The investigation had just gained direction, but that lead was immediately snuffed out.
Li Heng held the marker and drew a question mark next to the words “Victim: Liang Wei” on the whiteboard.
If the skeleton wasn’t Liang Wei, then who was the victim?
And where were Liang Wei and Amin—were they in hiding?
Gao Zijie returned from checking the population database and laid out the findings on the table.
“None of the ‘Chi Huimin’ entries in the population registry match the age of the Amin from Jinxiao Nightclub.”
“Amin was probably using an alias.”
“You missed it—the show’s already over.” Meng Zai slapped him on the shoulder. “The victim isn’t Liang Wei.”
Gao Zijie paused. “Huh? So that was all for nothing?”
“Oh, and Madam.” He remembered something else. “I ran into Ah May just now. She said the forensic department’s skull reconstruction is ready. Dr. Chen wants you to drop by when you have a moment.”
Li Heng put down the marker and headed out. “That was fast this time.”
“I heard someone donated a new set of equipment to the forensic department,” he replied. “The computer reconstruction would be quick, but Ah May said it’s just preliminary—the details will take more time.”
…
Downstairs at the West Kowloon Regional Police Headquarters, Uncle Xiang had been standing for a long while.
Before the station opened for the day, he had delivered the equipment on the young master’s orders.
Shen Zhicheng didn’t show up today. Uncle Xiang knew this was how the young master always was.
Managing to appease his grandfather for a full day was already his limit. He had never submitted to discipline—he probably wouldn’t come back.
Perhaps the solemn atmosphere of the police station stirred up some heavy memories for Uncle Xiang.
That year, Shen Zhicheng was one year old. His parents and twin sister died suddenly in a car accident. His second uncle took him in. Two years later, when the inheritance dispute was at its most vicious, his second uncle brought along a feng shui master. The master did his calculations and declared that the child had a cursed fate—he had killed his parents and his twin sister with his bad luck, and was a star of ruin to the Shen family.
Those words carried immense weight in a wealthy household. From then on, no one came near him. Even the servants kept their distance when speaking to him.
Shen Zhicheng was too young back then—too young to understand fate or fortune, and certainly too young to grasp that it was all his second uncle’s scheme for the family assets and shares. All he knew was that he had killed his parents and his sister.
When you do something wrong, you apologize. He was only three, his little hands gripping the railing of the spiral staircase as he climbed up to the attic alone.
Uncle Xiang had come across him several times.
He’d find the little boy using pencils as incense sticks, arranged neatly in front of a family photo of four.
The child’s back was so small, so earnest, whispering over and over to the empty air—
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
…
By the time Li Heng and Lin Jiacong arrived at the forensic department, Dr. Chen was already writing up his report.
“Here already?” he said. “I’ve looked at the teeth and the bone sutures. The age range can be narrowed down to twenty-one to twenty-three—shouldn’t be far off.”
“One more thing,” he handed over the skull reconstruction photo and adjusted his glasses. “The victim’s head circumference is on the smaller side. Based on the skull features, it’s relatively… blunt.”
“What do you mean?” Lin Jiacong leaned in.
“Hard to say for now. The facial details will need manual restoration. The full report and the 3D skull imaging will take a few more days.” Dr. Chen pulled out another report. “Forensics also finished the preliminary fiber analysis on the clothing. The fabric is high-end—rarely seen on the market. Take a look at the silk thread on the cuff.”
“Platinum custom silk thread…” Lin Jiacong said. “This person’s clothes weren’t cheap. They had some financial means?”
Dr. Chen clasped his hands on the desk and smiled. “As for exactly who they were—that’s up to you.”
“The time of death is consistent with the initial estimate.” Li Heng braced one hand on the desk, scanning the conclusions quickly. “The victim’s time of death and Liang Wei’s disappearance fall almost exactly in the same period.”
The case had made a breakthrough.
“Run the missing persons database again.” Li Heng looked at Lin Jiacong. “If we still don’t have leads after the skull reconstruction is complete, put out a public appeal for information through the media. A person this size couldn’t have gone completely unnoticed by everyone. Also, check if there were any rumors about a missing rich kid six years ago. Even if no police report was filed, that doesn’t mean no one knew about it.”
Lin Jiacong acknowledged and turned to leave.
“Keep following up on the Liang Wei and Amin leads,” Li Heng said. “But shift the focus to the victim. Find out who he was, and his connection to Liang Wei and Amin.”
…
The investigation pressed forward at full speed. The white bones had been buried in cement for six full years, trapped in a cruel game of hide-and-seek.
Now they had seen the light of day again, but the truth still hadn’t come to light.
Officers came and went. The door to the CID office opened and closed.
Liang Wei’s father finally found the medical records. Handwritten records from a small clinic over twenty years ago showed that Liang Wei had received stitches on his left brow bone. His saying it was the right side was indeed the old man’s memory playing tricks on him.
Somewhat anxiously, he asked over the phone: “Sir, if the dead person isn’t Xiao Wei… then is he still alive?”
Was Liang Wei still alive? Where was he?
The police were asking the same questions.
After delegating the tasks, Li Heng grabbed her car keys. “Zhishan, come with me to the night school.”
Fang Zhishan pointed at her own nose. “Me?”
Seeing Li Heng already heading out, she quickly grabbed a bag, fumbled to stuff her notepad and pen inside, and jogged after her.
The victim had appeared in Liang Wei and Amin’s rental unit—so someone in their social circle might have known the victim. Besides Jinxiao Nightclub, the night school was another place Liang Wei frequented six years ago. Among his night school classmates, someone might have seen who he was associating with.
In the evening, the police car pulled up at the entrance of a night school in Mong Kok.
There were many students at the night school. Li Heng had assumed that when she mentioned the name, the principal wouldn’t possibly remember.
But to her surprise, he had a strong impression of Liang Wei.
That year, Liang Wei had come to him with his university application form, asking for advice. He hadn’t been accepted yet, but the young man’s eyes were clear and full of hope for the future—just like any other aspiring student.
“I thought for sure that kid would get in,” the principal sighed softly. “But in the end, he never even showed up for the exam.”
Li Heng asked: “Do you still have the contact information for Liang Wei’s classmates from back then?”
“Yes, every class has a directory.” The principal turned around and pulled a class directory from the filing rack.
Li Heng flipped through it. “We’ll need to take this with us.”
“Go ahead.” The principal nodded. “I hope it helps.”
“Wen Zhibang?” Li Heng’s gaze swept across the directory, stopping on one student’s name. “Liang Wei’s classmate Wen Zhibang—he stayed on to work here?”
Fang Zhishan was startled. How did Madam know that?
It wasn’t until they left the principal’s office and walked down the corridor that she finally pieced it together.
Dozens of photos were posted on the staff wall, each with a name and title beneath an unfamiliar face.
Madam had merely glanced at it as she passed—without even slowing her pace—and had already retained the information.
Fang Zhishan took a quiet breath, quickened her steps, and fell back into line.
…
At the night school’s administrative office.
Wen Zhibang listened to the police’s purpose and nodded.
“Liang Wei? He was a good-looking kid—fair-skinned, clean-cut. A lot of the girls in class had a crush on him.”
Fang Zhishan quickly opened her bag and found her notepad.
“Did any friends come to visit him?”
“Never noticed. It’s been so many years. I’ve almost forgotten Liang Wei himself—let alone his friends.”
“Think again. For example, friends from well-off families?”
Wen Zhibang thought for a moment.
“There was one.” He leaned forward, a sly tone in his voice. “Are you talking about that rich girl?”
Li Heng and Fang Zhishan exchanged a glance.
They had asked about male friends—and now a rich girl had entered the picture.
Wen Zhibang told police that once, when a group of classmates were having dinner together, a girl passed by the entrance of the dai pai dong. Liang Wei had grabbed her wrist in an intimate gesture.
At this, Wen Zhibang curled his lip dismissively.
How did Liang Wei get so popular with girls? And that girl was carrying a designer handbag.
“Sweet, innocent, spoke softly, hardly dared to look anyone in the eye,” he added. “What, was she Liang Wei’s girlfriend?”
Fang Zhishan shot Li Heng a puzzled look.
Another girl? What about Amin?
Li Heng gestured for her to keep taking notes.
Fang Zhishan lowered her head again, fumbling to find the pen that had fallen into the crevice of her bag—when her elbow knocked the notepad off the edge of the desk.
A loud smack—the pad hit the floor.
The farewell photo slid out from inside, where Li Heng had tucked it earlier while organizing files.
Fang Zhishan bent down quickly to pick it up.
Wen Zhibang spotted it first and leaned in, pointing at Amin. “Isn’t that… Liang Wei and that girl?”
Li Heng looked up and exchanged a look with Fang Zhishan.
“Are you sure? No mistake?”
“She’s so pretty—how could I be mistaken?” Wen Zhibang stared at the photo, then suddenly frowned, muttering, “Why is she dressed like that? Hair’s different too.”
“But why are you suddenly asking about Liang Wei?” He shifted the topic, a hint of gossipy curiosity in his tone. “Did he get into trouble?”
Li Heng didn’t answer. Her gaze fell back to the photo.
The Amin that the nightclub sisters knew had bright red lips, heavy makeup, and a flashy smile.
The Amin in Wen Zhibang’s words was innocent, gentle, wealthy, and naive.
Li Heng thought back to what Vivi had said—
“How innocent could Amin really be? She just wanted to get out of the life.”
Amin… had two faces?
Just then, the pager at Li Heng’s waist buzzed urgently.
She glanced down, then asked Wen Zhibang if she could use his phone.
On the other end, Shen Zhicheng’s voice carried deliberate arrogance.
“You’re a cop, I’m a taxpayer. You give me a fake number to mess with me? Want me to file a complaint?”
Li Heng didn’t respond. Just silence.
Shen Zhicheng sensed she was at a loss for words, his tone lifting. “What, nothing to say?”
Li Heng remained quiet.
The silence stretched on, long enough that the person on the other end grew unsettled. “Hello?”
“Zhishan.”
Fang Zhishan immediately looked up. “Madam.”
“The statement’s complete.” Li Heng finished scanning the last line and pushed the statement form over. “Have Mr. Wen sign it.”
Then, into the phone, she spoke in a good-natured tone—even unusually patient.
“Go ahead. My badge number is PC66159. And remember—it’s the Police Public Relations Branch.”
Complete silence on the other end.
Just as Li Heng was about to hang up, a voice came through, each word enunciated with force—
“I. WILL.!!!”
Leave a Reply