Fangfang used to think that Juan was the most rigid kid in the entire kindergarten.
Now she knows why—it’s because he was taught by Teacher Ji!
The little one’s lips were nearly worn out from arguing, stomping her feet in frustration, on the verge of exploding. Her tiny face flushed red as she turned between Doctor Cheng and Teacher Ji, ready to burst—
Finally, Cheng Xinglang leisurely pulled out his credentials from his pocket.
Unlike Qing Zai’s police badge, the dark blue credential case gleamed under the sunlight, the embossed seal of the "Department of Health Forensic Division" shining beneath the photo.
After carefully verifying it, Teacher Ji relented, "Ah, so you’re Miss Zhu’s colleague."
The young master of the Sheng family puffed up proudly in front of Doctor Cheng, hands on hips. "Why didn’t you show this earlier?!"
The corner of Cheng Xinglang’s mouth twitched imperceptibly before flattening again.
If he’d shown it sooner, he wouldn’t have gotten to see the little rascal throw a tantrum.
Just then, Aunt Ping arrived in a hurry, panting as she explained the situation to Teacher Ji.
Fangfang redirected her fury. "You’re late!"
"Sorry," Teacher Ji sighed. "It’s mainly the kindergarten’s rules..."
"Understood." Doctor Cheng effortlessly hoisted Fangfang onto the back of his motorcycle, eyeing her puffed-up cheeks. "Are you a balloon?"
The little one didn’t grasp the sarcasm, tilting her head in confusion—until a tiny helmet plopped onto her.
Cheng Xinglang was thorough, swiftly fastening the straps and reassuring Aunt Ping that he’d return the kid safely after a quick ride. With a click, he snapped the visor shut.
The engine roared to life, instantly electrifying the kindergarten gates. Amidst the awestruck gasps of the other children, Fangfang’s chest swelled with pride, her grin stretching ear to ear.
Sunset, a motorcycle, a handsome guy with a mini-me—
"Wow! So cool!"
Fangfang clung to Doctor Cheng’s back, stubby legs splayed in her best attempt at a tough-guy pose. A quiet "Sit properly" from upfront instantly turned her into an obedient angel—though her bubbly chatter never stopped the whole way.
Aunt Ping watched the motorcycle disappear, unable to suppress a smile.
Doctor Cheng knew exactly how to charm kids, even deliberately looping around the kindergarten a few extra times. By the time traffic nearly stalled and every child was pressed against the fence, Fangfang was glowing with satisfaction.
The bike weaved through streets and alleys.
Daytime rides were nothing like nighttime—the sunset painted everything gold, the scenery crisp and clear. They even passed a traffic officer on patrol. Fangfang eagerly flipped up her visor and chirped, "Officer, still on duty?"
The officer on the motorcycle nearly did a double-take.
Did she just hear a tiny colleague?
Upon closer look—it was a mini passenger.
In Hong Kong at the time, there were no strict age limits for kids riding motorcycles. The officer glanced at the bike—moving at a gentle pace, taking turns with exaggerated care, clearly just for fun. Short distance, helmet on, sticking to side streets. She chuckled and waved them on, returning to her parking tickets.
For Sheng Fang, the best part was cutting through the alleys.
It felt like a scene from a cop movie—Cheng Xinglang’s driving skills were impeccable as he weaved through the winding alleyways. Fangfang clung tightly to Doctor Cheng’s waist, her eyes sparkling with excitement. The scenery blurred past in her peripheral vision, and she had no idea where they were anymore.
Teacher Ji had always said that children should be extra cautious in unfamiliar places. But Fangfang had completely forgotten the "Anti-Kidnapping Safety Lesson" she’d attended that afternoon at kindergarten.
A motorcycle! This was a real motorcycle!
Who had time to think about boring lessons now?
...
Lawyer Li from Zhaoheng Law Firm provided the police with a long-sealed file, revealing the whereabouts of Lin Tingchao’s birth mother, Feng Ningyun. For over twenty years, she had lived under an alias in a psychiatric rehabilitation center.
This had all been arranged by Old Mr. Feng. Back then, he had discreetly placed Feng Ningyun in this secluded specialized sanatorium. All admission procedures were handled with extreme confidentiality—even the medical staff had no idea of her true identity.
While Old Mr. Feng was alive, he never wanted his daughter to become gossip fodder...
If not for the necessity of cooperating with the police investigation, this secret would have remained buried forever.
Inside the file was a photograph.
In the old photo, Feng Ningyun was a radiant dancer on stage. What she had become afterward, no one knew. Following the old man’s arrangements, no one ever disturbed her again...
This was a hereditary mental illness—every woman in the family seemed doomed to the same nightmare.
The records showed that Lin Tingchao’s maternal grandmother had suddenly suffered a mental breakdown at twenty-five, hanging herself on a rainy night. Her mother, once an elegant swan on stage, had gradually unraveled after giving birth to Lin Tingchao. And now, it was Lin Tingchao’s turn. Except this time, she didn’t even get sent to a sanatorium—she had vanished completely.
Lin Tingchao’s whereabouts remained unknown. Any clue related to her could be the key to uncovering the truth.
After a long wait, the transfer order was finally approved. Now, Zhu Qing stood at the entrance of the Mingde Psychiatric Rehabilitation Center’s Sai Kung Specialized Sanatorium, gazing up at the pale-gray building.
It felt like a place cut off from the world.
Contrary to Zhu Qing’s expectations, stepping past the iron gates revealed no chilling dampness, no pungent smell of disinfectant, no deranged cries...
Instead, it was peaceful and warm. Sunlight spilled across the lawn, where a few patients in hospital gowns strolled leisurely, utterly detached from the outside world.
Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting patches of light along the corridor.
Doctor Cheng signed the visitor log, took the visitor pass, and handed it to Zhu Qing.
This was a place Cheng Xinglang had visited countless times before.
Always alone, standing outside the iron gates, staring at the neatly arranged buildings and meticulously trimmed lawn. Sometimes he would stay there for hours, until a guard politely asked him to leave.
The head nurse, a woman in her forties with an immaculate bun, frowned slightly after hearing their purpose.
“A lady who danced ballet?” She shook her head. “We don’t have any patients like that here. There is one who used to perform in stage plays—could that be the person you’re looking for?”
"She's surnamed Pan," Zhu Qing added.
"Pan Meng from Bed 9?" The nurse paused while flipping through the files and glanced toward the lawn outside the window. "She should be in the activity area. At this time, she usually sunbathes there."
She turned to a younger nurse beside her and said, "Little Dong, take them over."
Little Dong nodded, retrieved a set of keys from a drawer, and led them down the hallway.
At the end was a locked glass door. She muttered, "One moment," and unlocked it with the keys.
"The lawn is locked too?" Zhu Qing couldn’t help but ask.
"It has to be. There was an incident over a decade ago—a patient escaped and caused a fatality. After that… see those walls over there? They were raised higher than Stanley Prison’s. No chance of climbing over now." Little Dong lowered her voice. "It was that case in the papers—random killings, ended when the perpetrator was hit by a car…"
Zhu Qing instinctively looked at Cheng Xinglang.
Though it was already early November, the sunlight was surprisingly warm, softly illuminating the sharp contours of his profile.
"It wasn’t random," Cheng Xinglang murmured. "The pattern just hasn’t been found yet."
The homeless man with a history of mental illness had committed multiple murders—cases Cheng Xinglang had revisited repeatedly.
He had compared every victim’s family background, occupation, address, even their daily routines.
He was certain it wasn’t coincidence. But what was the connection?
Nurse Dong continued guiding them across the lawn, explaining as they walked.
"Sai Kung Specialist Sanatorium is completely different from the main hospital. Besides severe cases, we also house certain… special offenders here."
"Crimes committed by the mentally ill—well, it’s not the same as when normal people do it." Her tone was loaded, though she didn’t elaborate further. Her expression said enough: these people seemed to hold get-out-of-jail-free cards.
"Strange, she was just here a moment ago…" The nurse stood at the edge of the lawn, squinting against the sunlight.
Suddenly, a figure staggered toward them.
Cheng Xinglang reacted instantly, stepping protectively in front of Zhu Qing and catching the man’s arm just as he was about to fall.
The middle-aged man lifted his head, beaming with childlike innocence. "Thank you, big brother!"
His voice was rough, but his tone was light and cheerful. Barefoot, he skipped away, the hem of his hospital gown fluttering in the wind, covered in grass stains.
"He…" Zhu Qing stared after him.
"He asks us to call him Dongdong. Schizophrenia," the nurse said matter-of-factly. "Rumor has it he spent his childhood taking care of five younger siblings—never got to be a child himself. Now? He chases after people calling them ‘big brother’ or ‘big sister,’ living like a three-year-old."
In the middle of the lawn, Dongdong crouched, engrossed in conversation with a trail of ants.
He carefully lay flat, cupped a lost ant in his palm, and gently returned it to the tiny hole he’d dug himself. After completing the task, he clapped his hands in satisfaction.
"What happened to his siblings?"
The nurse gave a wry smile. "Not a single one has visited. From the day he was officially admitted, his family never came back."
Suddenly, Cheng Xinglang stopped in his tracks.
Following his gaze, Zhu Qing noticed a bulky figure sitting on a bench by the lake.
"That's Pan Meng," the nurse said, also looking toward the bench. "How did she end up there? I didn’t even notice. You police officers really have sharp eyes."
The figure by the lake was Lin Tingchao’s birth mother, now going by the name Pan Meng—formerly Feng Ningyun.
Zhu Qing asked, "Who does she usually spend time with?"
"She rarely speaks. I’ve never seen her interact with anyone. She just sits alone all day, lost in thought."
"You mentioned she used to dance? I’ve worked here for two years and have never seen her dance. Maybe dancing isn’t a happy memory for her. Looking at her now, it’s hard to imagine she was once a ballerina."
Zhu Qing and Cheng Xinglang slowly approached her.
The former ballet dancer, who once spun gracefully on stage, no longer had a slender waist or poised toes. Her elegant neckline had swollen, leaving no trace of her past grace—except for the faint sparkle in her downcast eyes when she glanced up.
"Do you remember your daughter?" Zhu Qing asked softly, standing a step away.
The woman continued staring into the distance, seemingly deaf to the question, her gaze vacant.
Just as Zhu Qing thought she wouldn’t respond, a muffled whisper came.
"She…" She turned to Zhu Qing with a smile, pressing a finger to her lips in a hushing gesture, then murmured, "She won’t suffer anymore."
With that, she ignored Zhu Qing, leaning back against the bench and humming softly.
"Moonlight shines on the earth… Little shrimp, sleep tight in your bed."
The silent swan observer—the witness—could it be her?
Did she know Lin Tingchao had been killed, hence her words, "won’t suffer anymore"?
They returned to the nurse’s station, where the head nurse checked the records and confirmed, "For twenty-two years and six months, this lady has never left Mingde Mental Rehabilitation Center—not even for a day."
"Early on, Ms. Pan’s father and husband would visit her together."
"After her father passed, no one came anymore. Her husband pays the fees annually."
"Her daughter? To protect the child, the family probably never mentioned her mother was here…"
"Madam, you shouldn’t take patients’ words too seriously. They’re ill—their speech is often incoherent, not worth dwelling on."
The lead in Lin Tingchao’s case had suddenly gone cold.
But Doctor Cheng had another purpose for this visit.
His gaze slowly swept across the tranquil lake, the pristine corridors, and the closed ward doors… measuring every corner of Sai Kung Specialist Nursing Home with his eyes. Occasionally, Cheng Xinglang would pause, as if confirming something.
Zhu Qing stood nearby, hands tucked in her trench coat pockets, unusually patient.
Because she knew what this old case meant to Doctor Cheng.
It was impossible to tell how much time had passed before Cheng Xinglang finally withdrew his gaze. "Let's go," he said.
"Let's go," Zhu Qing nodded in agreement.
Their figures gradually faded into the distance.
Meanwhile, Lin Tingchao's mother remained on the bench, softly humming an ancient lullaby.
"Moonlight shines on the earth... Little shrimp, sleep tight in your bed..."
...
The Serious Crimes Team B never ceased their pursuit of the truth, scrutinizing every lead repeatedly.
By the time Zhu Qing hurried back to the police station, her colleagues had already spread out all the documents in the conference room.
Case files lay open, and photos of Rong Zimei and her mother were pinned to the whiteboard.
"Rong Zimei's mother, Chen Yulan, used to work as a nurse at Mary Hospital. Her husband was a surgeon. She originally worked in obstetrics, but twenty-five years ago, right after her daughter was born, the hospital underwent restructuring, and the workload surged. She was forced to transfer to a less demanding position."
"Even after the transfer, her husband remained dissatisfied. He wanted a compliant 'doctor's wife,' not a 'nurse wife' constantly pulling night shifts. According to old colleagues at Mary Hospital, her husband gave her an ultimatum—either quit or divorce. Everyone assumed she would choose the former, but unexpectedly..."
"Chen Yulan chose divorce and raised her daughter alone. But life as a single mother was hard. Her health deteriorated, and she eventually lost her job, struggling to make ends meet while raising her daughter... As for Rong Zimei, she grew up without a stable income, taking odd jobs here and there. Later, she found work at a supermarket but was fired after offending the manager... The mother and daughter lived hand-to-mouth."
Given Chen Yulan's nursing background, the police had initially suspected her involvement in the precise amputation of the severed toe. But the medical records now on the table extinguished that possibility.
"She suffered a stroke a month ago," Sir Liang's pen tapped the date on the records. "Lin Tingchao's toe was severed after her stroke. At that point, she couldn’t even hold a spoon—how could she wield a scalpel?"
"What about her ex-husband? The records show he was a surgeon at Mary Hospital, right?"
"He immigrated years ago and hasn’t returned to the country in over a decade."
"Then what about Rong Zimei?"
"A child raised in a hospital might be familiar with medical tools, but directly amputating a toe? That’s a stretch."
The discussion grew heated.
What role did Rong Zimei play in this case?
"Kuang Xiaoyan was jealous of Lin Tingchao—but what about Rong Zimei?"
"Could it be, as Kuang Xiaoyan suggested, that she resented the imposter? If she had known all along that Kuang Xiaoyan had stolen Lin Tingchao’s identity, maybe she orchestrated all this to expose the fraud?"
"Or maybe she accidentally encountered the real Lin Tingchao and realized that harming her and alerting the police was the only way to force a deeper investigation—the only way to tear off Kuang Xiaoyan’s mask."
"But Rong Zimei reported the case to the Changsha Bay Police Station six months ago. If this was a setup, did it start that early? By her? Doesn’t seem likely."
"Don’t underestimate the quiet ones. The most unassuming people often deliver the deadliest blows."
The debate echoed through the conference room.
Everyone’s mood was fraught with anxiety. They knew deep down that there must still be a crucial clue they had overlooked—one that, once found, would piece together all the scattered fragments of the case.
But where exactly was the breakthrough?
Just then, Lin Weizong and his wife arrived at the serious crimes division office accompanied by their lawyer to complete bail procedures.
"Approved for bail due to health reasons, but all travel documents must be surrendered, and regular check-ins with the police station are required."
After signing the documents, Lin Weizong stood before Mo Zhenbang, his expression a mix of grief and indignation.
"You claim she’s not our daughter? That’s absurd! She looks exactly like Tingchao—her mannerisms, even the way she talks and acts spoiled around us—nothing’s changed. How could she possibly be an imposter?"
"Officer, have you even investigated this properly?"
"Fine, let’s say she really isn’t our daughter. Then where is our real daughter? You police raise questions but offer no solutions—this is beyond ridiculous. We demand answers, and soon."
"Please, don’t panic. The police are still investigating," Mai Shuxian said, clutching her husband’s arm tightly. "It’s our fault for being too busy and neglecting Tingchao. After her surgery, the doctor warned that too many people at home could cause infection, so we only kept Aunt Wu as the maid… Who knew even Aunt Wu would leave temporarily to care for her grandson? You say Tingchao was imprisoned in the basement? We had no idea."
"That poor child… Just thinking about what she must have endured… It’s heartbreaking. Back then, she had just undergone a bone marrow transplant and was still recovering—she needed rest above all else. Why would anyone treat Tingchao this way?"
Their flimsy excuses didn’t even align with the most basic timeline.
After the real Lin Tingchao’s surgery, Kuang Xiaoyan should have gone abroad first for cosmetic procedures before returning to the Lin family. By the time she was tormenting Tingchao in the basement, her face would still have been wrapped in thick bandages…
Mo Zhenbang watched the couple’s performance coldly, only letting out a deep breath after they left.
Turning to his team, he said gravely, "Keep searching for evidence. They won’t evade justice forever."
...
During breakfast that morning, little Fangfang overheard Qing Zai mention that the owner of the dance center had been arrested.
This meant Fangfang’s uncle—Sir Liang—would no longer be assigned undercover duty at the ballet studio.
Time to visit the Yau Ma Tei Police Station!
After days of bargaining, his extracurricular classes were reduced to just two sessions a week. At 7 p.m., right after his lesson, Fangfang rushed to the station, unable to wait any longer.
Aunt Ping chased after the little master, panting.
Since she started babysitting him, her cardio endurance had undoubtedly improved.
Fangfang intercepted his niece just as she got off work: "Take me to buy the stargazing guide!"
Little Sheng Fang insisted the guide had glow-in-the-dark illustrations—he’d seen his teacher use one during astronomy class.
Pouting, his eyes glistening with faux distress, he whined, "You haven’t taken me out in days. If you won’t even buy me the stargazing guide, I’ll—"
"Tell the teacher?" Zhu Qing teased.
"I’ll call John!"
Fangfang lifted his little chin.
He was no silly child—Teacher Ji might not be able to rein in Qing Zai, but her superior certainly could.
"Where can we buy it?"
By the time he finished speaking, they had already reached the car.
Fangfang blinked, his eyes shining even brighter in the night. He always knew his niece doted on him the most.
He winked at Aunt Ping and waved, signaling for her to head back.
Then he climbed into the back seat: "To the Space Museum gift shop, let's go!"
Sheng Fang had just finished his astronomy class, and his little head was brimming with a thousand stories about the stars. Sitting in the back, he counted streetlights while sharing his newly learned knowledge with Qing Zai.
"The North Star isn’t actually a single star… it’s made up of three stars!"
"Qing Zai, Qing Zai, have you heard the story of Altair and Vega? Legend has it that a long, long time ago—"
The child’s voice was soft and sweet, like sticky rice candy. As Fangfang put it, it was like a "massage" for a tired brain.
Zhu Qing responded half-heartedly to the little one’s chatter, following the traffic flow straight through the intersection.
Only after passing the traffic light did she realize she was supposed to have turned right onto Nathan Road. "I think I took a wrong turn."
Normally, Qing Zai taking a wrong turn wouldn’t bother the little young master—he’d just treat it as a scenic detour.
But as the car slowly drove along Kwun Tong Road, his niece suddenly hit the brakes.
The little one curiously pressed his face against the window. "Where is this?"
Zhu Qing’s gaze settled on the dark alley entrance.
"I was thinking…"
"About how the fake 'Lin Tingchao' reacted when he saw the photo of the severed toe."
In her confession, Kuang Xiaoyan claimed she was an actress, devoting her life to playing one grand role.
But that day—the terror in her eyes, the shock, the way her pupils constricted… was that all an act too?
"Why would Lin Tingchao’s severed toe… end up in Kwun Tong?" Zhu Qing stared into the alley. "Let’s take a look."
When the severed toe was mentioned, Sheng Fang didn’t even bat an eye.
But now, as Qing Zai led him into the narrow alley, his expression finally shifted.
"It stinks! Qing Zai, there’s no way I’m helping you dig through trash!"
The little officer was picky about his missions. When it came to dirty, exhausting work like this, he didn’t even need to think—he crossed his arms firmly over his chest.
No way. Absolutely not.
"Then wait in the car," Zhu Qing said. "Or should I have Aunt Ping pick you up?"
After a moment’s thought, Fangfang pinched his nose, his face scrunched in disgust, and followed her anyway.
This was a back alley in Kwun Tong. Days earlier, police had received a call reporting a severed toe found in the garbage.
They were just passing by, but Zhu Qing couldn’t resist stepping into the alley. She knew full well that after extensive investigation, there’d be no surveillance footage—yet she still held onto a sliver of hope.
"Are you…?"
A kitchen helper from a nearby cha chaan teng peeked out.
The beautiful officer was hard to forget. "You’re that Madam, right?"
The helper, Jie, had been sneaking a cigarette in the alley when he discovered the toe days earlier.
"At first I thought it was pork bone, but then I realized it was a toe… scared the hell out of me. I had nightmares for days."
"Yeah, that was me! I was standing right here when your bespectacled colleague took my statement. Don’t you remember?"
"I remember now," Zhu Qing said. "You heard the garbage collector scream and went over to see what happened, cigarette still dangling from your mouth."
"Madam has a sharp memory!" Jie replied with a grin. "That’s right."
"Did you notice anything unusual at the time?"
Jie took a moment to recall the scene.
"That Aunt Zhong," Zhu Qing asked, "when does she usually come around?"
"Aunt Zhong? She probably won’t be coming back."
"Why not?"
"Madam, you just asked if there was anything strange. I thought of something. Before the toe was found, nothing seemed off, but after that… People say bad luck follows when you encounter something supernatural. Who’d have thought Aunt Zhong would hit the jackpot instead?"
"Hit the jackpot?" Zhu Qing pressed.
"They say Aunt Zhong had been collecting garbage on this street for years, but lately, she’s completely vanished."
"That kitchen helper, Qiang, from the restaurant has a soft heart. He used to save her a boxed meal every day, but she hasn’t come to pick it up lately."
Zhu Qing remembered Aunt Zhong mentioning how kind the kitchen helper was, always leaving her warm meals since she was getting old.
"We were just joking around," Jie said, rubbing the back of his head with a laugh. "Figured she must’ve gotten lucky—maybe living it up somewhere now."
Sheng Fang noticed the sudden shift in Qing Zai’s expression.
Pinching his nose, he muttered, "Can we go already…?"
Once they got in the car, Qing Zai’s fingers tapped lightly to the rhythm of the music playing on the radio.
"Case solved?" Sheng Fang asked.
It was clear Qing Zai was in a good mood.
His, however, was not.
Because Zhu Qing then said, "I just remembered—doesn’t the planetarium close at night?"
Young Master Sheng’s eyes widened.
No way. This was nothing short of a disaster.
The next morning, Zhu Qing placed Aunt Zhong’s witness statement back on the desk.
"That kitchen helper said she screamed like she’d seen a ghost, but when we arrived, she didn’t even look fazed," Xu Jiale muttered, biting the cap of his pen, brows furrowed. "Looking back, Aunt Zhong was way too calm. Then again, it makes sense—she only found dismembered tissue, not some bloody severed head, so we didn’t think too much of it at the time…"
The officers began piecing together the details of that day.
Back then, the Kwun Tong garbage station reeked of decay, and Aunt Zhong had kept chattering nonstop, like an overly dedicated extra in a scene.
"Disappeared out of nowhere after years of collecting garbage like clockwork… Could she have been paid to act, pretending to find the toe?"
"I remember—she even brought up the rumor about ‘swapping fates.’ Could Rong Zimei be the mastermind behind this?"
Mo Zhenbang tapped his fingers on the desk. "Find Aunt Zhong first."
But tracking her down wouldn’t be easy.
She’d made a living scavenging for years, with no fixed workplace. After combing through half of Kwun Tong, the police only managed to gather fragments of information from the locals.
"Aunt Zhong? She was here last month picking up cardboard. Lately… haven’t seen her around."
"She often complains about back pain. I’ve told her to see a doctor, but she insists hospital doctors are all frauds and that sticking plasters will fix it. Oh—Aunt Zhong seems to frequent that bone-setting clinic at the end of the street. The young man there is kind-hearted and gives her free plasters."
"She’s always digging through rotten vegetables at the market! Feng, the vendor next to me, can’t stand her—"
The police canvassed the Kwun Tong area, checking laundromats, secondhand clothing stalls, bone-setting clinics, and the market… At exactly 4 p.m., they finally cornered Aunt Zhong in the seafood section—though this time, she wasn’t scavenging for wilted greens. Instead, she stood by the fish stall, waiting for a live fish to gasp its last so she could buy it cheap for soup.
Under the interrogation room’s harsh lights, Aunt Zhong hunched inward, stealing nervous glances at the officers across the table. Her wrinkles deepened as she shook her head hesitantly.
"You know obstructing justice lands you in prison?" Uncle Li slammed the table. "Taking money for a false statement? That’s eighteen months right there!"
"Officer! I’m just an old woman—" Aunt Zhong flustered. "I’ll talk, I’ll tell you everything…"
She finally relented, lips trembling.
"A man paid me to wait by the garbage dump," she gulped. "Said it’d be easy… just scream when I saw… something."
Zhu Qing raised a brow. "A man?"
Not Rong Zimei, as they’d assumed.
Or was he her accomplice?
Uncle Li pressed, "And the ‘life-exchange’ rumor? Did he teach you that too?"
"That one’s real! I’ve heard it since I was a kid…"
Zhu Qing flipped through her previous statement.
Wrapping a birthdate in animal blood to confuse vengeful spirits—this "soul evasion" method didn’t quite match Rong Zimei’s "life-exchange" tale.
"What did the man look like?"
"Tall and thin." Aunt Zhong stretched her bony arms upward. "This tall."
"Wore a mask and hat. Didn’t say much."
"When he handed me the cash, he promised more if I ‘performed well.’"
Her fingers twisted her hem as she pleaded ignorance of the severity—just a severed toe, not a corpse. A corpse would’ve scared her off.
"Did he pay you?"
"A whole stack… rubber-banded."
"How much total?"
The pen scratched across the page, filling it with details.
As the interrogation deepened, a chilling realization emerged: while police had combed the scene that day, someone had watched from the shadows.
Studying their every move.
"Officer, I’ve told you everything—" Aunt Zhong suddenly grabbed Zhu Qing’s wrist. "Please don’t—"
Zhu Qing pulled free. "Could you identify him if you saw him again?"
......
The conference room fell silent.
Each lead seemed crucial—until it abruptly dead-ended.
Who was Aunt Zhong’s mystery man?
Could he be connected to Lin Weizong and Mai Shuxian? If he’d never appeared on their radar before, where did they even begin?
Zeng Yongshan: "No matter what, we've at least made a breakthrough in the case so far. We've stopped Lin Weizong's plan. The fact that 'Lin Tingchao' is a fake has been confirmed—they won't be able to get that money now."
The vast fortune left behind by Old Mr. Feng was enough to drive a father to sacrifice his own daughter.
Lin Weizong spent years searching for a girl who resembled his daughter, yet hesitated to take action.
Spring Day
The final replacement was nearly complete. By the time Lin Tingchao underwent surgery, perhaps she had already suffered a mental breakdown from the immense trauma, or perhaps time was running out—the recovery period for the cosmetic procedures couldn’t be delayed any longer. Whatever the reason, he had finally crossed that line.
"Thank goodness they didn’t get the money."
"It was so close. Lin Tingchao is twenty-four now. The inheritance clause stipulates that she must submit proof of mental stability by her twenty-fifth birthday."
"Originally, Lin Weizong and Mai Shuxian must have been confident. With just one year left, they could have secured the fortune through the imposter."
"Not a year," Mo Zhenbang suddenly looked up from the files. "A month."
"Next month, Lin Tingchao turns twenty-five."
The air seemed to freeze.
"It feels like..."
"...someone deliberately sabotaged their plan, using professional methods."
Xu Jiale suddenly remembered something: "Someone skilled in woodcarving—wouldn’t they also be good with a knife?"
"I remember Lin Tingchao’s ex-boyfriend had several hand-carved wooden sculptures in his studio."
"Uncle Li, were those carvings done by him?"
At that moment, Liang Qikai pushed the door open, holding a freshly printed forensic report.
"That anonymous letter—" Sir Liang lifted the evidence bag. "We found canvas fibers on the paper."
"From an oil painting?"
"Did the ex-boyfriend pay Aunt Zhong to pretend she found the severed toe?"
All eyes turned to the anonymous letter.
A witness no longer silent—a letter addressed to those observing the swans...
If the culprit deliberately used the severed toe as the first "piece of evidence," what would come next?
The thought sent chills down their spines.
"Escape... only to fall into another trap?"
Mo Zhenbang abruptly stood up.
"Uncle Li, take a team and investigate every detail about that man—address, job, bank records, call logs. Leave nothing unchecked."
"The rest of you, come with me to the studio."
Time slipped away silently. Days had passed since the horrifying traces in the Lin family’s basement were discovered.
Aside from Kuang Xiaoyan’s dubious testimony, the exact timeline of Lin Tingchao’s disappearance remained a hazy mystery.
The only certainty was this: the longer Lin Tingchao remained missing, the greater the danger.
The police car screeched to a halt outside the studio on Hollywood Road.
The moment they forced the door open, dust swirled in the sunlight. At the center of the studio stood an easel, holding a painting veiled in white cloth.
"Something’s off." Xu Jiale scanned the room warily. "Last time we were here, the place was packed with frames and unfinished works. Now it’s completely cleared out—only this one remains."
"Even the award-winning pieces on the walls are gone."
The painting was covered by a pristine white canvas, standing out starkly in the empty studio.
Zhu Qing raised her hand and abruptly pulled the cloth away—
A sharp intake of breath sounded behind her.
In the painting, Lin Tingchao stood barefoot on a twilight beach.
Under the glow of the setting sun, the sea breeze lifted her long hair, every eyelash and strand rendered with lifelike precision. But what was even more striking was her right foot—Lin Tingchao was missing a toe, the wound sealed with a dark brown scab.
In the bottom right corner of the canvas, two words were written:
"Freedom."
An officer spoke with difficulty, "Is Lin Tingchao…"
"Alive or dead?"
...
Fangfang arrived at Yau Ma Tei Police Station at an inopportune time—the CID room was empty.
Not a soul in sight.
Sheng Fang clasped his hands behind his back, pacing steadily before stopping in front of John’s office door.
After two light knocks, he peeked in with half his little head. "What’s going on?"
Weng Zhaolin set down the file in his hands.
He explained to his young companion that Team B had uncovered a major lead and were now out on separate assignments.
Midway through, Weng Zhaolin suddenly realized—
Why was he reporting to a child?
Sir Weng straightened, stern. "Do you need something?"
Fangfang waved a hand like a little inspector. "No, carry on."
The boy turned, his sneakers tapping a cheerful rhythm down the hallway.
Weng Zhaolin: "…"
Aunt Ping waited at the end of the corridor, wringing her hands anxiously, urging the young master to hurry back.
But Fangfang seemed oblivious.
He was a kite with a severed string, a wild little colt, wandering silently on.
Then, he spotted an unfamiliar figure.
Someone stood at the entrance of the CID office, frowning with impatience.
"Madam Yu?" Sister Zhen looked up from her paperwork. "Uncle Li’s out on a call, but he should be back soon."
Fangfang leaned toward Sister Zhen, cupping his hand to whisper, "Is she one of us?"
"…" Sister Zhen replied, "She’s from ONSET."
Just as the ONSET officer turned to leave, the office door swung open.
Uncle Li returned with his team, arms laden with thick files.
He froze the moment he saw her.
The room fell deathly silent—every officer pretended to be engrossed in work, quiet as quails.
But their ears were perked high.
Fangfang sidled up to Zeng Yongshan.
"Who’s that auntie?"
"That’s Uncle Li’s ex-wife," Zeng Yongshan whispered. "Adult matters—don’t ask too much."
She pressed a finger to her lips, signaling Fangfang to stay quiet.
But before she could shake her head in warning, he had already scampered over to Uncle Li on his short legs.
"What exactly do you mean by this?" Madam Yu lifted her chin, face dark with anger. "The agreement was crystal clear in black and white!"
Even breathing became audible.
The tension was palpable—someone had to break the silence.
Sheng Fang tugged at Uncle Li’s sleeve. "Ex-husband, say something."
Uncle Li turned away, stony-faced.
Fangfang tilted his little face up earnestly. "He’s shy."
