Just then, her pager vibrated violently—so hard it made the hard bed frame tremble.
Again and again.
In the dream, Li Heng wanted to step forward and see clearly—to confirm what had happened to him.
But an overwhelming wave of sorrow nearly swallowed her whole. She couldn’t see anything clearly, couldn’t make a sound.
She didn’t know how long passed before a furious shout came from next door.
“How long has that thing been going off?! Some people are trying to sleep! If someone’s paging you, just call them back!”
Half-asleep, Li Heng fumbled for her pager and cracked her eyes open.
The screen was filled with messages from the same number.
A pager had to stay on you at all times, and you couldn’t put it on silent—because the station might need you at any moment.
She threw off the covers and sat up, still not fully awake, hoping he would stop—but the pager started buzzing wildly again.
Frustrated, Li Heng got up.
Ten minutes later, the call finally connected.
“When did you find out?”
“You knew all along—why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“Was it that day in the Chief Inspector’s office?”
“Something this big happens, and you still managed to focus on the case first—if you’re not fit to be a boss, who is…”
Li Heng’s ears were about to explode.
Why didn’t she tell him sooner?
The answer was obvious.
…
At that moment, unable to find Li Heng’s address and with nowhere else to go, Shen Zhicheng parked his car by the Victoria Harbour waterfront.
The night wind hit his face. A passerby sat on a bench drinking beer, several cans already lined up beside him, wearing a deeply troubled expression.
When Shen Zhicheng happened to meet his gaze, he nodded in a good mood.
The man rolled his eyes and turned away.
Shen Zhicheng leaned against the railing, phone in hand.
After firing off a string of questions without getting a response, he didn’t press.
A blood relative had appeared out of nowhere in this world. There were so many things he wanted to ask—but he didn’t know where to start.
He’d already guessed that the DNA result had come through that morning in Chief Inspector Pan Liqin’s office. When she took that call, even Li Heng—who always kept a poker face—had changed expression, if only for an instant. But afterward, she’d carried on investigating as usual. Even that night in Cheung Sha Wan, her lips had been sealed tighter than glue.
On the other end of the line, Li Heng took a deep breath: “The DNA report is at the station. If you want to confirm it, send someone to pick it up.”
“I don’t want it.”
Even if he wouldn’t admit it out loud, the moment she said it—no matter how hard it was to accept—the scale in his heart had already tilted, instinctively choosing to believe.
He paused, then added: “Don’t send it to me.”
Just as he finished speaking, Shen Zhicheng heard a sudden commotion on her end—she was clearly not indoors.
When he’d placed the call just now, he hadn’t been thinking.
He’d just felt that with something this big, even if she was asleep, he had to wake her up—just like when she’d dragged him out in the middle of the night to that back alley to go over the case.
But now, a strange feeling welled up.
She’d been jolted awake by the pager—had she changed and gone out just for this?
Shen Zhicheng frowned slightly: “You came all the way out just to call me back?”
“Why would I go to all that trouble?” Li Heng’s voice softened. “Of course I just live inside a phone booth.”
And with that, she hung up—clean and crisp.
All that remained on the other end was a dial tone.
…
The Haddon House case in Sham Shui Po was finally officially closed.
Chi Ah Min had been diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder—commonly known as multiple personality disorder. Her condition fluctuated, and doctors had begun systematic treatment. The subsequent judicial proceedings would be handled by the appropriate departments.
Downstairs at the West Kowloon Regional Headquarters, a press conference for the case was underway.
Journalists crowded around, packed in tight.
Chief Inspector Pan Liqin, dressed in a sharp suit, stood calmly before the microphone, fielding questions with flawless composure.
Li Heng stood at his side, her expression serene.
Behind them stood a row of Team A members—pushed in front of the cameras for the first time, all standing straight-backed, eyes fixed on the lens.
“How do I look?”
“My parents are definitely watching TV at home right now!”
“My mom too—she’s probably dragging the neighbors over to brag about how impressive I am.”
The reporters’ questions grew increasingly sharp.
“Sir Pan, Chi Ah Min has been diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder—does that mean she can escape legal punishment?”
“If the jury sympathizes with her and she gets off, won’t that give other criminals a loophole to exploit?”
“Now that the case is solved, how will the safety of Haddon House residents be ensured? And also, back then—”
The press conference ran for a full half hour.
Pan Liqin, seasoned in handling such situations, answered each question with meticulous wording.
Finally, he raised his hand, palm open toward the side: “For the specific operational details of this case, Inspector Li of West Kowloon’s Major Crime Unit will provide you with a detailed explanation.”
Applause rippled through the room—but the microphone in Pan Liqin’s hand went unclaimed.
He slowly turned his head, his expression shifting instantly. Lowering his voice, he asked Old You behind him: “Where’s Li Heng?”
“Madam was tied up with other duties and left early,” Old You reported.
“The case is closed—what could be so urgent?” Pan Liqin craned his neck. “Has she gone far? Get her back here immediately.”
Old You thought silently to himself—there was no way she was coming back.
While the Chief Inspector was delivering his official remarks, Li Heng had not only quietly stepped back and slipped away—she’d also left behind four words.
Boring as hell.
…
Li Heng really didn’t want to stick around for that long, tedious press conference. While Sir Pan was holding forth, she’d slipped out through the side door.
The moment she stepped outside, Shen Zhicheng was there waiting.
“Taking you somewhere,” he said.
“No time.”
He raised an eyebrow and called out loudly toward the station: “Inspector Li is right here—”
Li Heng shot him a glare and gritted her teeth in compromise: “Get in the car.”
The door clicked shut.
Shen Zhicheng handed her a box, tilting his chin up to signal her to open it: “Take a look.”
That night, he hadn’t been surprised when the call was cut off without warning—nor did he mind her sarcastic tone.
He was just thinking—what kind of place did she live in, that she didn’t even have a landline?
When he’d received that dossier from the private investigator, he could imagine the hardships she’d endured—but he’d overlooked the most basic reality.
An orphan with no connections, climbing to where she was today—she’d done it all through sheer, relentless perseverance.
Living in a rundown rental, not a single decent possession to her name, working day in and day out—how was she supposed to live like that?
She didn’t have to work this hard.
And now, even less so—after all, she had a filthy rich grandfather.
Shen Zhicheng suddenly felt a strange sense of balance.
Because he realized—so far, Li Heng seemed to care only about him, her brother. She hadn’t even remembered they had a grandfather.
“A mobile phone?” Li Heng opened the box.
Of course, she knew a mobile phone was much more convenient than a pager.
But her bank balance was still far from a down payment on a house—she couldn’t afford to splurge like this.
“It’s for you.”
She was always decisive and direct—no polite refusals.
Shen Zhicheng entered his number into the contacts: “Dial this and you’ll reach me.”
He watched her lower her head, her fingertip pressing each button as she eagerly explored the functions.
She pulled out the manual from the box and skimmed through it quickly.
“This is the latest model—it’s got everything,” Shen Zhicheng said.
Li Heng looked up: “Does it have a function to mute incoming calls from a specific person?”
“You mean how to mute?” Shen Zhicheng fastened his seatbelt. “Let me see.”
“I only want to mute one number,” Li Heng said with complete seriousness. “Other people might have legitimate business.”
Shen Zhicheng finally caught on. He shot her a sideways glance, his eyes dark.
Li Heng handed the phone over and gave a slight nod: “Thanks.”
…
Shen Chongnian sat on the sofa, watching the follow-up coverage of the stove-bottom body case on TV.
The disputes arising from the old neighborhood’s demolition were still unresolved, and the residents hadn’t been given a proper explanation. Shen Zhicheng had washed his hands of it, and Shen Chongnian couldn’t stop worrying—so he ended up handling everything himself.
Uncle Cheung watched from the side, sighing inwardly.
Since that sudden car accident over twenty years ago, the old master had never truly rested. The knot in his heart remained firmly tied. Shen Chongnian had spent most of his life building the family business, and the family wasn’t small—yet every holiday, he sat alone at the head of the dining table, with no one beside him.
He had always been stubborn and unyielding—he’d pushed away his second son, and his daughter was rarely around.
He kept pushing forward like that, never knowing how to show vulnerability—and never willing to.
As the police press conference neared its end, the camera followed Pan Liqin’s gaze toward the side door.
First, it caught a fleeting glimpse of that Madam slipping away. Then the camera panned back and captured another familiar face in the crowd.
Uncle Cheung stared for a long time before it finally dawned on him.
Shen Chongnian, clearly frowning, was also trying to place the face.
The next instant, both spoke at once.
“Isn’t that the kid?”
“Isn’t that the young master?”
Remembering his grandson’s out-of-the-blue remark from a few days earlier, Shen Chongnian’s heart sank.
Saying he wanted to be a cop—was that not just a passing whim?
He immediately ordered: “Tonight, after that kid falls asleep, sneak into his room and tear up that application form.”
Uncle Cheung looked down at his own old, creaky limbs: “Me?”
“You expect me to do it?” Shen Chongnian said. “I’m even older.”
Uncle Cheung couldn’t help but say: “But the other day, when you met Inspector Li, you clearly admired her—you even praised her for being young and capable.”
“That’s outsiders doing their work—of course I only judge by ability,” Shen Chongnian said. “But when it’s your own child, going into the police force, facing gunfire and danger every day—how could you ever feel at ease?”
Just as he was speaking, the landline suddenly rang.
Uncle Cheung hurriedly picked it up and handed the receiver to Shen Chongnian.
On the other end came Shen Zhicheng’s voice—with a rare note of seriousness.
“Grandfather, sit down first.”
“There’s something I have to tell you.”
…
The sports car drove further and further off the beaten path before Li Heng finally sensed something was off.
“We’re not looking for music box parts?” she asked.
“First, somewhere else—more important.”
The car pulled up steadily at the entrance of a cemetery.
Li Heng paused briefly, then got out with him in silence.
Shen Zhicheng first walked over to the elderly caretaker and spoke a few low words, then quickly returned, leading the way.
This place—even the air felt heavy.
Inevitably, it made one’s heart sink.
Three stone tablets stood quietly there.
This was the first time she had met her parents—yet it was before cold, silent grave markers.
Li Heng’s footsteps slowly came to a halt.
Though she had never known them, something in her chest tightened, tugging at her with a bittersweet ache.
She opened her mouth, but in the end, she didn’t call them by any intimate name—only gently bowed.
“Wait for me—I’ll be right back,” Shen Zhicheng said.
Li Heng had imagined what her parents might look like.
As stern as the first foster parents? As full of disappointment as the second?
Or like the third set of foster parents, who had been willing to smile at her?
But none of those were right.
They had gentle features, as if gazing at her softly and quietly from some distant place.
As if waiting for a child to come home.
She didn’t know what to say, yet she didn’t feel awkward—she simply reached out and slowly brushed her hand across the stone.
There wasn’t a speck of dust—clearly someone tended to it regularly.
Her gaze shifted slightly to the smallest tablet.
No photo—just a single line of small characters engraved on it.
Li Heng murmured softly: “So my name was Shen Zhining.”
Footsteps approached from behind.
When Li Heng turned, she saw Shen Zhicheng holding a bundle of pomelo leaves—the caretaker had prepared them specially for him.
A living person, mistakenly mourned for over twenty years—it was only right to ward off bad luck.
Shen Zhicheng’s expression was solemn. He gently brushed the leaves across her shoulders and back, muttering something under his breath.
“Unintentional offense—please forgive us. Let’s keep to our own paths.”
“No hard feelings, no hard feelings.”
A drop of water from the pomelo leaves splashed Li Heng’s cheek. She reached up and wiped it off: “Who is ‘us’?”
“Suicides, vengeful spirits, drowning ghosts, perverted ghosts, wronged ghosts, big-headed ghosts…” Shen Zhicheng added, “Better not come after her.”
“You say something too,” he urged.
Li Heng’s heart softened. She clasped her hands together and spoke earnestly: “Everyone—I’m alive.”
Shen Zhicheng immediately stepped in front of her: “Hey—are you trying to piss off all these ghosts?”
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