped her little hands over her heart—that’s how it was supposed to be!
“You said last time that being a cop means being brave enough to make sacrifices,” Zhu Qing turned back to him, “If you’re willing to play the son, why can’t you dance?”
Zhu Qing helped him recall his recent experience playing the son.
“Yeah, that’s true…” The young master of the Sheng family scrunched up his face, “But—”
“No buts, no excuses,” Zhu Qing said firmly. “Remember, you’re a police officer.”
Fangfang blinked in surprise.
He had just been apologizing a moment ago, so why was he suddenly sounding so self-righteous?
But on second thought, it kind of made sense.
Great achievers don’t sweat the small stuff; that’s what young swordsmen and heroes in martial arts films always say.
“Fine.” The little guy waved his hands generously. “I forgive you.”
When they got out of the car, Fangfang took the initiative to slip his small hand into Zhu Qing’s palm.
It was a tiny hand covered in greasy fingerprints from fries and burger sauce... sparkling and bright.
Zhu Qing’s arm instantly stiffened but, in the end, she didn’t pull away.
Today, Fangfang was the boss. He called the shots.
The moment they stepped inside the house, Zhu Qing dashed to the bathroom and turned on the faucet to wash her hands.
Fangfang collapsed onto the sofa, imitating his dance teacher, rubbing his little arms and legs to relax his muscles with practiced ease.
“Back already?” Aunt Ping peeked out from the kitchen, her apron dusted with flour, holding a rolling pin. “Where did the young master go to play?”
At that moment, Zhu Qing came out of the bathroom, still rubbing her hands and sniffing her palms with lingering doubt.
Sheng Fang suddenly pounced, tiptoeing to cover her mouth.
But he was caught off guard and lifted up instead.
“No talking!”
The little kid even threatened her, pressing close with a fierce, adorable stare, trying to intimidate her with his eyes.
He pressed his forehead firmly against his niece’s. In Fangfang’s mind, he looked like a terrifying big boss.
But to Zhu Qing, he was just a chubby little bundle making strange noises, like a cartoon character.
“Too cute,” she said, cupping Fangfang’s chubby cheeks, squeezing and pinching them.
The young master was momentarily distracted, then quickly straightened up, putting his hands on his hips. “Cut it out with that!”
…
The deeper they delved into this case, the more tangled and mysterious it became.
Early Saturday morning, the detectives of Major Crime Unit B didn’t even return to the station to check in; they immediately split into several teams to investigate.
It wasn’t until evening that everyone gathered back in the conference room, sitting in a circle to continue sorting through the complex web of clues.
Zhu Qing stood in front of the whiteboard, tapping her finger on the list of the Lin family’s servants.
“All the servants have been replaced at least once. Even Wu Ma, who had cared for Lin Tingchao since childhood, had gone back to her hometown for two years to take care of her grandson,” she said, drawing a red line under the words “two years.”
Zeng Yongshan flipped through her notebook and added, “What’s even stranger is that professional dancers usually change backstage in a flash, but she always locks the door. And this habit only started in recent years.”
“Could it be because of scars left by the surgery?” Xu Jiale said. “My cousin was scalded by boiling water as a child and got a scar on her thigh. After that, she never wanted to wear skirts again.”
“What if it’s actually the opposite?” Zeng Yongshan looked up.
“Officially, the surgery was done, but there are no scars,” Zhu Qing said. “That’s why she’s afraid to let anyone see.”
The room was filled with the intermittent sound of suction.
Mo Zhenbang fumbled through several photos for comparison, his brow furrowing deeper with each glance. Judging from the pictures alone, Lin Tingchao from three and a half years ago and the woman three years later looked almost identical.
Of course, Mo Zhenbang also noticed there were too many suspicious points about Lin Tingchao, but these doubts couldn’t withstand careful scrutiny or explanation.
However, reality is not a magic show—“transformations” require solid evidence. Relying solely on intuition when handling cases is a grave mistake; he had learned that lesson the hard way many times in his youth.
“But the facts are right in front of us,” Zhu Qing insisted, “If the severed toe doesn’t belong to Kuang Xiaoyan, then there’s only one other possibility.”
“The toe amputation report indicates that based on the calcification of the toe bones, the individual is between twenty-two and twenty-five years old. Kuang Xiaoyan was twenty when she disappeared and is now twenty-three… while Lin Tingchao is twenty-four, which fits perfectly.”
“The forensics team is working overtime on the ear cartilage comparison. The results will be ready by noon tomorrow. Plastic surgery can change one’s appearance, but the structure of the ear cartilage, like fingerprints, cannot be forged.”
“Another strange thing is that this so-called ‘dancer’ hasn’t participated in any professional competitions in the past three years. Her greatest achievement was teaching kids to dance the ‘Four Little Swans’—can that really be called genius?”
“I’ve emailed the Julian Dance Academy in Manchester, hoping they can provide Lin Tingchao’s transcripts and performance videos, but it’s likely they’ll refuse due to privacy policies.”
As Mo Zhenbang said, these are all just guesses and assumptions without concrete evidence.
Yet even so, the police can’t afford to sit idly by.
“No matter what, there is evidence that Kuang Xiaoyan infiltrated the school back then. The cleaning lady saw her wearing the school uniform and even trying to sneak into Lin Tingchao’s dormitory.”
“That basement must be hiding something,” Uncle Li flipped through a supplementary statement. “This is a new statement that Zeng Yongshan and I obtained. The Lin family’s servants said that the mistress is a neat freak, obsessed with cleanliness to an extreme degree. But over all these years, they never once cleaned the basement.”
Liang Qikai placed a thick stack of documents on the table. “The Lin family’s water and electricity bills have always been stable, except for a spike from after Lin Tingchao’s bone marrow surgery until she went abroad.”
“Lin Tingchao’s identity is suspicious, her behavior is abnormal, and there’s also the cleaning lady’s related evidence,” Zhu Qing said. “Combined with Kuang Xiaoyan’s contact with her before she disappeared, we have reason to suspect the basement may be hiding crucial evidence.”
Voices of debate echoed through the meeting room.
Some speculated that Kuang Xiaoyan was being held captive in the basement, while others were certain that the real prisoner was the true heiress of a wealthy family.
“Could it be—long-term confinement?”
“Or maybe there’s nothing at all.”
“And then Inspector Weng will just give us a thorough scolding…”
Mo Zhenbang shot them a sideways glance. “What are you all afraid of? In the end, I’m the one who takes the blame, aren’t I?”
“Sir Mo!” Xu Jiale rushed back, leaning against the meeting room door, gasping for breath. “A neighbor said they might have heard a woman crying from the Lin family’s basement late at night.”
The officers’ eyes lit up instantly, all turning to look at Sir Mo.
“First, apply for a search warrant,” Mo Zhenbang decided firmly.
At that moment, a phone rang, breaking the tense atmosphere.
“Zhu Qing, answer the phone,” Zeng Yongshan reminded.
“It’s not mine.”
The ringtone went on for a long time before Mo Zhenbang slowly pulled the phone from his pocket.
He pretended to stay calm, but the corner of his mouth betrayed a smug smile.
He was thrilled to have new gear in hand.
What no one else could possibly know was—
In the family report for Mo Sir’s phone purchase application, the name “Zhu Qing” was mentioned repeatedly.
How could a superior be outdone by a subordinate?
That alone was reason enough!
……
Applying for a search warrant wasn’t a quick process. By the time all the approvals came through, it was already early the next morning.
It was Sunday.
When Zhu Qing received the notification at dawn, she hadn’t even had breakfast. She grabbed a piece of toast, took a bite, and rushed out the door.
In the bedroom, Fangfang was still lost in dreamland, his chubby little face rising and falling gently with each breath.
It wasn’t until after eight o’clock that a fluffy little head poked out from under the covers.
“Auntie Ping, when are we leaving?” The childish voice broke the morning’s quiet.
“When does the young master want to leave?”
Without hesitation, Fangfang declared, “Right now!”
This weekend, the little master surprisingly didn’t complain about being bored.
Because Auntie Ping was taking him to the nursing home.
Besides visiting her own elder sister, Fangfang was also going to help Zhu Qing visit her mother!
One could imagine that Zhu Qing was probably rushing between crime scenes at that very moment.
Meanwhile, Fangfang obediently let Auntie Ping hold his hand as they strolled leisurely through the morning streets.
“Young master, this is the place,” Auntie Ping stopped in front of a fruit stall at the end of the street. “The fruit here is fresh and cheap.”
Elderly folks were always willing to walk an extra twenty minutes just to save a few bucks per pound on apples.
Fangfang looked down at his little sneakers, feeling a bit sorry for his feet, but both Auntie Ping and Zhu Qing had taught him—not to be wasteful.
The little tycoon from Hong Kong stood up straight.
That’s right, thrift is a virtue!
Sheng Fang carried a small basket and stood on tiptoe, picking through rows of fruit on the shelves.
The little boy didn’t know what his elder sister liked to eat, so he just chose according to his own taste.
The strawberries had to be the reddest and plumpest, the grapes sparkling and fresh. Mangoes were off the list—Fangfang was allergic, and maybe the eldest sister was too.
The friendly fruit shop owner helped arrange a beautiful fruit basket. Fangfang tested its weight; it was so heavy she couldn’t carry it properly. Grabbing one corner of the basket, she followed Aunt Ping like a little train in kindergarten, chugging along behind her.
The corridors of the convalescent home were always filled with the sharp scent of disinfectant.
Aunt Ping skillfully helped Sheng Peirong turn over and clean herself, while little Fangfang earnestly pitched in as well.
“Young master, stop poking Miss Sheng’s arm like that,” Aunt Ping chuckled, “She’ll feel uncomfortable.”
“If you’re uncomfortable, you have to tell me, okay?” Fangfang leaned close to the bedside, speaking with the seriousness only a child could muster. Then, as if answering her own words, she added, “But it’s okay, you can’t talk now. When you wake up, you can tell me then.”
The innocent voice sounded especially clear in the quiet hospital room.
Aunt Ping quietly turned her face away, her eyes unknowingly growing red.
Dean Luo paused as he walked by, unable to help but stop and watch.
In the past, this room was always silent, with only Miss Sheng Peirong keeping vigil alone. But now, it was full of life. He recalled when processing Sheng Peirong’s overseas treatment paperwork, no matter how complicated the documents, Zhu Qing always managed to prepare everything within twenty-four hours. He once saw her rushing in and out, clearly overwhelmed, yet still cooperating fully with the hospital’s requests.
And now, this elderly woman and this little child were quietly sharing the burden of care for the busy figure they all longed for.
So many people were hoping, waiting for the moment the patient would open her eyes...
She must get better.
……
At 8:40 a.m., three police cars pulled up in front of the Lin family villa.
Spring was in the air.
The car doors opened one after another as officers from the Serious Crimes Unit and the Forensic Department quickly got out and lined up. At the rear was Doctor Cheng from the Medical Examiner’s Office—a special arrangement by Mo Zhenbang, considering the possibility of biological evidence in the basement.
“This is the search warrant,” Mo Zhenbang said, handing the document to Mr. Lin who opened the door. His voice was low and authoritative. “We suspect your family is connected to the disappearance of Kuang Xiaoyan. Please cooperate with the investigation.”
Lin Weizong, still in his bathrobe, turned his head toward his wife.
Mai Shuxian spoke first, turning to ask their daughter standing on the stairs, “Who is Kuang Xiaoyan?”
“She’s the girl who used to follow Lin Tingchao around,” Lin Weizong said, resting a hand on his wife’s shoulder, his brow furrowed. “What happened to her?”
Mo Zhenbang didn’t answer. With a single gesture, the officers immediately fanned out to begin their search.
Lin Tingchao stood at the corner of the spiral staircase, her fingertips gripping the railing so tightly her knuckles turned white.
The police had begun their work, their voices echoing as they questioned every corner of the villa.
Liang Qikai and Little Sun stood before Lin Weizong, flipping open their notebooks to record statements.
“Mr. Lin, during Miss Lin’s time studying abroad, did you or your wife visit her a few times?”
“When was this sound system installed?”
Meanwhile, Zeng Yongshan sat opposite Mrs. Lin, their conversation quietly unfolding.
“Madam Lin, has Miss Lin’s old ankle injury fully healed?”
“Could we see some photos of her as a child?”
Typical police tactics—asking unrelated questions to lower the other party’s guard.
The pen scratched softly across the paper as Zhu Qing’s gaze fixed on the faces of Lin Tingchao’s parents, hesitating for a moment.
“Madam?” Lin Tingchao’s slender hand lifted gently in front of her.
“Miss Lin,” Zhu Qing withdrew her eyes and suddenly asked, “What medication is required after a bone marrow transplant?”
The polite curve at the corner of Lin Tingchao’s mouth faltered. “What?”
Zhu Qing repeated the question deliberately, locking eyes with her.
Lin Tingchao raised a hand to tuck stray hair behind her ear, her eyes briefly flickering with unease.
“They’re all brought by the nurses—pills of all colors. I didn’t pay much attention.”
The eye contact seemed to unsettle her. After a moment, Lin Tingchao looked away.
The group had already reached the basement door.
Lin Weizong and Mai Shuxian maintained calm expressions, but Lin Tingchao’s fingertips trembled almost imperceptibly before she clasped her hands, pretending nothing was amiss.
“What do you think’s down there?” Zeng Yongshan whispered.
“Kuang Xiaoyan?” Liang Qikai replied in a low voice. “Or maybe nothing at all… The Lin family knows the police are investigating this case. If Kuang Xiaoyan was imprisoned here, she’s probably been moved long ago.”
Step by step, the police closed in on the basement.
Zhu Qing’s eyes flicked back and forth between Lin Tingchao and her parents.
If the real Lin Tingchao had truly disappeared, could these elite parents be completely unaware?
The police had already checked Kuang Xiaoyan’s background: she dropped out of school at fifteen, had lived in a cage house since childhood, yet suddenly appeared at a prestigious school at sixteen, wearing a custom uniform.
A poor girl who could barely afford a meal—where did she get the money for that uniform? How did she manage to get into such a school?
And later, working at a cheap clothing store, what gave her the courage to dream of “becoming a swan”?
Most importantly—plastic surgery.
Immigration records showed Kuang Xiaoyan never left the territory, yet she somehow used Lin Tingchao’s passport to undergo cross-border cosmetic surgery? She barely spoke English, but after landing, she found the clinic, perfectly replicating someone else’s face?
This interconnected scheme was impossible for a girl from a cage house to pull off alone.
A sharp click interrupted all of Zhu Qing’s thoughts—the lock on the door popped open.
The basement door was pushed open.
The stairs were narrow, each wooden step creaking under weight.
The basement was surprisingly empty, filled with the musty smell of mold.
It made sense—anyone foolish enough to leave the scene uncleaned while under police surveillance was careless.
But if someone had truly been imprisoned here for a long time, no matter how clever the criminal, traces would remain.
Lin Weizong switched on the light and said, “I don’t know why you’re searching my home, but this basement…”
He pointed to the huge floor-to-ceiling mirror.
That massive wall mirror reflected every shadow, leaving no darkness unexposed.
“This used to be my daughter’s dance studio,” he explained. “It’s been unused for a while. Officer, you’re here because—”
“Turn off the lights,” Cheng Xinglang cut him off.
The lights went out.
Zhu Qing’s gaze locked tightly onto Cheng Xinglang’s direction.
In the darkness, the sound of reagent being sprayed was unusually clear.
Lin Weizong and Mai Shuxian shook their heads helplessly.
“We haven’t seen that girl in many years.”
“How could her disappearance have anything to do with us?”
Yet, as they protested, a bluish-green fluorescence slowly appeared on the walls and floor—
Handprints from a struggle, drag marks, even dried blood crusted in the cracks of the floorboards.
Everyone held their breath in disbelief.
Lin Weizong and Mai Shuxian both took a step back, their slippers scraping heavily against the floor.
Zeng Yongshan suddenly covered her mouth with her hand.
The severed toe report Doctor Cheng handed to the Homicide Division clearly stated that at the moment the girl’s toe was cut off, she was still alive.
But now, seeing these bloodstains…
Zeng Yongshan dared not think any further.
Could this have been her final struggle?
“What… is this?” Mai Shuxian tugged at her husband’s sleeve.
“Where is she?”
“We, we don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The couple’s act was painfully unconvincing.
Lin Weizong’s shifting eyes, Mai Shuxian’s unnatural twitching lips—every subtle expression betrayed them silently.
Lin Tingchao remained frozen on the wooden staircase.
Her feet didn’t move an inch, but the faint trembling made the steps emit mournful creaks—one after another—like sighs.
“Can we still extract DNA?” Zhu Qing’s voice was unusually clear in the darkness.
“We’ll try,” Doctor Cheng replied.
He crouched down, carefully collecting samples with a cotton swab.
His gaze was terrifyingly focused, as if he could see through the fluorescent traces and witness the horror of that day.
“Sir,” Little Sun suddenly called out.
The screws on the ventilation duct had been tampered with. Inside the dismantled duct, a stack of papers fell, accompanied by the sharp scent of blood.
Mai Shuxian grabbed her husband’s collar.
The pale-faced figure on the stairs—Lin Tingchao—rushed down—or rather, it was Kuang Xiaoyan.
Zhu Qing finally understood: this wasn’t a sudden impersonation.
It was a meticulously planned deception spanning seven years.
Not Kuang Xiaoyan stealing Lin Tingchao’s identity and fooling her parents…
But Lin Weizong and Mai Shuxian had found her—
A girl bearing an uncanny resemblance to their daughter.
They hired top teachers for dance lessons, sent her abroad for cosmetic surgery, and polished every detail…
They spent seven whole years crafting a flawless substitute.
A perfect illusion.
But what happened seven years ago?
What drove these parents to take such a perilous, irreversible path?
The papers that fell from the ventilation duct were not Lin Tingchao’s diary.
They were questions.
Each page was smeared with dark brown bloodstains, filled with twisted handwriting—
“Why?”
“I am the real Tingchao.”
“You know it!”
A blood-painted accusation.
That swan who once blossomed on the stage never quite understood why she was betrayed by those closest to her.
The police were just as puzzled.
They simply couldn’t make sense of Lin Weizong and Mai Shuxian’s motives by any ordinary logic.
“Bring them all in,” Mo Zhenbang sighed heavily. “Interrogate them thoroughly.”
……
Little Fangfang really was a handful for Aunt Ping.
She said that lately, the weather had cooled down, there was no traffic jam during the day, no long queues, and the minibus stop was conveniently close… Taking the minibus home was the best option.
At first, the young master shook his head like a rattle, but in the end, he was coaxed and tricked into getting on the bus.
Unlike a taxi, the minibus wouldn’t stop right at their doorstep. When they got off, they walked back—and conveniently passed by the Yaumatei Police Station.
As they passed the police station’s main gate, Fangfang deliberately turned his head the other way, staring straight ahead as he hurried past.
There was no way he was going inside to bring soup and check on Qingzi.
What if, by accident, his contact tried to drag him into ballet again? Police orders were clear—Officer Fang must obey!
“I’m laying low these days,” Sheng Fang said with a weary tone.
“Young master! Look—” Aunt Ping suddenly tugged at his sleeve.
Fangfang followed her finger and immediately dashed behind a big tree to hide.
Just as he feared, Qingzi was coming out of the station with his colleagues!
“Who left this?”
“Don’t know, it was just placed here.”
Uncle Li carefully weighed the package and signaled the young officers to step back before unwrapping the paper box himself.
Inside was something light—a single anonymous letter.
The printed characters were neat and orderly, and it read:
Spring Breath
Qing
Leaning in for a closer look, Fangfang saw the first line clearly written—
To the one watching the swan.
Peeking from afar, Fangfang couldn’t help but stick out his little head, holding his breath to watch.
Zaizai’s brow furrowed in waves.
No, sneaky and secretive—why were the police acting like thieves?
“I told you, we shouldn’t have taken the minibus,” he muttered quietly.
“Young master, taxis are so expensive every day!” Aunt Ping replied.
“It’s not like we don’t have money…”
“That’s not the point, it’s just not worth it, little treasure.”
The old and the young bent over, hiding behind the big tree, just like they were in a crime drama.
Suddenly, Fangfang’s eyes lit up. “Aunt Ping, you should learn to ride a motorcycle!”
“Young master, don’t joke about that,” Aunt Ping said awkwardly. “At my age, it’s not really appropriate, is it?”
“Why think like that?” Baby Fangfang patted her shoulder. “In martial arts movies, people your age can still fly.”
