They could only watch helplessly as Xiao Jing vomited blood and lost her breath that night.
“I don’t know why… I don’t know why…”
“How could this have happened?”
Years had passed, and many details had faded from Zhang Fengying’s memory—but she always remembered that Chi Ah Min had said nothing, quietly wiping the blood from her sister’s mouth and gently laying her down.
“Ah Min didn’t cry. Not a single tear.”
“That beast wouldn’t let anyone speak of it. He said Xiao Jing had a disability allowance—no one was to say she was dead. In the middle of the night, he buried her in the back mountain.”
“To this day, I don’t know whether she died from the beating or from that cup of water. But either way, that incident showed me what Chi Guodong really was—that beast wasn’t human. I couldn’t keep living with him. I couldn’t take it anymore.”
The moment Li Heng and Lin Jiacong exchanged glances, the atmosphere grew heavy.
Every single thing Chi Guodong had done was a serious crime—but now he was dead, and so many pieces of evidence had died with him.
“Why didn’t you call the police back then?” Lin Jiacong asked, his tone pained.
Li Heng’s gaze fell on Chi Xiaojing’s file: “That was a living person.”
A wave of frustration washed over them.
Such a man had escaped the law and died so easily.
“He said…” Zhang Fengying’s whole body trembled. “If I dared to call the police, he’d kill me too. I was afraid. He was capable of it—he was capable of anything.”
They didn’t press further.
It was only at this moment, hearing it from the police, that she learned Chi Guodong was dead.
Zhang Fengying’s lips stiffened for an instant—then curled into a faint smile.
“Good. That’s good,” she murmured. “It’s good that he’s dead.”
The interview room felt heavy.
If you’d gone back twenty-four hours, the police never would have imagined that the truth behind the missing younger sister was this.
“So I left,” Zhang Fengying said.
When her child was twelve, Zhang Fengying had indeed left—but she’d gone alone.
At that time, household registration records hadn’t been digitized. Chi Ah Min looked exactly like her twin sister. Using the disability allowance certificate, she easily obtained a new identity. She filled in whatever she wanted for education and address—the census records were sloppy and perfunctory. That secret had been kept for over a decade.
“You knew Chi Guodong was inhuman. Why didn’t you take Chi Ah Min with you when you left?” Lin Jiacong asked.
Zhang Fengying was silent for a long time before speaking.
“Chi Guodong only had this one daughter left—he’d need her to support him in his old age. I was gone, Xiao Jing was gone. I thought he wouldn’t dare touch Ah Min.”
“Besides—leaving her behind, I could survive on my own. Taking her with me—neither of us would have made it.”
…
Zhang Fengying said that back then, she didn’t have the means to escape with a child.
No money, no job, not even a stable place to live. With a child, her life would have been completely over.
As awful as Chi Guodong was, he wasn’t wrong about one thing—she did have a new way out. That night, the man came to pick her up. She took nothing and slipped out quietly.
Later, she ran into an old neighbor and learned that Chi Guodong had lied to everyone, saying she’d taken the younger daughter when they divorced. And so, the younger daughter’s death was buried completely.
But even if she’d known he’d say that, Zhang Fengying couldn’t have defended herself. At that time, simply saving herself and escaping that hellhole was already a stroke of luck. She never wanted to set foot back there.
After leaving, Zhang Fengying never contacted Ah Min.
She admitted she’d always favored the younger daughter.
“Xiao Jing was innocent and very well-behaved. When she played with her sister as a child, she always got the short end. But even when she lost out, she never cried or made a fuss—she’d just quietly follow behind Ah Min like a little shadow. The more she was like that, the more my heart ached for her. I worried she was being wronged.”
“I don’t know if you’ve heard this saying—left-handed people think faster, naturally sharper. That was Ah Min—she had a lot of schemes, and she was shrewd when it came to things.”
Li Heng finally understood why Chi Ah Min’s handwriting and “Zhang Huijing’s” were completely different.
One used her left hand. The other used her right.
“They say all children are equal in a mother’s eyes, but I know—different is different. The two sisters looked the same, but their personalities were completely opposite. Ah Min took after her father. Xiao Jing took after me. After everything that happened between me and her father, how could I not favor Xiao Jing?”
“I admit—if it had been Ah Min who died that day, and Xiao Jing who lived… I would have taken Xiao Jing with me.”
At that, Zhang Fengying’s fingertip landed on the name-change document.
Before age twelve, that was her Xiao Jing—born with a disability, gentle and obedient. Her life had stopped forever that year.
From then on, the one living in this world was only Ah Min.
“I knew Ah Min was like her father—hard-hearted, ruthless, willing to do anything to get what she wanted. But I never thought she’d go so far as to steal her sister’s identity…”
The questioning was over, and Lin Jiacong began organizing the statement.
“If the contents are correct, sign your name at the bottom.”
Zhang Fengying drained the last of the water from her paper cup and took the pen.
Li Heng suddenly spoke up: “Do you want to see Chi Ah Min?”
Zhang Fengying signed her name at the end of the statement, and when she stood up, there wasn’t a moment’s hesitation: “No need.”
…
Zhang Fengying pushed open the door and walked out of the interview room, her pace quickening.
The corridor stretched long. Li Heng and the officers locked the door behind them and followed.
Zhang Fengying blamed her older daughter.
If it hadn’t been for that cup of water, Xiao Jing might have survived. She still remembered—Xiao Jing’s face and body were covered in blood when she passed. That child had been unlucky her whole life—never had many new clothes, and even in her final moments, she left this world in a sorry state, dirty and disheveled.
Time had blurred her memories. The timid, obedient image of Xiao Jing, even that cute little face, had faded considerably. Over a decade later, looking back, all that remained in her heart was hatred for Chi Guodong and resentment toward Chi Ah Min.
Zhang Fengying hurried to the corner—but abruptly stopped, staring ahead.
As arranged by Li Heng, Chi Ah Min had been brought over.
She was slender, wearing a cotton dress, walking with a limp that she tried to hide. With her heavy makeup gone, there was not a trace of Chi Ah Min’s striking sharpness—anyone would believe she was the younger sister.
“You…” Zhang Fengying’s entire body froze.
She hadn’t seen her in seventeen years—but how could she not recognize her own child?
Her gaze slowly traveled down Chi Ah Min’s face.
“Mom.” Chi Ah Min called out softly, her eyes instantly reddening. “Mom.”
The two stood there, neither close nor far apart.
No one knew how long passed. Then, a flash of anger crossed Zhang Fengying’s face—and just as she had seventeen years ago, she walked away without looking back.
Chi Ah Min stood frozen behind her, taking a few steps forward, her eyes dimming with confusion.
Zhang Fengying walked faster and faster, a scene from the past flashing through her mind.
Late at night, she sat in the car, watching through the rearview mirror as her eldest daughter ran desperately after her. She was afraid of making a scene and waking the neighbors—even more afraid that Chi Guodong would wake up and stop her. She rolled down the window, ready to scold Ah Min into silence—and suddenly realized that the child was crying without making a sound. Chi Ah Min, afraid of alerting anyone, was saying something very softly. Zhang Fengying couldn’t make out a single word. She steeled her heart and drove off anyway.
She never came back.
What’s past is past.
Zhang Fengying didn’t linger. She hurried down the stairs, as if fleeing, and walked out the station’s front gate.
“Wait.”
Someone called out to her from behind.
Zhang Fengying turned around—it was the young inspector who had questioned her.
“Something else?”
“A question I forgot to ask earlier.” Li Heng walked up. “Were the two sisters close when they were little?”
Zhang Fengying glanced toward the stairwell, took a deep breath: “I told you earlier—Xiao Jing always looked out for her sister.”
“When she got chive dumplings or pig skin with radish, Xiao Jing would secretly hide them and save the bigger half for Ah Min.”
“Ah Min didn’t care—she ate everything in sight, as greedy as her father, never leaving a thing.”
“Sometimes when I took Xiao Jing out, she’d worry Ah Min might be upset and sneak off to tip her off. But Ah Min was different—when she went out with her classmates, she never included Xiao Jing.”
“But now, with her like this… I almost thought she really was Xiao Jing.” Zhang Fengying withdrew her gaze, her face tight. “Making me mistake her—isn’t that exactly what she wanted?”
“Why do you say that?”
“Before, only Xiao Jing called me ‘Mommy.’ She called me ‘Mother.’ Now she calls me ‘Mommy’ too—honestly, it doesn’t feel right, and I don’t see the point.”
“Madam, I really need to get back to the shop.” Zhang Fengying turned to leave.
Li Heng spoke again: “Ah Min said the sisters used to play hide-and-seek a lot.”
“Hide-and-seek?” Zhang Fengying’s expression was cold. “Xiao Jing couldn’t move fast. Every time, Xiao Jing hid, and Ah Min looked. Knowing her sister had trouble walking, she never went easy on her.”
After Zhang Fengying left, Li Heng returned to the station alone, standing in the empty corridor.
Last night, she and Shen Zhicheng had gone over that phone call in the Cheung Sha Wan back alley.
Shen Zhicheng had said at the time that Chi Ah Min didn’t know how an adult should talk to her mother.
For a long time, the police had assumed that call was an act—something Chi Ah Min had put on after realizing she was being followed.
But now, thinking back—maybe it wasn’t at all.
Her sister’s life had stopped at twelve. In Chi Ah Min’s heart, her sister would forever be twelve years old. And her memory of her mother had frozen at that same year.
That was why she’d said on the phone that she was eating well, sleeping early and waking early. That wasn’t an adult reporting mundane daily life to her mother—it sounded more like Chi Ah Min making a call on behalf of her younger self, hoping her mother would come see her. She said she’d wait for her mother to come back “from abroad” so they could leave together—but really, she was hoping Zhang Fengying would take away the twelve-year-old her, the one left behind with her father.
Perhaps even Chi Ah Min herself had become utterly confused.
She wanted to be her sister—so she had lived as her sister.
“Madam.” Lin Jiacong came running over, looking frustrated. “Chi Ah Min won’t say a word. It seems like seeing Zhang Fengying threw her off—who knows if she’s faking it. Old You said maybe only you can get her to talk. Do you want to—”
“Bring in Liang Wei,” Li Heng said.
Lin Jiacong was taken aback, scratching the back of his head: “But yesterday, by the end, he refused to say anything.”
“This time he’ll talk.” Li Heng paused, then said slowly, “To protect Ah Min.”
…
At one in the afternoon, Li Heng and Officer Gao Zijie entered the interrogation room again with the case files.
Liang Wei was still resisting with silence, sitting motionless in the chair, his hands resting on his knees, as if he had long grown accustomed to the weight of the handcuffs.
When Gao Zijie conducted the routine questioning, Liang Wei kept his head down, his expression unchanging.
After last night’s slip of the tongue, he had clearly made up his mind to say nothing.
Until Li Heng spoke.
“Chi Ah Min is in the interrogation room next door.”
“She may not know everything—but you must know the truth.”
Li Heng flipped open her notebook.
“She just met her mother just now. Even Zhang Fengying herself wavered for a moment, thinking she was seeing her deceased younger daughter.”
“I think Chi Ah Min herself is already confused.”
“If I’m not wrong, she now truly believes, deep down, that she is Zhang Huijing.”
Liang Wei slowly raised his head.
His eyes were lost, like a fog that wouldn’t clear, making it impossible to read him.
Beside him, Gao Zijie froze too, turning sharply to look at her.
In just one night, Madam had made such a crucial discovery.
Liang Wei’s lips moved, as if it took tremendous effort to find his voice. His voice was hoarse: “What do you want to know?”
Li Heng softened her tone and posed a few questions.
“When did you first learn about the existence of ‘Zhang Huijing’?”
“You saw her at Lee Kee Dai Pai Dong in Mong Kok—that was before Zhang Pingxuan died.”
“So, you killed Zhang Pingxuan for ‘Zhang Huijing’s’ sake.”
Liang Wei looked her straight in the eye.
Unlike last night, Li Heng applied no psychological pressure or tricks.
She simply waited quietly for him to think, then said calmly: “Liang Wei, telling the truth is the only way to help Chi Ah Min.”
After another moment, Liang Wei finally spoke.
“Can you really help her?”
Li Heng’s tone was firm, carrying a convincing strength: “I can.”
Liang Wei’s body shifted slightly, dropping his resistance, and he spoke in a hoarse voice: “It was me. I’m the one who ruined her.”
…
Meanwhile, a car pulled up smoothly in front of a detached villa in the Mid-Levels.
The driver opened the door respectfully, and Uncle Cheung stepped forward to help Shen Chongnian out.
Uncle Cheung knew well how estranged the relationship between the grandfather and grandson was.
After the tragedy in the family back then, the old master had been so grief-stricken that he’d long avoided the child. Even after Shen Zhicheng returned to the country, the two maintained only a distant relationship—meeting only once every few months. It wasn’t until those deliberately suppressed tabloids landed in front of him that Shen Chongnian realized how recklessly his grandson had been living, and started visiting more often.
He’d heard that the Sham Shui Po stove-bottom body case was nearing its end. But so far, Shen Zhicheng had hardly done anything—and Shen Chongnian was disappointed in him.
“Who does this bad temper take after?” Shen Chongnian said grimly, pushing open the villa’s front door.
Uncle Cheung dared not respond.
The two walked to the bedroom door.
Uncle Cheung was about to knock when Shen Chongnian turned the handle directly.
On the plush bed, the duvet was bundled up.
“Still asleep at this hour.” Shen Chongnian stepped forward and threw back the covers.
Uncle Cheung gasped, bracing himself for a shouting match between grandfather and grandson.
But when he looked closer, there was no one in the bed.
Shen Zhicheng’s voice came from the attic: “Who is it—breaking into my house?”
Uncle Cheung helped Shen Chongnian out of the room and looked up to see Shen Zhicheng leaning on the railing with one hand, actually wearing a smile.
Shen Chongnian slammed his cane hard against the floor: “How much longer are you going to waste time? Starting tomorrow, you’re going to the group—”
Before he could finish, Shen Zhicheng cut him off.
“Grandfather.”
He rested his arm on the railing and leaned forward slightly: “How about I become a police officer?”
“The Shen family has never produced a police officer, generation after generation.” Shen Chongnian’s face hardened, his tone stubborn and stern. “If you dare take up a life-threatening job like that, I’ll break your legs myself.”
Uncle Cheung held his breath, not daring to make a sound.
But a few seconds passed, and the anticipated explosion never came.
Shen Zhicheng simply turned and walked back into the room. Just before closing the door, a single sentence floated out.
“Then I’ll arrest you.”
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