In the dimly lit side hall of the Tin Hau Temple, the police were methodically conducting their forensic investigation. The air was thick with a stifling mix of incense, mildew, and the metallic tang of blood.
The footsteps of the forensics team echoed through the narrow space, occasionally punctuated by hushed exchanges. Doctor Ye from the medical examiner's office deftly pulled on rubber gloves and crouched beside the deceased.
Outside on the stone steps, Zhu Qing and Xu Jiale flipped open their notepads. The one who had discovered the body was an elderly woman with graying hair, clutching a boy in his early teens. Both stood to the side, their faces pale, too afraid to glance into the side hall.
"Granny," Zhu Qing's voice was gentler than usual, "were you the one who found the body?"
"It—it was my grandson who saw it first," the old woman replied, her voice a mix of frustration and concern as she patted the boy's head. "This rascal was supposed to accompany me to offer incense, but he sneaked off to play while I was praying in the main hall."
The boy shrank into himself.
"Thank goodness he didn’t get a clear look, or he’d be having nightmares tonight," the old woman sighed, pulling her grandson closer. "Officers, please hurry with your questions. I need to take him to see Auntie Chen for a spiritual cleansing—who knows what he might’ve glimpsed..."
According to the boy, he had only caught a glimpse of the body from behind. Just as he was about to step closer, his grandmother had yanked him away. She had been the first to notice the pool of blood on the floor and screamed. Soon after, a kind passerby covered his eyes.
Now, the boy kept glancing around nervously, searching for that stranger.
"So, besides the two of you, there was a third person present?" Xu Jiale paused his pen on the notepad.
"That was me."
A woman with short hair stepped forward.
She handed the boy a bottle of water from her bag and offered him a tissue. "I went to get you some water earlier."
"Madam, sir," she presented her press pass, "I’m Deng Yuyan, a reporter for Hong Kong Weekly. I’m working on a feature about the architectural evolution of Hong Kong’s historic temples."
"Miss Deng, please describe in detail how you discovered the body."
Deng Yuyan took a deep breath. "It was around 4:55 p.m. I was walking along the side corridor to examine the structure of the side hall. Unlike the main hall, this place was deserted—eerily quiet. Then I heard the old lady scream and rushed over to help."
"At first, I thought the person kneeling was just a devout worshipper, but something felt off."
"What seemed unusual?"
"The silence. Most worshippers would murmur prayers or move slightly, but he was completely still. When I stepped closer, I noticed the bloodstains on his jacket."
Xu Jiale scribbled quickly. "Did you touch the body?"
"Of course not. None of us dared go near it."
Xu Jiale glanced at her bare neck. "No camera?"
"The temple prohibits photography. I tried negotiating, but no luck," Deng Yuyan said. "So I didn’t bother bringing one."
Just then, Doctor Ye’s voice carried from inside.
"Male, approximately fifty years old, fatal stab wound to the back." He lifted the collar of the deceased’s shirt. "Lividity suggests time of death around 3 p.m."
"So about an hour and a half ago," Mo Zhenbang observed the unnatural kneeling posture. "Was he posed like this after death?"
"Unclear," Doctor Ye lifted the wrist. "Given the rigidity of the joints… it could be a death spasm locking him in position."
"Meaning he might’ve been attacked while kneeling—" Mo Zhenbang gestured to the wound.
"Further details will require a full autopsy," Doctor Ye replied.
...
The forensic team continued their meticulous work.
"Footprints on the ground are impossible to distinguish," one officer muttered, brushing gloved fingers over a layer of incense ash. "This place hasn’t been cleaned in ages—ash is nearly half an inch thick, with countless overlapping prints."
Another officer examined the victim’s clothes. "His trousers are covered in dust at the knees. Even the prayer cushion and altar are coated in grime. Looks like no one’s used this place in a long time."
"No signs of struggle. Was it a single fatal strike?"
Hao Zai couldn’t help but glance at the neglected statue of Chunri in the abandoned hall, rubbing the goosebumps on his arms.
"Mo sir," Liang Qikai straightened up, holding a wallet. "Found an ID in the victim’s pocket—name’s Wei Huasheng. There’s also a mobile phone."
"Brand new model," Little Sun peered over. "I’ve seen it locked in display cases at electronics stores in Mong Kok… must’ve been well-off."
The forensics team carefully sealed a note written in childish handwriting.
"'The greatest dad'… you think this belonged to the victim or some other worshipper?"
"The paper’s crumpled but not faded or yellowed."
"Bag it for now."
Little Sun swiftly checked the call log. "Last incoming call was from his brother today at 2 p.m."
"The phone looks newly purchased, but scrolling back ten days, there’s no record of this brother calling before."
"Victim died around 3 p.m., and his brother just happened to call at 2? Too coincidental."
Officers continued gathering evidence, their voices occasionally rising from different corners.
Before they knew it, night had fallen. After completing the preliminary investigation, the body was transported to the temporary morgue at Yau Ma Tei Police Station.
Though the procedure was routine, the sudden overtime left everyone scrambling.
The moment they returned to the station, the team made a beeline for the canteen.
"Sister Xiao! Emergency rations!"
"We’re starving—anything you’ve got!"
"Just feed us!"
Sister Xiao quickly stopped the kitchen staff from clocking out.
Uncle Ming sighed, retied his apron, and soon the familiar clatter of woks filled the kitchen.
As the group settled around the table, waiting for their meal, conversation turned to the day’s work.
"Feels like we’ve lost our rhythm with Doctor Ye. Zero chemistry today."
"Right? No coordination at all!"
"When is Doctor Cheng coming back?"
All eyes shifted to Zhu Qing.
"You’re closest to him—any idea?"
Teasing followed.
Reports were piling up, and now they expected her to magically summon him back?
"Probably not for a while."
"He never mentioned how long he’d be gone…"
"Left in a hurry. Even Ben only found out last minute."
Zhu Qing looked up.
She remembered that Doctor Cheng’s advanced training course would last six months.
Only a little over a month had passed so far.
Before Zhu Qing could respond, Sister Xiao walked over carrying a tray.
Uncle Ming worked with his usual efficiency, and soon, a large pot of fragrant fried rice was brought to the table.
In the dining area, the sound of people eating rose and fell. Some grumbled about their disrupted plans—one had hoped to go home for sweet soup, another had promised to take his girlfriend shopping. This sudden case had shattered everyone’s peaceful evening.
“Inspector Mo’s orders,” Hao Zai said, leaning on the table. “From now on, we all need to be on high alert. The easy days are over—we’re in for a busy stretch.”
The colleagues sighed and joked among themselves.
“I miss home—”
“If I’d known the station would turn chaotic starting today, I would’ve had two more bowls of my mom’s soup yesterday!”
Zhu Qing ate her fried rice quietly.
She had no desire to go home.
Earlier, Sheng Peirong had wailed over the phone—Fangfang had invited a bunch of kids over for a party, and the noise was deafening. With no earplugs on hand, she’d resorted to stuffing her ears with tissue.
If they were still living in their old place, the neighbors would’ve complained long ago.
Zhu Qing still remembered when Jin Bao and Baby Yesi had visited, clinging to her as their “niece-toy” and refusing to let go.
Now, with a dozen little sparrows running wild at home, the scene would be unimaginably chaotic.
Going back now would be walking straight into the storm.
Zhu Qing volunteered for overtime.
“The victim’s brother is here,” someone muttered at the entrance of the dining area. “Took him long enough.”
---
Wei Xusheng sat in the interrogation room, his expression grave.
His hands rubbed nervously against his knees, and several times, he opened his mouth only to hesitate.
“My brother… he owned a toy company. A big one. Maybe you’ve heard of it—‘Simiao Toys.’ He’s loved this stuff since he was a kid,” he said quietly.
“Go on.”
“When we were little, our family was poor. We couldn’t afford toys, so he’d make little houses out of scrap cardboard.” His fingers traced the shape of a small structure in the air. “We’d hide inside and play. When our parents weren’t home, he’d bring meals in there. It was our favorite game.”
“And slingshots—we never bought any. He made them all himself. I was young then, always trailing behind him, playing ‘hunting adventures.’” His voice wavered as he sighed. “I never thought something like this would happen…”
He swallowed hard. “He always took care of me. More like a father than a brother.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“Three years ago? Maybe four. After our parents passed, we both got busy. He was a workaholic, especially. It’s like that in a lot of families—once siblings have their own lives, they drift apart.”
“You called him this afternoon at two.”
“I did.” Wei Xusheng nodded. “I was watching a drama, and there was this scene about brotherly love… It made me think of him, so I called to arrange a meet-up.”
“What did he say?”
“He said his company was swamped, and he couldn’t spare the time. But next month is our parents’ death anniversary—we’d go together then…”
Zhu Qing didn’t look up. “What drama were you watching?”
Wei Xusheng blinked. “Huh?”
“You said the brotherly scene moved you. What was the show called?”
“Just something I flipped to. You’re asking so suddenly, I can’t remember.”
Not only couldn’t he recall the title, but he also stumbled over the characters, actors, and even the plot.
Mo Zhenbang glanced at his watch.
“If you’re ready,” Zhu Qing said, her gaze lingering on his uneasy expression, “we can proceed with the identification.”
The hallway lights were blindingly bright. The officers led the way, but Wei Xusheng’s steps grew heavier as they walked.
Only when prompted did he continue.
The door to the temporary morgue swung open. He held his breath.
The coroner lifted a corner of the white sheet.
The fatal wound was concealed, leaving only a pale, lifeless face exposed.
Wei Xusheng jerked his head away.
“It’s him… my brother…”
“Who did this?”
Mo Zhenbang’s sharp eyes missed nothing in his reaction.
Turning to Zhu Qing, he said, “Take a detailed statement from the family.”
---
Sheng Fang and the kids were drenched, as if they’d been swimming rather than tumbling in the ball pit.
No child could resist the magic of a sea of colorful plastic balls. They dove and rolled, playing rescue games where they buried each other and dug themselves out. Lost in their joy, they barely noticed the time—until the doorbell rang at 8:30, and Sheng Fang lifted his flushed, grinning face from the pit.
His eyes widened.
What was this?!
Aunt Ping called from the foyer, “Jin Bao, your dad’s here!”
Jin Bao’s father, dressed in a sharp suit, handed Sheng Peirong a gold-embossed business card.
“Ms. Sheng, if you ever need gold jewelry, our shop welcomes you anytime. Special discounts for friends of Jin Bao.”
Sheng Peirong accepted the card gracefully. “How kind of you.”
Next was Baby Yesi’s mother.
She knelt, wiping her daughter’s sweaty forehead with a handkerchief. “Your hair’s all stuck to your face—did you have fun?”
Baby Yesi threw herself into her mother’s arms. “Mommy, I want to come back tomorrow!”
“And the day after, and the day after that.” Her vocabulary maxed out at “the day after,” but she quickly improvised, “For a hundred days!”
Her mother laughed. “This girl…”
Watching the little one’s sweet, earnest smile, Sheng Peirong couldn’t help but wonder if Coco had been this adorable as a child.
Softly, she said, “You’re always welcome.”
Yesi jumped up, tugging her mother’s sleeve. “Big Sis said yes!”
As the little guests left one by one, the buzzing in Sheng Peirong’s ears gradually faded.
Only Juan and Sheng Fang remained, still playing in the ball pit, savoring every last second. They tossed the colorful balls into the air, laughing as they rained back down.
In their kindergarten class, Sheng Fang’s dream was no secret.
Little Officer Fang proudly told everyone he’d someday have his place in the Yau Ma Tei Police Station. Now, with the room quiet except for him and Juan, their conversation turned earnest.
"Juan." Sheng Fang tilted his head and lightly tossed a bouncy ball onto his friend's head. "What do you want to be when you grow up?"
"Haven't thought about it." Juan bumped the ball with his forehead—"thunk"—successfully sending it flying before grinning in satisfaction.
How could a kid not have thought about what they want to be when they grow up?!
"You could work for the Food and Environmental Hygiene Department!"
"What would I do there?"
"That mango shaved ice shop in Temple Street—" Sheng Fang lowered his voice conspiratorially, "doesn’t use real mango! That’s exactly the kind of thing the department handles."
Outside, the children’s sweet, childish chatter drifted in, leaving Sheng Peirong utterly confused. "What’s this about real and fake mangoes?"
Aunt Ping chuckled while explaining, "A few months ago, Qing took the young master to the Temple Street night market, and they uncovered this ‘shocking secret.’ The young master even cracked the case himself."
Sheng Peirong watched her little brother’s proud, lively expression.
It seemed she had missed many such amusing moments in recent days.
"You could also join the ICAC. Then we’d be colleagues."
"What’s the ICAC?"
"The Independent Commission Against Corruption." Fangfang shook his head. "You don’t even know that? Such a little kid."
The two children were so engrossed in discussing their life ambitions that they nearly forgot to play with the bouncy balls.
Until—"thunk"—Fangfang reignited the battle.
"I hope your mom and dad come late." Sheng Fang clasped his hands together in prayer.
"Hope so." Juan mimicked him, pressing his tiny palms together.
The doorbell never rang.
Sheng Peirong silently made a wish of her own—
Let these two kids play just a little longer.
……
At 9 PM, the lights in the Major Crimes Team B’s meeting room were still blazing.
The whiteboard remained blank, waiting to be filled with clues.
Mo Zhenbang stood before it, marker in hand, as officers trickled in to report their findings.
"Wei Huasheng, fifty-one, founder of ‘Simiao Toys.’ The company’s sizable. According to employees and his younger brother Wei Xusheng’s testimony, he was a typical workaholic, spending most of his time at the office."
"Not just a businessman—a philanthropist too," Little Sun added. "Ever since he made his fortune, he’s been funding underprivileged students. His alma mater even has a ‘Wei Huasheng Education Scholarship.’ He also made regular donations to orphanages. Everyone at the company speaks highly of him."
Mo Zhenbang flipped through Wei Xusheng’s statement. "What’s the deal with the brother?"
"Those two couldn’t be more different. The older brother was diligent and hardworking; the younger one was lazy and aimless. Wei Huasheng was always cleaning up his brother’s messes."
"Early on, Wei Xusheng held a do-nothing job at his brother’s company but was later fired for embezzlement. The finance department recalls it happened about three or four years ago."
"Three or four years ago?" Mo Zhenbang raised an eyebrow. "Wei Xusheng claims they hadn’t been in contact since then. Yet suddenly, on the day of the incident, he calls—and when questioned, he’s evasive."
Uncle Li tapped the documents on the table. "What’s even more suspicious is that Wei Huasheng was single. If something happened to him, the entire company would naturally go to his brother."
"Confirmed unmarried?"
"Household records say he was unmarried, but we’ll need to verify further." Little Sun checked the time. "At this hour, the relevant offices are closed. We couldn’t get full details."
A brief silence fell over the meeting room, broken only by the rustling of files.
Mo Zhenbang wrote "Wei Xusheng" on the whiteboard and circled it with a bold question mark.
……
At 9:15, the last little guest had finally been picked up.
Sheng Fang clung to the doorframe, waving reluctantly. "Come play again soon!"
Even though it was winter, the kids had worked up a sweat, as if they’d just returned from battle.
Sheng Peirong pinched her nose, urging her little brother to hurry up and shower.
Fangfang scampered over, pressing his damp little face against her and wrapping her in a bear hug.
He deliberately rubbed against her, leaving wet patches. "Don’t be so dramatic, sis."
Sheng Peirong turned her wheelchair, unable to escape the damp, mischievous child. She was torn between exasperation and amusement. "I’m telling Coco!"
"I’ll tell Qing too." Fangfang mimicked her tone, strutting toward the upstairs bathroom. "She wouldn’t mind me being dirty."
Halfway up, he turned, perched on the railing, and stuck his tongue out at her.
Sheng Peirong sighed at Aunt Ping. "Aunt Ping, look at him—"
"He used to be even naughtier," Aunt Ping laughed. "This is actually well-behaved for him. Though the young master probably doesn’t remember—if he ever jumped into Qing’s arms like this, sweaty and all, she’d definitely pick him up by the scruff and march him straight to the shower."
Since Sheng Fang insisted on "boys and girls being different," Aunt Ping could only knock lightly on the bathroom door after laying out his pajamas.
From inside came the cheerful sound of Fangfang singing as he scrubbed his little belly.
Soon, he cracked the door open a sliver, extending a chubby, foam-covered arm.
"Make sure you rinse all the soap off, young master!"
"Don’t play too long—you’ll catch a cold…"
The bathroom echoed with merry singing.
Fangfang performed a one-child concert, the sound of running water his accompaniment.
Bubbles like cotton candy crowned his head, and he cupped more in his hands, puffing his cheeks to blow them—when suddenly, it hit him.
They hadn’t bought him cotton candy at yesterday’s BBQ!
"Mom, I’m home!"
Fangfang’s bubble-covered head jerked up at the voice, eyes widening. He didn’t even wipe away the suds splashed on his face.
Qing was back!
What followed was the fastest shower in history.
Fangfang yanked on his bathrobe, sleeves still untied, and bolted out barefoot. The robe’s sash fluttered behind him as he dashed to the second-floor railing, arms raised triumphantly.
Like a gleeful little caveman.
He leaned over the railing, staring eagerly downstairs.
Zhu Qing, just off work, was picking up stray bouncy balls—every few steps, she’d kick one by accident.
"The young miss specially set up this ball pit for the young master," Aunt Ping said with a smile. "The kids went wild in here tonight."
Zhu Qing tossed another ball, wrist flicking gracefully as it arced through the air and landed back in the pit.
"Is Sheng Fang asleep?" she asked. "He should clean up his own mess."
"Whoosh"—Fangfang yanked his head back.
It was late. He was just a kid, of course he was asleep.
"Pat-pat-pat"—the sound of tiny feet sprinting. Fangfang zoomed back to his room and shut the door with a decisive "click."
He dove under the covers.
Soon, his ears twitched at the sound of the door creaking open.
Fangfang lay perfectly still on his side, clutching his teddy bear’s ears, his round little back turned to the door—
This Zhu Qing, barging in without knocking—how rude!
"You asleep?"
Sheng Fang continued pretending to sleep, relying on sound to gauge his surroundings.
Only when the footsteps seemed to fade did he dare sneak a glance.
His eyes immediately landed on Zhu Qing, leaning casually against the doorframe.
"Caught you, didn’t I?"
"Tricking a kid doesn’t make you a hero!" Fangfang, the little rascal, sat up in a huff, his cheeks puffing out indignantly.
"I’m not a hero—I’m your niece."
Sheng Fang was no match for his niece in an argument, so he resorted to a series of disgruntled "hmphs" to voice his protest.
As she turned to leave, the little boy pouted, leaning so far forward he nearly toppled off the bed.
This time, Zhu Qing returned quickly.
She settled Fangfang into place, plugged in the hairdryer, and began drying his damp hair.
Warm air ruffled through his tiny, wet head.
Fangfang squinted contentedly before opening his eyes again, tilting his head sweetly toward her.
Zhu Qing, utterly disarmed by his cuteness, racked her brain—
What mischief had he been up to earlier?
She couldn’t remember at all.
……
A full week had passed since they moved to Kadoorie Hill, and the entire family had adjusted—except for Sheng Fang, who remained too excited to sleep in.
To him, this new home held special meaning. He explored every nook and cranny, rolling out of bed the moment the first rays of sunlight peeked through the window.
Winter was the best season for sleeping in, but this little troublemaker not only refused to stay in bed but also insisted on dragging his niece along.
"Knock knock—"
"Knock knock knock—"
"I knocked properly!" Fangfang pressed his ear to Zhu Qing’s door.
No response came from inside.
Well, silence meant permission, right?
"I’m coming in!"
The little boy tiptoed in, pushing the door open with a cheerful skip.
Zhu Qing was buried under the blankets, only the back of her head visible, hands clamped firmly over her ears.
The alarm clock on the nightstand lay facedown, silenced.
Its shrill ring hadn’t sounded yet, but how could it compare to Fangfang’s sweet, milky voice? He tugged at her fingers, shaking them. "Time to wake up!"
"No."
"Come on—"
Zhu Qing reached for the alarm clock.
Fangfang swiftly snatched it farther away.
"Sheng Fang, it’s way too early!"
"Let’s play!"
"No…"
The young master of the Sheng household had endless patience. He pressed his soft little face against Zhu Qing’s, and when that failed, he clambered onto her back, kicking his short legs gleefully.
"Qing Qing," Fangfang announced triumphantly, "we’re like a hamburger!"
If they sandwiched "Uncle Xiong" between them, it’d be a proper burger.
But he couldn’t be bothered to fetch him, so he just kept muttering to himself.
Zhu Qing finally reached her limit.
She flipped over abruptly, sending the little boy tumbling into the fluffy blankets.
Fangfang lay sprawled on his stomach, blinking up at her with round, innocent eyes. "Good morning!"
Zhu Qing sat up, her hair a wild mess, face dark with sleep-deprived irritation.
Fangfang inched closer again.
Was cuteness truly an all-powerful weapon?
For Zhu Qing, the answer was a resounding yes.
She pinched his chubby cheek with faux sternness. "Fine, I’m up!"
Downstairs in the kitchen, Aunt Ping had prepared a lavish breakfast, its aroma wafting through the air.
Sheng Peirong, already dressed and composed, sat at the dining table. Though she neither worked nor attended school, she made sure to join her family for breakfast every morning. To her, these simple meals were reunions—precious moments with loved ones she’d once lost.
Lately, Sheng Peirong alternated between her wheelchair and slow, steady walks around the garden.
She never missed her twice-weekly rehab sessions. Her steps grew firmer each day, and she dreamed of soon strolling through department stores hand-in-hand with Coco and her little brother.
Fangfang, ever the champion eater, polished off every bite of his breakfast.
Finally, he sipped his milk leisurely, then dabbed his lips neatly with a napkin.
Zhu Qing rested a hand on his small shoulder. "All done?"
The boy, quick to read moods, beamed at her unusually gentle tone—
"All done!"
"Then go clean up the bouncy balls in the yard."
What? Fangfang gaped at her, convinced this was revenge.
He turned pleading eyes to Aunt Ping, then his big sister with a pitiful pout.
Both immediately launched into a discussion about the weather, pretending not to notice.
This was his niece’s order—no one would interfere.
Defeated, Fangfang trudged outside, dragging his feet like he was heading to his doom.
The yard had a dedicated parking spot for his tiny bike.
Now, it served a greater purpose as Fangfang began his morning patrol.
Under the warm morning sun, a small figure pedaled around the garden, huffing and puffing. Each time he spotted a ball, he carefully placed it in the bike’s front basket.
When his gaze accidentally met Zhu Qing’s through the floor-to-ceiling window, he turned his head away with a huff. "Not talking to you."
Zhu Qing leaned against the glass, mouthing back, "Okay."
……
After collecting every last ball, Fangfang rubbed his lower back like a weary old man.
Zhu Qing had promised him earlier that she’d drop him off at kindergarten when she wasn’t busy.
But with a new case on her hands—a tangled web of clues—she needed to get to the police station early to sort through the files.
The school bus had a stop at Kadoorie Hill, but the little boy refused to take it, insisting on going with her instead.
Fangfang devised a plan: ride with his niece to Yau Ma Tei, then transfer to the school bus from there.
"Such a roundabout way." Zhu Qing tweaked his nose but opened the car door anyway.
During the commute, the radio host’s crisp voice filled the car.
"The time is now 8 AM. Here’s your morning news update."
"Yesterday, a incident occurred at the Tin Hau Temple in Yau Ma Tei..."
In the backseat, Fangfang hugged his backpack, face pressed to the window as the scenery whizzed by. A smug little smile played on his lips—who knew what he was so pleased about?
Kadoorie Hill wasn’t far from Yau Ma Tei Police Station. Soon, Zhu Qing pulled up at the school bus stop.
As he climbed out, Fangfang naturally slipped his chubby hand into Zhu Qing’s, their earlier squabble forgotten.
"Qing Qing, can I invite my friends over again next time?"
"Of course."
"I’ll make them pick up their own bouncy balls!"
"How will you tell whose is whose?"
Fangfang quickly devised a system.
Pink balls for Xiaomei, yellow for Jinbao, purple for…
"What about you?"
"I want blue!"
He pointed at the clear sky, beaming. "Blue like this."
The little uncle and his niece always had endless secrets to share.
Fangfang secretly wished the school bus would arrive just a bit later.
"That's right! Qing!" Sheng Fang stood on tiptoe, about to say something, when a familiar voice interrupted.
"Zhu Qing?"
Mo Zhenbang's voice came from behind.
He lived in the back alley and was currently holding half a slice of toast between his teeth, his jacket casually draped over his shoulders.
"Uncle Li has a new lead," he said, swallowing the last of his bread in two quick bites.
Zhu Qing immediately perked up.
"The household registration records are incomplete. The deceased wasn't unmarried—he was divorced."
"Ten years ago, the deceased and his wife were involved in a child abuse case."
"The victim was their own son."
Little Sheng Fang tugged at Zhu Qing's sleeve, whispering urgently, "Qing! Qing!"
"Remember that note under the prayer cushion? The one that said 'A Great Dad'..."
"Rumors say that abandoned side hall used to be where parents brought clothes of their deceased children for memorial rites."
"It was specifically a 'Hall of Atonement'—meant to appease the spirits of children."
Sheng Fang, the little one, was practically spinning in place with impatience, but Zhu Qing was completely absorbed in the case details.
Only when the school bus pulled up to the curb did she snap out of it, ushering the child aboard.
"What were you trying to say earlier?" she finally remembered to ask.
The bus doors slid shut.
Through the window, Sheng Fang pressed two chubby hands together like scissors, opening and closing them while shuffling sideways down the aisle.
Mo Zhenbang looked baffled. "What's he saying?"
"Probably..." Zhu Qing translated, "Don't forget to take him for Typhoon Shelter Crab tonight."
