To this day, although the police force had gradually started using computers, most records were still archived on paper — especially case files from ten years ago.
And precisely because of that, for a long time, no one had noticed that Ng Mei Yan and Yiu Chun Fai were key witnesses in that old case.
Now, the police slowly opened the file.
Old You scanned the case details and continued reading: “Ten years ago, mid-to-late August, 4 PM — back alley of an industrial building in Sha Tin, New Territories. The victim, Wong Wing Wing, 42, was stabbed multiple times — one fatal wound to the chest, death from excessive blood loss. A gold necklace, gold watch, and a large sum of cash were taken. The case was classified as robbery-homicide.”
“Witness Ng Mei Yan testified that around 4 PM on the day of the incident, she was meeting a friend near the scene and saw a man running out of the back alley in a panic, tossing a knife into a trash bin. The height, build, and clothing she described closely matched the suspect, Yeung Ching Sing. In a subsequent lineup, she identified Yeung Ching Sing. Based on her identification, Sha Tin police recovered the murder weapon from the trash bin.”
“Witness Yiu Chun Fai — around 4 PM on the day of the incident, was delivering medicine to his mother-in-law in Sha Tin village due to her illness. On his way back, he passed near the scene and saw a man clutching valuables, his hands covered in blood. Through identification, he confirmed it was the suspect Yeung Ching Sing.”
These two testimonies became crucial to the conviction.
Yeung Ching Sing was sentenced to life imprisonment and died in prison four years later.
Lin Jiacong and Gao Zijie stepped out briefly and returned with verified information.
“Ng Mei Yan’s husband, Tung Chi Ming, knew nothing about this. In the year she first came to Hong Kong, Ng Mei Yan worked as a clerk in Sha Tin. He had no idea she’d ever been called in by the police for questioning. As for the money she borrowed back then — he always assumed it came from classmates, friends, or relatives back home. Later, when the business recovered and money wasn’t so tight, Ng Mei Yan never mentioned paying it back, so he didn’t ask.”
Old You let out a cold snort: “Of course he didn’t ask. If he did, and she actually asked him to repay it, what then? Better to play dumb and dodge a huge debt.”
Gao Zijie continued: “As for why Ng Mei Yan concealed her involvement in the investigation back then — remember her old flame in the mainland, Yeung Fan? Ten years ago, Yeung Fan heard she’d married a Hong Kong man and assumed she was living well. Every time he came over, he’d hound her for child support for their son.”
“Ng Mei Yan was terrified of her current husband finding out, so she kept everything hidden. We contacted Yeung Fan — he said he couldn’t recall the details from ten years ago, but early on, he did collect money from her in Sha Tin, near her office. They’d meet behind the industrial building — it was quiet there — and he’d wait nearby, take the money, and leave.”
“Later, when Tung Chi Ming’s business improved and Sha Tin was too far from home for the daily commute, he had Ng Mei Yan quit her job to be a full-time housewife. They decided the timing was right to have a child, but perhaps her health was affected by the first pregnancy — she couldn’t conceive until six years ago, when she gave birth to their daughter Nannán in August 1990. The child is now five.”
“As for Yiu Chun Fai — his two sons are still in the country, handling their father’s affairs and suing the tabloid journalists who spread rumors. They said they knew nothing about what happened back then. Their father kept everything bottled up and never told his family — especially since they were children at the time.”
“But to witness a murder and never mention it — that’s very unusual.”
“Before that summer, the brothers Yiu Ho On and Yiu Ho Sun had always thought their family had no money. But that summer, their father suddenly told them he’d saved enough to send them abroad to study.”
The details of Yeung Ching Sing’s case unfolded layer by layer.
Like a jigsaw puzzle, the pieces slowly fell into place, the picture gradually becoming clear.
Throughout his years in prison, Yeung Ching Sing had always maintained his innocence.
He said he didn’t need both him and his wife to mind the ding-ding candy stall, so he’d gone out looking for work. That year, there was a construction site in Sha Tin hiring — he’d gone to try his luck. On his way, about 300 meters from the industrial building, he saw a man throw a bag into a garbage station. He glimpsed what looked like money inside and secretly retrieved it. Opening it, he found a large sum of cash, a gold watch, and a jewelry box containing a gold necklace.
Old You’s voice was heavy: “That day, the victim Wong Wing Wing had just settled a payment and specifically went to a gold shop to buy that necklace for his wife. No one could have foreseen—”
At the time, Yeung Ching Sing thought he’d struck gold. He took the items home and gave the brand-new gold necklace to his wife, Wong Sui Ha. In his statement, he said she’d followed him through so many hard years — she deserved some decent jewelry.
Then he took some of the money and bought a few pretty little dresses for his daughter at a shop. Only the gold watch — he handled it again and again, but in the end couldn’t bring himself to wear it. Thinking the family needed money everywhere, he took it to a street-side gold shop and sold it cheaply for cash.
But that casual sale became the key clue that led the police to him.
In the interrogation room, Yeung Ching Sing repeatedly expressed his regret, crying that he shouldn’t have been greedy, shouldn’t have kept what he’d found — begging the police for leniency.
But he hadn’t yet realized the gravity of the situation — it wasn’t just “handling stolen goods,” it was a real murder case.
Yeung Ching Sing went back and forth, saying he’d just picked up money, that he hadn’t killed anyone — but he couldn’t produce a shred of evidence to prove his innocence.
Yet the two key witnesses could clearly identify him — holding the weapon, the stolen goods, his hands covered in blood.
That evidence sealed his murder conviction.
“Could that old case have been a wrongful conviction?”
“Yeung Ching Sing was wrongfully imprisoned, and Wong Sui Ha, driven to the edge by a charlatan’s words, deliberately walked into that ‘bloody calamity.’ After the child grew up, she resolved to take revenge on everyone involved. She chose the Ghost Festival, killed the two witnesses, and framed the Feng Shui master Ku Cheung Fung?”
“Whether it was a wrongful conviction is hard to determine for now. But regardless of the truth, in that daughter’s eyes — her mother was driven to despair, her honest father died in prison unjustly. She hated the reckless street fortune-teller, and hated the two witnesses who testified against her father. That’s why she did all of this.”
That was the most logical and straightforward motive.
“First — find out where Yeung Ching Sing’s daughter went,” Li Heng said.
…
The case file from ten years ago — the statement pages tucked inside had long yellowed.
On one of those statements, the child’s name was clearly written: Yeung Mong Suet.
The ID forger had said the woman looked about twenty-five. Ku Cheung Fung had given a similar estimate. But in reality, at the time of the incident, Yeung Ching Sing’s daughter was only ten. That meant she was now just twenty.
At twenty, with makeup, hairstyle, and clothing, it would be easy to pass for twenty-five or twenty-six — to project a mature image. After all, Yeung Mong Suet needed to pass as a journalist to deceive Ku Cheung Fung and earn his trust — she couldn’t come across as a fresh-faced schoolgirl.
The officers searched the population registration system again using that name. But as before, among all the Yeung Mong Suets in Hong Kong, none matched her age, appearance, or background.
“She was most likely adopted and changed her name,” Li Heng said. “First, find out where Yeung Mong Suet’s relatives went, then trace her whereabouts.”
The case file showed that Yeung Ching Sing’s family had lived in a cramped subdivided flat on Temple Street — the three of them squeezed together in poverty.
They did have relatives, but those relatives looked down on them and rarely kept in touch.
Yeung Mong Suet had an uncle, an aunt, and a maternal uncle.
Li Heng and Shen Zhicheng visited them one by one. The first two knew nothing of what had happened. Only the maternal uncle — when they found him — stared blankly for a long moment before slowly starting to recall.
“How time flies. It’s already been ten years.”
“My eldest sister was always a timid woman, not very sharp — she’d believe anything anyone told her. And she had to go and marry that useless Yeung Ching Sing, ending up in that state.” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes but couldn’t find a lighter, and put them away again. “All I know is that she died in a car accident — hit by a truck, so badly disfigured she was gone on the spot.”
“The driver insisted she’d run out into the road on her own, without even trying to get out of the way. But who can say for sure? In the end, they paid a settlement, and we, the family, signed a release.”
Shen Zhicheng’s expression darkened, his tone cold: “And you kept that settlement money for yourself?”
The man flinched, then stiffened his neck: “Sir, don’t make it sound so bad! My sister married him and suffered her whole life — never got a single good thing out of it. The family was penniless — no one even arranged her funeral. She was my sister — after she was gone, what’s wrong with me taking a little money?”
Li Heng didn’t want to keep arguing about the settlement. She asked directly: “What about the child? Where did Yeung Mong Suet go?”
“She stayed at my place for about half a month. The house was noisy all day — the kids fighting over food and drinks — and my wife kept giving me dirty looks. You can see for yourself — my own family’s barely getting by. How could I afford to raise her? If I’d let her stay, my wife would’ve divorced me.”
The man sighed: “A social worker came and took her away — she went to a children’s home. Honestly, the conditions there were better than my place. At least she had food and drink, and they’d apply for her to go to school.”
Li Heng and Shen Zhicheng exchanged a glance, both suppressing their anger.
As her own maternal uncle, he’d taken the accident compensation but abandoned his young niece — and acted like it was only natural, pushing all the blame onto his wife.
“I remember Mong Suet’s grades were pretty good. If she’d just studied hard and gotten through to graduation, she could’ve made something of herself.” The man paused, then added: “She should be twenty by now.”
Shen Zhicheng looked at him coldly: “After she went to the children’s home, you never checked on her again?”
“You’re misunderstanding me. I’m her real uncle — of course I was worried. But I had my own kids to take care of — I really couldn’t manage.” The man wore a helpless expression, even feigning pain as he pressed his hand to his forehead.
“Madam, Sir — why are you asking about all this now?” He added with a sigh: “Mong Suet was a clever, well-behaved child — but she was unlucky, having a father who was a robbery-homicide convict. And my sister didn’t have the fortune to live long — such a young life… If I’d known Yeung Ching Sing was that kind of person, I would never have let her marry him!”
Neither of them wanted to hear any more of this hollow talk.
They took the name of the children’s home and left.
…
They arrived at the children’s home and explained their purpose.
Before long, an elderly social worker came out. When she heard the name Yeung Mong Suet, she was silent for a long time before it finally came back to her.
“I remember that child.” The social worker sat down on the sofa in the reception room, letting out a soft sigh. “The family was so poor she was malnourished — nothing but skin and bones on her shoulders and back. She never cried or made a scene. She told me she’d seen on TV that people in her situation could hire a lawyer to help her father.”
“But hiring a lawyer isn’t that easy. She was just a ten-year-old girl — she couldn’t do it.”
“But she said she could. She wrote letter after letter — clearly laying out every detail of her father’s case that she knew. She asked me to send them to lawyers. How could I refuse? I did as she asked, mailing each letter out for her — but they all vanished without a trace.”
“She was so mature — way beyond her years. I looked through her homework — her handwriting was neat and careful, her test scores almost always perfect. At first, she kept going to school — but the other kids bullied her, calling her ‘murderer’s daughter.’ She grew quieter and quieter, until eventually she barely spoke at all.”
“It broke our hearts. We didn’t know how to comfort her or help her. For her well-being, we planned to transfer her to another school — give her a fresh start.”
“Sometimes kind people would come to the home to adopt. But she was already ten — hard to place — and when families heard her father was a convicted killer, they’d walk away without a second thought.”
“It happened more than once. The child never seemed to hold out much hope — she didn’t seem to care whether she was adopted — but we all felt she’d been dealt a terribly unfair hand.”
Leave a Reply