The moment Li Heng said that, everyone around her looked stunned.
They stared at her blankly — then picked up their bowls of bird’s nest soup again.
Madam had actually come to back them up.
The tension on their faces melted away, corners of their mouths curling up uncontrollably. They sat up straighter, their confidence renewed.
Senior Inspector Tse stood in front of Li Heng, his face dark, lips pressed tight, his expression rigid.
“Senior Inspector Tse has so much free time,” Li Heng said casually, scooping up a spoonful of the crystal-clear bird’s nest soup. “Coming over to meddle in Team A’s affairs.”
Tse stiffened: “I was just kindly reminding you — don’t botch the case and leave a mess for Team B to clean up.”
Without even looking up, Li Heng said flatly: “Worry about yourself.”
Not long ago, the stove-bottom body case had been cracked quickly by Team A, earning them commendation after commendation, putting them firmly in the spotlight. The always-dominant Team B could only trail behind, simmering with frustration.
Team B, led by Senior Inspector Tse, had always carried a sense of superiority. Now, just a month later, the water ghost and lecherous ghost cases had stirred up the entire city. Pressure was mounting from above, public opinion was hard to quell, and Team A’s investigation had hit a standstill. That gave Tse the perfect excuse to vent his pent-up frustration.
In the CID room, Tse stood rooted to the spot. Li Heng sat by her desk, leisurely savoring her bird’s nest soup.
He’d tried to use his height to intimidate, looking down at her with cold eyes — but she barely even glanced at him.
His expression grew darker by the minute. After a long, awkward standoff, he finally turned and left.
His footsteps were unusually heavy — anyone could see he was furious.
Only when the sound had faded completely did the officers lower their voices and start talking.
Team B had always bullied them. Whenever Team A started to gain ground, the snide remarks from next door would follow. Before Li Heng was transferred over, the team had been led by Senior Inspector Tam — a soft-spoken, easygoing man, well-known in West Kowloon as a kindly old soul who never argued with anyone and would only smile and smooth things over. That only emboldened the neighboring team even more. That was why Senior Inspector Tse could walk in today with that arrogant tone and put them down.
Tse was, after all, a Senior Inspector — though he didn’t directly manage Team A, his rank commanded authority. Even if the team members were unhappy, they couldn’t openly defy him. All that frustration had been bottled up inside for years — no one knew how much they’d endured.
But today was different.
Madam had stood up for the whole team.
She might be strict behind closed doors — scolding them in her office.
But in front of outsiders, she gave no ground. She was unapologetically protective.
The smiles on Team A’s faces never faded.
Even though they’d been working nonstop for days, they didn’t feel tired at all — in fact, they felt more energized than ever.
Afternoon tea was brief, but the spread was far from skimpy. Spoonful after spoonful of bird’s nest soup — sweet without being cloying, smooth and nourishing.
Everyone sat together, the atmosphere relaxed and lively. Laughter filled the air, as if the earlier confrontation had never happened.
Shen Zhicheng’s gaze fell on them.
On the surface, he had countless friends. The Shen family heir’s lavish spending in Lan Kwai Fong was a regular tabloid feature — the headlines barely needed changing. But this was the first time he saw a group of people laughing with such genuine warmth, their eyes clear and bright — nothing like the hollow, alcohol-numbed smiles he was used to.
Something inside him was quietly shifting, though he couldn’t quite grasp it.
He instinctively looked toward Li Heng.
Li Heng scanned the room and asked: “Everyone finished?”
Almost in unison, the team responded: “Finished!”
“Then get back to work.” Li Heng’s tone was crisp. “I don’t want our case getting taken over by Team B.”
“Exactly!” Fang Zhishan said indignantly, muttering under her breath: “What would they even find?”
The moment she said it, she realized she was the only one complaining. Her ears flushed bright red.
Seeing that, the others couldn’t help but laugh.
“That’s right — if we can’t crack it, Team B sure can’t.”
“Hey, hey, hey — what are you talking about? Team A doesn’t have cases we can’t crack!”
The investigation had already hit a dead end, but Team B’s provocation had only boosted Team A’s morale.
Amidst the laughter, they cleaned up the afternoon tea “battlefield,” tidied the desks, and threw themselves back into the case.
Shen Zhicheng automatically followed Li Heng’s lead.
Gao Zijie turned to Lin Jiacong, confused: “Where’s he going?”
“I’ve had it figured out all along — the young master’s a bootlicker!” Lin Jiacong held up a case file to cover his gossiping mouth, lowering his voice. “He’s going to Madam’s office to clean up her afternoon tea mess.”
Gao Zijie watched their retreating figures.
A “bootlicker” — someone who “polishes Madam’s shoes.”
“Idiot — you just ate his food and you’re still running your mouth?” He smacked Lin Jiacong on the back of the head. “That was Peninsula Hotel afternoon tea — one meal’s worth half our monthly salary!”
Lin Jiacong thought about it seriously, then said gravely: “He’s a generous bootlicker.”
…
Shen Zhicheng followed Li Heng into her office.
On her desk, the pastries Old You had brought in were mostly gone — she’d clearly enjoyed them.
He quietly cleared the table, moving with practiced ease. There was no trace of the pampered young master — he looked more like a waiter in an old inn.
And yet, this was the same Shen Zhicheng — always acting like nothing was wrong — who, in the original plot, had exhausted every last shred of hope and chosen to end his life in that dark attic.
Li Heng wasn’t well-versed in psychology. She planned to borrow some relevant books in her spare time, trying to understand the root of the problem and find ways to help him slowly work through it.
But after all, she wasn’t a professional psychologist — there was only so much she could do.
“I just called Fang Jie and asked her to make us some soup,” Shen Zhicheng said, steering the conversation toward warm, everyday matters. “You’ve never tried her old-fire soup with five-finger fig root — the aroma is so rich you can smell it across the whole Mid-Levels. Once, some other family’s butler even came knocking, asking how it was made.”
“Too bad he came at the wrong time — it was in the morning, and the doorbell was so loud it woke me up. I cursed him out.”
“You have to try it tonight. Grandfather loves it too.”
“Oh, and Grandfather’s been calling a lot lately, demanding to know where I’ve been sneaking off to.”
It was clear Shen Zhicheng was in an especially good mood today — he was talking far more than usual.
Li Heng finally found a gap to interject: “What did you tell Grandfather?”
“I said Lan Kwai Fong, Portland Street, Tsim Sha Tsui — all those places,” Shen Zhicheng paused, a smile tugging at his lips. “And Ngong Shuen Chau.”
“Didn’t Grandfather realize there’s no bar in Ngong Shuen Chau for you to hang out at?”
Shen Zhicheng shrugged carelessly: “Old people don’t know these things. A few vague words and he buys it.”
She could imagine the scene — if Shen Chongnian ever found out he’d joined the police as a dangerous and demanding auxiliary officer, he’d probably be furious enough to slam his cane against the floor.
Shen Zhicheng wasn’t really afraid — if he were the obedient type, he wouldn’t have spent years being so aimless and reckless. But Grandfather was old — no point in making him sick with worry.
“Don’t you dare rat me out.” Shen Zhicheng tapped the desk lightly, putting on a deliberately stern warning. “He’s busier than we are. As long as you don’t say anything, this secret can last a long time.”
Just as he finished, the mobile phone on Li Heng’s desk suddenly rang.
She glanced at it, then casually turned the screen toward him.
It was Shen Chongnian calling.
Talk about perfect timing.
Li Heng picked up: “Grandfather.”
On the other end, Shen Chongnian’s booming voice came through. After a few pleasantries, he casually asked about Shen Zhicheng’s recent activities.
Li Heng raised an eyebrow, her gaze falling on Shen Zhicheng across from her. The “boy” Grandfather was asking about was now leaning forward, hands clasped together, mouthing “please” over and over — not a trace of the cocky attitude from just moments ago.
Into the phone, Li Heng said slowly: “He’s been—”
Seeing this, Shen Zhicheng doubled down. He even stood up and started tidying her desk with exaggerated efficiency.
“He’s been very well-behaved lately — spending his days quietly reading at the library.”
Shen Zhicheng narrowed his eyes.
There was a limit to lying — wasn’t that a bit much?
Even if the sun rose from the west, he’d never be caught in a library. By all logic, Grandfather would never believe that — but somehow, this granddaughter carried so much weight in the old man’s heart, and her reputation was rock-solid. The voice on the other end paused for a moment, then let out a surprised laugh.
Li Heng continued: “Yes, we’ve moved to Kowloon City. He’s living next door to me — we look out for each other.”
Shen Zhicheng nodded along, carefully stacking the scattered documents and piling them neatly at the corner of her desk.
“I’m very careful with my cases. It’s not that dangerous.”
“Don’t worry, Grandfather.”
On the phone, Shen Chongnian urged Li Heng to come to Repulse Bay for a meal. Since they’d reunited, she’d been visiting occasionally. She responded: “No need to trouble Uncle Cheung to pick me up — I’ll come with Shen Zhicheng.”
As she spoke, her gaze inadvertently swept over Shen Zhicheng.
At some point, he’d picked up the composite sketch and was holding it up to his eyes, studying it quietly.
“Grandfather, I’m still busy here — let’s talk later.”
Li Heng put down the phone and looked up at Shen Zhicheng: “Do you think something’s off about this sketch?”
…
Wen Jie pushed open the window, letting the aroma of afternoon tea drift out with the breeze.
In the CID room, after a brief break, everyone picked up their work again, returning to their busy rhythm.
Soon, the workstations were half empty.
Old You had taken a team to Ngong Shuen Chau to interview people, checking whether any dockworkers had seen the mysterious man who’d bribed Wong Sai Mui. Lin Jiacong was rushing to Yiu Chun Fai’s home to take statements from his two sons, who had just returned from abroad — to see if they knew whether their father had any conflicts with anyone.
Fang Zhishan had just come out of the copy room with a stack of composite sketches. She walked quickly to Wen Jie’s desk, asking in a low voice about the procedure for distributing them to all the districts.
Everyone was busy, each focused on their tasks.
After being provoked by Senior Inspector Tse, they were all fired up — determined to crack the case and not give Team B any reason to mock them.
Li Heng took the composite sketch and headed to the composite room with Shen Zhicheng.
From the start, she’d felt something was off about the sketch.
The man’s features were too distinctive — whether it was the stylish shoulder-length hair or the two moles, it all seemed deliberate.
If someone wanted to disguise themselves, besides wearing a hat, they could easily fake moles and hairstyles too.
Perhaps this wasn’t the suspect’s real appearance at all.
The two pushed open the composite room door.
After hearing Madam’s request, the officer took the sketch. It had taken considerable time to create the original composite for Wong Sai Mui, but now, with clear instructions, it wouldn’t take long to make the adjustments. He quickly got to work.
Li Heng stared at the facial features and contours on the sketch, aware of Shen Zhicheng beside her.
His gaze was heavy — entirely different from his usual playful demeanor. His expression was almost cold.
After a careful round of adjustments, the sketch’s features gradually became clearer.
“Madam — I’ve removed the hat, the hairstyle, and the moles on the face. See if this is what you were looking for.”
Li Heng took the final version, studied it briefly, then turned to Shen Zhicheng.
Her tone carried a hint of certainty: “You know this man.”
Shen Zhicheng didn’t speak right away.
His gaze was distant, as if returning to that deadened state from the original plot — oppressive and indifferent.
No one knew how long passed before he finally found his voice.
“It’s Ku Cheung Fung.”
Li Heng’s fingertips paused at the edge of the sketch.
“I’d recognize him even if he turned to ash,” Shen Zhicheng said, his voice very low.
…
According to police procedure, the scene of Yiu Chun Fai’s murder on Prince Edward Road — after preliminary examination and evidence collection — had been sealed off with tape.
But now that the family had returned to handle the aftermath, the police had temporarily unsealed it to allow them inside, with officers stationed to supervise and protect the scene.
After distributing the composite sketches to all districts, Fang Zhishan’s pager suddenly went off.
She borrowed a phone to return the call, then immediately grabbed her notebook and hurried to Prince Edward Road to meet up with Lin Jiacong.
According to protocol, statements had to be taken with two officers present. Lin Jiacong had originally arranged to go with Gao Zijie, but he’d been held up by other work.
Fang Zhishan arrived at Prince Edward Road and took the elevator up to the 11th floor.
The victim’s two sons appeared at the door, their expressions grim, exhaustion and grief barely concealed in their eyes.
They’d bought a stack of newspapers and magazines covering the case from the newsstand downstairs, carrying them in a bag. When they saw the two officers, they gave a slight nod.
The two sons of Yiu Chun Fai had just flown back from abroad. From the moment their flight landed, they’d been running nonstop. Stepping into the house, even their breathing trembled slightly. Their mother had passed away early, and their father had lived alone in Hong Kong — they hadn’t been back in a long time. Now, re-entering this home felt both familiar and foreign. They stopped in the living room.
The bloodstains on the floor had dried, darkening to a deep purple. At the identification, they’d heard that their father had died of severe blood loss from a skull fracture. Imagining the pain and terror he must have endured, they couldn’t bear to look — and fell silent for a long time.
Both brothers looked exhausted, their eyes red-rimmed.
“We took leave from work to come back — we can’t stay away too long. We have to sort through Dad’s belongings as quickly as we can. There’s just so much to handle.”
“Sorry to trouble you officers for making a special trip.”
Lin Jiacong let out a sigh: “It’s our job.”
The older brother, Yiu Ho On, rubbed his brow: “We always thought that once we’d established ourselves abroad, we could bring Dad over to enjoy his retirement. Who could have expected this?”
The younger brother, Yiu Ho Sun, crouched nearby, flipping through an old photo album, his fingertips lingering on an old photograph.
“Dad worked so hard his whole life. Mom left early — he raised the two of us on his own. Back then, he was just an ordinary secondary school teacher on a single salary — supporting both of us through school and caring for our grandparents on both sides. Back then, we never even dreamed we’d have the chance to study abroad.”
“He never complained about how hard it was. He just quietly gritted his teeth, saved little by little, and gave everything to give us a better future.”
“We always said that once we were settled, we’d bring him over to live out his old years in peace. No one knew he’d never get that chance.”
“If it had been an illness or an accident, we could have accepted it… But why this? Our father never had conflicts with anyone. Who could be so cruel?”
At that, the two brothers couldn’t hold back any longer. They bowed their heads, shoulders trembling, voices choked with tears.
Lin Jiacong and Fang Zhishan stood by silently, waiting for them to compose themselves.
No one knew how long passed before Yiu Ho Sun finally looked up again, his eyes red.
He walked into the bedroom and began sorting through his father’s clothes — carefully smoothing each wrinkle and laying them gently aside.
Fang Zhishan remembered that the victim’s home had been spotless, not a trace of dust.
It seemed the habit of cleanliness and orderliness had been shared by the three of them over many years of living together.
Lin Jiacong chose his words carefully, bringing up the talisman fragment found in the victim’s hand at the scene: “We’d like to ask — did Mr. Yiu have any involvement with fortune-telling or Feng Shui, or did he keep any such objects at home?”
At this, Yiu Ho On immediately shook his head firmly: “Absolutely not. Our dad never believed in any of that — he always said it was all a fraud. If gods and Buddhas really protected people, someone as good as our mother wouldn’t have left so early.”
“Dad never even set foot in a temple, let alone had things like that at home,” Yiu Ho Sun added, coming out of the bedroom. “He was stubborn — he’d handle any difficulty on his own, never praying to gods or Buddhas. We never imagined that after he was gone, people would sling mud on him with these soul-claiming ghost stories.”
Mentioning those rampant rumors, the brothers’ eyes burned with anger.
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