This was a little girl not yet of school age, skipping through the crowd, the hair clip on her doll matching the one in her own hair. Suddenly, she stopped right in front of Lin Tingchao, who was moments away from committing violence, and curiously tilted her small face upward.
The glint of the blade reflected the twisted, sinister faces of Lin Weizong and Mai Shuxian, yet it also clearly mirrored the innocent curiosity in the little girl’s eyes. At that moment, Lin Tingchao’s grip on the knife froze—just that split second of hesitation allowed the officers to wrest the weapon from her hand.
Amid the crisp clatter of the kitchen knife hitting the floor, Lin Tingchao remained dazed, unaware that this momentary lapse had saved her own life.
The little girl blinked in confusion until her grandmother, who had been scrambling for discounted eggs, yanked her into a tight embrace.
The old woman’s rough hands frantically brushed over her granddaughter’s cheeks. "Were you scared?"
Assured the child was unharmed, the grandmother exhaled deeply, abandoning the eggs she’d fought for and clutching the girl’s tiny hand as she hurried out of the supermarket.
Lin Tingchao stared blankly at the scene.
Once, she too had always been sheltered in someone’s arms—not just in childhood, but in memories still vivid. Even until the bone marrow transplant, she had believed herself the happiest girl in the world. These days, Shen Jingyang’s tender words often echoed in her ears, but the betrayal by those closest to her, the void that could only be filled with hatred… how could she ever let go?
The supermarket gradually settled into an uneasy calm. Customers huddled behind shelves, whispering, their probing gazes fixed on Lin Weizong and his wife.
The middle-aged couple stood pale and motionless, locked in a silent stare with Lin Tingchao until the police led them away.
The officers exchanged glances.
This case was finally nearing its end.
And the interrogations to come would be no small task.
Lin Tingchao was missing a toe on her right foot. Judging by the timeline, the wound hadn’t fully healed, and her limp was noticeable. Only after sitting down in the interrogation room did the tension in her expression ease slightly. She wiped the cold sweat from her brow without a word.
Just as Shen Jingyang had said, Lin Tingchao had endured too much suffering over the years. She had long learned to bear everything in silence.
This was the first time the police were seeing the real Lin Tingchao.
In this case, she had been the complete victim—yet now, starting with that severed toe, she would lay bare her meticulously crafted revenge plot.
Exactly as the police had deduced, Lin Tingchao had refused to report the crime herself. Even after the Lin family resorted to hiring lookalikes, imprisonment, and substitution—no matter how absurd it all sounded—she stubbornly believed the authorities would uncover the truth.
If no one had outright taken her life, did it still count as murder? That anonymous letter, dictated entirely by her, had been meant to pressure the police from the shadows. She never expected their investigative skills to far surpass her expectations.
"Pre-mortem tissue severing shows contraction reactions," Zhu Qing slid the forensic report across the table. "This is irrefutable evidence."
Lin Tingchao nodded quietly.
Mo Zhenbang twirled the pen in his hand, his voice unconsciously softening: "Tell me about those three years."
Lin Tingchao lifted her head, the harsh fluorescent light casting a pallor over her face.
Shen Jingyang had described her as a kind yet fragile girl, one who habitually punished herself for others' mistakes. Despite enduring so much suffering, her eyes—though dulled—remained strikingly clear. As Kuang Xiaoyan had once mentioned during an interrogation, Lin Tingchao's gaze was the hardest part of the entire conspiracy to replicate.
Lin Tingchao began recounting those three years.
It started in the basement. She was often beaten, her body still weak from a recent bone marrow transplant. Too feeble to fight back, she could only scream for help. Kuang Xiaoyan told her it was pointless—Lin Weizong and Mai Shuxian would never come. They had already accepted Kuang Xiaoyan as the true daughter of the Lin family. Why would they risk upsetting their "real" child for an outsider?
Her face wrapped in white bandages, Kuang Xiaoyan looked eerie as she spoke. Lin Tingchao was terrified. She even begged Aunt Wu, who had watched her grow up, to save her. But Aunt Wu had already returned to her hometown. It was then that Lin Tingchao realized—this had all been meticulously planned.
For six months, the torment continued. At first, she clung to hope, but slowly, it withered away...
Then, one afternoon, Kuang Xiaoyan lounged in the basement, leisurely painting her nails. She admitted that for years, she had copied Lin Tingchao’s every mannerism, down to the smallest preferences. She hadn’t dared wear flashy nail polish because the real Lin Tingchao disliked bold colors. But now, under the guise of "convalescing" at home, she could finally indulge.
Lin Tingchao remembered the stifling air—the acrid chemical scent of nail polish mingling with the damp mildew.
It was suffocating.
Seizing the moment when Kuang Xiaoyan was distracted, Lin Tingchao mustered all her strength and shoved her aside.
Barefoot, she stumbled up the narrow, creaking basement stairs. When she finally burst into the sunlight, the brightness made her weep—only for her father to drag her back.
It was Lin Weizong himself who hauled her back into the basement.
"The nail polish spilled on her new dress," Lin Tingchao’s voice faltered as she spoke, her right hand instinctively touching her right ankle. "And then she... she pressed her stiletto heel into—"
Kuang Xiaoyan ground the sharp heel into Lin Tingchao’s already injured ankle, twisting it mercilessly.
The pain was excruciating.
Even now, the memory made Lin Tingchao tremble.
Later, she was moved. No longer a basement, but the new place was just as confined—windows welded shut. She could move freely when alone, but the door was always locked.
During those days, Lin Weizong and Mai Shuxian would visit with smiles so warm they could pass for doting parents.
In those moments, the parents she had once trusted most told her—
If she stopped resisting, they would never hurt her again.
True to their word, they never laid a hand on her.
Yet the wounds they inflicted cut far deeper than Kuang Xiaoyan’s cruelty.
It was during those years that Lin Tingchao pieced together the truth—one even Kuang Xiaoyan didn’t know.
It was Mai Shuxian who ultimately revealed the truth. A thorn had festered in her heart all along—Feng Ningyun, who outshone her in every way: a privileged family, striking beauty, extraordinary dance talent... Feng Ningyun possessed everything Mai Shuxian yearned for but could never attain. Yet when Feng Ningyun lost her mind, Mai Shuxian’s decades of jealousy and inferiority had nowhere to go.
During Lin Tingchao’s imprisonment, she occasionally overheard Mai Shuxian and Lin Weizong’s violent arguments.
Lin Tingchao probed discreetly until, from Mai Shuxian’s fragmented outbursts, she pieced together the truth—this woman who claimed to be her mother shared no blood with her. In truth, this suspicion had taken root in Lin Tingchao’s heart the day she was locked in the basement, and now it was confirmed.
“She...” Lin Tingchao hesitated, unsure what to call her. After a pause, she continued, “Mai Shuxian knew my birth mother. She lived in her shadow.”
“No phones, no gas, no knives—not even a needle. They were afraid I’d kill myself, afraid the truth would get out.”
“The meals they brought... sometimes takeout, sometimes Michelin-starred deliveries, or just bread and crackers...”
“Kuang Xiaoyan never came. I knew she’d gotten what she wanted—to become the real me.”
Recounting these memories took Lin Tingchao a long time to steady herself. Her interlaced fingers turned white at the knuckles as she whispered, “Can we stop now?”
Her testimony aligned almost perfectly with Shen Jingyang’s earlier statements.
Zhu Qing understood why Mo Zhenbang, an experienced officer, insisted on pressing for details. In court, these harrowing accounts might sway the jury’s sympathy for this broken girl.
The legal handling of the severed toe and anonymous letters left room for discretion.
Mo Zhenbang hoped that beyond the cold letter of the law, the jury might spare some compassion for the true victim.
“Tell me...” Lin Tingchao suddenly spoke up, “is Jingyang... alright?”
“I begged him to cut off my toe. I couldn’t do it myself.”
“His hands shook worse than mine when he held the knife.”
“In all this, Jingyang is completely innocent.”
This was the most emotional moment of the entire interrogation.
The redness in her eyes reminded Zhu Qing of Shen Jingyang during his statement.
He’d willingly incriminated himself, risking everything, just to plead with the police—Find her. Stop her from doing something reckless.
At least in this darkness, there was still genuine love.
Five pages of testimony had been filled when a knock interrupted the silence.
Zhu Qing accepted the DNA report from forensics. The thin sheet felt unnaturally heavy in her hands.
She exchanged a glance with Mo Zhenbang.
Finally, the report was placed before Lin Tingchao.
She didn’t cry. She didn’t collapse.
She just sat frozen, her gaze drilling into those clinical lines of text as if she could burn through the paper.
Only when the officers began packing up did she murmur, “So that’s how it is.”
“I suppose my life has been a joke, then.”
...
In the interrogation room, Shen Jingyang sat in silence.
The harsh light cast intersecting shadows across his face. It wasn’t until he heard the news that Lin Tingchao had been found that he finally reacted.
"How is Tingchao?"
"She’s fine."
Shen Jingyang’s tense shoulders relaxed slightly, and his clasped hands finally loosened.
"When we found Lin Tingchao, she was holding a knife," Zeng Yongshan couldn’t help adding. "Her biological mother had a history of mental illness—it’s hereditary. She’s been refusing to accept you, secretly doing all these things… probably because she was afraid of dragging you down."
All the unanswered questions in his heart suddenly made sense. In the days since their reunion, it was clear she cherished him just as much as he did her… yet she had hesitated to accept him.
Shen Jingyang had known none of this, but the truth was, he didn’t care.
Still, there was no need to say any of this to the police in front of him. He wanted to tell Lin Tingchao himself.
When the final document was pushed toward him, the rustle of paper sounded unnaturally loud.
"She’s not the Lin family’s biological daughter," Zeng Yongshan added.
An unexpected twist—meaning Lin Tingchao should never have suffered like this in the first place.
Shen Jingyang suddenly looked up, his voice hoarse. "Does she know?"
After receiving confirmation, he pleaded with the police, "Let me see her."
Right now, all she needed was companionship—a shoulder to lean on.
But Zeng Yongshan could only shake her head. It wasn’t allowed.
Meanwhile, the officers were discussing the case.
"If we proceed with standard prosecution, both intentional assault and obstruction of justice would apply, but given the extenuating circumstances…"
"We could apply for bail," Mo Zhenbang suggested.
Xu Jiale still had reservations. "But if it goes to trial—"
"Shen Jingyang’s actions weren’t malicious. If they were to prevent greater harm, it could fall under necessity and be exempt from liability," Mo Zhenbang said, flipping through the case file. "As for Lin Tingchao, three years of imprisonment caused PTSD. The court will take that into account."
"So the best-case scenario would be…"
"Community service? For both of them?"
Mo Zhenbang tossed the file onto the table, a rare smile appearing. "You’re all worrying too much."
When Zeng Yongshan pushed the door open, her eyes still held a trace of melancholy.
"Shen Jingyang… this time, I didn’t misjudge him, did I?"
She recounted Lin Tingchao’s ordeal—from being switched at birth to her imprisonment—each event like a cruel twist of fate.
"But back then, if not for the Lin family’s wealth, that transplant surgery…"
A long silence followed.
Bone marrow matching, exorbitant medication costs, sterile care… any one of those could have bankrupted an ordinary family. At least during that time, Lin Tingchao hadn’t had to worry about medical expenses.
"Still… a stroke of luck in the midst of misfortune?"
"Is that just us trying to comfort ourselves?"
"Let’s be optimistic. What’s done is done—might as well look on the bright side."
"Continuous interrogations lead to mistakes. Everyone, go home," Mo Zhenbang said tiredly, checking his watch. "We’ll resume tomorrow with the Lin couple and Rong Zimei."
Zhu Qing glanced up at the clock on the wall—nine o’clock sharp.
If she went home now, she’d still make it in time for Sheng Fang’s bedtime story.
…
Sheng Fang always claimed to be the most mature kid in kindergarten, but come bedtime, the truth always came out.
The young master was the type to pout and demand bedtime stories.
And he was picky about them too—
Aunt Ping's tales bored him; he only wanted to hear Zhu Qing's icy monotone reciting from storybooks.
Little Sheng Fang thought he wouldn’t get to hear Zhu Qing’s storytelling for a while, but happiness came unexpectedly.
Zhu Qing announced—
Case closed!
Exhausted, Zhu Qing collapsed onto the bed, too drained to even lift a finger. Her phone and car keys slipped from her pocket, but she couldn’t be bothered to pick them up. Luckily, she had a devoted little servant who not only tidied up but also dutifully massaged her arms and back.
After lying there for a while, Zhu Qing finally mustered the strength to sit up.
That afternoon, when she took the call, the sulky little Sheng Fang had no idea his lucky day had arrived. Now, he lay sprawled on his tiny bed, stubby legs swinging idly in the air. By the time Zhu Qing finished her hot shower—half an hour later—it was finally storytime, his most anticipated moment.
Leaning against the child’s bed, Zhu Qing read from the book, but her mind lingered on the harrowing scene at the supermarket earlier.
If Lin Tingchao’s knife had really struck, the consequences would have been unthinkable. Lin Weizong and his wife might have deserved their fate, but was it worth throwing away the rest of her life?
That girl had finally escaped her cage—she ought to live for herself now.
Little Fang Fang was a tiny flatterer, snuggling up to Zhu Qing and praising her voice.
As soon as he finished, he lifted a tiny foot to help turn the page—only for her to swat it away.
Pulling his foot back, he sighed with exaggerated wisdom, "Opportunities don’t knock twice, you know."
"Where’d you learn that?" Zhu Qing raised an eyebrow. "You’ve been watching too much TV."
Aunt Ping happened to walk out of the kitchen and couldn’t help laughing. At this rate, not only would the young master’s mouse and game controller be confiscated, but even the TV remote would soon fall into his niece’s iron grip.
"Haven’t watched that much!" Sheng Fang waved his hands dismissively.
"Then how do you know everything?"
"There’s still a lot I don’t get," Fang Fang mumbled, pressing his soft little cheek against Zhu Qing’s arm. "Just keep reading, okay?"
Zhu Qing resumed the story, but the little one kept interrupting with exaggerated confusion.
"What does that mean?"
"Qing, I don’t get it."
"Can you read it again?"
With a snap, Zhu Qing shut the picture book and pointed at the cover. "This is for three-year-olds. And you’re telling me you don’t understand?"
"Sheng Fang! Stop playing dumb!"
The little rascal immediately burrowed under the covers, leaving only his chubby face exposed.
Blinking innocently, he whined, "What’s ‘playing dumb’? I really don’t know this time."
For Zhu Qing, there was now a child to look after.
For Fang Fang, it felt like raising a child too.
Sometimes, it was hard to tell who was fussing over whom more.
Half-asleep, the little boy still found the energy to scold his niece.
"Qing hasn’t been eating enough lately."
"Aunt Ping says you need more nutrients."
"No staying up late to work…"
Zhu Qing pinched his chubby cheek. "Such a nag."
"Wah—you think Uncle’s annoying now!" Fang Fang managed to cross his arms even while lying down.
His tiny voice kept rambling, and Zhu Qing could only nod along, repeating, "I know, I know…"
No one had ever nagged her like this before.
It was unclear how much time had passed before Little Chatterbox finally drifted off to sleep, though not without a final reminder.
"Don’t forget the car keys..."
"And the mobile phone."
Only then did Zhu Qing realize she had nearly left her belongings behind.
What a dutiful little housekeeper.
She gently tucked Sheng Fang in and whispered, "Goodnight, Fangfang."
Returning to her desk, Zhu Qing flipped through her medical textbooks, organizing the materials she had prepared.
Just then, her phone chimed with a notification. Opening the message, she found a string of nonsensical letters from Cheng Xinglang.
It dawned on her—she had left her phone in the children’s room earlier, and Fangfang must have mashed the keyboard before accidentally hitting send.
Even gibberish got a response from Dr. Cheng.
Zhu Qing dialed his number as she stepped out onto the balcony.
"That little rascal," Cheng Xinglang chuckled on the other end of the line.
From the high-rise, the city glittered below, and stars flickered faintly along the horizon.
A cool breeze tousled Zhu Qing’s hair.
"When are you leaving?"
"The appointment and flight are confirmed—three more days."
"Oh, about that surgery we discussed earlier... Do you know much about neural electrical stimulation?"
"I’ve looked into the specifics," Cheng Xinglang’s tone turned serious. "The procedure’s intensity is lower than standard protocols, so the risks are reduced."
"Qingqing, you’re not even wearing a jacket," Aunt Ping’s concerned voice carried from inside. "It’s freezing out there—you’ll catch a cold."
Zhu Qing added, "Also—"
"Also, the wind’s too loud. I can’t hear you."
"Come back inside."
Zhu Qing retreated into the room, closing the balcony door behind her.
So fussy, both of them.
...
In the interrogation room at dawn, Mai Shuxian’s meticulously applied makeup had long since smudged.
Her fingers tapped incessantly against the table, a far cry from the composed, elegant socialite she once was.
She and her husband had clung to a sliver of hope, praying that the real Lin Tingchao would never resurface.
Their lawyer had assured them: without that crucial "evidence," conviction would be difficult.
But fate had other plans.
"It’s all because I didn’t lock the door that day."
Mai Shuxian massaged her temples, her well-maintained face now etched with exhaustion.
She launched into her defense, her voice growing shriller by the minute.
"When I married into the Lin family, Tingchao was just a child. Weizong still hadn’t gotten over Feng Ningyun back then. I promised him—out loud—that I’d treat Tingchao as my own. We... we even decided against having children of our own."
Her gaze drifted into the distance, as if recalling her younger self standing outside the Feng family’s mansion—
A chauffeur’s daughter, trembling as she tried to blend into their glittering world. She had known then that Lin Weizong and she were cut from the same cloth.
He should never have been with Feng Ningyun.
"At least until Tingchao’s bone marrow transplant, I kept my word."
"Twenty years—even if it were an act, who could keep it up for that long? Before that incident, she never once doubted me!"
"What happened afterward... that was all Weizong’s idea."
"After Tingchao ran away, we searched for her endlessly. We even suspected Shen Jingyang might be hiding her—we went to the Shen residence... but we never noticed. That boy was too good at hiding his thoughts."
Mai Shuxian confessed everything, yet every detail was carefully spun to absolve herself.
Finally, she looked at the police and said, "I never hit her, never harmed her. At most, I just delivered meals to Lin Tingchao. Officer, I was only... bringing her food. That doesn’t count as a crime, does it?"
Meanwhile, in another interrogation room, Lin Weizong’s state was entirely different.
The day before, he had returned to the office dressed in a crisp, tailored suit. Now, his eyes were bloodshot, his tie loosely hanging around his neck.
"Is this report accurate?"
Lin Weizong repeatedly checked the DNA comparison results, his fingers trembling uncontrollably.
"I never considered this possibility."
As he spoke of his hesitation seven years ago, every word dripped with insincerity.
"Lin Tingchao is my daughter, the one I’ve cherished since she was born. How could I not care for her?"
"That’s why I could never bring myself to make the final decision."
The real determination to act came only after he learned of Lin Tingchao’s deteriorating health.
"Aplastic anemia can be fatal," he said, his tone suddenly urgent. "If she really died, what would happen to the trust fund? Who would inherit it? Should it really go to those ballet kids?"
Lin Weizong rambled on, listing the exorbitant costs of Lin Tingchao’s treatment—the expensive medications, the top-tier medical team—as if these calculated figures could absolve him.
"The bone marrow match was successful, and the transplant went smoothly," he said. "I couldn’t afford any more unexpected setbacks."
And so, the original plan was set into motion.
"During that time, Tingchao cried every day. I was afraid the stress would overwhelm her, just like her mother—suddenly, she would—" Lin Weizong’s words cut off abruptly. "But I never imagined she wasn’t our daughter after all."
This truth had clearly shattered him.
Lin Weizong looked up, dazed. "A nurse at Mary Hospital? Why would she do this?"
"Feng Ningyun once said her daughter would never suffer again," the officer replied calmly. "We believe she knew."
"Ningyun’s choice?" Lin Weizong froze for a moment before letting out a bitter laugh. "That makes sense now."
His gaze grew distant, as if seeing through the cold walls of the interrogation room into the past.
"Ningyun started dancing at four," Lin Weizong’s voice softened, his brow relaxing. "Her teachers said her bone structure was born for ballet."
Feng Ningyun’s entire life had been spent in perpetual motion.
She was an exceptional ballerina, carrying the expectations and pride of her family. When her mentally ill mother hanged herself before her eyes, her father told the world it was an illness—yet she kept spinning in the studio, her pointe shoes never pausing. Whether filled with joy or sorrow, she danced on stage, always spinning...
Everyone said Feng Ningyun was too gifted, born for the stage. She danced for her father’s ambitions, for the judges’ approval, for the audience’s applause... but never for herself.
"She never dared to defy anyone. Our marriage was arranged by her father—he said I was a reliable man," Lin Weizong continued. "Having a child was my wish... I wanted a daughter, one just like Ningyun."
At the time, Lin Weizong had no idea that his unseen mother-in-law had suffered from schizophrenia.
He had no idea that Feng Ningyun was already on the verge of collapse.
"I thought it would be later..."
"Looking back now, she hadn’t been right since the hospital baby swap."
Lin Weizong claimed that in his youth, it wasn’t for the Feng family’s wealth—he had genuinely, deeply loved Feng Ningyun.
She was always dancing, from morning till night, her skirt swirling as she spun... Recalling these memories, a smile touched his eyes. That had been the best time of his life—he’d married the beautiful girl he adored, everything had gone his way, and everyone envied him.
"Tingchao dances beautifully too. She started young and became an exceptional dancer. I always thought she looked just like her mother when she danced. How could Tingchao not be our daughter...?"
"Then why does Tingchao dance?"
The two officers exchanged exasperated glances.
"Mr. Lin, by your logic, do bankers’ children come out of the womb counting money?"
"But she dances so well! Every move is just like her mother’s..."
"Maybe because you spent a fortune hiring the best dance teachers? As you just said, you started training Lin Tingchao intensively from the age of five."
Feng Ningyun had finally grown tired of a life controlled by her father and husband. She refused to let her daughter repeat her fate, forever trapped in that mirrored dance studio.
So, in that hospital, she made a decision that would alter the destinies of two infants.
But what had Feng Ningyun’s mental state truly been like at the time? Even her supposedly devoted husband stumbled over his words during interrogation, unable to give a clear answer.
"My father-in-law understood me. He knew I was still young and would remarry," Lin Weizong continued to justify himself. "As long as the new woman treated Tingchao well, he wouldn’t blame me. Over the years, I’ve done even better—no matter how much Mai Shuxian protested, I insisted on having only Tingchao as my child. I’ve... gone above and beyond."
Lin Weizong repeatedly insisted he’d loved Feng Ningyun deeply, yet his words rang hollow.
After the old man passed away, he never visited her again.
"The last time I saw her... Ningyun had gained weight. Her whole body was swollen."
"The way she looked at me... like I was a stranger."
As the interrogation neared its end, he showed deep regret.
But what chilled the heart was this: his remorse wasn’t for betraying Feng Ningyun or for the harm done to Lin Tingchao.
"If I’d known earlier, I wouldn’t have bothered."
"Next month, I’ll finally get that money," he muttered, eyes gleaming with calculation. "If only I’d known she wouldn’t inherit the mental illness..."
"If I’d done nothing," he lifted his head, face twisted, "the truth would’ve stayed buried forever."
...
"The truth can’t stay hidden." Rong Zimei finally spoke.
Since being brought in the previous morning, she’d remained silent—until now, when the DNA report made her suddenly speak up.
Uncle Li glared in frustration. After all his efforts to pry words from her, a single piece of paper had done the trick.
Rong Zimei said the truth wouldn’t be buried.
Because from her second police report onward, she’d been using the authorities to uncover it.
What surprised her was that until the very end, Lin Weizong never asked who his real daughter was.
But she wouldn’t care either way.
She never had a father growing up anyway.
Rong Zimei frowned, as if struggling to piece together fragments of memory. "I don't know much."
"Tell me whatever you do know."
Her voice was distant, as though recounting someone else's story.
"My mom divorced very early. For the first few years, my dad paid some child support, but after he remarried, he just moved abroad."
"In elementary school, my mom got sick and lost her job. We were dirt poor."
"I was average-looking, a mediocre student—not particularly bright, and I never knew how to sweet-talk… But she never once looked down on me."
"I thought it was because I was her daughter… Turns out, I wasn’t."
A high fever when she was ten years old exposed the first lie.
Chen Yulan, a nurse, understood everything the moment she saw the blood type report—but she chose to stay silent.
"She told me a wealthy man once stayed in the neighboring hospital room and kept asking her questions."
"My mom guessed he might’ve been the one who switched the babies."
"She went looking… secretly watched that girl." Rong Zimei’s voice suddenly cracked. "Lin Tingchao was like a little princess, dancing in the garden, so beautiful. My mom said, 'Let that child keep living her good life.'"
Chen Yulan couldn’t fathom why the wealthy woman would swap the babies. When she later discovered the Lin family had suddenly changed its mistress, she was even more bewildered.
Watching Lin Tingchao, dressed in fine silks, playing in the garden, she even wondered if the hospital had made a mistake.
But life’s burdens weighed too heavily—she’d already lost her job, and their days were unbearably hard… Out of selfishness, she decided to let the mistake stand.
Her own daughter was living well in the Lin household, so she would raise this swapped child with care.
At the time, Rong Zimei knew none of this.
"The first time I went to the police, I had no idea about any of it." Rong Zimei tugged at her hair. "I just suddenly thought—since we hadn’t heard from Kuang Xiaoyan for so long, shouldn’t we report it? Whether they’d find her or not didn’t matter. I just did what I thought was right."
Her account grew disjointed, jumping from one thing to another.
She mentioned working at a feng shui shop where she overheard talk of "swapping fates." When she casually brought it up to her mother, Chen Yulan panicked.
And that’s how the earth-shattering secret came out.
"That was half a year ago. I was just joking over dinner—telling my mom Kuang Xiaoyan and that rich girl looked alike, maybe their fates had been swapped?"
"She asked if I’d mentioned 'swapping fates' to the police at the Changsha Bay station."
"My mom was afraid the investigation would lead to Lin Tingchao, so she finally told me the truth. That I was the swapped child. She even apologized to me."
No wonder Chen Yulan, lying sick in bed, had clutched her daughter’s sleeve so desperately, murmuring incoherently.
She didn’t want Rong Zimei to escalate the Kuang Xiaoyan case, afraid it would implicate her real daughter.
Rong Zimei circled back, talking about her upbringing.
The struggles of Chen Yulan as a single mother, their humble but warm everyday life…
The police quietly recorded these scattered memories.
Perhaps Feng Ningyun's choice back then wasn't accidental—that woman imprisoned by dance for life had instantly recognized Chen Yulan's resilience in the delivery room. She wove a beautiful dream, keeping her daughter away from ballet, letting her grow up sheltered by a doctor father and a strong mother. But who could have imagined that this seemingly perfect arrangement would end up like this?
The police interrupted Rong Zimei's statement: "What's your goal here?"
This was Rong Zimei's second time reporting to the police, now fully aware of her true origins.
This time, she deliberately mentioned the "life-swapping" theory during her report, exaggerating her age by two years to distance herself from any suspicion.
She did have her own motives, but to say she had some meticulously crafted plan would be an overstatement.
Rong Zimei simply thought that if the police uncovered the Lin family's illegal activities first, she could then inherit the family fortune as their biological daughter. She knew nothing about the trust fund left by her grandfather—only that Lin Weizong must be a wealthy father.
Even if, worst-case scenario, they hadn’t done anything illegal—
She hadn’t lied. Kuang Xiaoyan really was missing; it just had nothing to do with the Lin family.
At this moment, Rong Zimei admitted she had oversimplified things.
"I am their daughter—that much is undeniable," Rong Zimei said nervously. "But honestly, I don’t understand how inheritance works in wealthy families. Those rules… I don’t know where to ask or how to find out."
"So you called the police just for money?" Xu Jiale looked up. "To inherit the family fortune?"
She shook her head. "I need it to treat my mother’s illness."
Ever since Chen Yulan suffered a stroke, medical bills had become a bottomless pit.
Rong Zimei insisted she only wanted to save her mother.
Though they weren’t related by blood, twenty-five years of love and care couldn’t be erased.
To Rong Zimei, Chen Yulan was her mother—and she couldn’t abandon her.
Throughout the interrogation, Rong Zimei remained visibly uneasy.
Her testimony, like the final piece of a puzzle, completed the full picture of the case.
"After my mother told me the truth, I finally understood why they looked so alike."
"Turns out Lin Tingchao and Kuang Xiaoyan are cousins."
But who was who?
Kuang Xiaoyan, Lin Tingchao, Rong Zimei—their identities had become completely entangled.
In the end, Rong Zimei murmured to herself, "So it really was a life swap… but whose life was swapped?"
...
As the case entered its final stages, Lin Tingchao made an unusual request.
She wanted to meet Kuang Xiaoyan.
During her imprisonment in the basement, Kuang Xiaoyan had often visited her, face wrapped in bandages.
But after Lin Tingchao was moved to another location, Lin Weizong and Mai Shuxian stopped allowing Kuang Xiaoyan to see her, fearing complications.
Lin Tingchao said she needed to speak with Kuang Xiaoyan face to face.
There were things she had to ask.
Mo Zhenbang didn’t immediately approve the request, stating that proper procedures had to be followed.
Meanwhile, Zhu Qing finally managed to leave work on time.
The moment she opened the door, she saw little Sheng Fang sitting on a small stool by the entrance, holding a colorful balloon.
"Welcome home, Qing-jie!"
Sheng Fang was the warden of "Fangfang Prison," where many bad adults were locked up.
But today he declared a general amnesty.
Everyone was to be released—time for a holiday!
Little Fangfang tossed a balloon high into the air, then scrambled to catch it, running back and forth across the living room.
Every now and then, he would pause and glance expectantly at Zhu Qing, waiting for her to join in the fun.
He really was such a clingy little uncle.
Zhu Qing had been keeping him company since she got off work, and even after dinner, his lips still glistened with oil as he tilted his head and continued to pester her.
"..." Zhu Qing gently declined, "I still have to finish my case report."
"I'll keep you company!" Fangfang refused to take no for an answer.
With puppy-dog eyes, he stared at her until Zhu Qing finally relented, sitting cross-legged on a cushion in front of the coffee table to work on her report.
Sheng Fang had so, so many things to tell his niece.
"Ye Si's Mom is switching her to a different dance studio."
"Jin Bao said he wants to learn tennis with me—you can sign up now."
"Only tennis lessons, nothing else! We already have three classes lined up!"
"Oh, and Qingzai—"
"Fangfang." Zhu Qing suddenly set down her pen. "Do you know how many strands of hair a person has?"
"I don’t know."
"Why don’t you count them, then?"
Aunt Ping, watching from the side, couldn’t help but chuckle.
Just two sentences, and the little master had been silenced?
From her perspective—
Zhu Qing sat on the cushion, diligently writing her report, while Fangfang stood beside her, carefully counting strands of hair.
One, two, three...
Like a little monkey grooming a big one in the zoo.
As Aunt Ping took in the heartwarming scene, her gaze drifted unconsciously to the calendar on the wall.
Qingqing had mentioned before that she would take a long leave to accompany the eldest daughter for surgery. She had thought the case wouldn’t be wrapped up by then—but as it turned out, the timing worked out perfectly. Now she could leave Hong Kong for a while with peace of mind.
Sheng Fang: "One hundred ninety-three, one hundred ninety-four..."
"Fangfang," Zhu Qing reminded him, "count silently."
"But then I’ll fall asleep!"
Zhu Qing blurted out, "That’d be great."
The moment the words left her mouth, both aunt and nephew froze.
Fangfang tilted his head, eyes filled with innocent confusion.
Zhu Qing coughed lightly, her own eyes betraying a hint of guilt.
"That’d be great—" she quickly corrected herself.
Sheng Fang piped up in his childish voice, "Then it wouldn’t be great?"
"Nn!"
"I knew it." Fangfang nodded confidently and resumed counting her hair.
