In the interrogation room of the Yau Ma Tei Police Station, seasoned officers Mo Zhenbang and Uncle Li were grilling a suspect.
Meanwhile, other personnel continued their intensive investigation. Officers occasionally rushed back with evidence or reported the latest developments via phone calls.
Zhu Qing stood by the hospital bed of the owner of the Xia Guang Theater, where the dim yellow light accentuated the elderly man’s frail appearance.
Zeng Yongshan pushed the door open, holding a recently disconnected mobile phone, which she handed to Zhu Qing.
“We’ve reached Mo Zhenbang,” she whispered. “He’s been informed that Gu Niman frequented Xia Guang Theater since she was ten.”
Once a thriving establishment, the theater had now fallen into decline, struggling to stay afloat. Employees had either been laid off or quit voluntarily, while the few who remained were secretly looking for new opportunities.
“Everyone tells me to shut it down—that the theater is a money pit, bleeding wages every month,” the old man sighed.
“My children nag me daily to give up this losing venture.”
“But I can’t let go,” he said, his eyes lighting up with nostalgia. “You’re too young to remember Xia Guang Theater in its heyday. Every premiere was held here back then. Even the biggest movie stars would respectfully call me ‘Brother Yao’ when they saw me.”
He spoke at length about the past, but the police were more interested in the girl with deep ties to the theater.
“That child…” The owner’s expression grew complicated. “The first time I saw her, I knew—her eyes were full of defiance. If she set her mind on this path, she’d make it big. Who could’ve guessed—”
Zhu Qing noticed the scattered newspapers and magazines by his bedside, their headlines dominated by the decade-long feud between Zhou Yongsheng and Gu Niman.
The most striking image was Gu Niman’s scarred face under the sunlight. Even behind dark sunglasses, her fearful, helpless gaze seemed to pierce through.
A nurse entered, interrupting them. “Visiting hours ended long ago. The patient needs rest.”
Before being ushered out, Zhu Qing asked one last question: “Do you remember the name of that film company’s boss back then?”
“How could I forget?” the old man replied without hesitation. “Boss Jin of Tianwei Pictures—everyone knew him.”
…
Zhu Qing and Zeng Yongshan arrived at the Tianwei Pictures headquarters.
Only a few lights were on, and the employees working overtime knew nothing about the company’s connection to Gu Niman.
After some effort, they managed to contact Jin Siheng, the current head of Tianwei Pictures and daughter of the late Boss Jin.
The police drove to the Jin residence.
As the car passed through the iron gates, Jin Siheng stood waiting by the entrance. Dressed in a simple black suit, she checked her watch. “I have another meeting soon. You have half an hour at most.”
The living room was furnished with expensive antique pieces, and the walls displayed posters of classic films produced by Tianwei Pictures.
In one corner was a photo of Boss Jin, beaming with pride, champagne in hand, surrounded by his star-studded roster of actors.
It was the golden era of Jin Zhendong—a time when nearly every household-name actor owed their fame to him.
Jin Siheng rubbed her temples, visibly strained.
Now at the helm of Tianwei Pictures, she was left to clean up her father’s mess: navigating paternity scandals and fending off scheming “siblings” in a relentless power struggle.
“I know why you’re here,” Jin Siheng said. “The media’s been obsessing over her death these past few days. I thought the paparazzi were relentless, but it turns out even they missed the mark. In the end, it was the police who uncovered Gu Niman’s ties to my father.”
“He signed her. As for which of our properties he used to hide her… I wouldn’t know.”
Zeng Yongshan flipped open her notebook. “Miss Jin, could you elaborate on Gu Niman’s relationship with your father?”
“Gu Niman lived near Xia Guang Theater, dreaming of stardom,” Jin Siheng replied with a sneer.
Gu Niman and Jin Zhendong first met at the theater.
Jin Siheng had been there too—it was she who pointed out the timid girl standing in the corner.
“Later, I realized that ‘timid’—” She scoffed. “—was an act.”
What happened afterward, Jin Zhendong never shared with his daughter.
By the time Gu Niman’s name resurfaced in Jin Siheng’s memory, the two were inseparable.
“A transaction of resources, mutual benefit. She became my father’s kept woman.”
“She never wore heavy makeup, always looked innocent—different from the others. My father adored her, kept her at home, said she’d become his trump card.”
“He took her to high-society events. Did you really think she was clueless?” Jin Siheng smirked. “Her eyes gleamed at the sight of those designer gowns.”
“Know how Zhou Yongsheng met her?”
“The famous director saw her at a private party, became obsessed, wanted to tailor a script just for her.” She paused. “That film—‘Lunar Eclipse.’”
“So she was juggling your father and Zhou Yongsheng?”
“My father and Gu Niman…” Jin Siheng’s laugh was laced with scorn. “Were inseparable. Even my mother said this was different. A fresh-faced girl, yet so cunning.”
“Usually, when he fooled around, my mother would make a scene. She said they built their empire together—she wouldn’t turn a blind eye like other wealthy wives.”
“But Gu Niman was different. My mother didn’t just fight—she wept, clung to their wedding photo, refused to let go.”
“After that…” She shrugged. “I don’t know the details.”
Zeng Yongshan closed her notebook. “If I may ask, where are your parents now?”
Jin Siheng’s expression hardened.
Her mother had left the country a decade ago and never returned, passing away abroad. Her father suffered a stroke three years prior—once a titan of the industry, now bedridden, drooling, unable to speak or even recognize his own daughter.
Leaving the Jin residence, Zhu Qing and Zeng Yongshan walked in silence, absorbing the conversation.
The Gu Niman described by Jin Siheng was a far cry from the woman the police had come to know.
“Some good news,” Zeng Yongshan finally said. “Shu Yingying is gone. Before her flight, she left a message on my pager.”
“‘Thank you,’ she said.” A faint smile touched Zeng Yongshan’s lips. “And ‘take care.’”
By the time they returned to Yau Ma Tei Police Station, it was past eleven.
The two had just reached the ground floor when they saw Hao Zai, Little Sun, and Xu Jiale stepping out of a car.
"Talk about partners in crime," Xu Jiale chuckled. "Looks like none of us are getting home early tonight."
Little Sun patted the file folder in his hand. "It's definitely her doing—or at least, she’s the one behind it."
As the group walked into the police station, they suddenly heard footsteps behind them. Turning around, they saw Liang Qikai striding toward them, holding surveillance footage retrieved from nearby shops.
Exchanging knowing glances, their banter echoed through the empty corridors of the Yau Ma Tei Police Station.
"Another one of our own—"
"Like the nights here belong only to us."
"Cut it out," Xu Jiale slapped him on the back. "No need to be so dramatic."
...
With the original narrative overturned, Mo Zhenbang and Uncle Li began piecing together the truth anew.
Gu Niman sat quietly in the interrogation room, exhaustion faintly visible on her face.
This was a story about a hermit crab searching for a host.
It started with Jin Zhendong of Tianwei Pictures. Later, on set, she met Zhou Yongsheng.
In terms of looks, Zhou Yongsheng was unremarkable, but compared to the fifty-something Boss Jin, he was at least refined and considerate. The only problem? He was nowhere near as wealthy as Jin Zhendong.
Zhou Yongsheng could have been another stepping stone for Gu Niman, but as she got to know him, she realized he fell far short of Jin Zhendong in social status, resources, and financial power.
"You were playing both of them," Mo Zhenbang said slowly. "The hesitation came because you thought a famous director could elevate you—only to realize he wasn’t much either."
A flicker of emotion crossed Gu Niman’s face, but the police couldn’t decipher anything more.
After all, she was an excellent actress.
Mo Zhenbang wasn’t in a hurry. He had time to wait. Still, he reminded Gu Niman that, given the circumstances, the murder case involving Zhou Yongsheng was undeniable.
The evidence was clear. Denial was futile—confession would be wiser.
Uncle Li flipped through the case files.
His tone was calm. "The sulfuric acid incident—that wasn’t Zhou Yongsheng’s doing, was it? It was Boss Jin’s people, right?"
Gu Niman closed her eyes.
Ten years later, those scars remained an unhealed wound, a knot she could never untie.
After a long silence, she finally spoke, her voice hoarse.
Only then did the police realize that when Gu Niman no longer needed to feign vulnerability to win their sympathy, she didn’t even have to strain to look up at them. She met their gaze levelly and spoke just the same.
"I was new to the crew when I got involved with Zhou Yongsheng."
Zhou Yongsheng had a family, yet he swore he’d abandon everything to run away with her. He was always like that—lost in impractical fantasies, love above all else. Back then, Gu Niman didn’t know his so-called "perfect plan" had already included a stand-in.
"He knew about you and Jin Zhendong..."
"He knew."
At the time, Gu Niman was in complete control. The whispers about her and Zhou Yongsheng reached Jin Zhendong’s ears. Meanwhile, she saw that Zhou Yongsheng wasn’t the better choice, but for the sake of the film, she kept stringing him along.
After all, it was because of their relationship that he meticulously crafted her most stunning scenes.
As a newcomer, she desperately needed this opportunity.
"No matter how you weigh it, I’d never choose Zhou Yongsheng," Gu Niman said coolly. "So before filming wrapped, I broke it off."
The breakup was real. When she said those words, Zhou Yongsheng fell to his knees, begging her to stay.
What happened next became her nightmare.
"Remember Mrs. Jin?" Mo Zhenbang flipped through the newly delivered transcripts.
"Ten years ago, she suddenly left the country—because of you?"
Hatred flared in Gu Niman’s eyes. She would never forget that woman, never forget the scalding, high-concentration sulfuric acid.
It happened after filming ended. The deranged Mrs. Jin ambushed her on her way home. The searing pain spread from her face to her shoulder, and Mrs. Jin’s screams were even more piercing than her own.
In the chaos, it was Zhou Yongsheng who saved her.
The woman fled.
Gu Niman was taken to a dim, rundown clinic, where an elderly doctor, hands trembling with age, struggled to hold a syringe.
The wounds festered daily, fever blurring her mind. More than once, she thought she would die.
Sometimes, she even wished for it.
"I told him I didn’t want to live anymore."
"He stayed by my side, helping me write my will."
This was the truth behind the so-called "suicide pact" case.
Zhou Yongsheng lured a stand-in actress onto a yacht under the pretense of an audition. The girl, overjoyed, changed into Gu Niman’s costume, thrilled at the opportunity. She never imagined that minutes later, she’d plunge into the sea.
Mo Zhenbang’s gaze darkened. "You knew that girl died in your place."
"I was barely alive myself," Gu Niman retorted. "Why would I care about some stand-in?"
Her eyes were clear and innocent, but her words sent chills down their spines.
Just as Mo Zhenbang was about to press further, Gu Niman leaned back.
Clearly, the accusation displeased her.
"Sorry, I’m tired," she said. "By regulations, I have the right to rest during late-night hours."
...
In the office, Hao Zai grumbled, "How can she sleep? I sure can’t."
"It’s fatigue interrogation... Rules say she gets to rest," Xu Jiale slumped in his swivel chair. "This Zhou Yongsheng—from a complete villain to a complete fool."
"For so-called love, he hurt so many people..."
"To think there are really people with savior complexes? Obsessed with taking care of Gu Niman, getting more and more addicted."
"Psychology is a real science—"
"Too bad Gu Niman wasn’t buying it. She wanted to ditch him, just didn’t have the means back then."
Zhu Qing meticulously completed the procedures, arranging a holding cell for Gu Niman to rest. When she submitted the forms, Mo Zhenbang immediately sent her home.
"Everyone, wrap it up," Mo Zhenbang said firmly. "Go home and sleep. We’ll deal with the rest tomorrow."
The office filled with acknowledgments as officers swiftly organized case files and stood to leave.
By the time Zhu Qing got home, it was deep into the night. She quietly opened the door.
Not even bothering to hang up her coat, she headed straight for the children’s room. Usually, the door was left slightly ajar—Sheng Fang was still young and preferred hearing the household’s sounds to fall asleep.
But when she pushed the door open, she froze.
Her uncle was gone. Only a teddy bear remained in the bed.
She finally turned to check the shoe rack, where Fangfang's little slippers were neatly arranged.
After a busy day, the most anticipated cheek-pinching session never happened.
Exhausted, Zhu Qing dragged her feet back to her room and collapsed onto the bed with a sigh.
The next day, as soon as dawn broke, she called Aunt Ping.
On the other end of the line, Fangfang's proud, childish voice chirped,
"I went to see your mommy!"
Zhu Qing chuckled.
He always acted like a precocious little adult, even when it was just about visiting his aunt.
Fangfang then said to Aunt Ping—
"Qing misses me so much."
Zhu Qing raised an eyebrow. "Says who?"
"Says me," Fangfang declared confidently. "You're just too shy to admit it."
Normally, even after Fangfang returned from extracurricular classes, Qing was nowhere to be found.
Now, the tables had turned—Zhu Qing was the one waiting at home for him.
The call ended.
"It's been so, so long since I last saw Qing…"
"Young master, it's only been a day," Aunt Ping replied.
In the backseat of the taxi, Sheng Fang swung his little legs, which dangled in the air.
Outside, the sky was clear and bright, yet he still clutched his little umbrella—now rendered useless.
"Umbrella, do better!" he told it.
...
By the next morning, the interrogation resumed.
After the previous night's confrontation, the suspect had clearly dropped her facade.
Faced with irrefutable evidence, the tough nut was finally cracked. Gu Niman no longer bothered to hide anything; her words carried a resigned indifference. Since she had been outplayed, there was nothing left to argue.
She leaned back and closed her eyes calmly. At last, she no longer had to exhaust herself maintaining that flawless act. It wasn’t exactly peace, but it was an end—one that allowed her to exhale.
"Here’s the newly compiled inventory of the Gu family’s assets." Mo Zhenbang slid a document across the table.
Once her identity was reinstated, the Gu family’s properties and vehicles would automatically revert to Gu Niman’s name.
This was also a key reason she had chosen to reveal herself.
Zhou Yongsheng’s inheritance, along with the Gu family’s savings, would secure her future.
"That’s what I’m owed," Gu Niman said flatly. "Everything that was always mine."
In 1984, Gu Niman had met Boss Jin. The wealthy businessman fell for her at first sight, and soon, she moved into his opulent villa in Jardine’s Lookout. Even after her film wrapped, when Zhou Yongsheng came begging for reconciliation, it was on that very estate’s pathway that Mrs. Jin accidentally intercepted her—saving her from a sulfuric acid attack.
Mo Zhenbang and Uncle Li exchanged a knowing glance.
With Gu Niman’s confirmation, the police’s theory was solidified: her relationship with her parents had been distant at best.
"Any decent parents, no matter how ignorant, would never stand by and watch their daughter walk such a path out of sheer love," Mo Zhenbang said.
"Back then…" Gu Niman paused. "When I was at my lowest, Yongsheng was the one who took care of everything."
That night, her parents had rushed to the clinic—summoned by Zhou Yongsheng.
They stood by her bedside, weeping, their faces etched with anguish.
"But in the end, they still left me in Yongsheng’s care," Gu Niman said with a bitter smile. "Because they had to hurry back—Hongbo had school the next morning, and without them, he’d go hungry."
The interrogation room fell silent, save for the scratch of pen on paper.
"I was in that state," Gu Niman enunciated each word, "and he couldn’t miss a single meal."
That was the moment she gave up on them entirely.
Uncle Li: "But that alone wouldn’t drive you to kill them."
"Mrs. Jin ruined my face with sulfuric acid," Gu Niman sneered, tracing her cheek. "I was going to report it, but my parents… took their money."
In the observation room, everyone stared at Gu Niman through the one-way glass.
This was the first time they’d seen such an expression on her face.
The surveillance footage captured every shift in her demeanor—each breath amplified, every confession crystal clear.
"Even in 1985, let alone a decade later, that sum was a fortune," Gu Niman said, her hands gripping the edge of the table before releasing it. "Enough for them to beg their disfigured daughter to drop the charges and spare that ‘poor, lovesick Mrs. Jin.’"
Her gaze turned icy as she repeated the words that had cut her deepest.
"My face was already ruined. I’d never earn that much in a lifetime."
"What’s the point of sending her to jail? It’d only be temporary satisfaction."
"Better to take the hush money and let the family live comfortably. Just one sacrifice."
Mo Zhenbang flipped open the autopsy report from the "suicide pact" case ten years prior. "They took the money, buried the incident, and erased the Jins from your life."
Predictably, Boss Jin vanished—permanently.
Gu Niman accepted Zhou Yongsheng’s plan: a staged death, a tragic love story.
"I was burning up with fever—I couldn’t have done anything even if I wanted to," she said. "Yongsheng had spent half a year training a body double. He left nothing to chance."
"His only worry was that during identification, my parents might mention the acid attack. That would’ve ruined everything."
Gu Niman smirked. "But they didn’t. They didn’t dare. They couldn’t risk losing that money by ‘betraying’ Mrs. Jin."
"With advanced decomposition, unless the family insists, authorities don’t arrange viewings," Mo Zhenbang said.
The police never brought up the disfigurement, and Gu Niman’s parents never asked.
They truly believed their daughter had died in a lover’s suicide.
"Their daughter was dead," Gu Niman said, as if recounting someone else’s tragedy. "Without me, their family of three thrived."
Her next confession aligned perfectly with the police’s investigation.
Her suffering had bought the Gu family peace—but why should they get to enjoy it?
Gu Niman decided to rewrite the ending. She would make them disappear—forever.
And Zhou Yongsheng? He was the blade she had honed to perfection.
Every time Gu Niman sat trembling by the window, letting the sea wind dry her tears… he would do anything, everything, just to see her smile again.
The first was Yu Dancui, her mother.
Zhou Yongsheng’s plain features made him forgettable. A haircut and no glasses—he could approach her unnoticed.
"Dead men tell no tales," Gu Niman said coolly. "No one would ever suspect him."
Things went smoother than she’d imagined. As Zhou Yongsheng closed in, Yu Dancui panicked, stumbling back against a rusted railing—plunging to her death.
"That night," Gu Niman’s lips curled slightly, "I made Yongsheng soup."
The second was Gu Guodong. Gu Niman knew his habit of fishing in the wild. It was easy—she scouted his usual fishing spot in advance, tampered with the water warning signs. The surface appeared calm, but the depth dropped sharply.
And so, he drowned in the dead of night.
"The third was my brother."
Mo Zhenbang interjected, "He wasn’t the one who took the hush money. Gu Hongbo was only twelve at the time."
Gu Niman sounded surprised. "He didn’t spend it?"
The police fell silent.
"Almost all of that money was spent on him," she said.
Gu Niman wasn’t in a hurry to kill Gu Hongbo.
She waited for him to grow up—to use the money meant for her ruined face to get his driver’s license, buy a luxury car, and die at the peak of his love for his girlfriend. That way, his attachment to the world would be strongest.
"Because only then would the loss hurt the most."
Under Gu Niman’s orchestration, Zhou Yongsheng met Gu Hongbo that night. They talked for a long time.
Zhou Yongsheng recited the lines she had prepared—that his sister wasn’t dead, that she wanted to reunite with him, that she was even wealthier now, waiting for him that very night…
"If he hadn’t been greedy—" She paused abruptly.
"But of course he was." Gu Niman continued, "My brother couldn’t wait. He drove recklessly, drunk beyond the legal limit, rushing to meet me. He crashed and died on the spot."
When it came to Boss Jin and Mrs. Jin, she expressed regret.
Mrs. Jin fled abroad, and Gu Niman couldn’t track her down. As for Boss Jin, wealthy men like him always traveled with bodyguards—she had no way to reach him.
"Finally, Zhou Yongsheng."
"I admit, for ten years, he took care of me meticulously."
"But I needed an opportunity to reclaim my identity. Only by becoming a captive victim could I escape that desolate island."
After dealing with Gu Hongbo, Zhou Yongsheng heard about new immigration policies.
He suggested starting fresh elsewhere. At the travel agency, he cautiously asked a stranger to buy tickets for Gu Niman.
"He swore the black-market passport was foolproof," Gu Niman said, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. "That kind of arrogant assurance is the stupidest."
"Ten years, and he was still trapped in that delusion of being a great director. Analyzing so-called classic films, forcing me to dissect them with him, as if he were some artistic genius."
"Ten years of entanglement had worn me out. As long as he lived, I’d never see the light again. Yongsheng… had one last use."
What surprised Gu Niman was that Zhou Yongsheng went to see his son before leaving. She thought he’d long forgotten about his "precious boy."
Her voice turned icy. "Not once in ten years did he mention that son. And at the end, he suddenly plays the doting father."
It was an unexpected twist in her plan.
But it didn’t matter. Even if Jiang Yifan told Jiang Xiaowei, so what?
"If Jiang Xiaowei had any sense, she wouldn’t still be lost in her ridiculous fantasy of happiness while her bank account was nearly drained," Gu Niman said scornfully.
"The first movie we watched together was Dreamseeker."
"A classic revival. I invited him to see it again. He was so looking forward to this date."
"Why the Glow Theater?" Mo Zhenbang asked.
Since she was ten, Gu Niman had sneaked into the Glow Theater. No one knew the place better than her.
Every back door, every side entrance—she knew them all.
"Yongsheng loved bragging about how he once threw a bad script in the usher’s face. As if it were something to be proud of."
"Then again, after ten years in obscurity, he clung to the glory of his director days."
"Wallowing in the past—he’d grown old," Gu Niman added coldly. "Useless."
While scouting, she discovered that the former usher, He Liren, had been promoted to manager.
The wire rope in the utility room was the perfect weapon. And He Liren? The perfect scapegoat.
It should’ve been the flawless murder.
"The contact lenses?" Mo Zhenbang interrupted. "If removing them was to evade police tracking, that contradicts your original motive."
"Evade tracking?" Gu Niman thought for a long moment before recalling. "Oh, the lenses? His eyes were irritated. He took them out but hadn’t put new ones in yet when I crushed them in my palm. Then—"
She mimed a strangling motion.
Her tone softened then, as if recounting a love story.
For those brief seconds, he was stunned, disbelieving, tears glistening in his eyes.
In his final moments, she caressed his face with gloved hands, tenderly.
"I finally told him," Gu Niman said, tightening her coat, a faint smile curling her lips, "I never loved you."
......
The case was finally closed.
"The contact lens thing was pure coincidence, but it did help confirm the victim’s identity," Hao Zai remarked. "Good thing we ID’d him as Zhou Yongsheng before the media got wind, or we’d be catching hell from the higher-ups."
"Without his lenses, everything was a blur. Dying in that haze—fitting for a man who made art films. Romantic to the end."
"Even with glasses, what did he ever really see? Zhou Yongsheng never imagined his seemingly fragile lover had been controlling him all along. In that last moment, he must’ve died wide-eyed."
"For ten years, she had no better option than him. But once his resources dried up, once he was drained of all value… why keep him around? Better off dead."
The office buzzed with chatter, the team relieved.
"Zhou Yongsheng abandoned his family. Got what he deserved."
"Gu Niman was a victim when her face was ruined, but planning all those murders? She’s no innocent."
"Mrs. Jin and Boss Jin—one dead, one paralyzed. Jiang Xiaowei and Jiang Yifan returned to their quiet lives. Liu Wei reunited with his idol. He Liren cleared of suspicion…"
"The stand-in girl got the worst of it. Pure bad luck."
"What’d she ever do to anyone? Died for nothing."
"Not ‘the stand-in girl,’" Zhu Qing corrected softly, looking up from the case files. "Her name was Ruan Wenjing."
Ruan Wenjing. Ten years without a name.
In the end, she was the most tragic figure in this case.
And the father who plastered missing posters everywhere, begging for his daughter to come home.
The office grew heavy with silence.
Hao Zai clapped his hands. "Where are we eating tonight?"
"Not me," Zhu Qing said, packing her desk. "Have to pick up Fangfang."
"Count me out too," Zeng Yongshan stretched. "Dinner with Mom and Dad."
"Don’t count me in either." Mo Zhenbang emerged from the break room, passing by his subordinates' workstations. "Maybe another day."
The team immediately remembered that Mo Sir would soon be taking his inspector exam, their expressions turning serious.
"I’m not even nervous, so why are you all tense?" he said. "Just treat it like any other day."
"We can’t help it—this affects the whole team’s celebratory dinner."
Mo Zhenbang shook his head with a chuckle and hurried back to his office to study.
As he turned, he caught sight of Weng Zhaolin walking down the corridor, beaming.
Weng Zhaolin pushed open the door and nearly collided with Zhu Qing, who was trying to slip away.
The two stood facing each other at the entrance of the CID office, frozen for a few seconds.
Zhu Qing waved.
Weng Zhaolin: "..."
No wonder they say nephews take after their uncles—even the way they waved was identical, just missing a cheerful "Bye, Ah John."
...
Zhu Qing parked the car and jogged toward the school bus stop outside the kindergarten.
Little Fang Fang, toddling on his short legs toward the bus, was suddenly intercepted.
Sheng Fang’s eyes lit up. "Qing Zai!"
His niece, who had been working at the police station until dawn the night before, had suddenly brought news of the case being closed.
The to-do list scribbled in Fang Fang’s little notebook was now ready to be checked off, one by one.
Their first stop was the familiar real estate agency on Nathan Road.
The transaction from a few months ago had left Agent Wang with a lasting impression of this unusual uncle-nephew duo.
Standing at the door, he immediately recognized Sheng Fang—the little young master who had once arrived with a black card to view properties.
"Mr. Sheng!" He greeted them with a wide smile, then faltered slightly when his eyes landed on Zhu Qing, clearing his throat. "What kind of property are you two looking for today? Please, come in."
Little Sheng Fang stood on his tiptoes. "He forgot your name."
Agent Wang’s face flushed red as he ushered them into the meeting room. "My apologies, this way, please."
Inside, tea was set before Zhu Qing and Sheng Fang.
"The Ho Man Tin villa area is a ten-minute drive from the Yau Ma Tei Police Station," Agent Wang flipped through the listings. "Kadoorie Hill is also excellent—three to four kilometers from Yau Ma Tei, home to many celebrities."
He carefully selected three premium properties. "How about viewing them tomorrow?"
The uncle and nephew were decisive, finalizing the viewing arrangements.
As he saw them out, Agent Wang had a sudden inspiration. "What about Kowloon Tong? I just heard the little one’s kindergarten is here—it’s the heart of Kowloon."
"I’m not going to be in kindergarten forever."
Agent Wang chuckled awkwardly.
Seems the young client wasn’t interested in prestigious school districts.
He stood there, watching the pair walk away.
"It has to be close to our police station, so it’s convenient for me to go to work later," Fang Fang said in his tiny voice.
"You might not even be assigned to Yau Ma Tei Station," Zhu Qing replied.
This possibility had never crossed Sheng Fang’s mind.
"I don’t care! I want to work with Qing Zai."
"Wow… throwing a tantrum now?"
Agent Wang remained where he was, listening to their laughter fading into the distance.
Months had passed, and the uncle-nephew pair seemed different somehow.
He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
Rubbing his hands together, he turned back with renewed energy to sort through more listings.
This was truly a stroke of luck—fortune was smiling on him!
...
Zhu Qing and Sheng Fang had dinner with Sheng Peirong at the care facility.
By the time they left, night had fallen.
Sheng Peirong sat by the window, watching their retreating figures, a gentle smile tugging at her lips.
To her, they were still just two kids in need of care—one holding the other’s hand, yet somehow seriously house-hunting. How exhausting.
When Zhu Qing and Fang Fang returned home, the pale yellow umbrella still hung by the entryway cabinet.
Aunt Ping sat in the living room watching TV, the weather forecaster’s voice filling the room.
"This is the latest update from the observatory. The next three days will remain sunny and dry, with peak temperatures reaching—"
Little Fang Fang lifted the umbrella and sighed dramatically toward the window. "Rain already!"
"Sheng Fang—" Zhu Qing’s voice called from the bathroom. "Come here."
Fang Fang immediately transformed into a little old man, one hand on his hip, the other using the umbrella as a cane, tapping it slowly against the floor as he shuffled over.
This was his latest favorite game: pretending to be elderly.
"Ready?" Zhu Qing gripped the umbrella handle.
Sheng Fang blinked his big round eyes, not quite understanding—
With a snap, the umbrella suddenly opened.
At the same time, the shower turned on, water droplets pattering against the fabric in a lively, rhythmic beat.
Like a sudden downpour.
Fang Fang giggled, clutching the handle, peeking out from under the umbrella before ducking back in.
This was a rainstorm made just for him.
Aunt Ping leaned against the doorframe, smiling at the heartwarming scene.
And here she thought they weren’t spoiling the little master—clearly, the one who doted on him most was Zhu Qing herself.
"Whoosh—make it snow tomorrow!"
"And a rainbow… and the northern lights!"
The sound of "rain" mixed with the child’s laughter.
Zhu Qing crouched down, looking at the beaming little face under the umbrella, and lightly booped his nose.
"No problem."
"Qing Zai, Qing Zai," Fang Fang looked up with starry-eyed admiration. "Are you a magician?"
