The identity of the deceased has been confirmed—
He Jia'er, Class of 1983, Journalism Department, Hong Kong University.
Mo Zhenbang circled a figure in the nightclub photo.
A decade ago, the case had been classified as a missing persons report. But because the victim’s parents concealed her employment at the nightclub when filing the report, the investigation never traced back to the establishment. This also left the identity of the man who bought her gifts and chauffeured her in luxury cars shrouded in mystery. The team couldn’t help but sigh—the ones who cared most about He Jia'er’s safety were her parents, yet had they not been so ignorant, had they understood the gravity of the situation, perhaps her body wouldn’t have been hidden in a fireplace for ten long years, reduced to skeletal remains, only now receiving this belated autopsy report.
"Hao Zai, what about that platinum ring I asked you to look into?"
"Boss!" Hao Zai straightened his lounging posture. "No purchase records found. It wasn’t a limited edition to begin with, and the store’s long gone. The remaining stock probably ended up in a Temple Street night market clearance sale..."
"Head to He Jia'er’s place. Check if the designer handbags and high heels the nightclub crowd mentioned are still there," Inspector Mo continued. "There’s got to be a paper trail somewhere."
Mo Zhenbang finished speaking, but the junior officers remained rooted in place.
"Still here?"
Zeng Yongshan timidly raised her hand. "Sir, our egg tarts haven’t arrived yet."
Mo Zhenbang: "..."
"Who ordered takeout?" A deliveryman from Lik Kee Bakery stood at the door, bags in hand, shouting.
Before clerical officer Sister Zhen could react, Zeng Yongshan had already grabbed Zhu Qing’s wrist and dashed out.
Taking the bags from the deliveryman, Zeng Yongshan eagerly pried open the egg tart box. The pastries were still warm, flaky crust crumbling at the touch.
"Ever tried these before?"
"N—" Zhu Qing’s reply was cut short as a tart was shoved into her mouth. She barely caught it with her hands, the rich butter fragrance melting on her tongue.
"Madam, I’m here to see Inspector Mo."
A deep male voice came from behind. Both women turned.
A stranger stood at the entrance—sharp features, immaculate uniform.
Back in the conference room, while distributing egg tarts and silk-stockings milk tea, Zeng Yongshan shot Zhu Qing a series of exaggerated winks.
Eavesdropping while multitasking, she absorbed every detail about the newcomer.
"That’s the senior officer just transferred from Criminal Intelligence Bureau!"
"Zhu Qing, you’re practically psychic!"
"Prince Charming..." Zeng Yongshan whispered. "You said it yesterday—tomorrow, at the earliest!"
The West Kowloon Crime Unit B Team had been understaffed for ages. After countless requests, Mo Zhenbang had finally secured reinforcements. The new transfer, Liang Qikai, barely had time for introductions before forensics burst in, clutching the platinum ring’s analysis report.
Mo Zhenbang waved Liang Qikai into the briefing, instructing him to catch up on the case.
"The inner band of He Jia'er’s platinum ring does bear an engraved inscription," Inspector Mo confirmed, comparing the report to evidence photos, brow furrowed. "Two letters. The first is—"
Hao Zai leaned in. "C?"
The second letter was worn, illegible.
"Broken, jagged lines—not even a deity could decipher this!"
"Forensics did their best. Inspector Ge pulled all the stops..."
Mo Zhenbang suddenly turned. "Zhu Qing, those scribbles from He Jia'er’s parents?"
She retrieved the notepaper from her binder, spreading it on the table.
The team rotated the sheet, meticulously cross-referencing it with the evidence.
After a tense silence, Xu Jiale squinted. "It’s an ‘S,’ right?"
On the day of identification, the illiterate elderly couple had tremblingly recreated the engraving from memory.
No one expected those clumsy strokes to become the case’s linchpin.
"Confirmed—first letter ‘C,’ second ‘S’..." Uncle Li pieced it together. "The Sheng family’s second son-in-law?"
Zhu Qing wrote the Cantonese romanization of Chen Chaosheng’s name:
Chan Chiu Seng.
If earlier suspicions were circumstantial, the ring now stood as silent indictment.
"So the married man in the luxury car was Chen Chaosheng?"
"Possible motives: love turned to hatred, or the victim blackmailing him over his status. Things escalated—he killed her in the heat of the moment."
Uncle Li combed through the second son-in-law’s alibi during the critical period.
Back then, the villa’s renovation took months. The Sheng legal team had meticulously documented every family member’s movements. The wealthy lived monotonously—board meetings, ribbon-cuttings, international vacations... Notably, during the fireplace installation, Chen Chaosheng was marked "overseas on business."
"Flawless alibi?" He scoffed. "The Second Young Miss worried her husband might crash his car. Did it ever occur to her that the real danger slept beside her?"
"Found something!" Xu Jiale emerged from a pile of old newspapers. "Hong Kong Polytechnic, top scholarship recipient for years. Another academic overachiever."
"Question: Would an architectural engineering major know how to build a fireplace?"
"Qikai and Uncle Li—visit Sheng Holdings. Enter through the garage. If press asks, say it’s regarding the Mid-Levels villa construction incident."
"Yongshan, Xiao Sun—notify the family. Kwun Tong subdivided flats, right? Bring extra tissues for the elderly."
"Hao Zai, Jiale—cross-reference their social circles. Start with He Jia'er’s journalism classmates."
"Zhu Qing, you’re with me to the Sheng residence."
"Hypothetically—if the alibi’s fabricated, do you think the Second Young Miss would cover for her husband?"
Zhu Qing popped the last bite of egg tart into her mouth, crumbs clinging to her lips.
The new transfer officer smiled, offering a tissue, discreetly gesturing to his own mouth.
She declined, swiping the crumbs away with her hand, then grabbed her milk tea to follow Mo Zhenbang.
...
In just two days, this marked Zhu Qing’s third visit to the Sheng estate.
However labyrinthine the Mid-Levels villa’s exterior, she could now navigate it blindfolded.
Butler Cui, alerted by the property manager, awaited the officers at the entrance.
"Inspector, Madam—any breakthroughs in the case?"
Mo Zhenbang remained silent, so Zhu Qing asked, "Is the Second Young Miss available?"
"You’re here for her?" Butler Cui hesitated. "Unfortunate timing. On the first of every month, the Young Miss has prior engagements."
"Please wait." He checked his watch, ushering them inside. "The chauffeur took her. She should return shortly."
"Where did she go?"
The butler grimaced. "Well—"
Mo Zhenbang’s patience wore thin. His steely gaze left no room for evasion.
Under the inspector’s pressure, Butler Cui relented. "She’s visiting the Eldest Young Miss..."
Mo Zhenbang and Zhu Qing exchanged glances—they had coincidentally discussed this very issue on their way here.
"Is it far from Shek O to Mid-Levels? Even the Governor isn't as enigmatic as Sheng Peirong and Cheng Zhaoqian."
"Rumors paint the sisters as sworn enemies, but that’s not true. The younger miss is a full decade younger than her sister. She grew up trailing behind her, even clinging to her sleeve to fall asleep."
"During the Miss Hong Kong pageant, the old master joked that if the host asked who her idol was, in the second miss’s heart, her sister would always outrank her own father."
Butler Cui explained that between Sheng Peirong and Sheng Peishan, there was no scheming or rivalry—only deep sisterly affection.
"Did Sheng Peishan try to persuade Sheng Peirong when she moved out?"
"How could she? The matter of the little granddaughter… For the sake of the Sheng family’s reputation, the old master not only refrained from reporting it but also suppressed all news."
Uncle Lin, the property manager, claimed that Sheng Peirong, the eldest daughter of the Sheng family, had become a wealthy recluse and moved out in protest of her father’s refusal to relinquish control.
But that was because he didn’t know about Mr. Sheng’s long-deceased little granddaughter.
"Once the old master made a decision, no one could change it." Butler Cui sighed. "After that fire, he didn’t even hold a proper funeral for the little one. The eldest miss stood in the rain all night, clutching an empty urn."
The Sheng family case had dredged up too many past grievances.
Zhu Qing hadn’t forgotten the purpose of their visit: "After the skeletal remains were discovered, did Mr. Chen exhibit any unusual behavior?"
"The second son-in-law?" Butler Cui looked startled. "These days, he’s been the one holding the entire Sheng family together. Though, strangely, he’s been absent-minded lately."
"Since the old master passed, he’s often worked until dawn." Butler Cui lowered his voice. "Last night, I saw him open a bottle of wine and drink alone in the backyard until late."
"He’s always been considerate of the second miss. Afraid of disturbing her rest when drunk, he’d just spend the night in the study."
"He hasn’t been seen today either…"
"Lead the way," Mo Zhenbang cut in coldly.
"This way, please." Butler Cui bowed slightly, his footsteps heavy.
When light, hurried footsteps echoed from around the corridor corner, Zhu Qing immediately recognized them as Young Master Sheng’s.
The little lord, as usual, strutted with an air of invincibility before skidding to a halt outside the study, blocking her path.
"Did you apply for my Good Citizen Award yet?"
The child’s train of thought was too erratic. Zhu Qing waited for him to finish before recalling the joke she’d brushed off that morning.
A casual remark, and the three-year-old had taken it seriously.
"…Soon," Zhu Qing replied flatly.
Two sharp knocks. Butler Cui stood sideways by the study’s carved wooden door. "Second Son-in-Law."
Zhu Qing: "Is the study currently being used by Mr. Chen?"
"There’s another study on the second floor where he originally worked. After the old master passed, he moved here."
Mo Zhenbang nodded, tilting his chin toward the study. "Could he have gone out?"
"Unlikely," Butler Cui said. "No one saw the second son-in-law leave this morning."
He knocked again, firmer this time. "Second Son-in-Law, the detectives from the Serious Crimes Unit are here."
Young Master Sheng persisted: "Is the award ceremony at the Peninsula Hotel’s rooftop revolving restaurant?"
"No," Zhu Qing said. "It’s at Granny Cui’s Herbal Tea Stall on Yau Ma Tei Street."
"A medal or a trophy?"
"A winter melon from the tea stall."
Sheng Fang scrunched up his dumpling-like face, tilting his head skeptically.
Butler Cui’s hand rested on the doorknob. After another confirming knock, he pressed down, freezing. "The door’s unlocked."
"Second Son-In-Law…" He pushed it open gently, voice hushed. "Are you asleep, or—"
Just then, a maid arrived with a tea tray for the officers.
As the door swung wide, a heavy thud echoed. The tray crashed to the floor, shattering porcelain in all directions.
Facing the study door was a computer.
On the screen, a document was open.
Three enormous words—"I’M SORRY"—blazed in a glaring blood-red font, with dense lines of smaller text beneath.
Everyone’s gaze trailed downward.
Chen Chaosheng lay slumped in the leather swivel chair, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle. The monitor’s pallid glow cast an eerie light—an unmistakable scene of suicide by guilt.
The maid’s scream pierced through the villa.
Sheng Fang began to turn, but a firm hand held him in place.
Zhu Qing pressed the little curly-haired bundle against her with one arm, her other hand shielding his eyes.
"Close them," she said, her tone still detached. "Unless you want nightmares."
The usually domineering little tyrant forgot to struggle, his lashes fluttering against her palm.
At the study’s entrance, the air thickened, suffocating.
This child who always played at being an adult—
For once, like the toddler he was, he found himself shielded in Zhu Qing’s awkward but secure embrace.
