Last time, Aunt Ping had waved her hands repeatedly, firmly rejecting Young Master Fangfang's suggestion to buy her a mobile phone. The elderly woman and the little boy had dashed through Mong Kok, until finally the little tyrant gave up and dragged her off to buy a children's bicycle instead.
Yet who would have thought that this clever little imp would soon recruit reinforcements? In the end, the mobile phone was successfully purchased, and Fangfang swayed his head proudly, humming a triumphant little tune, his face beaming with satisfaction.
Aunt Ping cradled the brand-new mobile phone in her hands, her fingers carefully tracing the smooth surface of the device. Mobile phones were expensive, and most people still relied on pagers for communication. Now, she had somehow leaped ahead of many young people. Clutching the phone awkwardly, her face was filled with bashfulness.
Zhu Qing sat patiently on the sofa, teaching her how to use it.
For now, they set aside the complicated functions—Aunt Ping only learned the basics of making and receiving calls, which was as simple as using a landline. She picked it up instantly.
"Press this to 'decline a call,'" Zhu Qing said, pointing at the red button.
"Why would I ever decline calls from you or the young miss?" Aunt Ping chuckled, shaking her head.
At that moment, Aunt Ping resembled an elderly child, her reading glasses slipping down to the tip of her nose as she earnestly studied this fascinating new gadget. Her expression was exactly the same as when she had received the radio years ago. Aunt Ping treasured every gift—that radio was still kept in a dry place, never allowed into the kitchen for fear of moisture or grease.
"These little holes must be for the sound, right?" Aunt Ping gently touched the speaker grille. "How nice."
Zhu Qing recalled Sheng Peirong mentioning that Aunt Ping had endured many hardships in her youth.
But now, her face was always lit with a smile—she would never be alone again.
Perhaps it was because of spending so much time with little Fangfang, but at some point, Zhu Qing’s heart had softened too.
The sound of pattering footsteps echoed through the room, sometimes distant, sometimes close.
In the living room, Fangfang wandered around with his hands behind his back.
The young master was born with a free spirit, but the cold weather forced him to shuffle around in his indoor slippers. Seeing Aunt Ping absorbed in her joy, he sidled up and squeezed himself right between the two of them.
Now, everyone in the family had a mobile phone—except Fangfang.
The little boy pulled out all the stops, pestering Zhu Qing with his most pitiful puppy-dog eyes, blinking so hard his eyelids nearly cramped.
But his niece remained unmoved, no matter how many tricks he tried.
Fangfang kicked off his slippers in frustration, sending one flying through the air.
He then flopped onto his bed, burying his face in the pillow and rolling back and forth.
After waiting for what felt like forever, no one came to comfort him.
A mournful wail erupted from the young master of the Sheng household—
"Poor Fangfang..."
...
Yesterday’s respite had been temporary. Until solid evidence was found, the investigation continued.
In the office, colleagues eagerly awaited the forensic team’s final report, hoping to bring the case to a close soon. Rubbing his bloodshot eyes, Hao Zai admitted he hadn’t slept well—he’d dreamed of that lonely white cottage on Peng Chau, where a soft blanket swayed eerily in the sea breeze, jolting him awake.
"At least we can wake up from nightmares," Hao Zai said. "But when will Gu Niman finally escape hers?"
"First, she has to wake up herself."
"If Gu Niman never lets go of Zhou Yongsheng, his influence over her might last far beyond these ten years."
Zhu Qing spread an old map across the table.
The Gu family had moved several times. When Gu Niman was ten, she and her parents and younger brother relocated to Man Wah Road, where she remained until her so-called "suicide." The street had long since vanished in urban redevelopment, but based on calculations and Aunt Ping’s confirmation, the distance from Man Wah Road to the ferry pier’s Xia Guang Theater was just around the corner.
Zhu Qing circled the words "Man Wah Road" with emphasis. "Another coincidence?"
"Seems Gu Niman and Xia Guang Theater had quite the connection."
"That old theater witnessed the rise and fall of a star."
After a murmur of discussion, Mo Zhenbang closed the case file.
"Regarding the cases of Gu Guodong, Yu Dancui, and Gu Hongbo—since multiple investigations have found no suspicious elements, we can consider re-archiving them."
Zhu Qing didn’t look up, still staring at the vanished street name on the map.
Why were there so many coincidences?
The morning office settled into quiet, the air filled with the aroma of coffee and breakfast.
Mo Zhenbang tapped the desk, reminding those who hadn’t eaten to hurry.
"If Inspector Weng shows up, I can’t cover for you."
The officers quickly wolfed down their meals—no one wanted to face Inspector Weng’s wrath.
After all, he wasn’t nearly as lenient with them as he was with his little confidante.
In the corner, Liang Qikai stole a moment to pore over his psychology book. Xu Jiale and Hao Zai curiously leaned in.
"You’re still reading that?"
"I hear lots of people are taking psychology courses these days."
"Most importantly, it helps analyze criminal motives. Even interrogation techniques incorporate psychology now..."
Hearing the chatter, Zhu Qing glanced over.
Xu Jiale and Hao Zai skimmed the dense terminology and immediately yawned.
Work was exhausting enough—who wanted to read in their free time when they could watch TV?
The two slid their chairs back to their desks.
But Zeng Yongshan’s gaze lingered on Liang Qikai’s focused profile.
"Do you ever feel..." she asked softly, "that you and Zhou Yongsheng are alike?"
This wasn’t the first time the thought had crossed her mind.
Whenever she saw his furrowed brow or the intensity in his eyes during case discussions, the idea resurfaced. Sometimes they were just colleagues, sometimes something more—Zeng Yongshan had swallowed the question several times before finally voicing it.
Liang Qikai’s fingers froze on the edge of the page.
That vague sense of similarity unsettled him, but he’d never admitted it to anyone.
"It’s not the same. You’ve never hurt anyone."
"And..." Zeng Yongshan’s voice grew firmer, "you never would."
...
The police station’s work environment was relatively flexible. Unable to let go of the Gu family case, Zhu Qing—though still new to CID—had shed all traces of rookie hesitation. This time, she didn’t even report to Mo Zhenbang before dragging Zeng Yongshan off to investigate further.
By the time Mo Zhenbang realized the two had gone rogue, they were long gone.
"Everyone’s so full of initiative," Mo Zhenbang smacked his desk, half-amused, half-exasperated. "Might as well let them pick their own cases from now on."
Meanwhile, Zhu Qing and Zeng Yongshan sat in the reception area of an office building.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling window, the afternoon sun cast a warm glow. As footsteps approached from a distance, Zhu Qing turned her head. Several days had passed, and Tang Tingting, Gu Hongbo's girlfriend, looked slightly better than she had in the apartment days earlier. Though her frame had grown even thinner, at least her eyes were no longer swollen and red.
"Are you the same officers from last time?" Tang Tingting asked.
She took a seat on the sofa in the reception area.
When the conversation turned to Gu Hongbo's case, Tang Tingting sifted through her memories once more.
"He wasn’t much of a drinker. Maybe he was under too much stress during that time—I could tell he was feeling really down."
"But no matter what, driving after drinking so much was unacceptable. He’d just gotten his license, and speeding like that was far too reckless."
The accident report showed that Gu Hongbo had lost control of his car late at night. Not only was his blood alcohol level over the limit, but the skid marks at the scene indicated he had been driving well above the speed limit.
When asked about any suspicious circumstances surrounding the case, Tang Tingting simply shook her head.
"What kind of suspicions are you referring to? Wasn’t it just an accident?" she said. "Hongbo had a gentle temper—he was always kind to everyone. He never made enemies with anyone."
Zhu Qing suddenly asked, "We heard your parents opposed your relationship. Could you tell us why?"
Tang Tingting lowered her gaze and sighed softly. "His salary wasn’t high, and his job wasn’t stable."
"He was living off the savings his parents left behind..."
"My parents… they were afraid I’d struggle too much in the future."
"Now that he’s died in a drunk-driving accident, they feel even more justified in their objections."
After leaving the office building, the two officers headed straight to the film production company behind Eclipse.
This was far from the police’s first visit.
Tang Tingting had mentioned that Gu Hongbo’s parents had left him some money.
But given the couple’s modest earnings as factory workers, could that money really have lasted over a decade if it had come from Gu Niman’s film earnings?
The production manager at the film company provided an answer.
Though Eclipse had been a box office hit, the family could only inherit the initial estate—they weren’t entitled to any ongoing royalties.
"Was Gu Niman’s salary for Eclipse high back then?"
"What do you think a newcomer’s paycheck would be?" the manager retorted. "This isn’t a charity. For a debut film, market reception is always uncertain—there’s no way we’d offer a big payout."
Eclipse had been Gu Niman’s first and only film.
Her earnings from back then had long been settled, and they hadn’t been substantial.
So where had the Gu family’s money come from?
"How did Gu Niman get into the industry?"
The manager thought for a long moment. "I don’t remember clearly—maybe she was recommended by someone inside the company. The records don’t say who referred her."
"Gu Niman didn’t sign directly with Zhou Yongsheng?"
Zhu Qing recalled that Gu Niman had once mentioned Zhou Yongsheng deciding to tailor a script for her the moment he first saw her.
"Director Zhou?" The manager scoffed. "Back then, Zhou Yongsheng was barely getting by himself—how could he sign a newcomer? This industry is ruthless. Without success, you’re nothing."
Finally, the manager escorted them to the elevator.
"Madam," he asked, "was that really Gu Niman in the paparazzi photos?"
"That woman in sunglasses… what happened to her face?"
"And that stand-in you asked about last time—what does she have to do with this case?"
The elevator doors slid shut, cutting off his questions.
As the investigation deepened, ever since uncovering the truth behind the "suicide pact," Zeng Yongshan couldn’t shake the memory of that fragile figure in the Ping Chau cottage.
"Could Gu Niman’s inheritance really have supported her family for ten years?" Zeng Yongshan mused. "Is it possible that, all this time, she’s been secretly supporting them with Zhou Yongsheng’s money? If she wanted to hide her identity while still helping her parents and brother, it wouldn’t be hard to arrange."
"Maybe… Zhou Yongsheng even knew about it—tacitly allowing her to provide for them."
"And yet, while pretending to indulge her, he might have… quietly eliminated them."
......
In the building block corner of the kindergarten’s toddler class, Fangfang sat with a few other children on a soft mat, completely absorbed in constructing their "skyscraper."
When he first started school, the young master of the Sheng family had scoffed at the kindergarten for being "as childish as its name." But now, his round eyes were fixed intently on the growing tower of blocks, more engrossed than anyone else.
Today’s construction team consisted of Mr. Sheng Fang, Mr. Jinbao, and Ms. Coconut.
The trio’s teamwork was as seamless as ever. Jinbao wore an adorable knitted cap today—just like a hard hat—so he was granted special permission to enter their "construction site." His tiny hands carefully stacked the blocks, layer by layer. With each new colorful block placed, he held his breath in concentration.
Fangfang and Little Coconut also covered their mouths and tucked in their necks, careful not to disturb the precarious structure. Even the teacher moving around the classroom earned stern keep quiet looks from them.
Crash—
The final block toppled their masterpiece.
All three children sighed in unison before flopping onto the wooden floor in perfect sync—giving up without a second thought.
"Fangfang, did your niece go see the movie?" Little Coconut asked, tilting her head.
"Not yet, she’s really busy for now."
"What’ll happen later then?"
Despite lying flat on their backs, the three kids sounded like they were holding a high-level meeting.
Fangfang suddenly sat up, raising his chubby little arm.
"What does that mean?" Little Coconut asked, puzzled.
Even Teacher Ji paused to watch—what new trick had Sheng Fang picked up this time?
"It means break," Fangfang declared, supporting his short arm with his other hand like it was a serious matter.
"I’m going to—" Sheng Fang enunciated each word—"break up the lovebirds!"
Pfft.
Teacher Ji burst out laughing.
At this point, nothing the young master of the Sheng family said could surprise her anymore.
Jinbao and Coconut stared wide-eyed before raising their own stubby arms in imitation.
Breaking up lovebirds sounded fun—could they join next time?
......
At exactly 2 p.m., the freshly printed forensic report was slammed onto the interrogation table.
The data was clear: the steel wire used to strangle Zhou Yongsheng was an exact match for the rigging cables used in the theater’s stage curtains.
"Officer, I swear I didn’t kill him!" He Liren leaned forward, palms pressed against the table. "That day… I saw Zhou Yongsheng buying a ticket at the theater and recognized him immediately. I kept my distance, thinking after all these years, he wouldn’t recognize me."
His words spilled out faster and faster.
"The movie hadn't started yet when he passed by me on his way back from the restroom and suddenly stopped. Turns out he still remembered Xia Guang Theater, even recalling how he'd been forced to attend that promotional event over a decade ago. He said he'd been wondering on his way here whether that same usher from back then was still around."
Yesterday, He Liren had remained silent throughout the interrogation, keeping his head bowed no matter how the officers pressed him.
But today, with damning evidence laid out before him, his composure finally cracked. Fidgeting nervously, He Liren began recounting his movements on the day of the incident, desperate to include every possible detail that might prove his innocence.
"It's not what you think... There was no deep-seated grudge between us. How could I possibly kill him just over something that happened more than ten years ago?"
"Sir, I'm truly innocent."
"So he recognized you," Uncle Li cut in coldly. "Zhou Yongsheng said to you—'You've fallen even lower,' didn't he? That one remark dragged up all those humiliating memories from over a decade ago. Am I right?"
"You know the theater's exits better than anyone. You knew the other staff were slacking off and wouldn't be at their posts. And you knew this rundown place doesn't even have surveillance cameras."
"That premiere for 'Hong Kong Storm' all those years ago—Zhou Yongsheng had nothing to do with the film. He was just a guest invited to the event. So much time has passed, and as long as no one brought it up, it would've stayed buried..."
"That smug look on Zhou Yongsheng's face hasn't changed one bit. You couldn't stand it, so you dug out some leftover wire rope from the props room, slipped into the screening hall, and—" Uncle Li stood up, miming a strangling motion, "—ended his life right then and there. Isn't that what happened?!"
"No! I didn't kill anyone!" He Liren's voice trembled as he shouted.
His shirt was soaked with sweat, his face glistening under the harsh interrogation lights.
"I did go in there that day. But the papers said it was a 'suicide pact,' didn't they? I just... wanted to see what had happened."
Manager He admitted that, looking back, Zhou Yongsheng had been unbearably arrogant.
"If the papers were right about the 'fake death,' wasn't he afraid I'd expose him?" He Liren let out a bitter laugh. "To a big-shot director like him, someone like me probably wasn't even worth a second thought. Even if I did try to expose him, it wouldn't make waves. Just like over a decade ago—nothing's changed. He always looked down on me."
He Liren took a deep breath.
"When I pushed the door open, a bright light from the movie screen hit Zhou Yongsheng's face."
"His eyes were closed, and his posture... there was no way he was just asleep. I was so scared I turned and ran."
"Later, when you said he'd been strangled with wire rope, I remembered the stuff in the props room."
"I went in there and touched the wire rope. At the time, I didn’t know how much was left or if any had been taken. But I figured since I’d touched it, my prints might be on it, so... I cleaned it all up."
"Sir! It wasn’t me—the props room door is never locked! Anyone could’ve gone in!"
He Liren gripped the edge of the table. "I cleaned up the props room and the posters because I was terrified—terrified you'd do exactly this, pin it all on me with no way to clear my name."
In the observation room next door, officers studied the panic on Manager He’s face.
"Is this enough to charge him?"
"Motive, witnesses, physical evidence... but it's all circumstantial..."
As they debated, hurried footsteps and commotion erupted in the hallway.
"Gu Niman’s been cornered by reporters downstairs."
"Those vultures—how do they sniff this stuff out so fast?"
Not just the officers from the Major Crimes Unit, but colleagues from other departments crowded by the windows, straining to see the commotion below.
"Gu Niman? Is that really Gu Niman?"
"Can you explain the scars on your face? Would you mind removing your sunglasses?"
"Where have you been hiding these past ten years? What really happened with that suicide pact case? Did you know Director Zhou was married with children at the time?"
"Miss Gu, what are your plans now?"
Under the flashing cameras, Gu Niman’s frail figure seemed even more fragile. She shrank back, clutching her sunglasses, the jagged scars on her hands stark under the glare.
Zeng Yongshan and Xu Jiale pushed through the crowd, guiding her into the station.
"Miss Gu! How have you survived these past ten years?"
"Your fans are desperate for answers! Would you consider an exclusive interview?"
"What about you and Director Zhou—?"
The reporters’ relentless shouts faded as the doors closed behind them.
Inside, an officer shut the window.
"Here, have some water." Zeng Yongshan handed her a cup.
The office buzzed with murmurs.
"No wonder the whole city’s obsessed with this story—even my mom’s mahjong friends are asking me for details. Gu Niman’s legal identity was erased. The world thought she was dead, and she’s been living under the fake name 'Huang Jiewen' all this time. And now, suddenly, she’s back—a ghost from the most sensational case of the decade..."
"Honestly, if it had just been some director’s suicide, it wouldn’t have blown up like this. Most people were just heartbroken for Gu Niman."
"Poor thing. Even if her identity gets restored, how can she possibly return to that life? Her parents are gone, her brother’s dead, and the beauty she was famous for—ruined. Her acting career? Impossible. Maybe she’d be better off staying on that island, keeping the name 'Huang Jiewen.' At least she could live in peace."
"For her, being 'Huang Jiewen' is probably easier than being 'Gu Niman'... Those reporters were way out of line earlier—shoving mics and cameras right in her face."
"Out of line? When Yongshan and I got there, one of them actually tried to snatch her sunglasses off!" Xu Jiale snapped.
The officers kept their voices low, glancing occasionally toward the hallway.
Gu Niman still sat frozen on the bench outside, clutching Zeng Yongshan’s sleeve, repeating the same quiet questions.
"Have you found who killed Yongsheng yet?"
"Will his wife... arrange the funeral?"
"These past ten years, all he talked about was Yifan. Has Yifan forgiven him?"
Nearby, Zhu Qing watched her with a conflicted gaze before turning back to the worn case file in her hands.
Every lead pointed to Xia Guang Theater’s manager, He Liren.
But the clues were like scattered puzzle pieces.
No matter how she rearranged them, the full picture refused to emerge.
...
The investigation pressed on.
Today, just like yesterday, as Xu Jiale wished, everyone could leave work on time and go home to enjoy a warm home-cooked meal.
Zhu Qing's phone contacts included Aunt Ping's number.
Starting from 4:30 in the afternoon, the phone rang incessantly, with "Aunt Ping" flashing repeatedly on the screen. But every time she answered, a soft, sweet little voice greeted her, instantly melting away the exhaustion of her day. It seemed that from the moment Fangfang got off the school bus, Aunt Ping's phone had been commandeered by the little sir.
"Aunt Ping! Qing is off work on time and coming home for dinner!"
Fangfang hung up and dashed into the kitchen with quick, light steps.
Hearing this, Aunt Ping immediately untied her apron and took the little master by the hand, rushing to the market.
The ingredients at home weren’t enough for a proper feast, so Aunt Ping wanted to prepare something special for Zhu Qing. Worried they might run out of time, she walked briskly.
Fangfang struggled to keep up, panting heavily.
She always claimed to have old, creaky limbs, but clearly, she was still full of energy!
"Little master, hurry up, or all the good vegetables will be gone!"
Fangfang's short legs moved sluggishly.
"I could just wait for you at home!"
"No way, what if you fall off the balcony?"
"I'm not a silly kid," Fangfang protested, holding up four fingers. "I'm almost four years old!"
No matter how much the little master might complain, Aunt Ping stood firm on this point.
Even at four—or even eight or nine, as some newspaper reports showed—children could still be in danger. Vigilance was non-negotiable. So, she had to keep an eye on him at all times.
After much negotiation, Fangfang finally gave in, though not without a pout.
He had originally hoped to ride his little bike to help Aunt Ping with groceries next time, but now that plan was completely ruined.
But when they returned home, there was a delightful surprise waiting.
They ran into Zhu Qing right at the doorstep.
"Qing! Qing!"
"What brings you here today?"
Zhu Qing: "..."
Fangfang was overjoyed—it had been so long since he’d seen his niece at home during the day!
The clatter of cooking echoed from the kitchen while Zhu Qing and Fangfang stayed in the children's room. Recently, Fangfang’s schoolbag had been stuffed with treasures—drawings from kindergarten, handmade crafts—all of which he proudly presented one by one, like little offerings.
"What's this?" Zhu Qing pointed at a colorful little bottle.
"This one’s even cooler!" Fangfang declared with pride. "It's a pen holder!"
The pen holder was made from a repurposed drink bottle, cleaned and wrapped in colorful paper strips.
While the teacher had guided them, the kids were free to add their own creative touches. For instance, the black paper antennae sticking out were entirely Fangfang’s idea.
"It's a cockroach pen holder. Isn’t it awesome?"
Just as Fangfang announced its name with great ceremony, Zhu Qing placed it on her desk—already filled with pens.
"..." Zhu Qing said, "Next time, warn me first."
"Qing, are you scared of cockroaches?"
She shook her head.
It wasn’t fear, exactly, but no one really wanted a "cockroach" decoration in their room.
After dinner, at Fangfang’s insistence, Zhu Qing picked up the car keys from the hallway cabinet.
It had been a while since she’d taken him out for fun.
"Aunt Ping, we’re heading out for a bit," Zhu Qing said.
Aunt Ping peeked out from the kitchen.
"I’m taking Qing out for some fresh air!" Fangfang waved.
Whenever Fangfang went out with Zhu Qing, he never cared about the destination.
He climbed into the back seat on tiptoe and, before the car even started, reached out to gently massage her temples with his chubby little hands.
"Brain massage," he said in his sweet little voice. "Makes you smarter after!"
"I’m already smart without it," Zhu Qing retorted smugly.
"Oh yeah? Then do you know I sneaked half a box of chocolates this afternoon?"
"Now I do."
How could a kid eat so much sugar?
"Next time, I’m locking the fridge."
Fangfang covered his mouth—oops, he’d let it slip.
But how could a fridge even be locked? Qing was just bluffing.
"Really?" Fangfang grinned. "I’m so scared."
Zhu Qing glanced at the mischievous little face in the rearview mirror.
He was getting cheekier by the day—clearly asking for a spanking.
The city’s glittering nightscape whizzed by as aunt and nephew enjoyed their little joyride.
Since Fangfang’s TV time was strictly limited these days, Zhu Qing parked near a bookstore in Mong Kok and took him inside to pick out some books.
As they stepped in, she turned her gaze toward an empty storefront across the street.
That shop used to be Elegance Piano—now closed, its display window no longer holding that grand piano.
Time passed quietly, unnoticed.
Zhu Qing looked away.
Earlier at the station, her colleagues had been discussing psychological profiling in investigations. Now, without thinking, she wandered over to the psychology section.
Meanwhile, Fangfang meandered through the children’s section, hands in pockets, looking every bit the casual browser—except his eyes never lingered on any book, not even for a second.
Zhu Qing grabbed a few books and headed to the checkout.
"Too bad," she said. "I was thinking we could read together on the balcony this weekend, maybe with some snacks."
Sunshine, sweets, and books—instantly painting a cozy picture.
Hearing this, Fangfang immediately tiptoed to a display shelf and stuffed a handful of picture books into the basket.
Outside, the bustling streets of Mong Kok teemed with people.
Aunt and nephew strolled aimlessly.
Fangfang clutched Zhu Qing’s sleeve tightly—until her hand closed around his.
Big hand holding small, they wandered leisurely, stopping here and there.
Fangfang beamed up at her, his steps growing lighter.
Outside the cinema, a striking poster advertised the re-release of Dreamseeker.
This was the last movie Zhou Yongsheng had watched before his death. According to the ticket seller, he had mentioned being "really looking forward to it."
Unlike the old-fashioned Glow Theater, this cinema knew how to market itself. The hauntingly beautiful soundtrack played in the lobby, while props from the film—delicate folding fans, embroidered handkerchiefs—were displayed to celebrate the "11th Anniversary Re-release."
Zhu Qing stood frozen before the giant poster.
Meanwhile, Fangfang had wandered over to the animated film section, positioning himself like a tiny salesperson in front of another poster.
He pointed excitedly. "Qing, look at this lion! Isn’t it super cool?"
His sparkling eyes screamed one thing—We have time! We have time!
In the end, Zhu Qing promised Fangfang that once this case was over, they’d definitely come back to see the majestic lion on the big screen.
"Wow!"
Fangfang never doubted that her niece was a girl of her word.
He jumped up in excitement, clapping his little hands against the poster of the lion. "Wait for me!"
Meanwhile, Zhu Qing turned toward the newsstand beside the cinema.
The magazines on display had gone through several cover changes, and now, the pages once featuring Zhou Yongsheng had been replaced with old photos of Gu Niman.
Zhu Qing casually picked up the latest issue of Hong Kong Star Weekly. Under the dim light of the newsstand, Gu Niman on the cover still shone dazzlingly beautiful.
She had been a radiant girl since childhood—gifted in singing and dancing, as if born to stand under the spotlight.
Two passersby flipped through the magazines before settling on an evening paper.
The news about Gu Niman was something everyone sighed over. But since it wasn’t fresh gossip, the frenzy from two days ago had died down. Fewer readers were willing to pay for stories about her now, and soon enough, Gu Niman’s life would fade back into obscurity.
"So beautiful..." One of them shook his head regretfully. "Which of today’s starlets can compare to her? Just because of a relationship, she ended up like this. She was too young back then—naive enough to believe a director’s lies."
Their murmurs softened, and their footsteps faded away.
Zhu Qing’s fingers lingered on Gu Niman’s smiling face in the magazine.
Ten years ago, Gu Niman had acid thrown at her, disfiguring her. Zhou Yongsheng had told him it was done by a rival actress competing for the same role.
Had she really been so gullible as to believe his story?
When the overwhelming narrative painted Gu Niman as nothing but a victim, Zhu Qing suddenly recalled the words of Zhou Yongsheng’s son, Jiang Yifan.
"Why does everyone think Gu Niman is pitiful?"
"Was she really so clueless at eighteen?"
Eighteen was undeniably young.
But to claim she was entirely innocent—that was a stretch.
"Qing, look at them!" Fangfang suddenly tugged at Zhu Qing’s sleeve.
The little boy pointed at a couple by the theater entrance—
It was Little Gao from the report room and Rachel, the traffic officer who rode a police motorcycle.
Yau Ma Tei Police Station had over a hundred officers, and Zhu Qing hadn’t even memorized them all, yet Fangfang recognized them instantly.
"Little Gao!" Fangfang waved, standing on tiptoe. "Rachel!"
"Running into friends at the movies," Fangfang said cheerfully. "What a coincidence."
Just then, a thought flashed through Zhu Qing’s mind.
Liu Wei, the man who claimed to have lost Zhou Yongsheng’s trail, was both Gu Niman’s obsessive fan and her high school classmate.
That day, he had followed Zhou from the cemetery to Fu Nian Café—right until the very last stop. Had he really lost him?
Or had Liu Wei seen someone at the crime scene he wanted to protect, prompting him to lie?
And Gu Niman’s reluctance to leave—was it truly her choice, or…
Was she unable to?
Zhou Yongsheng had obtained a new photo ID under the alias "Qin Wen," but Gu Niman hadn’t. The old passport under Huang Jiewen’s name had already left the country, and Gu Niman’s outdated, text-only ID couldn’t be used to apply for a new passport like "Qin Wen’s." Their original plan was unclear—perhaps buying an outbound ticket was a gamble. If they were stopped at customs…
Gu Niman needed to reclaim her real identity.
Now, staring at the Dream Chaser poster outside the cinema, Zhu Qing finally understood.
This eleven-year-old film might hold shared memories for Zhou Yongsheng and Gu Niman. For Zhou, it was meant to be a sweet trip down memory lane—but instead, it became his last movie.
"Here for a date?" Fangfang slipped up to the pair of colleagues, grinning mischievously.
The female traffic officer’s ears burned red, and she swatted Little Gao’s hand off her shoulder.
She knew they shouldn’t have come to Mong Kok. Now they’d been caught red-handed.
Zhu Qing was too late to cover Fangfang’s mouth. "Since when do you know about dating?"
"Qing, you’re the only one who doesn’t get it."
