Even with the case driving them up the wall, it didn’t feel unbearable.
It would be solved — it had to be.
The world was full of cold cases. In the central archives, plenty of old cases had gone years without any breakthrough.
But Li Heng firmly believed this case was different.
The truth was right in front of them — they just needed to find that one person.
Neither knew how long they’d been sitting there when Shen Zhicheng finally spoke: “Fang Jie called during the day — said she put some food in the fridge.”
He mimicked a classic line from TV dramas: “Are you hungry? Let me cook you some noodles.”
The curtains were open — neon lights flickered beyond the floor-to-ceiling window.
Shen Zhicheng looked at Li Heng and caught a hint of doubt in her eyes.
“You can cook?”
Shen Zhicheng stood up: “I’ll give it a try.”
He went back to his place and found some noodles and two eggs in the fridge.
In the past, the young master had only ever eaten fine dining. Now, faced with the simplest ingredients, he felt more anticipation than ever before.
When Shen Zhicheng came back around through the rooftop, the lights in the house were already on.
He walked over to the kitchen island: “It’s just noodles — you can guess the steps.”
Li Heng walked back to the TV, flipping channels with the remote: “I remember some shows teach cooking — let’s see if there’s one on today.”
“Probably about the same as making instant noodles.”
The house grew lively.
The sizzle of eggs frying in the pan, the chatter from the TV, and Shen Zhicheng’s voice — flustered yet trying to sound composed — all mixed together.
“Simple stuff — just wait,” he said.
Before long, the door pushed open.
Another critical voice joined the mix.
“So much grease.” Shen Yong Xuan said, her tone full of disdain. “Can’t you cook in your own place?”
Shen Zhicheng stood there, spatula in hand, momentarily speechless as he turned around.
“Aunt — as if this is your place,” he muttered.
Shen Yong Xuan acted as if she hadn’t heard, walking straight inside.
Shen Zhicheng was about to say something more when he saw — his own sister was already walking over to their aunt.
Right then and there — a traitor among the siblings.
“Did you bring something good?” Li Heng asked.
…
Shen Yong Xuan set a few plastic bags on the table — sweet soup and two bowls of seafood congee.
“Picked them up on the way.”
Li Heng and Shen Zhicheng both let out a breath of relief at almost the same time — like spotting a lifeline.
“Aunt,” Shen Zhicheng said, “how did you know we were hungry?”
“I didn’t.” She said. “I saw that congee place was famous and bought some for myself.”
She said she bought it for herself — but she didn’t pick up her spoon or chopsticks.
The siblings exchanged a glance and, without a word, both smiled.
The noodles hadn’t been cooked yet, but the fried egg in the pan was ready.
Li Heng picked it up with her chopsticks and looked at Shen Zhicheng: “Don’t waste it.”
Shen Zhicheng took a bite and paused: “Taste… actually not bad.”
Li Heng raised an eyebrow: “Don’t overdo it.”
She also took a bite of the fried egg — paused, then took another.
As for the seafood congee and warm red bean soup before them — there was no question about the taste. Spoonful after spoonful, they couldn’t stop.
Seeing her finish the fried egg, Shen Zhicheng felt a surge of pride.
Maybe he had some cooking talent after all?
Shen Yong Xuan glanced at how easily satisfied they looked, curled her lips, and let out a soft scoff.
“Aunt — where’d you go?” Shen Zhicheng asked casually, taking a spoonful of congee. “A date?”
“Kids shouldn’t meddle in adults’ business.” She tossed her handbag onto the sofa, looking impatient. “Oh, and later you need to clean the guest room. I knocked over some perfume before I left — it’s all over the floor, and it splashed on the handbag too.”
Li Heng finally understood — that strong perfume smell when they walked in — that was why.
“Aunt — you think I’m room service?”
“Well, what else — am I supposed to do it myself?”
Li Heng sipped the warm, savory seafood congee, quietly listening to the two of them bicker.
The tension that had been wound tight all day finally began to ease.
“I’ve had such a rotten day,” Shen Yong Xuan said. “Right before I left, I realized that handbag leather is so delicate — perfume stains it permanently. Completely ruined.”
Shen Zhicheng swapped his spoon for the sweet soup, nonchalant: “You have so many handbags — just use another one.”
“Easy for you to say.” Shen Yong Xuan shot him a glance. “Lipstick, phone, keys, wallet, card holder — I’d have to move everything over one by one. If it hadn’t been ruined, I wouldn’t have bothered.”
Li Heng’s spoon froze mid-motion, hovering at her lips.
In Nannán’s drawing that day — besides Ng Mei Yan leaving the house in a dress — the child had also drawn a bag.
“The shoulder strap was wide and long — something you could sling over your shoulder, completely different from that woman’s handbag pulled out of Ngong Shuen Chau. But the contents inside were definitely Ng Mei Yan’s.”
“Ruined? The old bag got ruined, so she transferred everything to another bag.” Li Heng murmured to herself. “But under what circumstances would someone carry two bags at once?”
“Can’t fit everything.” Shen Yong Xuan said without hesitation. “Too many things — one bag won’t hold it all, so of course you need two.”
Li Heng pressed: “No other possibility?”
“What else could there be?” Shen Yong Xuan glanced at her. “It’s about matching the bag to the outfit. The one I grabbed today doesn’t go with this dress — Elisa even laughed at me at dinner, saying hers matched way better.”
One sentence — and the scattered thoughts clicked into place.
Li Heng’s grip on the spoon tightened.
Because Nannán had recognized the handbag in the evidence photo, Li Heng had always assumed both bags belonged to her mother.
But there was another possibility —
Not two bags. The victim’s bag had been swapped.
The handbag pulled from the water wasn’t Ng Mei Yan’s at all.
Seeing her suddenly lost in thought, Shen Yong Xuan didn’t press further. She pursed her lips and turned to Shen Zhicheng: “By the way — what did your grandfather come by for during the day?”
Shen Yong Xuan told him she’d heard Shen Chongnian and Uncle Cheung talking outside the door. Not wanting to deal with them, she’d just pretended no one was home.
That was exactly the kind of thing their aunt would do.
“It was because of the case — I ordered a few hundred cups of herbal tea for the office staff and left Grandfather’s number.” Shen Zhicheng smiled. “The tea shop owner probably called him to arrange delivery.”
He figured this employee perk had landed well with Grandfather, who’d come over specifically to praise him.
Too bad the old man had found an empty house.
“Going to work — buying herbal tea, paying informants.” Shen Yong Xuan narrowed her eyes, amused. “Your monthly salary enough for all that?”
“Haven’t gotten paid yet,” Shen Zhicheng said. “HR just had me fill out the salary and allowance forms the other day.”
It was his first time getting a paycheck — still felt new.
“Police Sis.” He casually draped his arm over Li Heng’s shoulder. “Give me a hint — how much am I getting my first month?”
Li Heng suddenly turned to him: “Someone getting their first paycheck has to fill out allowance paperwork — that day at the kindergarten…”
“Yeah, so what—” Shen Zhicheng started, then suddenly caught on. “I get it!”
At the same moment, they both had the same realization — their eyes lit up.
Shen Yong Xuan pulled her shawl tighter, frowning in displeasure.
Do all cops have to be so jumpy?
Li Heng said: “That day at the kindergarten, when we showed Nannán the handbag in the evidence photo, she couldn’t say for sure. Teacher Wai patted her head and sent her off to look at picture books.”
It wasn’t that Ng Mei Yan had been carrying two bags.
The killer had quietly swapped her own handbag for the one Ng Mei Yan had been carrying — the one stained with blood or marked with evidence.
Nannán recognized it because she’d seen that handbag — with the thin, short shoulder strap — more than once at the kindergarten.
It was Teacher Wai’s.
Shen Zhicheng added: “Later, Teacher Wai was called away to fill out allowance paperwork. That means she’d just joined not long ago.”
“She has access to Nannán,” Li Heng’s expression darkened, “which means she could use the child to get close to Ng Mei Yan and arrange to meet her.”
If Teacher Wai was the Yeung Mong Suet from back then —
Yeung Mong Suet wasn’t afraid of being discovered.
What she feared was the old case being buried forever, with no chance of being overturned.
That day, when Nannán came to the station for psychological treatment, Teacher Wai hadn’t been the one accompanying her. But at the kindergarten, she had volunteered to come along. Not out of concern — clearly, she wanted to be there in person, watching Nannán’s every move.
If the child ever ran into the police and showed them the drawing, she’d lose control of the situation.
So she’d rather help the child call the station herself — to take control of the situation from the start.
Since the murders began, the former Yeung Mong Suet — now Teacher Wai —
had used the red dress to hold the police back, simply waiting for the right moment.
A third murder could happen at any time.
Who was the target? The real killer from back then? Another witness? Or… an investigating officer?
No.
There was an even more direct target.
“Do you remember Nannán’s birthday?” Li Heng’s voice came quickly. “The file said August.”
“Mid-to-late August — I remember it was…” Shen Zhicheng’s mind flashed back to the file he’d skimmed over — and he froze. “It’s already past midnight.”
“Today!” Li Heng’s face changed abruptly.
“Nannán’s in danger —”
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