This Canoan Sanatorium had quietly become another home for Zhu Qing, Sheng Fang, and Aunt Ping.
Whenever the medical staff heard bursts of laughter coming from the VIP suite, they knew this little family was reunited again. This space, which should have been quiet and filled with the sterile scent of disinfectant, became warmer with their presence. The carefully curated meals by the nutritionist and Aunt Ping’s home-cooked dishes took turns delighting everyone, their enticing aromas seeping through the door cracks and filling the entire floor with the comforting essence of home.
The young nurses at the station often whispered among themselves that ever since Madam Sheng woke up, the work atmosphere had become less tense. Especially that adorable little boy—like a delicate porcelain doll—who would occasionally sneak out of the ward on his short legs, bouncing down the hallway. Soon after, his niece would scoop him up and carry him back. The sight of this uncle-niece chase always brought smiles to the staff, who secretly wished the entire sanatorium could be this lively.
Yet reality was often cruel. As the most exclusive private sanatorium in Hong Kong, the fees here were staggering, and its residents were either wealthy or influential. But very few actually enjoyed the warmth of family visits. Many relatives treated their loved ones like burdens, dumping them here and paying the medical bills on time with a clear conscience, never bothering to step into the wards for even a brief visit.
They would never understand that what those lying in sickbeds yearned for most was never expensive medication, but a simple hug or greeting from their family. Just like Sheng Peirong, who miraculously woke up after years in a coma—perhaps precisely because her family never gave up on her.
At this moment, Sheng Fang was tiptoeing to tidy up the scattered newspapers on the coffee table. His chubby little hands were surprisingly nimble, carefully aligning the edges of the papers like a tiny paperboy.
Aunt Ping leaned close to Sheng Peirong and whispered that this was all thanks to Zhu Qing’s patient guidance over the past few months. The little one’s self-sufficiency was astonishing—he could pack his own schoolbag and even fold clothes neatly. Every time Aunt Ping brought in freshly laundered clothes, she would find him sitting seriously on the sofa, meticulously folding each piece into perfect squares before trotting off to put them away in their proper places.
“The young master has grown so sensible,” Aunt Ping remarked with a smile. “It feels like just months ago, he was rolling around in the children’s room at Mid-Levels, throwing tantrums and needing Marysa to feed him. Now he’s a completely different person… Sometimes it’s hard to believe.”
Through Aunt Ping’s snippets, Sheng Peirong pieced together images of her daughter and little brother relying on each other.
She imagined them like two saplings, huddling close in the storm, supporting each other until they made it this far. Aunt Ping often said that now that she was awake, this uncle-niece pair finally had someone to lean on. Those words strengthened Sheng Peirong’s resolve to recover quickly and become their unwavering pillar.
A rehabilitation assessment report was gently placed before her.
“The training intensity is too high,” Zhu Qing frowned in concern. “The doctor said recovery should be gradual—haste makes waste.”
Sheng Peirong nodded with a smile. “Understood.”
“Big Sis is lying,” Sheng Fang suddenly piped up in his milky voice. “Once you go to work tomorrow, she’ll secretly push herself again!”
This little uncle was too sharp—nothing escaped him.
“I won’t,” Sheng Peirong promised solemnly. “Mommy will rest properly.”
Caught between a mother who pushed herself harder than anyone and a little uncle who vowed to supervise her strictly, Zhu Qing felt neither of them was particularly reliable.
But time was pressing, and she had to rush to a case.
“There’s an emergency—I need to go,” Zhu Qing said, jingling her car keys before turning to Sheng Fang. “What about you?”
Though Sheng Peirong had long known about her daughter’s job, seeing her leave in a hurry after a single phone call was a first. Zhu Qing’s movements were efficient—already at the door as she spoke, every gesture streamlined.
“I don’t want to go home and ‘guard an empty room’,” Sheng Fang waved his little hand.
Zhu Qing quickly briefed Aunt Ping: “His schoolbag’s on the sofa. Please call a taxi tomorrow morning to take him to kindergarten.”
“Mom, I’m heading out.”
The first time she called her “Mom,” Zhu Qing’s ears had burned red. But gradually, this long-overdue term of endearment rolled off her tongue more naturally. Each utterance carried warmth, making her steps lighter.
“Go on, be safe.”
Zhu Qing’s eyes narrowed.
That reminder hadn’t come from her mother—but from her little uncle, acting like a miniature adult.
Sheng Peirong chuckled as her brother beat her to it, already escorting Koko to the door.
He peeked out halfway. “See you tomorrow.”
Wasn’t it said that you shouldn’t hit a smiling face?
Yet the last words his niece tossed back before leaving shattered the little one’s heart.
“Sheng Fang, starting today, you can only watch TV on weekends.”
Thud. The little one plopped onto the floor. “WHY?!”
His wail was heartrending, but Zhu Qing had already vanished down the hallway.
Fangfang lay flat on his back, limbs splayed in despair.
“Big Sis, look what your daughter did!”
With Koko gone, Sheng Peirong playfully took her brother’s side. “I’ll give her a good scolding.”
Aunt Ping laughed so hard she could barely stand. “Young Master, where did you even learn a phrase like ‘guard an empty room’?”
Who knew which drama the little one had picked it up from?
After multiple warnings, his niece had finally confiscated the remote control.
Sheng Fang sighed dramatically at the ceiling.
His little face was the picture of devastation. “Isn’t ‘guarding an empty room’ just one person staying in an empty room?”
Why couldn’t he say it?
Their Qing-er was becoming harder and harder to understand!
……
7:50 PM, at the entrance of Xia Guang Theater.
The flickering neon lights cast a patchy glow in the night as police tape fluttered lightly in the breeze.
A few passersby paused, craning their necks and murmuring among themselves.
“Why so many cops? What happened?”
“I thought this old theater was about to shut down. Look how faded the posters are—can’t believe it’s still running.”
Zhu Qing clipped her badge to her chest, lifted the tape, and strode toward the screening hall.
Zeng Yongshan was already there, turning to greet her with a wave.
“This theater has three screening halls. The other two are practically abandoned—usually left empty.”
"When the incident occurred, this screening room was playing 'Dream Chaser,' a romantic film from over a decade ago. In fact, theaters across the city were hosting classic film reruns, but this one was particularly deserted."
Zhu Qing recalled the faded poster for 'Dream Chaser' displayed at the cinema entrance. The image showed the lead couple embracing in the rain, its filming techniques and color palette bearing the marks of time. Who would have thought such a beautifully nostalgic film would be tied to a murder case?
"I watched this movie before—cried so hard my eyes swelled," Zeng Yongshan muttered under her breath. "It's so tragically romantic... Now, whenever I see it, I’ll think of this crime. Probably won’t be able to rewatch it ever again."
"Just like that song 'Moonlight,' can’t bear to listen to it now," Xu Jiale joked in response.
"Still chatting? Watch out or the boss will chew you out." Hao Zai walked over, tilting his chin toward the corner of the screening room. "The person who discovered the body is over there."
The cleaner, Uncle Qian, was trembling as he gave his statement, his hands fidgeting nervously.
"I thought he was just asleep. Men dozing off during movies is common—happened plenty of times before. They’d even still be snoring by the time the credits rolled. I kept calling out to him—" He recounted the scene, "'Sir, the show’s over, time to wake up...'"
"But he wouldn’t move. I gave him a nudge and then realized..." Uncle Qian’s face twisted in discomfort. "His whole body was stiff. Cold..."
Zhu Qing scanned the surroundings.
The old theater’s seats were upholstered in worn, burgundy velvet, their fabric frayed and musty. The air carried an unpleasant odor—like spilled soda that had seeped into the cushions and fermented over the years into something strange.
"Any other witnesses?" Zhu Qing asked.
Before anyone could answer, footsteps echoed from the hallway.
Dr. Cheng had arrived.
Cheng Xinglang stepped over the police tape, carrying an investigation kit, his familiar assistant trailing behind. He moved naturally to Zhu Qing’s side, slipping on rubber gloves while quietly asking for details in a calm, measured tone.
At the very center of the back row, the victim in a black jacket stood out starkly.
A middle-aged man, his head slightly tilted back, posture relaxed—as if still engrossed in the film. Only upon closer inspection did it become clear his body had long stiffened, his skin drained of color, a sickly pallor replacing any trace of life.
Dr. Cheng lifted the victim’s eyelids.
The eyes were unfocused, pupils dilated.
"Cleaning here’s just for show. Since he was the only one in the theater, didn’t even buy snacks—hardly any trash to clean. The old man didn’t even bring a trash bag, just walked in for a quick check. Didn’t take it seriously at first—didn’t even turn on the lights," Little Sun whispered. "But the man just sat there. The cleaner thought he was in deep sleep, called out a few times. When he still didn’t wake up, he finally turned on the lights."
"One touch and he knew something was wrong—hard as wood. Definitely not right."
"Any signs the scene was disturbed?"
"Shouldn’t be. The cleaner said aside from nudging the shoulder to check, nothing else was moved. No drag marks on the carpet around the seat either."
Cheng Xinglang put on a mask and began the preliminary examination.
His movements were precise, fingertips gently parting the victim’s collar to reveal a thin, dark-purple ligature mark on the neck.
The cause of death.
"Strangulation by wire," Cheng Xinglang stated coolly. "Based on corneal opacity and body temperature, time of death was between one and a half to two hours ago."
As he spoke, he lifted the victim’s wrist, pressing lightly with his thumb.
Liang Qikai checked his watch. "The movie started at 5:40, so..."
"Time of death coincides with the film’s opening."
Dr. Cheng tilted the victim’s chin up slightly, exposing the full ligature mark.
"Rigor mortis has just begun forming in the neck muscles."
"Is this the primary crime scene?"
"Almost certainly."
"The force came diagonally from the left."
Zhu Qing lifted the armrest between two seats.
The victim had chosen the very back row. The theater’s seating was cramped—she pictured how the killer could have slipped into the seat to his left in the darkness, using the wire to carry out the act.
Mo Zhenbang’s voice carried from the rear. "Check the ticket records for this seat."
The theater manager lingered at the entrance, too afraid to step inside.
"Officer... someone really died here?"
"This screening—only one ticket was sold. The seat to his left had to be empty."
The ticket clerk stepped forward. "When he bought the ticket, I even reminded him... 'Sit wherever you like, the whole place is empty.'"
A forensics officer crouched, carefully collecting a crumpled movie ticket from the floor into an evidence bag.
The ticket showed the same screening time as the incident, with a seat in the middle-right section.
"Records show he wasn’t assigned the back row. So he chose to sit there himself?"
"Pretty normal. I like sitting in the back too when I watch movies."
"Plenty of space. Dead center in the last row—he picked a prime spot."
"This victim..." Zeng Yongshan suddenly murmured. "He looks familiar somehow."
Zhu Qing and Cheng Xinglang leaned in simultaneously, their shoulders brushing briefly as both focused intently on the lifeless face.
Studying every faint line, every detail that might otherwise go unnoticed.
Standing in the aisle, Zeng Yongshan shivered, rubbing her arms.
These two! Faced with such a grotesque scene, couldn’t they at least act a little unsettled?
...
Mo Zhenbang stood at the center of the screening room, scanning every possible exit.
His subordinates filed in with updates, their footsteps echoing.
"Victim’s personal effects are clean—no ID, pager, cell phone... but the cash in his wallet’s still there."
"The ticket clerk said he came alone, even smiled and said he was looking forward to the film. Nothing seemed off. With these old reruns, most of the audience is middle-aged folks feeling nostalgic."
"This dump doesn’t even have security cameras." Hao Zai kicked a wobbly seat. "Just some old guy dozing at the ticket booth—anyone could’ve slipped in."
Mo Zhenbang flipped through the notes handed to him, swiftly delegating tasks.
"Jiale, run the victim’s prints against missing persons."
"Yongshan and Zhu Qing, canvass nearby shops—see if anyone noticed anything suspicious."
"And one more thing..."
Yesterday during tea time, they were still joking around in the CID office, saying this assignment was practically a retirement gig, given that it had been over twenty days since the last case. Who would have thought today would bring such trouble? Uncle Li teased about who had jinxed it, suggesting fines for anyone who made such remarks in the future.
"That mouth of yours must be blessed—good things never come true, but the bad ones sure do."
A gust of wind blew in through the theater entrance, making several officers instinctively hunch their shoulders.
They watched enviously as the forensics team packed up their tools, ready to return to the warm police station. Meanwhile, the officers had no choice but to continue braving the cold.
Just as Cheng Xinglang was about to get into the car, he suddenly turned back to Zhu Qing and said, "Thanks for the gift."
That metal bookmark was now snugly tucked into the professional textbook on his desk, fitting perfectly. Earlier that morning, Ah Ben had tried to snatch it for a look, but Cheng Xinglang had swiftly shielded it.
Zeng Yongshan also waved her wrist, showing off an elegant bracelet. "I'm wearing mine too! I love it!"
In the dim light, Zhu Qing’s lips curled into a faint smile.
So this was how it felt when a gift you gave was truly cherished.
At ten in the evening, Zhu Qing drove alone down the empty streets.
The cold wind howled outside the car window—late autumn was nearly over, and winter was just around the corner.
She drove slowly, even taking a detour, reluctant to go home.
Before, it hadn’t mattered whether she returned early or late. Whether it was the welfare institute dorm or the police academy barracks, they were just places to sleep. But now, things were different—Had her mother’s rehabilitation session gone well tonight? Was Aunt Ping nagging again about her needing to rest earlier?
And then there was Sheng Fang.
By now, he was probably fast asleep, maybe even clutching that plush bear he’d won at the carnival ring toss.
To her surprise, she actually missed the little rascal.
The traffic light turned red, and Zhu Qing pressed the brake.
It suddenly struck her—this was what it meant to have someone to worry about.
......
Little Sheng Fang sat excitedly by the hospital bed, chattering nonstop.
Sheng Peirong was astonished to realize that this tiny child knew every detail about Zhu Qing’s past—even though he had never been part of her childhood.
Sheng Fang knew that at the welfare institute, the director was surnamed Guo, and that Zhu Qing’s best friend was Sister Xinxin. He knew that when older kids bullied others, she’d clenched her fists and knocked them down, and after that, even the big kids didn’t dare mess with her. When he got particularly animated, he’d mimic the action, puffing up his chubby little fists and blowing on them. Sheng Peirong couldn’t help but smile, thinking that a reserved child like Zhu Qing probably hadn’t actually done it that way.
Little Sheng Fang also knew that Zhu Qing never lost a fight, and when the director punished her, she’d refuse to back down or apologize. She’d stand there for hours without a single complaint.
"That’s why she’s so tough—she aced her arrest techniques."
"Zhu Qing graduated with first-class honors from the police academy! Only one student gets that every year!"
Sheng Fang beamed with pride, as if the achievement were his own.
"She got hurt during training once, but she didn’t cry."
"After getting hurt, she just bandaged herself up..."
Sheng Peirong listened quietly.
Through these fragmented stories, she could almost trace her daughter’s growth—the stubborn figure who faced every storm alone.
"She’s strong, she solves cases, even the instructors said she’d be a great cop one day."
"Little master, how do you even know all this?" Aunt Ping couldn’t help interjecting.
Sheng Fang lifted his chin.
Of course, it was the dorm supervisor at the academy—the one who loved knitting—who’d told him. Sheng Fang’s intelligence network spanned far and wide, and after compiling all the intel, no one knew Zhu Qing better than he did.
"Speaking of the academy..." Aunt Ping sighed. "When we visited, it was summer, and the dorm was like a steamer. Even I could barely stand it, but she endured it for so long. That girl really knows how to tough it out."
She never should have had to endure such hardships.
"Our Zhu Qing has tricks!" Sheng Fang piped up eagerly. "She’d splash cold water on the floor—whoosh!—and it’d cool right down."
In Sheng Fang’s memory, those days at the Wong Chuk Hang Police Academy were treasured moments.
He’d forgotten how the heat left him drenched in sweat every day, forgotten how the rattling fan only blew hot air... All he remembered was the bunk bed—Zhu Qing on top, him on the bottom. Whenever one of them turned over, the wooden frame would creak softly. It was the most comforting sound, though he was too young to put it into words.
"We’d take the minibus together! Big Sis, do you know how to ride a minibus? You have to queue up."
"We’d go really, really far, and sometimes we had to transfer."
"And Zhu Qing could calculate it!" Sheng Fang pinched his tiny fingers together. "She’d count like this and remember every route!"
Sheng Peirong listened, captivated.
She ruffled the little one’s hair. "You’re amazing, remembering so much."
Sheng Fang couldn’t handle praise—it only made him bolder.
So the little chatterbox kept going: "And one time, Zhu Qing jumped from a skyscraper—whoosh!"
"What?!" Sheng Peirong gasped. "A skyscraper? How dangerous was that?"
Aunt Ping tried to stop him, but it was too late.
Every detail, appropriate or not, spilled out to "Big Sis."
"And then—bam!—she hit the ground and cracked her collarbone!"
"They even took pictures!"
Sheng Peirong: "X-rays?"
"What happened after that?"
"She was hospitalized. All her colleagues came to visit."
"It was that serious? She had to stay in the hospital?"
"She had a cast and drank pork bone soup every day."
Sheng Peirong’s heart twisted.
She hadn’t been there for those perilous moments, those triumphs.
The night deepened, the clock’s hands inching past 10:10.
Aunt Ping’s responses grew sluggish, and Sheng Peirong insisted she rest in the inner room. The cot was too hard for an older woman’s back.
Sheng Fang, being a child, was told he "didn’t have a waist" and could sleep anywhere.
Curled up on the cot, his little mouth kept running.
"We also went to Lai Chi Kok Amusement Park..."
"Zhu Qing said she’d take me to Ocean Park when she’s on leave."
"I wanna see the sea lions."
"Sheng Fang." Sheng Peirong’s eyelids grew heavy, and she gently stilled his waving hands. "Big Sis needs to sleep."
Sheng Fang’s eyes widened.
If he’d known she’d turn in at ten, he wouldn’t have stayed. What a miscalculation.
The little one lay in the dark, blinking up at the ceiling.
He bet Zhu Qing missed him too.
......
Nearly twenty-four hours had passed since the murder, yet the victim’s identity remained a mystery.
The officers of Major Crime Team B had been out all day but returned with little to show for it.
Outside the Xia Guang Theater’s neighboring grocery store, the owner leisurely cracked sunflower seeds between his teeth.
"Ten years ago, Xia Guang Theater was the place to be. The ticket line would stretch all the way to my doorstep," he said, pointing to the shop entrance. "People would queue up right here, often grabbing snacks or sodas while they waited."
"Business was so good, even my little shop benefited."
"But these past two years? It’s been downhill. Rumor has it they’re on the verge of shutting down—more staff than audience members these days."
"Yesterday? My cousin’s family had a wedding. I closed up shop by five."
Zhu Qing’s pen hovered over her notepad. "Did you notice anyone suspicious entering or leaving the theater in the evening?"
"Madam," the shopkeeper scoffed. "That place is a ghost town. Who’d bother watching it? Even their own employees don’t pay attention. Once, I saw the ticket girl sneak out during work hours to get her hair done."
The investigation dragged on until dusk, yielding almost no useful leads.
Back at the station, their colleagues wore equally grim expressions. The whiteboard in the meeting room was embarrassingly sparse.
"Victim: male, between forty and forty-five," Mo Zhenbang drew a line with his marker. "Time of death, murder weapon…"
"We’ve issued a public appeal for identification and are running fingerprints."
"But with an adult male missing for only twenty-four hours, family might not have reported it yet."
The case had hit a dead end from the start.
The theater, barely staying afloat, had five employees on-site during the incident—yet none heard anything unusual. The screening room’s soundproofing was poor, but the booming audio of the film, even in a rundown theater, could’ve masked any struggle.
"A wire around the neck kills in seconds," Zhu Qing analyzed. "The victim might not have had time to scream."
Mo Zhenbang stared at the whiteboard, lost in thought.
This case was strange from the get-go.
The tense silence in the room was finally broken by the arrival of their littlest regular—Sheng Fang.
The boy had become such a fixture at the Yau Ma Tei Police Station that even Inspector Weng greeted him with a smile, forgetting his initial stern warnings to Zhu Qing about keeping personal and professional lives separate.
Fresh from school, Sheng Fang had pestered Aunt Ping to pick up his niece.
Aunt Ping dropped him off at the station before hurrying to the market for ingredients missing from her medicinal soup recipe.
Seeing Sheng Fang reminded everyone—Zhu Qing’s mother’s surgery had gone well, and they’d promised to celebrate.
Hao Zai grinned. "Let’s decide where to celebrate first. We need motivation."
"Come to our new villa!" Sheng Fang chirped.
"New villa?" The team echoed in unison.
They’d just attended Zhu Qing’s housewarming months ago.
Amid jokes about inheriting the old place, Mo Zhenbang chuckled and reached for his promotion exam materials. Between the tough case and looming tests, the days ahead wouldn’t be easy.
"Everyone, go get some rest," he finally announced.
The police had done all they could. Now, they waited—for the victim’s family to come forward, for forensics and the medical examiner to provide new clues.
Sheng Fang exhaled in relief.
Perfect timing. Case closed—for now.
Leaving the station, the boy climbed into Zhu Qing’s car.
Aunt Ping joined them at the market entrance.
From the backseat, Sheng Fang piped up: "Qing, big sis asked me to buy something for her…"
---
After her surgery, Sheng Peirong returned to Hong Kong and was admitted to the Canossian Sanatorium.
These past months, her farthest excursion had been the rehab room—yet she’d been busier than in the last decade.
Lawyers came and went, each visit leaving stacks of documents behind.
Sheng Fang, following his eldest sister’s instructions, had teamed up with his niece as her little errand runner. Today’s mission: a mobile phone. Now, Sheng Peirong fumbled with the keypad while the boy pressed against her shoulder, tiny fingers jabbing the screen.
"Big sis, tap here."
"No no, hold it longer!"
Zhu Qing lounged on the sofa, her notebook open but her mind replaying case details.
The blend of Sheng Fang’s childish coaching, Aunt Ping’s simmering soup from the kitchen, and her mother’s soft laughter wove together into something unexpectedly comforting.
This was the sound of home—loud, warm, alive.
Sheng Peirong was surprised Aunt Ping knew Dr. Cheng.
"That handsome doctor," Aunt Ping winked. "Always on call."
Sheng Peirong glanced at her little brother.
The boy usually rose to dares instantly—yet this time—
"Oops, big sis, I forgot!"
Zhu Qing shut her notebook. "Forgot what?"
Sheng Peirong covered the boy’s mouth, deflecting: "How do I dial this number?"
She knew perfectly well how phones worked. Close call—disaster averted.
Sheng Fang took the lawyer’s business card, pressing each digit with solemn focus.
Every button emitted a cheerful beep.
"Ding—"
"This one’s speakerphone," he explained. "Press it, and everyone can hear."
Right on cue, the call connected, the lawyer’s voice filling the room.
Upon realizing it was Sheng Peirong, the attorney hurriedly said he’d been trying to reach her.
"Ms. Sheng, General Manager Pei proposed an emergency motion at today’s board meeting questioning your decision-making capacity."
Rumors were spreading—that Sheng Peirong lay comatose, mentally unfit.
"Unfit?" Sheng Fang tilted his cherubic face upward. "Who’re they talking about?"
Sheng Peirong smiled.
Yes, who indeed?
She was back. Time to set things right.
(Sheng Fang watched too much TV…)
He knew exactly what came next.
In a stage whisper, the boy declared: "Big sis is making her comeback!"
---
Zhu Qing threw herself back into work. Sheng Fang returned to school.
Everyone adjusted to the new rhythm.
With another case brewing, Zhu Qing’s homecoming times became unpredictable again. Aunt Ping packed the little one’s schoolbag, ready to shuttle between both worlds as usual.
"Big sis, we’ll visit tomorrow," Sheng Fang promised.
Seated in her wheelchair, Sheng Peirong’s eyes crinkled with warmth.
"Focus on your work. Don’t worry about me."
She insisted they needn’t visit—she wasn’t a patient anymore, just someone enjoying a leisurely retreat.
Zhu Qing: "We’re not making a special trip."
Sheng Fang interjected: "Our Qing just misses her mama!"
Zhu Qing’s lips quirked upward as she pinched the boy’s plump cheek—
Like squishing a ball of sticky rice dough.
The car slowly pulled away from the sanatorium, with Fang Fang hugging her backpack to her chest like a stuffed toy.
The abrupt ring of a mobile phone cut through the silence.
Zhu Qing answered the call, and Zeng Yongshan’s voice immediately came through.
“Major discovery!”
“The victim’s identity has been confirmed—it’s director Zhou Yongsheng.”
No wonder Zeng Yongshan had mentioned he looked familiar.
Zhu Qing’s fingers tapped lightly on the steering wheel. “Was he famous?”
“Extremely. Ask anyone—they’ve definitely seen his films.”
Fang Fang tilted her head.
Their niece clearly hadn’t.
Poor Zhu Qing, missing out on so much.
Her little uncle decided then and there to take her to the movies.
Zeng Yongshan paused, her tone shifting to something more cryptic. “But here’s something you’d never guess.”
“What?”
“Zhou Yongsheng… theoretically, he was already dead ten years ago.”
The phone was on speaker. Though she didn’t understand, Fang Fang could tell from Zeng Yongshan’s tone that this was a bombshell revelation.
Yet Zhu Qing’s grip on the wheel didn’t waver, her voice steady.
Fang Fang gave an approving little nod, stretching her arm to pat Zhu Qing’s shoulder.
Future Commissioner of Police material!
Zhu Qing glanced back, puzzled by the odd child.
On the other end, Zeng Yongshan’s voice dropped lower. “Ten years ago, Zhou Yongsheng and the female lead of his film died in a lovers’ suicide. It was huge news across Hong Kong.”
“And now…” Zhu Qing said slowly, “he’s died again.”
Zeng Yongshan continued, “Guess what happened to the actress who supposedly died with him?”
In the backseat, little Sheng Fang’s eyes widened like saucers.
She whispered solemnly, “Aunt Ping, this is classified police intel.”
Right now, Officer Fang’s sense of duty weighed heavier than Mount Tai.
She even started recruiting for the force.
Fang Fang pressed a chubby finger to her lips and said gravely, “Join us. Become a professional undercover agent.”
