Even in the most high-end sanatoriums, the accompanying beds are never comfortable—narrow and cramped. Yet Zhu Qing and little Sheng Fang always slept soundly in them. One was nestled beside her mother, the other curled up next to his eldest sister. When dawn came, they’d blink awake drowsily, linger under the covers a little longer, and then open their eyes to find everything as it should be—a comforting certainty.
Sheng Peirong had been awake for over half a month since her surgery. This time, it wasn’t a dream. Both aunt and nephew knew that.
The accompanying bed wasn’t cozy, but the quilt was soft and fluffy, specially chosen by Aunt Ping at Sheng Peirong’s request. Sheng Fang stretched one small hand out from under the covers, then the other, yawning before officially declaring himself awake.
"Good morning, eldest sister, good morning, Qingqing."
"Good morning," Sheng Peirong replied, pinching his cheek.
The little one had already forgotten the grievances he’d mumbled in his sleep the night before. Sheng Peirong didn’t know if her little brother usually had morning grumpiness, but right now, there was none—just limbs flailing as he kicked off the blankets, looking so adorable it was hard not to scoop him up and squeeze him. Unfortunately, Sheng Peirong wasn’t strong enough to lift him yet. Luckily, Zhu Qing could.
"Time to get up," Zhu Qing said, plucking Sheng Fang from the bed.
The sanatorium was quite a distance from the kindergarten in Kowloon Tong, so they had to leave early. Zhu Qing had called three times already, but the little one acted like he couldn’t hear, snuggling into his pillow, shaking his head, and humming nursery rhymes until even his morning grumpiness melted away.
"Go wash up!"
"Eldest sister—" Fangfang kicked his short legs. "Look at Qingqing!"
"Mom," Zhu Qing mimicked his tone. "Look at Sheng Fang!"
Sheng Peirong loved hearing Fangfang draw out the word "eldest sister" in that sweet, whiny voice—it melted her heart. She also loved hearing Zhu Qing call her "Mom." Twenty years of separation hadn’t broken the natural bond between mother and daughter. Now, Zhu Qing’s affectionate tone felt so effortless that sometimes Sheng Peirong wondered if they’d ever been apart.
"For fairness’ sake," Sheng Peirong said leisurely, "I’m not taking sides."
During the morning rush, the bathroom became a battleground.
Little Fangfang clutched his clothes, insisting he was a "big boy" who needed privacy to change.
Zhu Qing brushed her teeth with her eyes closed. "Go ahead, I won’t look."
Sheng Peirong wrung out a warm towel but hadn’t even washed her face before her wheelchair was pushed out by the two of them.
It finally dawned on the aunt-nephew pair that Sheng Peirong neither had work nor school to rush to—why was she crowding the bathroom in the first place?
Mornings like this were new to Sheng Peirong.
Her old home had never lacked bathrooms. Everything had been orderly, never this chaotic.
Yet it was precisely these noisy, warm mornings that made her realize—they were truly living together now.
After washing up, the family gathered around the breakfast table.
The clink of chopsticks and spoons against bowls, Fangfang’s cheeks puffed up like a hamster storing food, Zhu Qing eyeing the clock and trying to pack breakfast to go—only to be stopped by her little uncle.
"You go ahead," Fangfang said between bites. "I’m eating slowly."
"Then how are you getting to school?"
"If you’re worried, you’ll just have to wait for me," Fangfang declared smugly.
Sheng Peirong’s eyes prickled at the ordinary, tender scene, and she quickly turned away.
This companionship was too precious. She’d almost lost it forever.
So she would cherish it all the more.
……
The battles between aunt and nephew were always evenly matched.
Sometimes, the little uncle would lose to the strict grown-up Zhu Qing, surrendering his remote, game controller, and mouse with a pout, stomping off to bed in silent protest. Other times, the niece had to listen to her uncle—like now, waiting for him to finish eating before they left, the little one lounging in the back seat, rubbing his full belly and praising the sanatorium’s chef.
But home wasn’t a place for keeping score.
As the car headed toward the kindergarten, Sheng Fang pressed his face against the window, watching the traffic and crowds outside.
His little mind was always full of wild ideas. Fangfang would chatter about clouds, roadside flowers, or passing dogs—things Zhu Qing had never paid attention to before. Now, she found herself humoring him, replying absentmindedly.
"Qingqing, we should buy our new house soon," Sheng Fang suddenly announced. "When are we going to look at properties?"
Zhu Qing gripped the steering wheel, slowing to a stop at a red light.
Through the rearview mirror, she studied the little figure in the back seat, remembering a summer not long ago.
Back then, under blinding sunlight, Fangfang had looked up at her and asked in his tiny voice—
"Can I buy you a flat?"
Now, the little one solemnly declared, "If you don’t go, I’ll go by myself!"
To the old Fangfang, buying property had been as easy as buying groceries.
Now, with his eldest sister backing him, it was as simple as drinking water.
"Wait a little longer," Zhu Qing said. "Let’s go together after I close this case."
Fangfang tilted his head, scrutinizing the back of Zhu Qing’s head, before reluctantly agreeing. "Fine."
The car pulled up at the kindergarten gates.
Fangfang strutted triumphantly, his steps full of swagger—until he spotted Jin Bao and paused, glancing back.
Zhu Qing didn’t need to guess. She knew Fangfang was probably telling Jin Bao that his "niece" had brought him to school today.
She rolled down the window and waved at the two kids.
Jin Bao’s eyes lit up instantly.
As she turned the car around, Zhu Qing couldn’t help smiling. Clearly, Sheng Fang talked about her often at school—she’d become the famous "Madam" among his classmates.
But as the car sped away, two snippets of conversation drifted in through the window.
"Has our niece left already?"
"Yeah!"
Zhu Qing: "…"
……
Zhu Qing stepped into the police station right on time. A small group stood at the reception desk.
The family of a missing person from ten years ago had arrived.
When they’d filed the report back then, they’d only provided vague details—name, age, clothes worn at the time. Now, with the investigation narrowed down, the police had zeroed in on a stunt double from a film crew back then.
"My daughter… my daughter used to be a stunt double."
The speaker was a gray-haired father.
He sat stiffly on a bench, clutching a photo of a teenage girl in school uniform, smiling at the camera.
Handing it to the officer, his voice trembled. "Is… is it her?"
Ten years. A whole decade.
The officers took the photo, but no one spoke. The body had been in a state of advanced decomposition—bloated, disfigured, unrecognizable. They didn’t even know what the stunt double had originally looked like.
Hao Zai rushed off with the photo to find Old Liu, a crew member from back then, for verification.
Old Liu recognized her immediately. "That’s her, the girl who doubled for Gu Niman. Inspector, why are you looking into her now?"
"What happened to the stand-in lady?" Hao Zai opened his mouth but ultimately didn’t answer, borrowing the phone to call back to the police station to report.
He knew that his colleagues at the station would have an even harder time facing the elderly father.
Every step of the process that followed felt unbearably heavy.
The father pulled out a piece of paper from his old wallet.
"You said on the phone that you needed medical records." His hands were still trembling as he gently unfolded the paper. "Will a middle school physical exam form work?"
The blood type recorded on it matched perfectly with the deceased from all those years ago.
The father continued straining his memory.
"Ah, right." He suddenly leaned forward. "She should have been wearing a silver bracelet on her foot—her mother left it for her."
The air instantly froze.
Every officer who had flipped through the case files remembered that among the evidence from the "suicide pact" case ten years ago, there had indeed been such a silver bracelet. At the time, the body was so swollen and disfigured that the bracelet had dug deep into the bloated flesh. Everyone had assumed it belonged to Gu Niman.
Gu Niman had once mentioned how Zhou Yongsheng had knelt before her, his trousers covered in dust, weeping as he begged her to stay.
The police couldn’t imagine such tears back then, but now they were witnessing firsthand the heart-wrenching, nearly hysterical sobs of a grieving father.
The officers turned their faces away, some with reddened eyes.
If he had known the truth would be this cruel, the devastated father might have wished to remain in the dark forever.
……
In the shadows of the corridor’s corner, several officers leaned against the wall.
From the interrogation room came the intermittent cries of the stand-in lady’s father. No one could bear to step forward.
"At this point, whoever killed Zhou Yongsheng did the world a favor."
"Madam Zeng, stay professional. Watch your words," Hao Zai muttered under his breath. "If Inspector Mo hears you, you’ll be called in for another talk."
"Fine, fine, forget I said anything." Zeng Yongshan pressed her fingers to her lips in an exaggerated zipping motion.
After what felt like an eternity, the interrogation room door cracked open slightly.
Xiao Sun peeked out. "The deceased’s father has calmed down a bit. We can continue the statement."
When they stepped inside, the old man was clumsily wiping his nose with his sleeve.
Zhu Qing silently handed him a pack of tissues.
After ten long years, the stand-in lady had finally reclaimed her name.
She was Ruan Wenjing.
"Can you tell us about the circumstances of her disappearance?"
"She insisted on joining a film crew, dreaming of becoming a star. Said she met some big-shot director while working odd jobs and wanted to learn from him… Why would a big director pick her of all people? Nothing good comes from pie-in-the-sky opportunities." The old man crumpled the tissue in his hand. "I tried to talk sense into her—just find a steady job, forget about fame."
"Wenjing called me old-fashioned. Said I didn’t understand her."
"Maybe… maybe I really was too rigid back then…"
His voice began to shake again.
"That day, she slammed the door and left. Never came back." Tears pooled in his clouded eyes. "For ten years, I’ve wondered—if I’d just supported her, would she have come home to me if something went wrong?"
Zhu Qing and Xiao Sun watched as the old man’s calloused hands kept twisting the tissue, as if that alone could steady them.
"How did she die? How could she have died in the ocean?"
"Was it… an accident? Or—" His breath hitched, the rest of the question trapped in his throat.
The deceased, Ruan Wenjing, was two years older than Gu Niman.
Her father, now past sixty, had opposed her career as a stand-in from the start and had no interest in the drama of the entertainment industry.
The old man said his wife had passed early, leaving him to raise their daughter alone. Perhaps he hadn’t known how to be a good father, only that he wanted her to abandon impractical dreams. To him, Ruan Wenjing—plain-looking and without connections—would’ve been better off with a stable nine-to-five than living as someone else’s shadow on set.
Yet his opposition only made her more determined to prove herself.
Old Liu from the crew had said she worked harder than anyone.
People told her she was naive—just a stand-in, lucky to get scraps from Gu Niman’s table.
But maybe, back then, Ruan Wenjing had truly believed she could carve out her own path.
"Wenjing… she was always stubborn," Father Ruan murmured.
"Were you aware of the so-called suicide pact between Gu Niman and Zhou Yongsheng ten years ago?"
Father Ruan shook his head blankly.
At the time, he’d been too consumed with searching for his daughter to pay attention to anything else. At first, he hadn’t feared the worst—just assumed she was still angry or had followed a new crew to another city. He remembered the defiant set of her shoulders as she stormed out, vowing to prove him wrong.
But as days turned to months without word, he grew uneasy.
Father Ruan knew his child. Stubborn as she was, Wenjing had always been filial. No matter how upset, she would’ve come home.
Slowly, dread took root. He began searching frantically.
That search lasted a decade.
Xiao Sun abruptly interrupted, asking about Father Ruan’s whereabouts at the time of Zhou Yongsheng’s death.
The specific date meant nothing to him. After a pause, he said, "I was probably at home."
"Why does that matter?"
But exhaustion had hollowed him out. Even when the police didn’t answer, he lacked the strength to press further.
Finally, hunched and hesitant, he asked, "That silver bracelet… can I take it home?"
Leaving the interrogation room, Zhu Qing found herself gripping the case file too tightly.
Back in the CID office, it took a long time before hushed discussions resumed.
"He searched for his daughter for ten whole years. Used the most old-fashioned methods—flyers, combing through every street she might’ve walked."
"Every conversation about stand-in work ended in arguments. He didn’t even have a single film crew contact in their phonebook."
"Every missing person poster said, ‘I’m sorry, Wenjing, please come home.’"
"God knows how he survived those ten years."
"Missing people…" Uncle Li sighed. "No matter how hard you look, the dead stay dead."
Zhu Qing’s gaze fell on the case file’s cover—"Suicide Pact" in bold letters.
That case from ten years ago was no suicide.
It was murder.
Zhou Yongsheng had killed Ruan Wenjing in cold blood.
"Everyone assumed the dead couldn’t be culprits. So no one ever suspected Zhou Yongsheng."
"And the deaths in the Gu family," Zhu Qing added. "With no obvious red flags, they were ruled accidents."
In the office, the same chilling possibility dawned on every officer.
"One is bad enough... but all three of them are gone. Now Gu Niman has no family left in this world. Do you think they might have also died at Zhou Yongsheng's hands?" Hao Zai frowned. "If that's the case, he's truly ruthless."
"If he weren't ruthless, Ruan Wenjing wouldn’t have died for nothing."
"And Gu Niman’s face—he claims to love her so much, yet he could bear to do that to her."
"But why would he do it?"
The answer was on the tip of their tongues.
Only by leaving Gu Niman completely isolated and helpless could he keep her forever.
Over the past decade, Gu Niman’s parents and younger brother had died one after another—all in so-called "accidents."
Could it really just be a coincidence?
Mo Zhenbang’s voice was grim as he ordered, "Pull the case files on Gu Niman’s parents and brother again."
This might not have been his first murder.
Zhou Yongsheng’s victims could extend far beyond Ruan Wenjing.
......
During lunch break, the B team of the Major Crimes Unit learned from their colleagues on duty that Gu Niman had arrived early that morning.
She sat on a bench outside the reporting room, not bothering to hide behind sunglasses, simply waiting in silence.
Every time an officer passed by, she would tilt her face up slightly and ask softly, "Officer, is there any progress... on Yongsheng’s case?"
Zhu Qing and Zeng Yongshan stood at a distance, holding their coffees, watching her.
"It’s complicated," Zeng Yongshan murmured. "Morally, she’s the other woman—she broke up a family. But back then, she was only eighteen. What did she know?"
Just like now, after ten years under his control, she had lost all ability to live independently.
Without Zhou Yongsheng, she didn’t even know how to go on.
The officers came and went, noticing how she remained there, unmoving.
Gone were the beige coat and matching scarf from the previous days. Today, she wore an emerald-green overcoat that made her already pale complexion seem even more ghostly.
"What do you think she would look like now... if her face hadn’t been ruined?"
"If none of this had ever happened... maybe she’d be a star? Walking red carpets, shining bright, looking back on her so-called ‘love’ at eighteen with regret, laughing about how naive she’d been in interviews."
"We checked the records from ten years ago. Zhou Yongsheng never once reported anything to the police. He planned the ‘disfigurement’ meticulously, using high-concentration sulfuric acid just to make sure she could never leave him."
Gu Niman didn’t pester them. She only spoke when an officer stopped for her, and even then, her words were few—as if she had to gather all her courage just to ask. Once she got her answer, she fell silent again.
The reply was always the same: "Still under investigation." Yet she refused to leave.
Zeng Yongshan sighed. "Maybe... she doesn’t know where else to go."
The little white house in Peng Chau, out in the islands—that was where they had lived together.
Zhou Yongsheng and Gu Niman had loved each other—at least, in her eyes, they had. Ten years of living side by side, and if you ignored the abuse and the imprisonment, to Gu Niman, Zhou Yongsheng had been the perfect lover. He had saved her.
The police knew better, of course. No amount of love could excuse what he’d done. The acid hadn’t just destroyed her face—it had destroyed the life she’d barely begun.
But now, with Zhou Yongsheng dead, the only person she had left in the world was gone. It would take her a long time to recover from that loss.
Footsteps approached.
Gu Niman lifted her head slowly and saw the two female officers standing before her.
She straightened instinctively.
"Did Zhou Yongsheng have any enemies?" Zhu Qing asked.
She shook her head faintly. "I don’t know."
When the topic shifted to her family, Gu Niman’s voice grew even quieter.
"My mother fell from a building. My father died in a fishing accident. It was all so long ago."
Spring Day.
"My little brother was in a car crash too. Yongsheng told me about it." Her fingers brushed the scars on her cheek. "He went in my place... to see him one last time."
"If they saw me now, they’d be horrified."
Maybe it had been too long since she’d last seen them. When she spoke of her family, there was only emptiness in her tone.
Ten years of isolation. Zhou Yongsheng had been her entire world.
"You should go home," Zeng Yongshan finally said, gently.
......
In the conference room, the whiteboard was covered in clues—some marked with glaring question marks, others circled in red for emphasis.
"Dig deeper," Mo Zhenbang said sternly. "Re-examine every suspicious person."
Zhou Yongsheng’s wife, Jiang Xiaowei, and their son, Jiang Yifan, had been prime suspects at first. If Zhou Yongsheng had died in a lovers’ suicide, the shame and gossip left behind for his family would have given them more than enough motive.
But both had airtight alibis for the time of the murder. The police had verified them repeatedly.
"Honestly, it’s better this way. They’ve already wasted ten years on that man. Why should they throw away the rest of their lives too?"
"From what we’ve gathered, Jiang Xiaowei and Jiang Yifan had already started moving on before Zhou Yongsheng ‘came back to life.’"
"Even if he returned from the dead, all it did was remind them what kind of man he really was. The tears they shed for him back then... what a waste."
Xu Jiale flipped through the case notes. "What about the male lead?"
"Back when they were filming, the director only had eyes for Gu Niman. The guy was treated like an extra in his own movie. When it finally came out, all anyone talked about was the director and the female lead being ‘too deep in character.’ Nobody even remembered the male lead existed."
"He was the one who leaked that Gu Niman had used a stunt double, too."
"Lu Yongyan was on vacation abroad when it happened. We’ve got his flight records," Zhu Qing said, shaking her head. "I even went to the airport to intercept him when he came back."
Their focus returned to the obsessive fan, Liu Wei.
"He claims he lost track of them. Followed them all the way from the cemetery to the diner, but the moment they were supposed to head to the theater, he ‘lost them’? Right at the crucial moment?"
"Ten years. He still hasn’t moved on. His house is covered in photos of Gu Niman. To him, she wasn’t just an idol—she was the light of his youth. Killing for that kind of obsession... the motive fits."
The police began retracing Liu Wei’s steps that day.
Had he been on foot? Or had he taken a cab? If it was the latter, they needed to find the driver.
"Go back to the Sunset Theater," Mo Zhenbang ordered. "Show Liu Wei’s photo to every staff member there."
Liang Qikai looked up. "We already did that last time."
"Double-check everything. Maybe he was in disguise this time—bring photos of Liu Wei from different periods. Especially ones with masks or hats. Make sure they look carefully," Mo Zhenbang insisted. "Also, check the nearby shops. He visited Funian Tea Restaurant—did any other store clerks along the way recognize him? We only questioned the staff on duty at the time, but what about those on rotating shifts? Newsstands, street vendors… leave no stone unturned."
"At the same time, investigate other obsessive fans and the remaining crew members."
"And find out if Zhou Yongsheng had any enemies over the past ten years."
As he spoke, Mo Zhenbang’s gaze drifted unconsciously toward Gu Niman, sitting at the end of the hallway.
She was staring out the window.
Bright sunlight spilled over the unblemished right side of her face. Gu Niman closed her eyes, quietly waiting for the final outcome.
……
Sheng Fang, the little troublemaker, knew his way around. After school, he rode his tiny bicycle straight to the police station.
While his colleagues took patrol cars to handle cases, he now had his own investigative vehicle—his short legs pedaling briskly as he parked his bike neatly beside the official police vehicles.
"Little master, no patrol today?" Aunt Ping asked.
Sheng Fang tugged at his collar. "Working upstairs today."
Hands clasped behind his back, he slowed his pace, glancing left and right—hoping to catch some loiterer in the act.
Aunt Ping followed the little lord all the way into the station, only realizing when they reached the CID office that his earlier collar adjustment had been an imitation of the adults clipping on their badges. After a few months in kindergarten, Sheng Fang’s pretend games had gotten scarily professional.
The little one had come specifically to pick up his niece from work.
Strange—just last night, Zhu Qing had been so relaxed, playing with him at the care center. How had she suddenly regained her energy to move so quickly again?
Fangfang took care of himself, tiptoeing into the break room to pour a cup of warm chrysanthemum tea.
Aunt Ping tried every trick to coax him home.
But if the little master were that obedient, he wouldn’t be the household terror. Darting around the office, he finally stopped at Weng Zhaolin’s door, knocked, and slipped inside before Aunt Ping could grab him.
"Ah John!" Fangfang peeked in. "Guess who’s here—"
Coincidentally, Weng Zhaolin had just been chewed out by his superior over the phone. He slammed the receiver down, his face dark as thunder.
"Some gossip magazine reporters are faster than our own officers, always digging up new dirt on Zhou Yongsheng," Weng Zhaolin muttered through gritted teeth. "Might as well deputize those paparazzi!"
Sheng Fang took a sip of his tea and sighed. "Ah—so good."
Chubby hands clutching the paper cup, he offered it to Zhaolin. "Want some?"
Weng Zhaolin’s frown softened slightly. "You drank from this already?"
“Yep.” Fangfang climbed onto the swivel chair opposite the desk, pushing off the edge to spin halfway. “Do you dislike me now?”
Weng Zhaolin chuckled and took a sip.
Sister Zhen’s morning-brewed chrysanthemum tea, now diluted, was just enough to soothe his irritation.
As Weng Zhaolin walked around the office, Fangfang trailed behind like a tiny shadow.
They passed workstations where officers barely noticed them, heads buried in files or rushing back and forth.
"See how hard our Qingqing’s working?" Fangfang put in a good word for his niece, then added, "Everyone’s working so hard!"
Weng Zhaolin exhaled softly.
True. Team B might joke around normally, but once they were on a case, they gave it everything.
"They just need more time—" Sheng Fang declared solemnly, sounding like a benevolent chief superintendent.
Weng Zhaolin stifled a laugh and handed the cup back. "This tea really does cool tempers. Want more?"
The little one tilted his head and refused in a milky voice. "No, that’s unhygienic."
Weng Zhaolin: "…"
Aunt Ping seized the moment to try luring the little terror home again—only for Fangfang to summon his ultimate shield.
"Aunt Ping, you go ahead," Weng Zhaolin waved her off. "Let him stay with me."
As he spoke, Fangfang sat primly on the office sofa, blinking innocently as he waved. "Bye-bye."
At dinnertime, the office door creaked open.
Fangfang’s fluffy head popped out again, rapping lightly on the doorframe.
"Can’t work on an empty stomach, right?"
Everyone looked over.
Weng Zhaolin rolled his eyes—he hadn’t even given the order, and here was his tiny spokesperson announcing mealtime.
The officers stayed frozen.
Sheng Fang deployed his signature puppy-dog eyes, staring imploringly at Ah John.
His niece was still hungry.
Weng Zhaolin surrendered with a grumble. "Fine, let’s eat."
Thanks to the Sheng family’s youngest, the team finally set aside their work.
On the way to the canteen, Fangfang skipped alongside Zhu Qing.
While adults ordered, he strained onto tiptoes, trying to see the unusually high menu board.
Suddenly, his little legs dangled midair, kicking excitedly.
Someone had lifted him up to breathe the lofty air.
The loiterer Fangfang had been hunting for days had finally appeared.
The little squint narrowed his eyes. "Aha! So this is where you’ve been!"
……
Zhu Qing settled at a canteen table, her gaze unconsciously tracking the round little figure.
Sheng Fang’s shirt hem flashed past the doorway as the tiny tyrant strutted off with full swagger.
Hao Zai tattled, "He just dragged Doctor Cheng aside and said—‘A word in private.’ Sounded like a gangster!"
Zhu Qing looked over.
The kid leaned against the wall, face stern as if negotiating with Doctor Cheng.
Zeng Yongshan burst out laughing. "I thought you were limiting his TV time?"
"Hard to tell," Zhu Qing sighed. "I can’t even tell which lines he’s picking up new and which are old favorites."
The adults of Team B—
Now brainstormed ways to outsmart the child.
"Getting a spare remote won’t help if he hides it."
"But here’s a trick—feel the TV when you get home. If it’s warm, he’s been watching."
Amid the laughter, conversation drifted back to the case.
The Gu family files had just arrived from another precinct, requiring fresh interviews.
Early on, they’d suspected Zhou Yongsheng might have killed the Gus. After the "suicide pact" case closed, his motive became clearer—he wanted Gu Niman utterly alone.
Now, her parents and brother were gone. Zhou Yongsheng was dead too.
But the truth couldn’t stay buried. Murder or accident—they owed her an answer.
"Father Ruan... Zhou Yongsheng had an alibi for the time of the murder. He was at home cooking, and a neighbor even stopped by to borrow some ginger. They chatted for a while. Father Ruan lived in the Kowloon public housing estate, while the Glow Theater was on Ferry Street—a round trip would take at least forty minutes. There’s no way he could’ve made it in time."
"It’s clear Father Ruan really didn’t know the full story behind that lovers’ suicide case from back then."
"Part of me actually wishes someone had avenged Ruan Wenjing. At least that would mean someone still remembers her. But sadly, there’s no one left in the Ruan family."
"Ruan Wenjing was only twenty at the time. What did she ever do wrong? Just because she resembled Gu Niman in build and shared the same blood type, she was chosen as the scapegoat."
"Right up until she boarded that yacht, she probably still thought it was a rare audition opportunity from Director Zhou. That she’d finally be able to prove herself to her father..."
The officers ate their dinner, murmuring among themselves as the conversation kept circling back to the case.
Suddenly, they noticed Uncle Li and Liang Qikai returning.
"We just went back to Glow Theater and found a crucial lead."
"Over a decade ago, that theater was thriving. A commercial film’s premiere was held there, and the washed-up director Zhou Yongsheng attended as a guest—though he looked less than thrilled about it."
"The theater manager had already been working there back then, but during questioning on the day of the incident, he pretended not to know Zhou Yongsheng."
"Where is he now?"
"We brought him in. He’s waiting in the interrogation room. Let’s finish eating first."
...
Fang Fang pulled Doctor Cheng aside for a private word—quite a few steps away, all the way to the hallway corner outside the restaurant.
Meanwhile, Doctor Cheng shuffled slowly, answering Sheng Fang’s questions as they made their way back inside.
"Are you pursuing my niece?"
Doctor Cheng didn’t break stride, his lips curving slightly. "You noticed?"
"Wow!" Sheng Fang’s eyes widened, his short legs scrambling to keep up as he darted in front of him. "You actually admitted it!"
Fang Fang had expected him to dodge the question, but instead, he owned up without hesitation.
"Doctor Cheng, the usual?" Sister Xiao smiled from behind the counter.
After Doctor Cheng placed his order, the little detective planted himself in front of him again.
Fang Fang, now in full interrogation mode, had to regroup after being thrown off balance.
Doctor Cheng met him at eye level, crouching down with complete openness.
Yes, he was pursuing her—but lately, she’d been too busy to even eat. That day he’d asked Zhu Qing to see a movie, she’d flipped through her little notebook and flatly said, "Absolutely no time."
She didn’t seem to have noticed his feelings yet.
"Here you go." Sister Xiao slid a drink across the counter at just the right moment.
Doctor Cheng presented Sheng Fang with his favorite—
Cream soda with fresh milk.
"Is this for me?"
Sister Xiao marked the order slip with her pen, her gaze flicking toward the juiciest gossip in real time.
Doctor Cheng was clearly playing the long game—winning over the kid to get closer to the family.
Sheng Fang clutched the glass with both hands, taking a loud slurp until his cheeks puffed up like little balloons.
"Hey, kid." Doctor Cheng rested a hand on Fang Fang’s small shoulder. "What does your niece like?"
"Gulp—" Sheng Fang swallowed his cream soda and answered earnestly, "Ultraman. And Transformers."
