Since starting her treatment, Sheng Peirong could clearly feel her legs gaining strength day by day.
Now, she had been standing at the kindergarten entrance for a while, her legs still steady, but her head hung low in embarrassment.
She lowered her voice, almost whispering to her little brother, "Can we go home now?"
"Why?" Fangfang tilted his head up, his eyes brimming with innocence.
Sheng Peirong: "..."
This kid—how could he even ask why?
Somehow, the children were utterly fascinated by him, crowding around and forming a long line just to catch a glimpse of Sheng Fang’s "big sister."
The school bus door stood wide open, but no matter what the driver said, the toddlers refused to board. Parents waiting at the gate urged them, but the kids wouldn’t budge. Children always loved a spectacle, and soon even unfamiliar faces from other classes joined in, forming a queue behind her. Sheng Peirong stared in disbelief before weakly waving her hand.
"There’s nothing special to see," she said. "Go home, kids."
But the little ones stood like tiny nails, rooted in front of her.
They chattered excitedly about "Big Sister," their eyes sparkling with curiosity.
Sheng Peirong had cared for her own daughter years ago, but back then, Keke couldn’t even speak—just babbling adorably. Now, these kindergarteners, all around Fangfang’s age, were relentless, their voices buzzing in her ears like a dozen surround-sound speakers.
A few children, having visited Fangfang’s home recently, recognized her and eagerly took on the role of commentators.
"This is Sheng Fang’s big sister—I saw her the other day, I swear!"
"She lives with Fangfang and his niece!"
"Guess what? She’s actually the niece’s mom!"
The kids gasped as if uncovering a monumental secret.
The kindergarten entrance was completely blocked.
Sheng Peirong had never faced such a spectacle before, left speechless like an exhibit in a shop window. She shot a pleading look at Aunt Ping, but the older woman was too busy laughing, shoulders shaking as she turned away.
Finally, Teacher Ji came to the rescue.
With effortless authority, she dispersed the crowd in just a few words.
As the children reluctantly left, they waved goodbye.
"See you later..."
"Bye, Big Sister!"
"Big Sister, we’ll visit your house next time!"
Sheng Peirong forced a smile. "Sure, you’re all welcome."
Teacher Ji mused to herself. First, Sheng Fang’s niece had become the whole class’s honorary niece. Now, even his big sister had been promoted to "class-wide big sister."
Once the crowd cleared, Teacher Ji stepped forward to greet the parent.
But before she could—
"Teacher!" The young Sheng heir gestured grandly. "Come meet her too!"
"This is my big sister," Fangfang announced proudly, his expression practically saying, Don’t worry, everyone gets a turn.
---
Just before clocking out, the homicide team uncovered a new lead—meaning overtime was inevitable.
The victim, Wei Huasheng, had drafted a will two years prior, explicitly stating that if anything happened to him, his entire estate would go to his son.
Now, Little Sun and Zeng Yongshan placed the freshly retrieved will on the conference table.
The team gathered around, examining the document.
"Everything goes to his son, Wei Ansheng?"
"Wei Ansheng? Never heard of him before. Who is this guy?"
Liang Qikai flipped through the household registry records.
"No birth certificate, no photos."
"There’s zero documentation on this person. Where did he come from?"
The case had just gotten murkier.
The victim, previously believed to be unmarried and childless, not only had an ex-wife tied to a child abuse case but now also a mysteriously materialized son. The tangled threads left the investigators stumped.
"So the victim’s brother, Wei Xusheng, gets nothing?"
"Good. That smug look of his makes my blood boil."
"Did you read his statement? All that nonsense about ‘brothers in this life, not the next’—just leeching off his wealthy older brother like he’s entitled to it. Disgusting."
Mo Zhenbang finished scrutinizing the will. "Let’s check the victim’s home."
Wei Huasheng had lived in a modest apartment behind his toy company.
Two housekeepers stood at the door, stunned by the news of their employer’s death. Seeing the police arrive for a search, they froze, unsure how to react.
Zeng Yongshan reassured them, "Don’t be nervous. Just routine questions."
The apartment was spacious and bright, but for a man of Wei Huasheng’s wealth, it was far from luxurious.
Employees had mentioned his frugality, likely a holdover from his early struggles.
Mo Zhenbang quickly noticed the place was two merged units.
The victim had once lived in an old tenement where his son fell down a steep wooden staircase—perhaps why he instinctively avoided split-level designs, opting for a seamless flat layout.
"Mr. Wei was a good employer," Sister Shuang said softly. "Never looked down on us, always polite. Never raised his voice. Other bosses aren’t like that. He was... rare."
"Did he ever bring women home?" Mo Zhenbang cut straight to the point.
"Never," Sister Chen interjected, carrying a tea tray. "Mr. Wei didn’t have a girlfriend."
Zhu Qing took notes.
Earlier, company employees mentioned executives trying to set Wei Huasheng up, but he always refused. To everyone, he was a workaholic, through and through.
"Our jobs were easy—just cleaning and preparing his breakfast and dinner."
"Honestly, one person could’ve handled it. But the agency messed up and sent both of us. Mr. Wei was kind—he knew we both needed the work, so he kept us."
According to the two housekeepers, this property was purchased by Wei Huasheng seven or eight years ago, and they began working here around that time. The deceased particularly loved the natural light in the study. During winter, he would often brew a pot of tea and sit by the window to read alone.
"Mr. Wei never drank alcohol and rarely attended social gatherings."
"When he was alone, he’d either read or set up a chessboard to play against himself. One day, he even cheerfully asked us if we knew how to play chess—"
Sister Shuang and Sister Chen exchanged a glance, their noses tingling with emotion.
"How would we know anything about that? Cooking and grocery shopping, sure, but chess?"
"We wouldn’t even know where to place the pieces!"
"Did Mr. Wei spend much time at home?" Zhu Qing’s gaze swept across the immaculate living room.
"He would go away for a few days every month. The specific days varied, but he always informed us in advance so we wouldn’t prepare meals for him during those times."
"Do you know where he went?"
"Well… it wasn’t our place to pry into the master’s affairs."
The other housekeeper added, "We assumed it was for work. Mr. Wei was always busy—once he got started, he was a real workaholic. Sometimes, the light in his study would still be on late into the night."
The initial search yielded no obvious signs of suspicion.
At this hour, they would usually be preparing dinner, but Sister Chen and Sister Shuang stood blankly at the kitchen doorway. Normally, the house would be filled with the aroma of food, and the two would chat softly. Now, they struggled to accept the fact that their employer was gone.
"Did his brother ever come over for meals?" Zeng Yongshan asked.
"He used to visit occasionally in the earlier years, but then…" Sister Shuang hesitated. "Once, they had a huge argument—something about money. After that, we never saw him again."
"Some things aren’t our place to say, but it’s hard to stay silent. Mr. Wei went above and beyond for his brother." Sister Chen shook her head with a sigh. "The things his brother said were truly hurtful."
"That day, his brother flipped the dining table over."
"The soup on the table was something Mr. Wei specifically asked us to make—he said his brother had loved it since childhood."
"Rumor has it his wife ran off with their daughter," Sister Chen whispered. "He never held a steady job, always jumping from one thing to another. Honestly, who wouldn’t leave? Serves him right."
"That night, Mr. Wei sat in the study." Sister Shuang gently pushed open the study door and pointed to the spot by the window. "Right there, staring at a photo of the two brothers for a long time. Later, he put it away. His heart must have been broken."
The police conducted a thorough search of the study.
The bookshelves were neatly lined with charity trophies and letters of gratitude, all spotless.
Little Sun flipped through a charity commemorative booklet and muttered, "After handling so many cases, nine out of ten philanthropists turn out shady. Usually, they’re just—"
"Police work has no room for preconceptions," Mo Zhenbang reprimanded sharply before turning to Zhu Qing. "Take note, rookie."
Investigations rely on evidence, not assumptions.
Zhu Qing quietly filed the lesson away—though she couldn’t help retorting internally that she wasn’t a rookie anymore.
...
In daily life, no matter what he did, as long as there was progress, little Fangfang could always count on praise from Zhu Qing.
Growing up in such an encouraging environment, Fangfang learned to be generous with compliments. From the kindergarten gates to the walk home, from dinner to their evening stroll, he’d lost count of how many thumbs-up he’d given his eldest sister.
"Amazing!" He clapped his little hands. "Big Sis already knows how to walk!"
In the courtyard at night, Sheng Fang crouched on the ground, drawing a crooked starting line with colorful chalk.
"Next, let’s race!"
Sheng Peirong, leaning on the railing, almost thought she’d misheard.
She always insisted on not being treated like an invalid—and it seemed her little brother was the only one who truly took it to heart.
"Of course!" Aunt Ping chuckled. "Even at the rehab center, the young master was like this. If he thought 'Big Sis' was just lazing around, he’d shout right in your ear to wake you up."
Sheng Peirong’s eyes reddened slightly.
"Thank you," she said softly, ruffling Sheng Fang’s hair. "Little Brother."
Fangfang’s hair was now a tousled mess. Faced with his sister’s sudden emotional moment, he blinked, suddenly bashful.
"Alright, alright, no need to get all mushy." Sheng Fang struck a runner’s starting pose. "Ready—"
What was supposed to be a race turned into Fangfang’s nightly exercise routine.
He ran lap after lap around the courtyard, then suddenly veered toward his sister, darting past with a playful "Catch me!" before zooming off like the wind.
Sheng Peirong laughed until her sides hurt, patting his little head every time he whizzed by.
The house was now filled with laughter, a stark contrast to the past—something Aunt Ping, with over twenty years of service to the Sheng family, could attest to. Finally, the family was whole again: Big Sis, Zhu Qing, and the young master—not a single one missing.
When bedtime arrived, Zhu Qing still hadn’t returned.
Sheng Peirong temporarily took over her daughter’s duty of telling Fangfang a story.
The thoughtful little boy remembered his sister couldn’t climb stairs yet, so he scampered upstairs himself, returning with an armful of children’s books. Another trip fetched his teddy bear, and finally, he brought down his pillow, bouncing back into his sister’s room before diving under the covers.
Sheng Peirong sat at the bedside, reading the storybook with deliberate care.
Fangfang peeked out from the blankets. "This is bad."
"..."
"I’ve never told a story before."
"Then you’d better practice!"
Indeed, Sheng Peirong had never done bedtime stories—now, she read with the gravity of a corporate annual report.
Fangfang rolled around the bed, hugging "Uncle Bear."
"Zhu Qing tells it better."
Sheng Peirong pretended to close the book. "Then I’ll leave."
"No, Big Sis!"
Her storytelling might not match Zhu Qing’s, but it was passable.
This little rascal had somehow mastered the art of wheedling—skills of unknown origin.
After what felt like ages, a small mountain of picture books piled up on Sheng Peirong’s lap.
Fangfang held up his teddy bear and asked earnestly, "Do you think it’s good?"
The next second, he pressed the bear’s head, answering for it—
"Good."
Big Sis still deserved some encouragement.
Little kids shouldn’t lie—but teddy bears could!
By the fifth storybook, Sheng Peirong heard the front door open.
She gently set the book aside and tucked her little brother in.
Now, the first thing Zhu Qing did upon returning home was look for her mother.
Having both Mother and Uncle waiting at home makes one’s footsteps quicken unconsciously on the way back.
"It's too late," Sheng Peirong glanced at the clock, her eyes filled with concern. "You’ve worked so hard."
She never said things like "just quit," instead smiling and remarking, "Once you become the boss, you can just sit in the office and give orders."
"Inspector Weng also gets off at this hour," Zhu Qing took off her coat.
"But Inspector Weng doesn’t have to work outdoors, exposed to wind and sun," Aunt Ping chimed in. "He keeps himself fair and pampered."
"I’ll work on it," Zhu Qing chuckled, glancing upstairs. "Where’s Fangfang?"
Sheng Peirong pointed to her room. "No movement for a while—probably asleep."
Zhu Qing tiptoed to the door and pushed it open gently.
A small lump lay curled under the blanket.
She crept closer.
Suddenly, little Fangfang sprang up from under the covers. "Boo!"
Zhu Qing immediately collapsed to the floor in mock terror.
Sheng Fang scrambled off the bed in alarm. "Qing, what’s wrong?"
Peeking through squinted eyes, Zhu Qing caught sight of his worried little face.
She burst out laughing. "I was scared unconscious."
This was usually Sheng Fang’s signature move. He hadn’t expected his niece to turn the tables on him.
Panicked by her sudden "fainting," the child now realized it was a game and flopped down beside her.
"I’m unconscious too!"
From the hallway came Sheng Peirong’s exasperated but amused scolding. "It’s freezing—why are you two fooling around on the floor?"
Aunt Ping seized the chance to tattle. "Miss, they do this all the time!"
......
The morning briefing room at the police station was thick with the familiar aroma of coffee.
Officers took turns reporting their findings as the case details gradually took shape on the whiteboard.
"Regarding the ex-wife, Huang Qiulian—we verified her work schedule," Xu Jiale flipped through his notes. "On the day of the crime, she worked the morning shift, clocked out at 4 PM, and went straight to her dorm. The estimated time of death was around 3 PM, when she was still on duty."
"Colleagues and supervisors at the community center all say she keeps to herself, hardly ever goes out."
"Everyone there knows about her past—that brutal child abuse case was all over the papers... People steer clear of her."
"But based on our investigation, she’s kept her nose clean since release, just as her caseworker confirmed."
Mo Zhenbang turned to another lead. "What about the victim’s brother, Wei Xusheng?"
Little Sun handed Mo Zhenbang a slip of paper. "Boss, take a look at this."
"An IOU?" Mo Zhenbang squinted at the amount. "This isn’t small change."
No wonder Wei Xusheng had been so desperate for money from his brother. The debt, compounded by interest, would take him a decade of backbreaking work to repay.
"Only gambling could rack up a sum like this."
"For the victim, it might’ve been pocket change, but for his brother..."
"Are rich people just supposed to bankroll their deadbeat siblings forever?"
"If he killed in a rage after being refused... what rotten luck for the victim."
"By the way, his daughter’s six. Could she have written that note under the temple cushion?"
"Doesn’t add up... Why go through such theatrics?"
Mo Zhenbang asked, "Have we compared the handwriting?"
"Not yet," Hao Zai said. "I’ll hurry."
"Last week, loan sharks splashed red paint at his door," Little Sun added. "Collection calls came nonstop—even the neighbor complained about the harassment."
Mo Zhenbang pinned the IOU to the whiteboard.
Everyone noticed the due date: the very day of the murder.
"The day before the murder, Wei Xusheng confronted the victim at his office for money."
"He claims his brother agreed, but security footage shows a heated argument where they parted angrily."
"Old cameras didn’t capture audio, so we don’t know what was said. Maybe Wei Xusheng already lured him to the temple for the next day?"
The team pieced together a theory.
"Next day, Wei Xusheng calls to confirm the victim’s arrival."
"With the victim’s temper, he probably berated him again. Wei Xusheng snaps and kills him."
"Afterward, he coolly plays mahjong, even taking a call to cement his alibi."
"The timeline and motive fit—we just need..."
Mo Zhenbang’s phone rang abruptly.
Frowning, he answered. "I’ll send someone to retrieve it."
Hanging up, he announced, "Autopsy report’s ready. Who’s picking it up?"
......
Zhu Qing, seated near the door, stood without hesitation.
The route was second nature to her.
Climbing the stairs, she paused instinctively at the turn.
The polished nameplate still gleamed—
Forensic Department, Senior Medical Examiner, Cheng Xinglang.
His office door remained shut.
Zhu Qing averted her gaze and headed straight to Doctor Ye’s office.
The freshly printed report still carried warmth from the machine.
Doctor Ye offered an apologetic smile as he flipped through it, explaining the new findings.
"Stomach contents revealed a discrepancy. Time of death needs adjustment."
"Not 3 PM?"
"Unlikely. The scene was staged—initial estimation was off."
He pointed to knee close-ups in the dissection photos. "Abnormal pressure marks. The killer likely wrapped the joints in ice towels, then used weights to force the kneeling pose."
"See these back indentations? Resembles an incense burner’s base."
Doctor Ye explained how the carefully arranged cold environment and physical restraints caused localized rigor mortis within thirty minutes, skewing the original time-of-death calculation.
Zhu Qing studied the report. "So the actual window is 4:30 to 4:40 PM?"
If death occurred ninety minutes later, Wei Xusheng—who was at the mahjong parlor by 3:30 PM—
Had an alibi.
......
Ten minutes later, Mo Zhenbang took the report from Zhu Qing.
Flipping through the pages, his frown deepened. He erased the critical timeline from the whiteboard.
"This Doctor Ye..."
"How much time have we wasted?"
The team silently passed around the report.
The killer’s cunning was evident—while the autopsy pinned death between 4:30 and 4:40 PM, the scene had been manipulated to suggest 3 PM.
What was the purpose of this temporal deception?
"Remember the work schedule of the deceased's ex-wife, Huang Qiulian?" Mo Zhenbang said. "On the day of the incident, she got off work at four. If the time of death was fabricated, then the alibi of his younger brother Wei Xusheng holds, but she—"
Little Sun chimed in, "She has no alibi."
Liang Qikai flipped through the investigation records: "The housekeeper said Wei Huasheng didn’t always stay at home, but the company confirmed he wasn’t on a business trip."
"Could it be… he had another family outside?"
"The household registration department is utterly absurd. Even the records of the deceased’s divorce and the deregistration of his son’s death are a mess—they know nothing when questioned. Once this case is closed, I’m definitely filing a complaint against them!"
"Exactly! How could the deregistration details of the child’s death be so unclear?"
"Focus all efforts on tracking down the deceased’s son, Wei Ansheng." After a long silence in front of the whiteboard, Mo Zhenbang gave orders: "Qikai, Little Sun, dig into the deceased’s large transactions over the past five years. Jiale, Hao Zai, re-examine the crime scene at Tin Hau Temple, especially witnesses related to the estimated time of death in the autopsy report."
"Uncle Li, re-interrogate the deceased’s brother. Get him to clarify his elder brother’s romantic situation."
Various possibilities swirled in the investigators’ minds.
If "Wei Ansheng" was unaware of the will’s existence, did his guardian know? If Wei Ansheng really was the deceased’s illegitimate child, why didn’t he come forward to claim the body after the Tin Hau Temple murder was reported?
"Was he given up for adoption early on, or was he born out of wedlock?"
"Zhu Qing, Yongshan, investigate the deceased’s ex-wife," Mo Zhenbang continued. "There’s a community event tomorrow—use it to verify her alibi."
"Why the indirect approach?" Xu Jiale asked, puzzled.
Mo Zhenbang didn’t explain.
Records showed Huang Qiulian had gone through great hardship to secure her current job. He didn’t want an open police investigation to ruin her livelihood again without solid evidence.
The discussion was interrupted by commotion outside.
"The deceased’s brother is causing a scene at the report room!"
By the time the officers arrived, Wei Xusheng was slamming his fists on the desk, shouting.
"What kind of bullshit will is this?"
Spring Day
"He always doted on me, his younger brother. Now that his wife’s gone and his child’s dead, who else would he leave his money to but me?"
"What son?! What son are you talking about? How could I not know about this after all these years?"
Even as he was led into the interrogation room, he kept yelling.
"Officer, I need that money to save my life!"
"The loan sharks are breathing down my neck…"
"Can’t you put in a word for me? Just let me pay them back first—people could really die over this!"
Outside, officers watched from a distance.
"With a brother like this, the deceased wasted his affection."
"Wei Huasheng’s body isn’t even cold, and his own brother is already making a scene…"
Uncle Li leaned against his workstation, listening to the curses from inside.
He shook his head slowly. "Right now, the most crucial thing is finding that 'missing son.'"
……
After days of relentless investigation, the officers returned with mountains of leads but still couldn’t piece together a clear picture.
Before wrapping up, Zhu Qing headed to the toy company for a follow-up visit. Passing by Weston Kindergarten in Kowloon Tong, she hit the brakes and picked up little Sheng Fang, who had just finished school.
Fangfang smoothly climbed into the back seat, took off his backpack, all in one fluid motion.
Zeng Yongshan turned around and teased, "Is the little officer joining us for casework today?"
Fangfang nodded eagerly.
Zhu Qing tossed her mobile phone to the little one in the back.
Soon, the car was filled with Fangfang’s cheerful updates.
"Big sis, big sis, I won’t be home for dinner tonight. Qing’s taking me to work overtime."
"Aunt Ping, don’t make dinner for me!"
With that, Fangfang leaned closer.
Mimicking his police colleagues, he asked with exaggerated seriousness, "Boss, where are we working overtime today?"
Fangfang didn’t realize that every innocent request of his was met with Qing’s indulgence.
Last time, during a crab feast, "Officer Fang" casually mentioned how long it had been since he’d helped solve a case—and before he knew it, he was tagging along with the two officers to the headquarters of Wei Huasheng’s toy company.
Wei Huasheng’s former office was on the top floor of the building—compact but meticulously organized.
Files were neatly arranged on the desk, a teacup sat quietly in the corner, its contents long gone cold.
Director Fan, a company veteran, escorted the officers to the meeting room.
Fangfang’s attention, however, was entirely captured by the sample room next to the office, where toys were piled high like a miniature mountain. His tiny feet refused to move another step.
"I’ll wait right here," Fangfang promised, tilting his head. "I’ll be good."
He solemnly stuffed his hands into his pockets to show he wouldn’t touch anything.
The receptionist who had followed them up chuckled until the little boy suddenly addressed her.
"This sister will keep an eye on me!"
Receptionist: "Huh?"
As Zhu Qing’s footsteps faded, she turned and shot Fangfang a warning look.
Moments later, in the meeting room, Director Fan let out a long sigh.
"Huasheng built this company from the ground up, weathered the toughest times. Who’d have thought that just as things were looking up, he…"
When asked about the deceased’s personal life, Director Fan was adamant.
"His private life was almost too clean," he said. "Never heard a whisper of anything unsavory… You’re saying he had a son? I definitely never heard about that."
Director Fan reminisced about the company ten years ago.
Back then, before the child abuse case, Mr. Wei’s desk always had a family photo, and he walked around with a smile.
"But then…" Director Fan shook his head. "You know what happened."
"Did he stay in touch with his ex-wife after her release?" Zeng Yongshan asked.
"Qiulian? He never mentioned her," Director Fan replied.
"To be honest, I’ve known Huasheng for decades. Back then… I’d never seen him so broken. What happened with his child, his wife—it nearly destroyed him. The only time Huasheng ever took leave was the day Qiulian was sentenced."
"Once such a loving couple…"
Next door, light footsteps approached. When Zhu Qing and Zeng Yongshan went to check, they found a delighted little boy.
Fangfang was holding a shopping basket (from who-knows-where), carefully selecting toys.
Suddenly, he patted his pockets and looked up with a pout.
"Sister, I didn’t bring any money."
He spread his empty hands helplessly.
The receptionist laughed. "What should we do then? Maybe ask the grown-ups in your family."
"She’s not a grown-up," Fangfang said.
The little boy’s head drooped in disappointment.
He knew Qing wouldn’t let him buy toys.
His playroom at home was already overflowing. Zhu Qing always complained that the rows of Ultraman and Transformers gave her a headache, but Fangfang insisted on introducing each "friend" by name. His niece had the worst memory—she’d forget their names as soon as he told her.
"Sister," Fangfang stood on tiptoe, eyeing a display case high up in the sample room. "Can I see that toy train?"
"That one’s not for sale."
The display case in the high-end sample room showcased Wei Huasheng’s prized collection.
At that moment, the receptionist lowered her head and noticed a child gazing up at her with pleading eyes. The hopeful look softened her resolve.
“Just a quick look, okay?”
Inside the glass cabinet sat an old-fashioned mechanical toy train. Zhu Qing and Zeng Yongshan subtly moved closer, their eyes locked on a small photo frame beside the toy.
“This is a limited-edition piece from 1985,” the receptionist explained to the two officers. “According to company records, it was Mr. Wei’s first attempt at designing a wind-up train like this. The orders back then were overwhelming—almost sold out immediately.”
As she lifted the train model, the two officers got a clear view of the photo in the frame.
A baby grinned toothlessly, clutching an identical toy, a bubble of snot perched on the tip of his nose.
Zeng Yongshan’s breath hitched. “This is…”
They instantly recognized the child in the photo.
It was unmistakably the same bruised and battered victim from the child abuse case files—Wei Feiyang.
Zhu Qing took the train model and noticed a line of words hand-carved on its underside:
Anson, Summer 1985.
“Anson…” Zhu Qing murmured softly. “That’s Ansheng.”
Wei Ansheng and Wei Feiyang were the same person.
After the abuse case, the child had mysteriously vanished—only to be hidden away by his father.
“No wonder the household registration records were so vague. It wasn’t a death certificate but a transfer. The only official mention of Wei Feiyang’s ‘death’ was in the toy company’s obituary.”
“Why go to such lengths to hide the child…?”
“Ten years ago, Huang Qiulian hurt him—”
“Wei Huasheng knew she’d eventually be released. This was his way of protecting the boy.”
Not an illegitimate child. Not a discarded one.
Perhaps this father only wanted the victim of that abuse case to leave his past behind forever.
“The child should be eleven this year.”
“Where is he now?”
“Could that ‘Amazing Dad’ note… be connected to him?”
“Wrap it all up!” Sheng Fang declared in a tiny, determined voice, hoisting the shopping basket overhead. “I’m buying this for Little Lucky Star!”
