The Sheng family villa was once again thrown into chaos. Butler Cui's legs gave way beneath him, and he barely managed to steady himself by gripping the doorframe.
Shattered glass and porcelain littered the floor, yet no one dared to clean it up. The maids, their faces ghostly pale, scrambled in panic, some even screaming as they packed their belongings, desperate to flee the terrifying scene.
"Another death, another death!" A shrill cry echoed through the empty halls.
After the skeletal remains were uncovered, gossip magazines across Hong Kong eagerly awaited the next act in the Sheng family's tragic drama. Butler Cui had mentioned that the second young mistress had offered triple salaries just to keep the staff from quitting.
But now, even thirty times their wages wouldn’t be enough to stop the trembling servants from packing up and fleeing overnight.
Mo Zhenbang contacted the police for backup.
Zhu Qing commanded, "Take him back to his room."
Marysa’s hands shook violently as she guided Sheng Fang away, her Mandarin stumbling over itself, her tongue nearly tied in knots.
Yet, surprisingly, the young master was unusually docile this time, hanging his head low and obediently walking ahead of Marysa.
Once the door to the third-floor nursery was firmly shut and the lock clicked into place, Zhu Qing strode into the study.
Chen Chaosheng was dead.
He still wore his impeccably tailored suit, his tie loosened, slumped over the desk. The wine in the goblet had been drained, his lips tinged a ghastly purple, froth clinging to them—a horrifying sight.
As police sirens wailed, colleagues from the Criminal Intelligence Bureau and Forensics arrived, followed closely by the coroner with his toolkit.
"Male victim, approximately thirty-five years old. Preliminary assessment indicates cyanide poisoning."
"Exact toxin and time of death will require toxicology analysis and stomach content examination..."
A colleague bagged the wine glass and the half-finished bottle of champagne as evidence.
On the desktop computer, a suicide note detailed the entire ordeal.
Being the son-in-law of a wealthy family was a gilded cage.
Chen Chaosheng had realized this the day he married.
During their courtship, all he had to do was play the role of the perfect, attentive lover to the young heiress. But after marriage, moving into the family estate meant every action had to be measured and impeccable—his father-in-law’s yacht required his personal oversight for maintenance, his mother-in-law’s jewels needed insurance arrangements, and if anything went wrong with the renovations on the hillside villa, the phone would ring with a barrage of scolding.
He did have managerial talent, but what good was it? At the conglomerate, not only did the board members wear two faces, but even new hires looked at him with thinly veiled disdain.
Luxury cars, mansions, stocks, and funds—once his status reached a certain level, what he truly craved was dignity.
It was during that time that he met He Jia'er.
Ten years ago, He Jia'er had been a top student at Hong Kong University, forced into selling drinks at a nightclub after her father’s gambling debts ruined them. Unlike Sheng Peishan, who had never known hardship, He Jia'er was brilliant, stubborn, and refused to accept her fate. At first, Chen Chaosheng only wanted to help her, but gradually, he fell in love.
He showered her with gifts—couple’s rings, designer handbags—and picked her up after work whenever he could.
He Jia'er restored his sense of manhood. They shared a blissful period, but she wanted more.
She demanded he divorce.
Absurd. How could he? Divorce would mean losing everything he had built.
The university student refused to remain his hidden mistress. Times had changed—did he expect her to play the role of a concubine, like in the old society?
He Jia'er issued an ultimatum: if he didn’t come clean to his family, she would confront his wife.
Chen Chaosheng loved her, but he loved his current life more. Around that time, his father-in-law entrusted him with overseeing the hillside villa’s construction. He coaxed He Jia'er and took her there.
That was the last time he gave her a choice. If she could wait patiently until the day he took over the Sheng empire, he would buy her a house on the hill.
He Jia'er mocked him—a mere live-in son-in-law, dreaming of inheriting a fortune.
Her words cut deep, shattering what little pride he had left.
Silently, Chen Chaosheng walked to his car and retrieved a hammer from the trunk.
Then, only silence remained before the fireplace.
...
The servants and Butler Cui eventually calmed down enough to cooperate with the police for their statements.
"The second young master and the second young mistress had a very good relationship. Just last night, they were together in the backyard by Bobo’s playhouse, spending a long time with her."
"The second young mistress isn’t a bad person. She might have her occasional moods, but the second young master always knew how to soothe her. He treated her impeccably—how could he leave her alone like this...?"
"Yesterday afternoon, when the second young master drove back, he was on the phone. I was washing the car in the garage and heard him sounding frantic... something about finding the foreman from the old construction crew, urgently."
As for Sheng Peishan, she arrived at the villa within the hour.
The officers braced for her reaction. Would the pampered heiress break down in hysterics? Collapse in a faint?
But reality was far quieter than imagined.
After hearing the truth laid out in Chen Chaosheng’s suicide note, she simply closed her eyes slowly.
"You mentioned he left a ring on the desk," Sheng Peishan murmured. "May I see it?"
It was a plain platinum band.
Inside the ring were the initials of He Jia'er’s name—a match to the one recovered from the fireplace.
The ring was sealed in three layers of evidence bags. Sheng Peishan instinctively reached for it, only for the officer to stop her mid-motion.
Her hand fell back, fingers brushing her own bare ring finger.
It took her a long moment to find her voice again.
"In all our years of marriage, we never wore wedding rings."
"Yet he kept this one for her... for ten years?"
Zeng Yongshan stood nearby, her chest tight. The revelation of Chen Chaosheng’s suicide—the upstanding man she’d thought he was—had left her reeling. She had spent the entire ride over murmuring in disbelief.
She had seen firsthand how tenderly Mr. Chen treated the second young mistress. To learn now of his affair with the deceased He Jia'er—how had they all been so blind?
"Are you alright?" Zeng Yongshan asked cautiously. "Do you need someone to stay with you?"
Sheng Peishan’s lips twitched, but she couldn’t even muster a proper bitter smile. "I don’t need anyone’s pity."
She said if her husband had died in an accident, perhaps she would have been lost. But the truth was, his hands were stained with an innocent woman’s blood, and all while she had trusted and relied on him, he had been whispering sweet nothings to another...
Now, Sheng Peishan felt only numbness. To weep or grieve would only make her seem more pitiful.
In just three months, she had lost her parents, her husband, and even her beloved dog...
Yet she insisted she wasn’t that fragile.
Once, the second young mistress of the Sheng family had been the darling of high society.
Then a devastating car accident took her leg, condemning her to a life in a wheelchair.
"If I were the type to give up, I should have done so years ago after the car accident," Sheng Peishan said with self-deprecation.
Her wheelchair came to a stop before the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Sheng family villa. She gazed outside, wrapped tightly in her usual fleece shawl despite the scorching summer sun.
The police investigation continued.
Even the computer keyboard had been taken away for fingerprint collection.
Everyone felt it was cruel to ask Sheng Peishan to complete her statement at such a moment, yet she cooperated willingly.
"I'm fine," she said. "This farce needs to end."
Zhu Qing pulled out her notepad and began recording.
"Miss Sheng, have you noticed any unusual behavior from Chen Chaosheng these past two days?"
"Chaosheng has always been like this—keeping his worries to himself, never letting me share the burden."
"After my father passed, the corporate affairs became overwhelming. He often worked until dawn. But on the day the remains were discovered, he stayed home with me..."
"I thought it was out of concern. Now, looking back, he was already unsettled from that moment."
"What about yesterday?"
"Bobo was gone... He stayed by my side, insisting on arranging a gravestone for Bobo overnight. He even called his assistant to follow up—that wasn’t like him, Madam. He’s always so composed, but last night..." Her voice trembled. "She was so innocent... Do you think a man who kills the girl he claims to love would feel remorse?"
Zhu Qing met Sheng Peishan’s red-rimmed gaze. "Real love doesn’t end in harm."
Silence stretched between them.
After a pause, Sheng Peishan’s eyes lingered thoughtfully on Zhu Qing’s face before she asked an unrelated question—
"Madam, forgive me if this is inappropriate... but you seem quite young. Did you join the force right after graduation?"
The police spent the afternoon collecting statements from Sheng Peishan and several household staff.
Zhu Qing sealed the evidence bags with practiced efficiency.
She never believed a killer capable of calmly hiding a body would suddenly be stricken with guilt. There was no remorse haunting him all these years—he had lived just fine.
Mo Zhenbang speculated that Chen Chaosheng had only acted out of fear—knowing the police would eventually track down He Yongjian, the former foreman of the construction crew, and uncover records of his orders to halt night shifts and Li Fa’s rushed five-day job completed in two. His pristine image was at stake.
After all, incriminating construction logs spoke louder than conscience.
"When the second son-in-law returned to his room last night, the young master fiercely ordered him not to seal his 'secret passage,'" Butler Cui recalled.
The three-and-a-half-year-old boy, convinced that baring his teeth like a tiger would intimidate anyone.
"Actually, the second son-in-law had already asked me to seal the passage yesterday afternoon," Butler Cui added. "Household matters have always been his responsibility..."
A child’s testimony held no legal weight, serving only as supplementary material.
Still, Zhu Qing had to question Sheng Fang as protocol demanded.
"You think he’ll cooperate?" Mo Zhenbang remarked.
As Zhu Qing knocked on the little tyrant’s door, Mo Zhenbang and Uncle Li leaned against the spiral staircase, arms crossed, watching the spectacle unfold.
Could a rookie officer handle this defiant kid?
The lock clicked open. Marysa stepped aside, forehead glistening with sweat.
The commotion downstairs had quieted—she’d brushed it off as a "police drill," though she wasn’t sure if the excuse had worked.
Inside, the young master of the Sheng household sat cross-legged on the carpet, fiddling with a limited-edition Transformers figure.
At the sound of the door, he barely glanced up.
"Sheng Fang," Zhu Qing began, "have you ever watched cop shows?"
The TV in his room played nonstop.
The little puffed his chest. "TVB, duh."
"Want to play a game?" Zhu Qing lowered her voice dramatically. "You don’t have to say anything—"
Sheng Fang cut in, his childish voice ringing with conviction: "But anything you say may be used in court!"
The atmosphere was set.
Zhu Qing pressed on: "Yesterday..."
The little lord turned away, wagging a stubby finger. "Police business. No comment."
