"You're disturbing him."
"Keep it down. Mr. Wei is resting."
The words drifted faintly, as if carried from a distant place, accompanied by the flickering light of burning joss paper—a scene that felt jarringly out of place.
Guan Xijiu's voice was peculiar, a sharp tone caught between a child's and an adult's, laced with a trace of resentment toward the police. His hands rose and fell again as he picked up another stack of spirit money.
The officers encircled him, hands resting on their holsters, maintaining a cautious distance.
Guan Xijiu clutched the joss paper tightly with his deformed fingers. "Let me finish burning these—just a few more left."
Ashes floated in the air, the firelight casting eerie shadows across his face.
The scene was unsettling, and for a moment, the officers hesitated—until Mo Zhenbang's sharp command cut through the tension.
"What are you waiting for? Take him away!"
Two officers moved in, gripping his shoulders. But the frail figure suddenly erupted with surprising strength. He thrashed violently, his elbow slamming into Xu Jiale's ribs.
"Let me go! I’m not done!"
"Stay still!"
"I need to burn the paper!" Guan Xijiu screamed, spittle flying, his face contorted in desperation. "He has no money down there—have some mercy!"
Mo Zhenbang stepped forward, twisting Guan Xijiu's deformed arm backward and slamming his face against the cold wall of the funeral hall.
Guan Xijiu struggled wildly, but the grip was unyielding. His murky eyes darted, locking onto the portrait displayed above the coffin.
He stared at the photo, unblinking.
Inside the coffin lay only a neatly arranged black suit—the same one Mr. Wei wore in the portrait.
"Let me go… let me go…"
"I need to keep vigil for him—he needs this money!"
......
In the interrogation room, Guan Xijiu huddled in the corner.
Under the harsh glare of the lights, he shrank back like a rat exposed in the open, trembling uncontrollably.
This night should have been his moment of triumph.
He had finally become Mr. Wei’s "son." But everything had been shattered the moment the police stormed in. His gaze, venomous and obsessive, swept across the room before settling on one wall. Slowly, he turned his head and adjusted the folds of his mourning clothes with delicate precision.
In the observation room next door, the officers watched through the one-way glass, their expressions grim. There was no satisfaction in having cracked the case—only smoldering fury.
The tragedy of this once-happy family had left them seething. Yet, staring at the figure behind the glass, they felt only a suffocating helplessness.
But the investigation had reached its end. The killer was in custody, and no matter how bitter their emotions, procedure had to be followed. It was the only way to bring justice to the dead—and closure to the living.
Tomorrow was Wei Huasheng’s funeral. The police hoped to wrap this up before then, to let the deceased rest in peace.
"Inspector Mo," an officer called from outside. "Everything’s ready."
A moment later, Mo Zhenbang and Zhu Qing entered the interrogation room.
The door clicked shut behind them.
Guan Xijiu looked up.
At just 113 centimeters tall, his small frame was swallowed by the interrogation chair, his legs dangling like a child’s. Zhu Qing’s gaze traveled from his trouser legs up to his eyes.
She flipped open her notepad, her tone neutral. "Where should we start?"
"Tell us about the first time you met Mr. Wei," she continued. "That day must have left an impression."
In truth, the police still didn’t know the full extent of Guan Xijiu’s connection to the victim.
But Zhu Qing’s seemingly casual approach worked. At the mention of that day, Guan Xijiu’s sparse eyebrows relaxed, his eyes softening with something like fondness.
"Where did you meet?"
"A grocery store."
Guan Xijiu closed his eyes, as if savoring the memory.
It was the year he turned nine, on an evening after a heavy rain.
Before that, his life had been nothing but darkness.
For as long as he could remember, he’d never known his mother. His father was a volatile man, quick to lash out with fists and curses—"useless," "freak," the words ringing in his ears. But the beatings weren’t daily. Sometimes, his father would disappear for days, leaving him to fend for himself. To young Guan Xijiu, those were the safest times. He’d curl up in a corner, praying the man would never return.
"I used to count the days…"
"Three days, five days… I hoped he’d never come back. I hoped he’d die out there."
As a child, Guan Xijiu had been slow to develop, but at least he could blend in with other kids. As he grew older, though, the differences became grotesque. His face matured, but his height never changed. Strangers would stare, then recoil in horror. Parents would yank their children away as if he were something filthy.
When his father was gone, hunger was his biggest enemy.
Other children could beg for food and receive pity. But no one would spare him a glance.
"No one wanted to help me."
"So you stole?" Mo Zhenbang frowned.
That day, he’d slipped into the corner store like always.
But as he stuffed a packet of crackers into his tattered pocket, the owner lunged at him, gripping his wrist like a vice.
"He said he’d drag me to the police, make my father come get me." Guan Xijiu’s voice turned venomous. "He said, ‘Stealing at your age? Let’s see how your dad deals with you!’"
The memory made his voice shrill.
He’d never forget the terror of that moment—kneeling, begging, snot and tears smeared across his face. But the owner had just stared down at him with disgust, as if he were some repulsive creature.
"And then Mr. Wei came." Guan Xijiu’s tone shifted, his words slowing.
Mr. Wei stepped forward and gently helped him up.
Guan Xijiu had clung to him like a lifeline.
"His suit was immaculate, expensive. I hid behind him, my dirty hands staining his clothes. But Mr. Wei… he didn’t push me away." Guan Xijiu’s voice grew distant, as if lost in a dream. "He even gave me a handkerchief. A fine one."
He smiled. "Very fine."
That day, Guan Xijiu froze. He had never experienced such kindness before. Overwhelmed, he stood rigidly in place, even forgetting to take the handkerchief offered to him.
Wei Huasheng sighed, crouched down, and gently wiped away the tear stains on Guan Xijiu’s face with the clean handkerchief.
Back then, Wei Huasheng had frowned and asked the shopkeeper why he was being so harsh on a child.
After hearing the full story, he silently took out his wallet, paying not only for the biscuits but also buying extra food to stave off hunger.
"The shopkeeper said my dad should pay…" Guan Xijiu murmured. "But he paid for me instead. If only he were really my father. I asked him if he could take me away."
The memory remained vivid in his mind.
Guan Xijiu knelt again, this time at the feet of Wei Huasheng, his forehead knocking against the polished leather shoes as he begged the kind-hearted man to take him in.
"I told him I’d be good… so good…" Guan Xijiu repeated obsessively, "I’d be really good."
But Wei Huasheng only pried his fingers loose from his trouser leg and shook his head.
"He said it wasn’t convenient," Guan Xijiu’s shoulders slumped. "He didn’t want me."
Mo Zhenbang felt an inexplicable tightness in his chest.
In truth, anyone would have refused such a request under those circumstances. Who would casually adopt a child they’d just met? Especially one caught stealing.
After they parted ways, Guan Xijiu returned to his violent home.
His father’s belt still lashed across his frail body, leaving behind gruesome marks. But strangely, he no longer felt the pain—his mind was filled only with Mr. Wei’s gentle gaze.
"If only he were my father," Guan Xijiu whispered.
At eighteen, when his father raised a liquor bottle yet again, Guan Xijiu fled that hellish household.
During his days as a street wanderer, he happened to cross paths with Wei Huasheng once more.
By then, Wei Huasheng had grown even more distinguished, standing impeccably dressed in a suit at the center of a red carpet, cutting the ribbon for a children’s charity. Applause erupted around him as people respectfully addressed him as "Mr. Wei."
Guan Xijiu lurked in the shadows, watching as Wei Huasheng warmly interacted with healthy, happy children.
Why was Mr. Wei willing to help so many, yet refused to accept him?
"So, he also looks down on me for being disabled," Guan Xijiu said.
That thought took root in his heart, spreading and festering like a seed planted at the age of nine.
From that day on, Guan Xijiu began stalking Wei Huasheng, documenting his every move.
He witnessed Wei Huasheng fall in love, get married, and purchase a new home.
During the renovation, Guan Xijiu sneaked into the house at night after the workers left, finding his first stable shelter.
But one evening, the sudden sound of footsteps shattered his peaceful dream.
Wei Huasheng had brought his new wife, Huang Qiulian, to see the house ahead of schedule.
Panicked, Guan Xijiu scrambled into the wardrobe. As he hid, his elbow accidentally bumped against the back wall, producing a hollow echo. He traced the seams of the wardrobe’s back panel with his fingers, testing every possible gap with primitive precision.
Like a rat instinctively knowing how to burrow, Guan Xijiu discovered this hiding spot through animalistic intuition.
"Mr. Wei walked in with his arm around Huang Qiulian’s waist. They were happily pointing things out," Guan Xijiu mimicked Huang Qiulian’s voice. "'The crib goes here, the toy cabinet there…'"
Listening to them plan their future, Guan Xijiu found himself lost in the fantasy too.
At the time, he was jobless, surviving on theft and scraps. Hearing Mr. Wei and Huang Qiulian’s dreams, he almost felt like part of their family.
"Everyone has a home… except me. I never had one, not since I was little."
"I wanted to be part of their family too."
"And there was already a 'room' ready for me," he grinned. "I wouldn’t disturb them."
Before Wei Huasheng and his wife moved in, Guan Xijiu had already settled into the house.
Later, when they arrived, he remained in his "room," peering through a crack in the back panel at the faint light spilling in from outside.
Guan Xijiu called it the light of home.
Soon after, Huang Qiulian became pregnant. At this point, Guan Xijiu’s eyes gleamed with a sickly longing—as if he wished he could be the child in her womb.
He continued living in the hidden space. Baby items gradually filled the nursery, and whenever Mrs. Wei hung tiny clothes in the wardrobe, he could hear the soft rustling through the panel.
He secretly took diapers meant for the baby. To the wealthy Wei family, one missing pack went unnoticed.
Late at night, he would sneak into the kitchen like a scavenging rat. Years of abuse had accustomed him to hunger—a few bites of leftovers, half a fruit, and a small cup of milk could sustain him for a day. But as his life in the Wei household improved, his appetite doubled, forcing him to restrain himself with difficulty.
Zhu Qing continued taking notes.
Because he ate so little, Sister E, the maid, never noticed anything amiss. Wei Huasheng, who handled the groceries, sensed something odd about the food consumption but assumed the maid’s appetite had grown. It never occurred to him that an extra mouth was feeding from the shadows of his home.
"Those were the best days I’d ever had," Guan Xijiu said.
"The baby was born. They named him 'Yangyang.'"
"Some children are unlucky, others are blessed. Mr. Wei and Huang Qiulian said Yangyang was like sunshine, brightening their lives."
But the peace didn’t last. The house soon became a battleground for frequent arguments.
"Huang Qiulian doesn’t know how good she has it. Mr. Wei works so hard for the family, yet she keeps picking fights."
Watching Mr. Wei exhaust himself trying to placate his wife, Guan Xijiu’s hatred for Mrs. Wei festered—along with resentment toward the crying baby.
Why did this noisy child get all of Mr. Wei’s love, while he, who was obedient and quiet, was rejected for his disability?
From the beginning, to avoid detection, Guan Xijiu had prepared gloves and shoe covers.
On the day he decided to kill Yangyang, he put them on meticulously.
"Sister E gets two days off every month," Guan Xijiu suddenly remarked, as casually as if discussing an old friend.
He waited patiently for her day off, finally seizing his chance.
That day, Huang Qiulian was in the shower, the running water masking his movements. Guan Xijiu strained onto his tiptoes, lifted the sleeping baby from the crib, and hurled him out the window in one swift motion.
Guan Xijiu, who had long been lurking in the hidden compartment of the apartment, possessed exceptionally sharp hearing. The moment he heard the sound of a key turning in the lock, he immediately retreated to his hiding spot. Soon, chaos erupted in the room—the piercing cries of a baby, frantic footsteps, and the sounds of police officers searching for evidence filled the air. Yet, he remained safely concealed in the hidden space.
Only after the police left did he emerge, bold and unashamed.
After that incident, the household gradually dwindled in number.
The unnecessary Yangyang, the perpetually irritable Huang Qiulian, the troublesome Sister E… they all disappeared.
"Now it's just the two of us, father and son," Guan Xijiu grinned, revealing his yellowed teeth, his twisted expression enough to make one's stomach turn.
Later, as the police had speculated, the reclusive Mr. Wei began to sense his presence.
Guan Xijiu found himself able to come out more frequently, his increased freedom leading to occasional carelessness. Sometimes, the TV remote would be in a different spot. Other times, there were creases on the bedsheets that hadn’t been there before, or water droplets left un wiped on the bathroom sink…
Wei Huasheng finally noticed something was amiss.
He began sleeping poorly, jolting awake in the middle of the night to inspect his surroundings, only to dismiss the noises as the wind outside. But even after closing the window, sleep eluded him.
Guan Xijiu, equally perceptive, noticed this change. He had to protect his "right to reside."
"Mr. Wei bought bread and left it on the table," he said with a mischievous smirk. "I’d secretly take a piece, then quietly put it back the next day."
Hearing this, Zhu Qing’s pen paused.
No wonder the victim had suspected supernatural interference.
"It was like a game of cat and mouse," Guan Xijiu said, his voice tinged with excitement. "Mr. Wei could never catch me."
However, Wei Huasheng suddenly began packing his belongings, preparing to move out.
When Guan Xijiu heard the sound of suitcase wheels rolling across the floor, he could hardly believe it. They had gotten along so well!
In the end, Mr. Wei did move away. The empty apartment no longer had anyone restocking the fridge. What Guan Xijiu couldn’t bear most was that the once "cozy" home was now devoid of life—except for him.
Unwilling to stay alone, and uncertain whether Mr. Wei would sell the property, Guan Xijiu had no choice but to leave as well.
Afterward, he drifted from job to job, occasionally lurking outside the toy company where Wei Huasheng worked.
When he heard the news of Yangyang’s death, he was overjoyed.
"He’s finally dead," Guan Xijiu sneered. "Should’ve happened sooner."
Zhu Qing realized that Guan Xijiu knew nothing of Wei Ansheng’s existence.
This wasn’t surprising. Sacred Heart Manor was located in the northern New Territories, and every time Wei Huasheng visited his son, he drove there alone. Guan Xijiu, forced to follow on foot, could never keep up with the relentless turning of the car’s wheels.
Guan Xijiu worked sporadically.
Sometimes, when he found employment, he’d disappear for a while. But he always found opportunities to check in on Mr. Wei. In Guan Xijiu’s mind, their bond was so close—like family, albeit without blood ties. No amount of time or distance could sever their connection.
Satisfied, Guan Xijiu leaned back in his chair.
In the adjacent observation room, the officers wore grim expressions.
How could an ordinary person defend themselves against such a stalker?
A stalker with the stature of a child was alarmingly easy to overlook. Who would suspect a "kid" of following an adult?
Faced with such a situation, it seemed there was no solution.
"The victim was just unlucky," Uncle Li muttered, shaking his head.
The officers lowered their heads in unison, sighing.
Was this really just a matter of bad luck?
…
It was nearly dawn, but Mo Zhenbang and Zhu Qing showed no signs of fatigue, their gazes fixed on Guan Xijiu.
"From the moment you left that old tenement building, you’ve been stalking him for eight years," Mo Zhenbang said coldly. "Five years ago, was Xiang Binbin’s car accident also your doing?"
Guan Xijiu’s lips curled into a grotesque smile.
That teenager… a single car crash had left him paralyzed from the neck down.
The outcome clearly brought Guan Xijiu immense satisfaction.
"Didn’t Mr. Wei say he didn’t acknowledge that boy as his son?" His voice dripped with venom. "Yet he visited him so often, even the neighbors said they looked like father and son. Why did he treat Xiang Binbin so well?"
When the boy crossed the street alone, creating an "accident" wasn’t difficult—just a matter of patience.
Guan Xijiu would wait along Xiang Binbin’s route to school, creating distractions from across the street—rolling soda cans, sudden shouts, tossed coins, or blinding flashes of light refracted through a magnifying glass… After repeated attempts, he finally succeeded. The car struck the boy, sending him flying.
"He became a cripple too," Guan Xijiu tilted his head. "And sure enough, Mr. Wei abandoned him."
In Guan Xijiu’s mind, Xiang Binbin’s disability had made him unworthy of Mr. Wei’s acknowledgment.
But the truth was, Wei Huasheng had distanced himself out of fear that the "ghost" stalking him would harm Xiang Binbin further—just as he had protected Wei Ansheng. From then on, Wei Huasheng drowned in guilt, ceasing his one-on-one charitable donations.
"A year ago, Huang Qiulian was released from prison," Zhu Qing flipped through the files. "Was it you who spread the news about her incarceration at the tea restaurant?"
"I hated that woman," Guan Xijiu spat. "What if they reconciled? What if they had another child?"
Guan Xijiu had no interest in tracking Huang Qiulian’s movements. He’d only leaked the information to cost her the job.
As for what to do next, he hadn’t had time to plan—Mr. Wei had already cut ties with his ex-wife.
This aligned with Huang Qiulian’s testimony.
Once again, the late Wei Huasheng had chosen to "protect" by severing contact, ensuring they never interacted again.
"Why did you kill him in the end?"
"He was looking for me."
"I never hurt him, but what did he take me for? Was he so desperate to drag me into the light?"
As it turned out, over the past month, Wei Huasheng had begun digging for the truth.
A week before the murder, he finally caught sight of that ghostly figure near the Tin Hau Temple. But he didn’t realize the encounter had been a trap.
"Fine, let’s end it," Guan Xijiu’s expression suddenly grew calm. "He was tired. So was I."
Guan Xijiu stole a young monk’s robe. When Wei Huasheng chased him into the side hall, he mistook him for a temple child.
"I gave him one last chance."
Guan Xijiu made Wei Huasheng kneel on the faded prayer cushion and light three incense sticks with his own hands.
In that abandoned side hall, once used to pray for deceased infants, he spoke again—
"Will you acknowledge me as your son?"
Just as he had twenty years earlier at the doorstep of the grocery store, Wei Huasheng shook his head in confusion and refused.
"He didn't recognize me," Guan Xijiu said. "And his eyes were full of fear... as if I were some kind of monster."
Thus, the blade hidden beneath the monk's robe brought an end to this long nightmare.
The interrogation room fell into silence as the confession concluded.
"You don’t need to keep vigil for him," Mo Zhenbang closed the case file. "He has a biological son."
Guan Xijiu’s expression froze. "What do you mean?"
"Yangyang isn’t dead. He’s been well protected," Zhu Qing stood up, leaning slightly forward. "You were right—Mr. Wei will always be an incredible father."
A howl of anguish erupted in the interrogation room.
The handcuffs clattered against the table’s edge as Guan Xijiu demanded, voice thick with resentment,
"Why?"
"Why—when I could have done it too!"
The officers turned to leave, catching one last glimpse of a face twisted with fury.
Guan Xijiu’s lips trembled uncontrollably, his eyes brimming with a venomous malice that sent chills down the spine.
He was like a viper.
Slithering silently into a happy family, corroding and destroying their joy from within.
And now, this perpetrator dared to ask "why."
Yet the one who truly deserved answers lay cold in the morgue.
He had done nothing wrong—so why had it ended like this?
...
That night, the officers didn’t return home until past 3 a.m.
Before wrapping up, Mo Zhenbang granted Team B the rare privilege of sleeping in the next day. The offer loosened the tension they’d carried for so long.
Zhu Qing collapsed into her soft bedding and fell asleep instantly.
By morning, sunlight spilled into the villa on Kadoorie Hill, where young Sheng Fang remained blissfully unaware that his good days had returned.
He waited patiently, even after finishing breakfast, his round little belly full. Then, tiptoeing quietly, he slipped into Zhu Qing’s room.
"Qing-jie, Qing-jie," Sheng Fang poked her cheek with a chubby finger. "No work today?"
Zhu Qing mumbled something incoherent and rolled over, making space beside her.
Seizing the opportunity, Sheng Fang dashed off to fetch his toys, then climbed onto the bed, happily playing by her side.
His tiny feet kicked rhythmically in the air as his toy car "flew" low above the sheets. He wriggled around like an overexcited sticky rice ball.
Aunt Ping paused outside the door. "Miss, Zhu Qing left a note saying not to prepare breakfast for her. But the young master has school—should we wake him?"
"Let him be late for once," Sheng Peirong chuckled. "This little uncle has missed his niece terribly."
Though their time as "partners in solitude" had been brief, it had been forged during their loneliest days. That bond, warm and indelible, ran deeper than most family ties.
Sheng Peirong’s footsteps faded down the hallway as she called Teacher Ji—her little brother might arrive late today.
Zhu Qing slept soundly, waking later to find Sheng Fang quietly playing on the carpet beside her bed. Uncharacteristically, he hadn’t made a peep—not even bringing his chattering Ultraman toy, lest it disturb her rest.
"I’ve got good news," Zhu Qing propped herself up on the bed. "The case is closed."
Sheng Fang’s eyes lit up—before dimming again as he recalled last night’s sadness, abandoned in the ball pit.
"Next time, take me," he said, tilting his little face up. "Or I won’t teach you how to solve cases anymore."
"How could we manage without you?" Zhu Qing feigned horror. "Would the police station even function?"
Too innocent to detect her teasing, Sheng Fang nodded solemnly.
"Okay," he agreed in his milky voice. "I’ll teach you again next time."
...
On the day of Wei Huasheng’s funeral, a light rain fell.
A group of officers entered the memorial hall, files in hand.
Officially, they were returning personal effects seized during the investigation. In truth, they had come to pay respects to this tragic victim one last time.
Outside, the crowd swelled with reporters and mourners.
Students Wei Huasheng had sponsored, colleagues from charities, even strangers who’d once received his kindness—all had gathered.
A man who’d lived quietly now had his final journey witnessed by so many.
The ceremony proceeded solemnly, its dignity belying the absurd confrontation that had unfolded there the night before.
Then, the crowd parted.
A wheelchair rolled forward—Xiang Binbin had arrived. Unable to bow, he sat silently before the portrait, guided by a staff member from the foundation.
Xiang Binbin gazed at Wei Huasheng’s photo.
Once, his future had been bright. Now, he would spend his life in this chair. Only when the police took his statement had he learned the truth: his accident had never been random.
He remembered the warmth of Wei Huasheng’s hand on his shoulder, never suspecting that venomous eyes had watched them from the shadows.
Yet here he was, saying goodbye.
Near the donation table, Wei Xusheng mechanically accepted condolence money.
Most likely, it would vanish into his gambling debts—but no one cared anymore.
Soon, a woman approached, leading a little girl.
"Who’s that?" Zhu Qing whispered.
"Ex-sister-in-law," Hao Zai replied softly. "I took her statement before."
The child bowed under her mother’s guidance. But when Wei Xusheng reached to pat her head, she recoiled, hiding behind her mom.
They left quickly, leaving Wei Xusheng standing alone, awkward and ashamed.
Then—commotion at the entrance.
All eyes turned as Huang Qiulian entered, holding Wei Ansheng’s hand.
The killer had been caught the previous night.
At dawn, after the police call, Huang Qiulian had sat quietly with Wei Ansheng.
She knew lies would only deepen the wound. Her son was old enough now—better the harsh truth than a lifetime of deception.
Now, guided by his mother, Wei Ansheng walked toward his father’s portrait.
His remaining eye shone, clear as rainwater. He didn’t cry, only stepped closer, closer—
Until, faintly, those watching swore they heard the mute child whisper,
"Pa… pa…"
Huang Qiulian broke then, tears streaming unchecked.
Outside, reporters buzzed.
"Did you see the police update?"
"The child abuse case—Huang Qiulian was never the culprit!"
"Ten years… what this family endured…"
After enduring ten years of wrongful accusations, the truth was finally cleared at this moment.
Huang Qiulian trembled, her hands gently resting on the child's shoulders.
Gazing at the smiling portrait of her late husband, she whispered, "Huasheng, do you see this?"
"The truth has come to light."
The truth had come to light, but their lives had long been shattered.
All the living could do was carry this pain and continue moving forward under the sun.
...
The case had finally been settled, yet the atmosphere in the police station remained heavy.
The officers of the Major Crimes Team B were still immersed in the shadows of the case, unable to detach themselves immediately.
Little Sun murmured, "That day, I even said... out of all the philanthropists we've dealt with, nine out of ten have issues."
He felt remorse for such a prejudiced assumption—and he wasn’t the only officer who had thought so. This case had been a lesson for everyone, just as the boss had said: investigations must never rely on subjective judgments.
Just as the tension reached its peak, the door to the CID office suddenly swung open.
Weng Zhaolin walked in carrying two large bags of afternoon tea, generously treating everyone for once.
Snacks covered the conference table as Inspector Weng brought up the upcoming inspector promotion interview.
Mo Zhenbang slapped his forehead in realization.
Completely absorbed in the case, he had entirely forgotten about preparing for the exam.
"Boss, how can you be like this?" The officers teased, pushing and shoving Mo Zhenbang into Inspector Weng’s office before considerately closing the door behind him.
"Inspector Weng, you’ve got to teach our boss properly!"
"Help him with a mock interview!"
"Mo sir, study hard—you can’t come out until you’ve learned it!"
Before leaving work, Zhu Qing stepped out of the station.
After being so busy for so long, she could finally pick up the little one from school.
At the entrance of Weston Kindergarten, Sheng Fang no longer shooed people away like a celebrity’s assistant. Instead, he proudly led Zhu Qing around, showing her off.
"We’re going home to play in the ball pit!"
"For three whole hours!"
Other children immediately crowded around.
"I want to play in the ball pit too!"
"Fangfang, can I come to your house?"
"Please, please?"
Sheng Fang waved his hand like a little adult.
Who makes last-minute plans like this? He had no time today.
"Going home," Fangfang said mysteriously. "Private schedule—no disturbances allowed."
Baby Yesi stood in the middle of the crowd, watching them leave before running back to her mother.
"Mommy, Mommy!" She tugged at her mother’s sleeve. "Can you have a niece for me too?"
"Sweetheart, mommies don’t give birth to nieces."
Baby Yesi stood there, crestfallen.
This was just terrible.
...
Zhu Qing rarely made it home while it was still light outside, yet she lingered at the doorstep.
She and Sheng Fang were in the ball pit, watching him revel in joy while she clapped along enthusiastically.
The colorful plastic balls seemed magical, making Fangfang dance with delight.
Zhu Qing lay on her back in the pit, letting the little balls pile on top of her. All she had to do was occasionally pop her head out and dramatically announce her "grand entrance."
"Wow..."
"Wow."
Her exclamations grew increasingly half-hearted.
Sheng Fang noticed immediately, shaking his head like a rattle-drum. "Not good enough. You have to sound more excited."
"..." Zhu Qing took a deep breath. "WOW!"
Several times she tried to climb out for air, only to be shoved back in by the little tyrant.
"We agreed on three hours," Sheng Fang said sternly, like a strict little supervisor. "People should keep their promises."
A tiny elder lecturing his junior on "how to be a person" was just too logical. The niece had no rebuttal—she pursed her lips and nodded obediently.
Zhu Qing had no choice but to continue the ball pit battle.
A promise was a promise. She didn’t want to be called "Blowhard Qing" again.
It wasn’t until Aunt Ping called them for dinner that the uncle-niece duo finally left the ball pit.
Sheng Fang dashed back to his room, checked the time, and solemnly noted it in his little notebook.
"Qingzi, Qingzi." He held up the notebook. "You still owe me fifty minutes."
A child who could tell time and write was truly a curse!
During dinner, Sheng Peirong mentioned the board meeting the next day.
Only then did Zhu Qing remember this long-forgotten major event.
As Sheng Fang would say, his big sister, absent from the business world for years, was making her grand return.
"Coco and Fangfang haven’t been to the company yet," Sheng Peirong said with a smile. "Do you want to come along tomorrow?"
She had been away from Sheng Corporation for too long.
This time, she wanted to proudly introduce everyone to her daughter and little brother.
"Want to go!" Fangfang raised his chubby hand like the most eager student in class.
Zhu Qing pinched his plump cheek. "Is there anywhere you don’t want to go?"
The young master of the Sheng family tilted his head in deep thought before finally declaring with gravity, "Kindergarten."
Laughter filled the room.
This moment of reunion made Sheng Peirong finally understand why her little brother had always longed for his niece to wrap up the case and come home.
It was wonderful—life could finally slow down.
After dinner, Aunt Ping led the new driver candidate to the glass greenhouse in the courtyard.
This was Sheng Peirong’s arrangement. Aunt Ping handled everything flawlessly—once a master in the kitchen, then a caregiver for the young master, and now, "promoted," she managed the household like a proper butler.
Sheng Peirong handled the interview, while Sheng Fang dragged Zhu Qing outside.
"Qingzi, Qingzi, time for our parent-child bonding!"
Zhu Qing: "..."
Judging by his tone—undoubtedly—
He was the "parent," and she was the "child."
