Sheng Fang, the little one, took his niece out for some "fresh air" and accidentally stumbled upon the secret romance between Little Gao from the reporting room and traffic officer Rachel. In an instant, their faces flushed crimson to the tips of their ears. Rachel, both embarrassed and flustered, playfully smacked her boyfriend's arm.
Zhu Qing knew all too well how their police colleagues would react. If their relationship came to light, the entire department would never let them hear the end of it—hence the secrecy.
The child puffed out his chest triumphantly.
"Detective Fang sees and hears everything! Nothing escapes him!"
Zhu Qing, standing behind Sheng Fang, covered his mouth. "He’ll keep it a secret."
The couple didn’t seem any less tense, exchanging uneasy glances.
Finally, Little Gao scratched his head and stammered, "So, you…"
Sheng Fang was never afraid of having his mouth covered—he could break free anytime. Now, standing on tiptoe, his little mouth ran off again, cheerfully declaring, "Don’t worry, she doesn’t even know who you are!"
The air froze. For a moment, it was hard to tell who was more mortified.
Little Gao choked on a cough, while Rachel buried her burning face in her hands. In the end, the two fled in embarrassment.
"Everyone’s happy now," Sheng Fang chirped in his childish voice.
Zhu Qing pinched Sheng Fang’s round, dumpling-like cheeks in mock frustration before turning away, her gaze lingering on the giant poster for Dream Chaser.
Sheng Fang didn’t mention going home, and neither did Zhu Qing.
They weaved through the bustling streets, paper bags from the bookstore in hand, competing to see who could swing their arms higher. For a child, anything could be a game—but in front of his niece, he never cared about winning. Picture books rustled noisily in the bag, and Sheng Fang hurriedly hugged them close, grinning triumphantly when he saved them from falling. His laughter was bright and infectious.
As they passed a street market stall, Sheng Fang slowed his steps.
The shelves were packed with everyday trinkets—useless, yet irresistible. Right now, what Sheng Fang wanted most was the child-sized umbrella perched on the rack by the door.
Even though his kindergarten had covered walkways, and Aunt Ping always waited for him by the school bus…
"But—"
"Qing, I want that umbrella."
Ten minutes later, under the glow of streetlights, Sheng Fang’s shadow stretched and shrank as he proudly waved his new umbrella.
He gripped it like a cane, then pretended it was a sword.
A child’s joy was simple—skipping under the lamplight, turning back with a grin, shaking his head and waving his prized possession.
"Qing got me a present!"
When it was finally time to head home, Sheng Fang suddenly remembered something important.
"Qing, don’t forget to drive our car back!"
"Of course, I’m not stupid."
Sheng Fang puffed up. "Me neither!"
Zhu Qing teased him—this was what they called "protesting too much" and "confessing without being asked."
"Did you forget to ride your little bike home again?"
Under the flickering streetlight, Sheng Fang looked up.
Nothing escaped Detective Qing’s sharp eyes.
Sheng Fang told her that last time he forgot his bike, Doctor Cheng had accompanied him back to the station.
"He even challenged me to a race!"
When it came to racing Doctor Cheng, Sheng Fang was fiercely competitive.
He huffed indignantly, recounting how he’d pedaled so hard his legs went numb.
"But Doctor Cheng’s legs are this long!" He stretched his arms wide. "Couldn’t catch up!"
No matter how fast he pedaled, he could never match Cheng Xinglang’s strides.
"Our little Fang wore his short legs out trying," Zhu Qing chuckled, imagining the scene—the tiny boy puffing with frustration, yet always circling back to the most entertaining adult in the station.
With a grin, Sheng Fang changed the subject.
Clasping his chubby hands together, he made a wish to the night sky.
"Please, please…"
"Let it rain tomorrow."
He brandished his little umbrella like a sword. "I want to use my new umbrella!"
For Sheng Fang, it had been a perfect evening.
Not only had his niece taken him out, but she’d also sat by his bedside and read him a story. Her soothing voice worked like magic, and soon his eyelids grew heavy.
On the small pillow, beside Sheng Fang’s tousled head, lay his stuffed bear.
Zhu Qing tucked the blankets snugly around him—making sure the bear was wrapped up too.
Her footsteps faded softly.
Half-asleep, Sheng Fang heard Zhu Qing murmuring into the phone with Inspector Mo, reporting something in a hushed tone.
His dream of becoming a police officer had first taken root months ago, during a late-night meal with colleagues at the station’s back-alley diner. Over time, that seed had grown—not just because being an officer seemed impressive, but because Zhu Qing, like his favorite cartoon heroes, always shone with a sense of justice.
That was what little Sheng Fang wanted most—to be a superhero who could protect everyone and stand up against evil.
---
In the brightly lit offices of the Yau Ma Tei Police Station’s Criminal Investigation Division, officers hunched over desks despite the late hour. The latest developments in the case were far more compelling than the comfort of their beds.
Xu Jiale chewed on a pen cap, legs crossed.
Frowning, he said, "So you’re saying Liu Wei never actually lost Zhou Yongsheng? He spotted him at Gu Niman’s brother’s funeral, followed him out of curiosity, even confirmed his habits at Fu Nian Café—that’s how he knew it was really him."
The whiteboard was a web of intersecting clues, Liu Wei’s photo pinned in one corner.
"He tailed him, but that doesn’t mean he planned to act."
"The key is—he saw Gu Niman."
Uncle Li flipped through Liu Wei’s statement.
"'I’ve told you everything—believe it or not,'" he read with a scoff. "Stubborn till the end."
"Meaning Liu Wei realized Gu Niman was still alive."
Zeng Yongshan picked up the thread. "Liu Wei wasn’t just a fan. He was Gu Niman’s high school classmate. Back then, she was like a light in his life. Now, to protect that light, he chose to hide the truth. It makes sense."
The team began re-examining the case.
Mo Zhenbang thumbed through the thick case file, his voice grave. "From the moment her face was ruined, Zhou Yongsheng ‘imprisoned’ Gu Niman by his side—even if it seemed voluntary."
"For ten years, she secretly supported her family, but because of her ‘death’ and disfigurement, she could never reveal herself. Zhou Yongsheng’s so-called love was twisted control and obsession. He couldn’t stand anyone else occupying Gu Niman’s heart. So while he pretended to care for Yu Dancui, Gu Guodong, and Gu Hongbo, he was quietly eliminating them, one by one."
"Only because the cases spanned a long time and occurred in scattered locations, they weren’t investigated as connected incidents. On the surface, they appeared to be three separate accidents."
As the investigation unfolded, the police edged closer to the truth.
Zeng Yongshan sighed softly, "She must have finally realized he killed her parents and younger brother, and decided to take revenge. The person she trusted most, the one who shared her bed, ended up hurting her the deepest."
Xu Jiale continued, "Gu Niman might have been naive at eighteen, but after ten years—enduring both physical and emotional torment, along with the pain of separation and loss—she had long seen through the monster’s true nature."
"Though there’s no concrete evidence, she had already grown suspicious. Now, with immigration conducting a second review of dual citizenship status, Gu Niman, who lacks a passport, likely paid a high price for a fake one. That’s far too risky."
"Two possibilities: either Gu Niman stays behind while Zhou Yongsheng leaves the country, or they flee together. Regardless, if Gu Niman wants revenge, the best opportunity is before they depart."
Following the timeline of the premiere of the film Dream Chaser, the movie might hold special significance for them.
"Eleven years ago, they met around the time this film was released. Maybe it was their love story’s beginning."
"This re-release—Zhou Yongsheng was eagerly anticipating a nostalgic trip down memory lane, unaware that by suggesting this date, Gu Niman had already crafted a meticulous plan for murder."
"This also explains why every witness—from the staff at Funian Café to the ticket clerk at Xiaguang Theater—mentioned how cheerful Zhou Yongsheng seemed that day."
Piece by piece, the case grew clearer.
That evening, Zhou Yongsheng arrived early at Xiaguang Theater.
Gu Niman, however, didn’t show up until after the movie had started.
"Gu Niman grew up near Xiaguang Theater," Zhu Qing pointed at the map. "So close she could hear the film’s dialogue. She knew the place inside out—well enough to slip in unnoticed, commit murder, and leave without a trace."
"In Zhou Yongsheng’s eyes, Gu Niman would always be the fragile soul needing his protection," Liang Qikai said slowly. "That’s why he never suspected her."
Xu Jiale and Zeng Yongshan exchanged a resigned glance.
Just yesterday, they had shielded this "victim" from the press. Gu Niman’s trembling shoulders and tear-filled eyes had seemed so pitiful—yet even her frequent visits to the station were just part of an act to expedite her identity reinstatement.
Xu Jiale slammed the table. "Could she have tipped off the media herself?"
"After pulling off the murder, she calmly waited for us to investigate."
"Her injuries, her helpless gaze, her complete dependence—all were carefully calculated to shield her. If she could deceive everyone, Gu Niman would reclaim her identity and leave freely, going wherever she pleased."
"Disappearing into the distance as the perfect victim."
"Focus on Gu Niman and Liu Wei," Inspector Mo Zhenbang ordered. "Verify Gu Niman’s alibi, check passenger records for the Peng Chau ferry, and interview all vendors and taxi drivers around Central Pier."
"Neighbors, shop owners, street vendors near Xiaguang Theater…"
Hao Zai flopped face-first onto his desk. "This workload will run us ragged!"
His exaggerated gesture did little to lighten the tense atmosphere in the office.
The officers remained silent.
From the moment Gu Niman first appeared, no one had doubted her. She lingered in the white cottage, playing the role of a victim trapped for a decade, mourning Zhou Yongsheng with just the right trembles, confusion, and vulnerability. Even seasoned detectives couldn’t bring themselves to interrogate her harshly.
Yet in truth, she was the one with the clearest motive. A prodigious actress who had swept awards domestically and abroad—her performance had schooled the entire police force.
So was this the story of a woman, once lost in love, who awakened and orchestrated an elaborate revenge?
For her parents. For her brother. And most of all, for herself.
...
The next morning, Gu Niman was brought back to the station.
In the interrogation room, she slowly removed her sunglasses and scarf, revealing a face marred by scars.
"Has there been progress in Yongsheng’s case?" she asked softly. "Who… would do such a thing?"
Zeng Yongshan sat in the office, chest tight, resting her chin in her hands as she stared down the hallway—but in the end, she didn’t go in.
She remembered yesterday, how Gu Niman had sobbed in her arms, struggling to speak through her tears. Even the scars she revealed had been precisely measured. Every detail was flawless.
"Miss Gu." Xu Jiale knocked on the interrogation room door, his tone colder than usual. "We need to speak in another room."
Gu Niman rose slowly, clutching her sunglasses and scarf.
As she stepped out, Xu Jiale led the way. Suddenly, she looked up—locking eyes with Liu Wei, who was approaching from the opposite direction.
Liu Wei froze, staring at her face, his pupils contracting sharply.
Gu Niman swiftly put on her sunglasses and hurried past, head lowered.
Uncle Li observed the entire exchange without a word.
Minutes later, interrogations began simultaneously in two rooms.
"You knew she wasn’t dead," Xu Jiale tapped the table.
"Of course I did. It was all over the papers."
"No, you knew earlier than the papers." Xu Jiale’s voice hardened. "That day outside Xiaguang Theater, you saw her. You’ve watched Eclipse dozens, maybe hundreds of times—you’ve memorized her face since your student days. So the moment you glimpsed her figure, you recognized her."
"Don’t bother lying." Uncle Li stood, pacing with his thermos. "Even Gu Niman admitted she saw you."
Liu Wei jerked his head up. "She… remembers me?"
"Of course." Uncle Li leaned over the table. "You were classmates. You sat in the front row—every time she was late, she’d walk right past you."
"So she… really noticed me." His voice dropped to a murmur, tinged with awe. "But earlier—how did she end up like this? With those sunglasses, I never imagined her injuries were so severe..."
"Officer, did Manman really recognize me?" Liu Wei straightened his collar, replaying his earlier expression. "I should’ve… said hello."
Xu Jiale pretended to flip through files, hiding his reaction.
The bluff had worked. The old-timer still had it.
Meanwhile, in the adjacent interrogation room, Gu Niman’s response was entirely different.
She didn’t know Liu Wei—or if she had, she’d long forgotten the unremarkable boy from her school days.
That brief encounter in the station? Putting on her sunglasses was just habit, another layer of self-protection.
Her voice was soft, yet hoarse: "I'm just afraid of the way strangers look at me..."
Throughout the subsequent interrogation, she gave the same answer to every question.
"I don't understand what you're talking about."
When Gu Niman tucked her hair behind her ear with a hand marred by fierce scars, Zhu Qing couldn't help but avert her gaze.
Yet in the end, she forced herself to look, meeting those eyes directly.
Zhu Qing quietly observed those clear, desolate eyes.
It felt as if she were piercing through time, locking gazes with the leading lady on the silver screen.
This case was finally drawing to a close.
...
Hao Zai had been right—the new lead had the police running ragged.
By the time Zhu Qing returned home, night had fallen deep, but a round little face peeked out from the balcony.
Sheng Fang stood on tiptoe, his eyes sparkling as he waved at her.
"Qing-jie! Qing-jie!"
Last night, she'd promised to read books with him on the balcony over the weekend.
Only the plan had shifted slightly—sunlight exchanged for an evening breeze.
On the balcony's cast-iron side table, books were neatly arranged.
On one side were Zhu Qing's newly purchased criminology texts; on the other, Sheng Fang's picture books. Between them sat a plate of snacks—playfully shaped animal crackers, the little boy's favorite.
The wall lamp cast a warm glow, its light dancing across the book covers.
Not wanting to disappoint him, Zhu Qing sat down under his expectant gaze and flipped open a page.
"It's too dark for kids to read."
"What about grown-ups?"
"Grown-ups are fine."
Sheng Fang often heard adults say "it's fine."
Aunt Ping said it, Big Sis said it, even Qing-jie said it.
But was it really fine?
Puffing his cheeks, Sheng Fang stuffed a cracker into his mouth and mumbled indistinctly, "I'll ask Doctor Cheng next time."
The little boy looked thoroughly unconvinced.
Zhu Qing raised a brow. "Then I'll ask him if eating so many crackers at night will give kids cavities."
"No, don't!" Sheng Fang waved his tiny hands frantically.
"Why not?"
"No reason!"
Aunt Ping stood outside the glass door, holding a blanket and stifling a laugh.
Qing-jie and the young master had assigned Doctor Cheng many roles—he was a forensic examiner, a pediatrician, a psychologist, and now apparently an ophthalmologist and dentist too. Truly a jack-of-all-trades.
The night breeze brushed past as Sheng Fang, without realizing it, had already scooted his chair closer to Zhu Qing.
To him, being able to sit on the balcony with Qing-jie, enjoying the wind instead of reading, and sneaking extra crackers—this was the perfect evening.
Holding up a tiny cracker, he stood on tiptoe to offer it to her. "Ah—"
"Knock knock knock—"
Aunt Ping rapped on the door before stepping out with a blanket, bundling Zhu Qing and Sheng Fang up snugly.
Wrapped tight like two rice dumplings, their hair static-charged and sticking out, they pointed at each other and burst into laughter.
The book on the table lay open.
Sheng Fang didn't know what Qing-jie was reading, only that she grew increasingly absorbed as pages turned.
This chapter's heading, bolded, read: "Codependent Relationships in Romance."
It described one party draining the other emotionally—excessive dependency paired with invisible control, while the other party rescued and sacrificed, willingly trapped.
Case studies interspersed the text, starkly contrasting parasitic dysfunction with healthy attachment.
"What's that mean?" Sheng Fang asked through a mouthful of crackers.
"It's like... one person keeps taking, and the other keeps giving."
"Don't get it."
Not that he needed to.
But Zhu Qing explained anyway: "Or think of it like a hermit crab and its shell."
"Qing-jie, I wanna eat Typhoon Shelter crab."
"We'll go after the case wraps up."
So many post-case plans awaited.
Little Sheng Fang wasn't in a hurry; he'd note them down one by one.
Under the clear moonlight, his fluffy head leaned against Zhu Qing's shoulder.
The night wind was cool, but bundled in their blanket, their silhouettes pressed together radiated enough warmth to melt the approaching winter night.
...
The case seemed straightforward—all evidence pointed to Gu Niman. Motive, opportunity, method—everything aligned.
Yet Zhu Qing couldn't shake the strangeness of it. Too many unanswered questions lingered.
That night, sleep eluded her.
Clues from the files, Gu Niman's tearful, fragile gaze—they haunted her thoughts.
At dawn's first light, while Aunt Ping busied herself in the kitchen, Zhu Qing grabbed two slices of toast and slipped out quietly: "I'm heading out—"
Before the words fully left her mouth, she'd vanished through the door.
7:30 AM—Sheng Fang, yawning, sat at the dining table.
Before him lay Aunt Ping's carefully prepared breakfast, enough for two.
He picked up Aunt Ping's cordless phone and dialed Sheng Peirong's number with practiced ease.
"Big Sis! Big Sis! Qing-jie didn't eat breakfast properly!"
This phone existed solely for Sheng Fang's tattling.
Between sips of milk, he relayed his report.
Meanwhile, at the police station's CID office, Zhu Qing was the first to arrive.
Whenever stuck, she'd reopen the thick case file, poring over each page.
Most rereads yielded nothing new.
But occasionally, overlooked details resurfaced.
Xia Guang Theater... Why there of all places?
Zhu Qing's gaze lingered on manager He Liren's statement—
"Turns out he remembered Xia Guang Theater, even recalled being forced to attend that promotional event over a decade ago."
"He said he'd wondered if that usher from back then still worked there."
A proud man like Zhou Yongsheng—if he'd never forgotten being coerced into that commercial film event, never forgotten humiliating He Liren... might he have mentioned it to Gu Niman over the years?
Until now, Gu Niman remained the image of a scarred, helpless victim striking back—too pitiful to pursue further.
But what if—
He Liren, the scapegoat, had been her meticulous choice?
With him convicted, she'd walk free forever.
Closing the file, Zhu Qing exhaled.
If true, everything needed reevaluating.
What, then, was Gu Niman's true motive for killing Zhou Yongsheng?
...
The case review meeting was tense.
Xu Jiale and Hao Zai slumped in folding chairs—one hiding his face under case files, the other massaging his temples.
"Can't... brain's fried," Xu Jiale muttered.
"Starting over again?" Hao Zai sighed.
Uncle Li lightly smacked both with a file.
Liang Qikai stood, summarizing Zhu Qing's doubts.
"Gu Niman's brother's funeral coincided with Zhou Yongsheng's death," he tapped the whiteboard. "That's why we assumed Gu Hongbo's death was the final straw—pushing her to kill the man responsible."
But was the brother's death truly the catalyst?
"Is this fact... or our assumption?"
"Let’s look at the timeline again," Mo Zhenbang mused. "After Gu Niman’s ‘suicide for love,’ the Gu family suddenly came into money."
From factory dormitories to tenements in Sham Shui Po, then to rented flats in Prince Edward Road, their moves had always been constrained by tight budgets. The apartment on Man Wah Road was only possible thanks to an inheritance left by Gu Niman’s grandparents.
"But the year after Gu Niman’s ‘suicide,’ they bought their current home."
"Given Gu Guodong and Yu Dancui’s income at the time, affording that place would’ve been nearly impossible… Man Wah Road hadn’t even been expanded yet, so there was no compensation money from redevelopment."
"The property wasn’t cheap, and there’s no mortgage record—they paid in full. Where did that kind of money come from? Did they suddenly strike it rich? It’s just too strange."
Initially, the police suspected Gu Niman’s inheritance had improved her parents' and brother’s lives. But the film company had emphasized that her acting fees back then weren’t high.
"Here’s the salary contract," Little Sun placed a document on the table. "With just the money Gu Niman left, the Gu family couldn’t have possibly bought cars and a house, living so comfortably as a family of three."
"Now, back to Zhou Yongsheng. After he transferred his assets back then, he spent the next decade scraping by on scriptwriting. But supporting the entire Gu family and Gu Niman? With his income, that would’ve been next to impossible."
"After all, he was using a pen name—no ‘big director’ prestige. Add to that his writer’s pride; he’d rather starve than touch commercial films. What kind of income could an unknown screenwriter really pull in?"
"That car Gu Hongbo drives is expensive… Tang Tingting’s parents opposed their relationship precisely because his job was unstable. With his erratic income, plus occasional help from his brother-in-law? He’d never afford that car in this lifetime."
Even with all the evidence pointing to Gu Niman, everyone still instinctively saw her as the victim, still believed in her deep bond with her parents and brother.
But what if she wasn’t some helpless lamb, and what if she never cared that much about her family to begin with?
The family portrait in the Gu household only featured Gu Guodong, Yu Dancui, and Gu Hongbo.
Tang Tingting once mentioned that for the longest time, she thought her boyfriend was an only child.
Even in front of his closest girlfriend, Gu Hongbo never brought up his sister. Was it to avoid reopening old wounds… or because Gu Niman had long been forgotten?
"Dig deeper. Get to the bottom of this case," Mo Zhenbang said. "I refuse to believe one Gu Niman could have us all running in circles."
That afternoon, Zhu Qing and her colleagues stood once more before the glass doors of the film company.
The production manager had made it clear: Gu Niman wasn’t an actress signed by Zhou Yongsheng.
So where did her acting dreams first take flight?
Overturn all preconceived assumptions and re-examine everything—
Was it really Zhou Yongsheng who disfigured her with acid?
Like a hermit crab, when its old shell runs dry and becomes unusable, it seeks a new host.
But who’s to say the shell it’s in now was the first one it ever wore?
......
"Our Qing-jie is coming home very, very late today."
Wherever he went, little Sheng Fang had a habit of plopping down on the spot, and the nursing home was no exception.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor, he looked up at his eldest sister and reported that he’d called Zhu Qing after school. She’d sounded exhilarated, fully immersed in the case again.
"It’s too cold," Sheng Peirong said. "Sit on the cushion."
Aunt Ping brought the young master a soft mat.
Sheng Fang settled onto it, his little backpack sprawled across his lap.
Coco wasn’t here—this was sibling bonding time.
One by one, he pulled items from his bag, presenting them to his sister with utmost seriousness.
"Look at this," Sheng Fang held up a plush toy and politely greeted it, "Good evening."
Almost instantly, the toy echoed back—
"Good evening, good evening."
"Oh, it’s a parrot," Sheng Peirong remarked.
"Big sister!" Sheng Fang corrected her sternly. "This is Ultraman!"
How unbelievable—how could anyone not recognize Ultraman?
With a solemn expression, the little boy launched into Ultraman’s biography. Sheng Peirong nodded along, accidentally yawned, then quickly covered it with a cough.
"This one’s a Transformer," Sheng Fang produced another toy, deftly twisting its joints with his small hands. "The joints go ‘click-click.’ Listen."
"Click, click, click—"
Sheng Peirong widened her eyes in exaggerated amazement. "The joints really go ‘click-click’!"
Sheng Fang beamed. "Cool, right?"
"Very cool."
The little boy suddenly looked up. "What’s cool about it?"
"That the joints go ‘click-click.’"
Aunt Ping, dozing nearby, jolted awake at this exchange. Rubbing her eyes, she stared in bewilderment at the siblings mirroring each other’s words and expressions perfectly.
She pinched her own shoulder.
Had she not been sleeping well lately? Was she losing her mind?
"Then there’s Lego, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle figures…"
"This one!" Sheng Fang pulled out a glowing belt and fastened it around his waist, pressing the button.
"It’s a transformation belt!"
The child’s face lit up with excitement.
Sheng Peirong chuckled. "Where did all these toys come from?"
Aunt Ping stepped in to explain.
Ever since she got a mobile phone, Sheng Fang had taken to dialing numbers whenever he had free time—calling his niece, his eldest sister, even Cheng Xinglang.
Aunt Ping informed the eldest miss that after school, the handsome doctor had arranged to meet the little master, handing over the toys as promised.
Doctor Cheng worked with remarkable efficiency.
In under three days, he’d even tracked down limited editions.
"Our handoff was at the Yau Ma Tei Police Station," Sheng Fang added.
Previously, relying on a child as messenger had been hopeless. Now, with this backpack full of toys as proof, Sheng Peirong finally understood.
"A promise is a promise," Sheng Peirong leaned in. "Shouldn’t you put in a good word for him?"
"No need," Sheng Fang mumbled, engrossed in adjusting the Ninja Turtle’s pose. "Doctor Cheng isn’t that kind of person."
Sure, Doctor Cheng was pursuing his niece, but when it came to friendship, his sincerity was genuine.
"Is that so?" Sheng Peirong arched a brow.
Children’s hearts were pure as mirrors, their vision sharp—unknowingly, the little uncle had helped vet the suitor.
Without even meeting him, Sheng Peirong’s impression of this Doctor Cheng improved further.
She ruffled Sheng Fang’s hair affectionately. "That’s really quite good."
Suddenly, the boy looked toward the window. "Aunt Ping! Did the weather report say it still won’t rain tomorrow?"
Aunt Ping delivered devastating news: according to forecasts, there’d be no rain tomorrow, the day after, or the entire week.
Sheng Peirong asked curiously, "Why are you hoping for rain?"
"Qing-jie bought me an umbrella!"
Little Sheng Fang finally put down his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle toy and ran to the storage cabinet by the rehabilitation room door, pulling out a small pale yellow umbrella.
He had brought it with him after school on purpose.
Fangfang opened the umbrella and proudly showed it to Sheng Peirong—
Walking back and forth, back and forth, back and forth…
But the heavens betrayed little Sheng Fang.
Not a single drop of rain fell.
...
The police recalled what Liang Qikai had said on the day Gu Niman was discovered.
When a savior complex turns pathological, it breeds an overwhelming desire for control. Victims usually fall into two categories—those like Zhou Yongsheng’s first love, who resisted and left decisively, or those who became completely tamed, willingly dependent on him.
"But perhaps," Zhu Qing said, "there’s a third possibility."
"We always assumed it was her brother’s death that made Gu Niman wake up and seek revenge."
"But for her, her brother’s death might have simply meant—Zhou Yongsheng had finally lost his last shred of usefulness."
So the third possibility was this: Gu Niman was never the victim.
She had been exploiting Zhou Yongsheng’s savior complex, turning him into her pawn.
Just as the officers of Major Crimes Team B caught their breath, still reeling from the shock, a new wave of investigations began.
That night, in the interrogation room, evidence was laid out in a row.
Mo Zhenbang flipped open his notebook: "The Gu family used to live at the corner of Xiaguang Theater. We contacted the theater owner, who’s currently recuperating, and he said—"
Gu Niman slowly lifted her gaze.
Ten years—thousands of days and nights spent scrutinizing herself in the mirror—had made her far more resilient than anyone expected.
She was unshaken by the probing, pitying, or startled stares.
To her, they were merely weapons at her disposal. The voices of sympathy would naturally charge into battle for her.
"He said there was once a little girl who loved sneaking into the theater—her name was Manman."
"That child would tiptoe toward the flickering light on the silver screen, secretly mimicking the leading lady’s every smile and frown, as if she was born to be chased by the spotlight."
That was where Manman had played as a child.
Over a decade later, she would personally bring Zhou Yongsheng’s fate to an end in that very theater.
Was murder the desperate retaliation of the weak—or a coldly calculated exchange of interests?
"Back then, Xiaguang Theater was at its peak, hosting premieres of countless classics. Then, one day, the owner of a famous film company took notice of this girl—beautiful and talented beyond her years," Mo Zhenbang continued.
"Manman was seventeen that year. One year remained before the nightmare began."
There was no trace of fear left in Gu Niman’s eyes.
The disguise had fallen away. She stared ahead, calm and unflinching.
Every assumption had been overturned.
The story was only just beginning.
And this time, the sole protagonist was Gu Niman.
Everyone else was merely a supporting actor in her play.
