The night at Yau Ma Tei Police Station, Zhu Qing and her team had just stepped into the Criminal Investigation Division office when teasing remarks greeted them from all directions.
Hao Zai was the most sarcastic, his tone dripping with mockery: "Our Miss Hong Kong and Mr. Hong Kong are back."
Uncle Li scolded him with a laugh: "Even a free dinner can't shut your mouth."
"Enough chatter," Mo Zhenbang cut in. "Prepare the conference room."
Mo Zhenbang pushed open the conference room door, his subordinates trailing behind with case files in hand.
They groaned in exaggerated despair—working late and now a meeting? No unit in the entire Yau Ma Tei Police Station suffered as much as the Serious Crime Team B.
Zhu Qing spread out the documents on Sacred Heart Estate.
When the current condition of the victim's son was mentioned, the laughter died down, and the office fell silent.
Xu Jiale's expression turned grave: "So in that child abuse case years ago, even if the baby survived, he was left half-dead. Blind in one eye, loss of speech function..."
"All these years, the victim kept his son hidden, never letting outsiders near him," Zeng Yongshan added. "But one thing's strange—if it was just to prevent his ex-wife from causing trouble, was it really necessary to go this far?"
"A volunteer at Sacred Heart Estate said he was a good father... but the estate is in the North District of the New Territories. It takes at least an hour just to drive there one way. Why not keep the child at home? They had two reliable maids who could've taken care of him."
"Definitely contradictory," Little Sun frowned. "No matter how good Sacred Heart Estate is, it can't compare to personal care. Changing the child’s name, removing him from the household registry—on the surface, it looks like a complete severance of ties. Just to avoid an ex-wife? That explanation feels forced."
The discussion shifted to Huang Qiulian's motive for the crime.
"She behaved well in prison, working toward early release. After getting out, she tried washing dishes at a diner, and now she treasures her job at the community center. She watches the children play from a distance, never daring to step closer... Would someone like that really throw away her hard-won new life just for revenge?"
"While tracking Wei Ansheng’s movements this morning—" Hao Zai suddenly interjected, "I looked into his maternal grandparents. Neighbors said the scandal from that case shamed them. They were intellectuals who raised their daughter to succeed, but never expected... The old couple’s health deteriorated because of it. But here’s the thing—Wei Huasheng, the victim, handled their funeral arrangements with great care. Completely opposite to what we assumed about cutting ties."
Liang Qikai mused: "So the victim supported his in-laws in their old age and even hired a lawyer for Huang Qiulian..."
"Here’s the visitation record the boss asked me to check," Hao Zai added. "At first, the victim never visited. Then suddenly, two years into Huang Qiulian’s sentence, he started requesting frequent meetings—but she refused every time. Prison guards mentioned she often talked in her sleep, repeating even in her dreams, ‘I didn’t push him...’"
"I remember Wei Xusheng, the victim’s younger brother, also said his brother never visited her. But during the trial, he softened and got her a lawyer."
"Do you think Wei Huasheng ever truly resented Huang Qiulian?"
Liang Qikai’s eyes scanned the whiteboard before shifting focus: "Let’s consider another angle—what if the victim himself was the one who slipped up back then? His toy company was just taking off, at a critical stage where any scandal could’ve ruined it. Like in previous cases, the least likely suspect often turns out to be the real culprit."
"You’re saying Huang Qiulian took the fall for her husband?" Zhu Qing frowned. "But she never confessed. She kept appealing even after being imprisoned."
"Maybe a wrongful conviction? Wei Huasheng pinned the crime on his wife, then out of guilt, took care of her parents afterward."
"Now Huang Qiulian’s out of prison. She thinks her child is dead, while Wei Huasheng became a philanthropist. If she’s seeking justice for her child and herself, doesn’t that perfectly explain her motive for murder?"
Mo Zhenbang stared at the tangled web of clues on the whiteboard.
Someone, almost under their breath, murmured: "If that’s true, then right up to the end, she never knew her son was still alive. How tragic."
"Hey, hey!" Zeng Yongshan rapped her knuckles on the table. "You guys always accuse me of being sentimental!"
Zhu Qing remained silent, flipping through the files of the child abuse case.
As she looked at Huang Qiulian’s photo in the records, Zhu Qing couldn’t help but recall the figure she’d seen on the community center lawn—
Standing in the sunlight, her gaze following the innocent children, calm and gentle.
......
Sheng Peirong walked to the center of the courtyard, covering the short distance with steady steps.
She remembered Aunt Ping’s words. Back when she was still unconscious, Pei Junyi had gone to Weston Kindergarten’s gates, trying to pry information from Sheng Fang. But in the end, the mischievous little boy outplayed him, alerting the security guards and nearly causing a scene. Pei Junyi had to pull out his ID to explain before finally escaping.
The irony? After that, Pei Junyi never returned to the kindergarten to verify anything.
Every child in the kindergarten’s junior class had seen her personally pick up her little brother after school.
That was Pei Junyi—desperation barely concealed, yet still managing to convince her father completely.
"You... you..." Pei Junyi’s eyes darted over her, his face darkening.
Brain dead? Unresponsive? The Sheng family’s eldest daughter before him was sharp-eyed and unyielding, exactly as she’d always been.
"You what?"
Little Fang stood proudly beside his big sister, his chubby hands snatching the document from the lawyer and handing it to her.
The old directors’ suits were already soaked with cold sweat.
They’d come tonight to pressure the family while no one was in charge, their guilty consciences now laid bare. They wished they could vanish on the spot.
"Uncles, I respect you as elders." Sheng Peirong skimmed the document, her voice measured. "But this power of attorney needs a convincing justification."
"Did you think the Sheng family had no one left who could read legal documents?"
What followed turned the directors ashen.
The long-absent eldest daughter of the Sheng family calmly dismantled each clause, her critique precise and informed—proof she’d been tracking the group’s affairs all along. This was no frail invalid. The directors realized with dread: Had the rumor about "only a child heir remaining" after Sheng Wenchang’s will was announced been her carefully laid trap? She’d been waiting for the restless among them to walk right into it.
The directors stammered excuses, unable to meet her gaze.
Little Fang stood tall beside his sister, his young face brimming with pride.
Before their faltering explanations could finish, Sheng Peirong had already turned away.
"Save your words for the board meeting." She didn't even turn her head as she instructed, "Aunt Ping, see them out."
Led by Pei Junyi, the group was escorted out the main gate, each face heavy with tension. Sheng Peirong hadn't even uttered a single harsh word, yet she'd already struck fear into the hearts of the veteran directors who once stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Sheng Wenchang. They were ashamed of their last-minute betrayal being exposed and terrified of the reckoning they might face at next week's board meeting.
This daughter of Sheng Wenchang wielded even sharper tactics than her father.
The iron gate outside the courtyard creaked shut with a heavy thud, but inside, the atmosphere instantly returned to its usual ease.
"Big sis! Are you tired?"
"Does your leg hurt?"
Sheng Fang nestled close to her, offering sweet, doting concern with an angelic expression.
When Aunt Ping returned, her steps were light, a smile playing on her lips. "Those esteemed gentlemen never expected Young Miss wouldn’t even let them cross the threshold."
Seated primly on the sofa, Sheng Peirong glanced at the wheelchair tucked in the corner.
If those people had stepped inside and seen that—what then?
"When the master first passed, they came by, holding Second Young Miss and her husband’s hands, saying they’d help however they could… Crying so hard even I wiped my eyes. Yet before a year had passed, they showed their true colors."
Aunt Ping studied Sheng Peirong’s composed profile, emotions swirling in her chest.
Zhu Qing, still young and impulsive, didn’t know how to handle these old foxes. Had she been the one dealing with them today, she might’ve just chased them off—but they’d have kept coming back, pestering endlessly. Even if they gained nothing, the nuisance alone would’ve been exhausting.
But Sheng Peirong was different. With just a few words, she seized control. The group left with their tails between their legs, likely too cowed to dare another attempt.
Aunt Ping’s smile deepened.
Now that Sheng Peirong’s health was steadily improving, she’d quietly taken the burden off her daughter’s shoulders.
Holding up this household with such effortless grace—it was a relief.
Little Sheng Fang didn’t understand the adults’ conversation, but he watched intently as Sheng Peirong tore up the authorization letter.
Curled up beside his big sister, he diligently massaged her legs with his tiny hands, eyes sparkling like little stars.
From this day forward, Sheng Fang would forever be his big sister’s most loyal little brother.
So cool.
His big sister was, without a doubt, the most amazing person in the world!
……
By the time Zhu Qing returned home, night had fallen deeply, and only a single warm yellow lamp glowed in the living room.
Aunt Ping had prepared a late-night snack, and Sheng Peirong sat at the dining table with her daughter, leisurely sipping sweet soup.
Only then did Zhu Qing realize she’d missed quite the spectacle—little Sheng Fang must’ve been over the moon.
Aunt Ping smiled. "Young Miss is returning to the company next Wednesday."
"So soon?" Zhu Qing looked up.
Next Wednesday was the quarterly board meeting. Sheng Peirong planned to add an agenda item reassessing whether the current directors were still fit for their roles.
No one understood Sheng Peirong’s temperament better than Aunt Ping. That she’d patiently endured months of recovery, sticking to rehab and medication, was nothing short of a miracle.
"She should’ve gone back long ago," Aunt Ping said. "But you kept an eye on your mother, supervising her until now—"
"All for Coco’s sake," Sheng Peirong said with a chuckle.
Zhu Qing knew exactly how her mother felt—her body might still be at home, but her mind had already flown back to the company.
It was just like when Zhu Qing had been bedridden with a fracture, forced to rest by little Sheng Fang. Every minute had been agony.
"But you have to promise me," Zhu Qing set down her bowl, her expression turning serious, "no overworking. And—"
"No overtime," Sheng Peirong finished, eyes brimming with amusement.
"And at the office, you’ll—"
"Eat properly, take my medicine on time." Sheng Peirong cut in again.
Mother and daughter locked eyes, then burst into laughter.
"Shh." Zhu Qing lowered her voice. "Fangfang’s asleep."
Sheng Peirong’s laughter softened as she glanced upstairs.
They both assumed that at this hour, little Sheng Fang would’ve long been fast asleep.
But who could’ve guessed? In the children’s room, Sheng Fang’s eyes shone brightly in the dark, like twin searchlights.
Rolling back and forth under the covers, the little one experienced something akin to insomnia for the first time—though for him, it wasn’t a bother. His round eyes widened like saucers, and he grinned to himself, giggling silently.
He waited and waited until he heard Zhu Qing’s voice from the next room, then scrambled up, hugging his pillow.
Knock knock knock—
Sheng Fang stood at the doorway, head tilted expectantly, waiting for Zhu Qing to invite him in.
He had to recount tonight’s battle!
"You’re still awake?" Zhu Qing looked stunned.
A few seconds later, Sheng Fang got his wish.
Snuggled in the warm blankets, the little uncle and his grown-up niece shared the night’s events.
He’d first learned the word "villain" from Zhu Qing.
It was on a late-night minibus ride back to the Wong Chuk Hang Police School when she’d explained its meaning—villains were bad guys.
Now Sheng Fang put his knowledge to use, shaking his head like a rattle-drum, face scrunched in disdain.
"Such dumb villains! They can’t even be bad properly!"
Zhu Qing teased him, "You could do better?"
She knew full well that Sheng Fang understood exactly how villains should act.
In the original storyline, he’d been the ultimate antagonist—one whose exit left readers heartbroken.
She ruffled his hair. "We don’t learn from the bad ones."
Sheng Fang yawned, his voice drowsy. "Right! We’re the good guys—Officer Fang and Madam Zhu!"
Half-asleep, he mumbled one last addition:
"Someday… we’ll patrol together…"
Under the quiet moonlight, uncle and niece sprawled into their usual starfish sleeping positions.
Throughout the night, Aunt Ping tiptoed in countless times to tuck them back in.
……
The police pursued two parallel investigations.
One team continued probing Wei Huasheng’s murder, focusing on verifying Huang Qiulian’s alibi. Another reopened the cold case of child abuse—now a likely motive for the current crime.
After extensive inquiries, officers finally tracked down the Weis’ former maid in a rural village.
The elderly woman was cradling her granddaughter when police arrived. The infant slept peacefully in her arms.
When informed of Wei Huasheng’s death, she fell silent for a long moment before sighing.
"Can you describe Mr. and Mrs. Wei’s relationship back then?" Little Sun flipped open his notepad.
"Those two... they were very much in love back in the day." The elderly woman gently patted her granddaughter's head. "At that time, Mr. Wei's career was just taking off, and his wife was gentle and caring. They even had an adorable child together..."
"What changed later?" Zhu Qing pressed.
"But the good times didn’t last. After giving birth to Yangyang, the wife became a completely different person. She would burst into tears for no reason, or suddenly lose her temper and argue with her husband," the old woman explained. "I only learned later that it was postpartum depression. My daughter-in-law went through the same thing when she had her baby. The doctor said it was due to hormonal changes and that family support was crucial."
"What did they usually argue about?"
"Petty things—like Mr. Wei not washing his hands before holding the baby after work. Looking back now, those fights were so unnecessary. I think it might’ve been tied to the wife’s worries about her career."
"Their parents were in poor health and couldn’t help with childcare. The couple didn’t feel comfortable leaving Yangyang with just me, so the wife had to sacrifice her own career to stay home and take care of him."
The old woman reminisced, "Mr. Wei would light up when talking about his toy company, and the wife missed teaching terribly. She couldn’t sleep at night, exhausted from caring for the baby all day, yet unable to return to work... Who wouldn’t be miserable in that situation?"
"I only had two days off a month. On the day it happened, I was away. When I came back the next day, the neighbors told me what had occurred..."
"She must’ve been completely worn out... Maybe if I’d been there, things would’ve turned out differently."
The old woman instinctively covered her granddaughter’s ears and sighed softly. "What a tragedy."
"What do you think of Huang Qiulian?"
"Ten years ago, the police asked me the same thing many times," the old woman replied earnestly. "The wife had a kind heart. When I first started working for them, my family had an emergency, and I needed an advance on my salary. Most employers would’ve refused, thinking I’d be trouble later. But she gave me the money and told me to handle my affairs before returning. I was gone for over ten days, yet she never rushed to hire someone else—she waited for me."
"After Yangyang was born, she did have her moments of temper, but I never believed those newspaper headlines calling her a 'monster mother.' Could it have been the depression clouding her judgment?"
The old woman recalled the sensational child abuse case that had shocked the public. From the incident to the verdict, it had taken barely over a month.
After the sentencing, public opinion was divided—some cheered, while others thought the punishment was too light.
"What was Mr. Wei like in daily life?" Little Sun changed the subject.
"I didn’t interact much with Mr. Wei. Even my salary was handed to me by his wife," the old woman admitted. "He was a businessman, meticulous with money. Like during holidays, if the wife forgot something, he’d remember."
"Mr. Wei wasn’t a bad man—he was a decent employer." She added a detail, "But he could be a bit nitpicky. A few times, he asked if I was eating too much of the household’s fruits and milk. Truthfully, my appetite wasn’t that big, and it had been agreed from the start that meals were included..."
"Still, aside from that, there wasn’t much else to criticize."
"When did you leave the Wei household?"
"After the wife was imprisoned, Mr. Wei was in a terrible state, and the child was hospitalized." Her voice grew heavy. "By then, they didn’t really need me anymore. Two months after the incident, I resigned and returned to my hometown. I’ve been there ever since."
"Looking back now, a whole decade has passed in the blink of an eye. Time flies."
"How were they with the child?"
"With Yangyang—back then, the news painted the wife as a villain, but from the day he was born until he turned one, I saw with my own eyes how much she adored him."
"Mr. Wei was the same. How could a father not love his own son? Especially one as sweet as Yangyang."
At this point, the old woman’s eyes grew moist. "Yangyang was such a good boy. Whenever his father developed a new toy, he’d bring it to him first. The couple would play with him together, making him laugh."
"What does a baby a few months old even understand? But he’d giggle just holding a toy..."
"What a pity. That poor child."
...
As for the murder case of Wei Huasheng, the police investigation had hit a dead end.
Was the relationship between the deceased and Huang Qiulian truly one of remorse and resentment? Regardless, on the surface, Huang Qiulian was undeniably the person most entangled with him.
At this point, it was time to bring Huang Qiulian in for questioning.
Under Mo Zhenbang’s orders, Zeng Yongshan and Liang Qikai immediately set off for the community center.
Meanwhile, Mo Zhenbang combed through the files and asked, "Did we forget to retrieve the visitor logs from Sacred Heart Manor?"
The three younger officers exchanged uneasy glances.
"Go again." Mo turned to Zhu Qing. "You’re coming with me."
Armed with an official request from the Social Welfare Department, they headed back to the North District of the New Territories.
On the way, Mo Zhenbang asked, "What’s your take on this case?"
From initially relying on gut feelings to now methodically piecing together clues, Zhu Qing’s progress was undeniable.
Mo still remembered her sharp insights in past cases.
But this time, Zhu Qing only shook her head in confusion.
She couldn’t put it into words—this case was just too strange.
"By fixating on the connection between Wei Huasheng and the child abuse case, aren’t we falling into the trap of confirmation bias? Assuming a seemingly perfect person must be hiding dark secrets," Zhu Qing said seriously. "But so far, all evidence points to Wei Huasheng being a genuinely good man—devoted to his brother, dedicated to charity, patient with his wife, protective of his son..."
The household staff, business partners, employees, his brother’s ex-wife, even the brother himself—all spoke highly of him.
The only dissenting voice came from the old housekeeper, who mentioned his occasional pettiness. But even she said it with a hint of nostalgia—wasn’t frugality just a businessman’s trait?
"The child abuse case from ten years ago has already been closed. I'm not trying to defend Huang Qiulian... but why have we been limiting our focus to just these few people?" Zhu Qing suddenly turned her head. "Could it be that the real killer in Wei Huasheng's murder hasn't even entered our investigative scope yet?"
Mo Zhenbang raised an eyebrow, a flicker of approval in his eyes. "Seems like you actually listened to what I said."
Zhu Qing waved her notebook.
Just a few days ago, Mo Zhenbang had emphasized that investigations must rely on evidence and avoid subjective assumptions. She had meticulously noted it all down.
After an hour's drive, they finally arrived at Sacred Heart Manor.
Mo Zhenbang was still muttering to himself—before leaving, Uncle Li had nagged him again, saying his stern expression would scare the children.
"I'm just here to check visitor records," Mo Zhenbang grumbled under his breath. "So much fuss over nothing."
...
The police returned to Sacred Heart Manor, where the same volunteer from yesterday greeted them.
"Ansheng is still the same," the volunteer said. "He sits by the window in the activity room all day, waiting for Mr. Wei. We were worried about him, so we convinced him to take a walk."
"The weather is nice today, and he was very cooperative. He even brought his camera."
"Look, he’s over there photographing the dew droplets after noon. Quiet children often have unique perspectives—they notice beauty others overlook."
The volunteer pointed toward a small path where a thin boy stood, camera raised, intently observing the water droplets.
Zhu Qing and Mo Zhenbang paused to watch but didn’t approach.
"The visitor records are this way. Please follow me."
Zhu Qing followed the volunteer into the office and took the logbook handed to her.
She skimmed through it—Wei Huasheng had visited his son almost every week, sometimes staying for three or four days.
Though everyone praised Sacred Heart Manor’s professionalism in caring for children, this wasn’t a real home. If the deceased had been so devoted to his son, why leave him here long-term?
This question gnawed at Zhu Qing as she left with the records, lingering in her mind.
Outside, Mo Zhenbang had just ended a call and instinctively reached for his cigarette case.
A passing caregiver immediately shot him a disapproving look.
Out of the corner of his eye, Mo Zhenbang noticed Wei Ansheng nearby, photographing dew-laden flower buds.
He paused, silently slipping the cigarette back into his pocket. "Sorry," he muttered.
"Let’s head back," he told Zhu Qing. "Huang Qiulian has arrived."
Before he finished speaking, Wei Ansheng suddenly looked up.
His intact left eye darted around, as if searching for something.
Zhu Qing froze at the unexpected reaction. Yesterday, in front of Zeng Yongshan, he hadn’t responded to any words or movements—yet now, it seemed he had heard something.
Memories flashed through her mind. During the special needs children’s tea party at the community center, Huang Qiulian had decisively turned off a malfunctioning microphone emitting a high-pitched "zapping" noise. At the time, Zhu Qing and Zeng Yongshan had assumed the children were disturbed by the loud music—but in reality, autistic children were most sensitive to such high-frequency static.
Was it professional experience?
She distinctly remembered that Happy Child Development Center’s collaboration with the community center had just begun. Miss Lu, the social worker, had mentioned that if the center had known about Huang Qiulian’s child abuse record, they would never have allowed her to stay.
If Huang Qiulian had been kept away from those children, how did she know about their specific sensitivities?
And this volunteer—yesterday afternoon, when asked if anyone else visited Wei Ansheng, had her fingers brushing the metal clasp of her folder been an unconscious habit or deliberate evasion?
"Wei Ansheng’s mother has visited him too, hasn’t she?" Zhu Qing suddenly turned and asked, locking eyes with the volunteer.
The air seemed to freeze.
The prolonged silence was answer enough.
This revelation overturned their earlier assumptions.
Huang Qiulian had known her son was alive. Wei Huasheng hadn’t been scheming—instead, they had silently agreed on one thing.
Protecting their child.
...
In the interrogation room, Huang Qiulian stared blankly ahead.
This scene was all too familiar to her.
The cold walls, harsh lights, the officers’ scrutinizing gazes—she could predict every step of what came next.
Earlier, the detectives from Yau Ma Tei Police Station had discreetly escorted her from the community center without alerting anyone. Only then did she realize the volunteer with the ID badge at yesterday’s event had also been an officer.
Now, seated on a plastic chair with nothing to fidget with, she kept her head down, silent.
Liang Qikai entered, exchanging a meaningful glance with Uncle Li.
The police had confirmed new details.
"Wei Huasheng wasn’t the only one visiting Wei Ansheng at Sacred Heart Manor," Liang Qikai rapped his knuckles on the table. "You knew your son was alive."
Huang Qiulian didn’t meet his gaze, her expression unchanged.
"Wei Huasheng’s annual donations were substantial enough for the staff to overlook minor discrepancies," Liang Qikai continued. "Only his name appeared in the official logs, but we found out you visited twice a month. Your colleagues thought you stayed in your dorm on your days off, but you’d sneak out occasionally—carefully enough that no one noticed."
"You and Wei Huasheng both visited Wei Ansheng in secret, but never together." Liang Qikai leaned over the interrogation table. "Why the secrecy? What’s the child hiding?"
His words fell on deaf ears—Huang Qiulian remained unresponsive.
"If the deceased used his company to publish the obituary and registered the child under the institution’s name, it wasn’t to hide from you," Uncle Li said calmly, uncharacteristically patient. "Then what was it for?"
Huang Qiulian pressed her lips together.
"You can tell us anything. We’re here to help."
"Police have never helped me," she whispered.
Uncle Li didn’t argue. Instead, he spoke gently.
"The child has already lost his father."
"Ansheng always waits by the window, from afternoon until sunset—waiting for you."
A flicker of emotion passed through Huang Qiulian’s eyes. Her hands, resting on the table’s edge, clenched slightly.
"Wei Huasheng hid the truth about your son from everyone except you. That means he trusted you completely."
"All those years when you refused his prison visits—what was he trying to tell you?"
The seconds ticked by.
Someone knocked on the door. Uncle Li stood up, took a cup of warm water, and pushed it toward her.
He then leaned back in his chair, flipping through documents as if in no hurry for an answer.
The rustling sound of turning pages echoed through the spacious interrogation room.
Until finally, they heard Huang Qiulian’s voice.
“Wei Huasheng said he’s being watched.”
“Like a ghost, always lurking in the shadows, staring at him.”
“That case from back then… it was behind it too.”
...
Teacher Ji had always known that the little ones in the kindergarten class loved sharing “big news” from home during free playtime.
Today, young master Sheng Fang spent the whole day vividly recounting a dramatic family feud over inheritance.
“Wow! I know this one!” Jin Bao chimed in excitedly. “They show stuff like this on TV all the time!”
“My mommy loves watching these kinds of dramas,” Baby Yesi added eagerly.
“What’s so fun about that?” Juan adjusted his tiny glasses mysteriously. “Cartoons are way better.”
Lately, Sheng Fang hadn’t had much to share himself, but his eldest sister did.
Recalling last night’s scene, he waved his hands animatedly, even clapping for himself at the most thrilling part.
Where one led the applause, others followed.
The little ones all clapped their chubby hands in unison, even if they didn’t quite grasp what had happened in the Sheng household—but the atmosphere was electric.
Teacher Ji tidied up the play area’s teaching aids, quietly amused.
After years on the job, she’d seen it all—now even boardroom secrets were part of kindergarten gossip.
“Big Sis is going to work soon,” Sheng Fang declared dreamily. “I’m gonna take her there myself!”
“Fangfang! Are you gonna ride your bike to drop her off?”
“Whoa—so cool!”
Sheng Fang seriously considered removing the training wheels from his tiny bicycle.
Would riding a tricycle to the office make him a laughingstock? But if he took them off, he could crash—but Big Sis couldn’t.
This weighty dilemma occupied him all day.
At dismissal, he trailed at the end of the line, his little face still etched with concentration.
By the time they neared the kindergarten gates, another worry seized him.
Where to go now?
Head to Yau Ma Tei to find his niece and tag along to her job? That’d be fun.
Or return to Kadoorie Hill for Big Sis? Last night, watching her dominate had been epic—he was officially her #1 fan now!
Both options thrilled him. The young master had excellent choices.
As he swayed thoughtfully, a familiar voice called out.
“Young master, time to go,” Aunt Ping appeared out of nowhere, smiling. “You’ve got fencing class today.”
Little Sheng Fang froze—then laughed.
A laugh of sheer exasperation.
