It was already past midnight. Li Heng contacted the officer on duty at the station, got Tung Chi Ming’s mobile number, and dialed.
Shen Zhicheng stood by.
The case had finally made progress — the mood should have been one of relief. But that relief didn’t last even a few seconds, replaced instead by a deep unease. They no longer had to search for a needle in a haystack through the entry records — the real killer had surfaced. But precisely because of that, Nannán was in the most dangerous position.
“Brrr—brrr—brrr—”
The waiting tone rang out, one after another.
The TV show was still playing, laughing and carrying on without a care. Shen Yong Xuan picked up the remote and turned it off.
In the long wait, Li Heng was already planning what to do if she couldn’t reach him — but finally, the call connected.
Tung Chi Ming had clearly been woken up, his voice still heavy with sleep. Recognizing Li Heng, he forced himself awake: “Madam — it’s so late. Is something wrong?”
Without any pleasantries, Li Heng asked directly: “Is today Nannán’s birthday?”
On the other end, Tung Chi Ming confirmed, a hint of tenderness in his voice: “It’s Nannán’s birthday. I got her favorite plush toy and ordered a cake — planned to celebrate properly with her tonight. So she knows that even without Mommy, she still has Daddy.”
The phone wasn’t on speaker, but the house was quiet enough for Shen Zhicheng to make out the words.
His furrowed brow relaxed slightly.
“Don’t send her to kindergarten today,” Li Heng added.
Tung Chi Ming was taken aback: “Why?”
A sudden sense of dread washed over him.
Li Heng pressed: “Nannán’s not with you?”
“I had to go on a business trip — I couldn’t postpone it any longer. I’d been looking for a nanny for days but couldn’t find one. Then Teacher Wai volunteered — said Nannán could stay at her place for the night and she’d take her straight to kindergarten in the morning.”
The moment he finished, Li Heng and Shen Zhicheng exchanged a look — both tense.
Tung Chi Ming’s parents had passed away early, and his wife’s parents weren’t in Hong Kong. Raising a child alone was already overwhelming. By approaching as a kindergarten teacher and offering help, Teacher Wai could easily gain a parent’s trust.
Right now, Nannán was with Teacher Wai.
On her fifth birthday.
Tung Chi Ming finally sensed something was wrong. Any trace of sleepiness vanished — his voice tightened with alarm.
“What’s wrong with Nannán? Why can’t she go to kindergarten?”
“Is something wrong with Teacher Wai? I’ll book a flight right now — I’ll be back immediately.”
“Stay calm.” Li Heng said quickly. “Teacher Wai is likely connected to the serial murders. Tell me everything you know about her — right now.”
Within moments of hanging up, the siblings had already grabbed their car keys and rushed out.
“Are you coming back?” Shen Yong Xuan called toward the door. “They say on Police Report every night — single women home alone should lock the door.”
“Lock it!”
The door slammed shut. She raised a hand and rubbed her temple with slender fingers.
This was scarier than a cop movie.
So — what time were they coming back?
Shen Yong Xuan stood by the door for a moment, then turned and walked back to her room — without locking it.
…
The two raced downstairs and got into the car.
“Could she be holding Nannán hostage?”
“A hostage leaves room for negotiation — what we’re afraid of is if she’s emotionally unstable and won’t negotiate at all. If she acts impulsively and hurts the child…”
They couldn’t afford a second’s delay. The moment the car door slammed shut, the engine was already roaring. Following the address Tung Chi Ming had given, Shen Zhicheng floored it toward Yau Tsim Mong.
It was late — few cars or pedestrians on the road. The speed was terrifying.
But this time, it wasn’t the young master bored and racing for thrills — it was to save a life. A small child was in danger.
Li Heng sat in the passenger seat, urgently contacting the Major Crime Unit officer on duty.
She dispatched the mobile unit, pulled Teacher Wai’s employment file from the kindergarten, and gathered all her information. In a crisis, calm was essential — she coordinated everything methodically. By the time she finished, the car had already stopped beneath an old building.
The stairwell was dark, echoing with their footsteps. They matched the address to the door number and rang the bell.
The bell rang for a long time, echoing through the hallway — loud enough to wake the dead, yet there was no response from inside. Shen Zhicheng knocked — still nothing.
The commotion woke a neighbor. A door cracked open, and an irritated voice complained: “Do you know what time it is? Some people are trying to sleep!”
Li Heng stepped forward immediately, showing her badge: “Police investigation. Is the resident of this unit home? Have you seen her today?”
The neighbor squinted at the badge, then spoke: “That tenant? She’s not here often.”
After a pause, the neighbor added: “That lady picked up a stray cat from somewhere. She usually leaves a spare key in the milk box by the door and often asks the caretaker to feed the cat.”
Shen Zhicheng immediately turned to the milk box by the door, opened the latch — and there lay a key.
He used it to unlock the door and pushed it open gently.
The unit was small. They quickly checked both rooms, the living room, the kitchen, and the bathroom.
The bed was neatly made — no sign of anyone having stayed over or struggled. There wasn’t a trace of children’s items in any corner. The kitchen fridge was empty, the kettle had no water in it, and a layer of dust had settled on the countertops — clearly the place hadn’t been lived in for days.
“She never brought Nannán here at all,” Shen Zhicheng said grimly.
Just as he finished, Li Heng’s gaze fell on the living room coffee table. She froze.
She moved a teacup aside: “It’s a talisman.”
Li Heng picked it up gently.
It was a red talisman with clear, distinct markings.
Identical to the fragments found in Ng Mei Yan’s handbag and the one clutched in Yiu Chun Fai’s hand.
…
Li Heng didn’t hesitate. She called Chief Inspector Pan Liqin, officially escalated the case, and activated the full investigative protocol.
On the other end, Pan Liqin issued orders — officers were dispatched to the scene immediately to secure Teacher Wai’s residence, conduct door-to-door inquiries, and question building residents and the caretaker about her comings and goings in the past two days. Simultaneously, scene investigation records were made, formal statements taken from the neighbor, and leads on the suspect’s whereabouts were locked down.
As the investigation deepened, the information grew clearer.
Teacher Wai’s name was Wai On Yi. She was only twenty years old. She had applied for the kindergarten position using credentials from a prestigious overseas university. She was suspected of the serial murders of Ng Mei Yan and Yiu Chun Fai, and was now holding five-year-old Tung Hoi Ying hostage.
Throughout the night, everyone was racing against time with evidence collection and coordination.
At 3 AM, all of Team A was recalled. The silent police headquarters was suddenly filled with footsteps, phone calls, and voices — the building blazed with light in an instant.
The officers had all been woken from sleep — eyes bloodshot, yawning uncontrollably.
Around the corner in the hallway outside the CID room stood a vending machine coffee maker. It too was “working overtime” — everyone passing through dropped a five-dollar coin in before entering the meeting room, grabbing a cup of bitter brew to stay awake.
On the whiteboard in the meeting room were pinned the evidence photos from the scene, Wai On Yi’s photo, and handwritten relationship maps.
All the seemingly irrelevant leads converged at this moment — the chain of evidence fully closed.
“The suspect, Wai On Yi — real name Yeung Mong Suet. She returned to Hong Kong a month and a half ago, and was hired at St. Andrew’s Kindergarten a month ago. Her original target was Ng Mei Yan.”
“Ng Mei Yan was a housewife with an extremely simple routine — aside from going to the market or supermarket, she barely interacted with the outside world. Her five-year-old daughter, Tung Hoi Ying, was the biggest breakthrough to get close to her. Using her identity as a kindergarten teacher, Wai On Yi had daily access to Nannán — and through her, the opportunity to approach Ng Mei Yan and arrange a private meeting.”
“She hated Ng Mei Yan, Yiu Chun Fai, and Ku Cheung Fung — they were the ones who destroyed her life. Killing two key witnesses wasn’t enough. Nannán was the child of her enemy. Watching that child every day deepened her hatred — perhaps only by killing her could she bring everything to an end.”
Fang Zhishan couldn’t help but ask: “Then why didn’t she go after Yiu Chun Fai’s two sons? They’re also the children of her enemy — why only focus on Nannán?”
Old You paused, then responded slowly.
“First — Ng Mei Yan’s testimony was key to the conviction. She personally identified Yeung Ching Sing fleeing from the back alley and throwing a knife into a trash bin. That knife was later confirmed to be the murder weapon. Without that testimony, the prosecution couldn’t link the weapon to Yeung Ching Sing. With only Yiu Chun Fai’s testimony, Yeung Ching Sing would have only been convicted of robbery at most. That testimony sealed his murder conviction. So Yeung Ching Sing’s daughter hated her the most.”
“Second — under extreme emotion, people often target the weak. Yiu Chun Fai’s two sons are in their twenties — tall and strong. Nannán is only five — completely defenseless and easy to control.”
As he finished, the atmosphere in the room grew heavy.
Pan Liqin immediately issued orders and assigned tasks. One team would dig deeper into Wai On Yi’s movements since returning to Hong Kong — who she’d contacted and whether she had accomplices. Another team would carry a wanted notice to docks, bus stations, train stations, and the airport — sealing off every possible escape route. The remaining officers would continue searching every hotel, licensed guesthouse, park, abandoned building, village house, and warehouse across Hong Kong — not a single place could be overlooked.
“Where was the murder in the Yeung Ching Sing case ten years ago?” Pan Liqin suddenly remembered, flipping through the case file quickly. “That abandoned industrial building in Sha Tin? Send someone to check it immediately.”
The officers set out through the night without pause.
Time ticked by. In the dead of night, as the first light of dawn began to appear on the horizon, they kept searching, knocking on doors, verifying — all of them racing against the suspect. Had something already happened to Nannán? Was she alive or dead? No one dared to dwell on it. All they could do was push forward faster, giving everything to find them.
Before they knew it, it was 9 AM.
Tung Chi Ming had been out of Hong Kong when he got the call in the middle of the night. He’d rushed back without a moment’s rest and was now at West Kowloon Regional Headquarters, pacing the corridor, his eyes fixed on the direction the officers moved.
Every time an officer passed, he’d stand up immediately, pressing for updates on the case — his heart full of regret. He shouldn’t have left Nannán in someone else’s care for work. No job could be more important than his child.
Meanwhile, in the office area, the mobile phone on Li Heng’s desk rang — breaking the tense silence of the CID room.
“Hello?” Li Heng answered immediately.
On the other end came the voice of the elderly social worker from the children’s home.
“Inspector Li — after you left yesterday, we started going through all the old files. We thought the adoption records had been lost when the home moved, but it turns out they were still intact. The couple who adopted Yeung Mong Suet back then — the husband was Wong San Man, and the wife was Wai Suk Wan.”
Pan Liqin had been pacing the entire time — from the CID room to the meeting room, to the Inspector’s office, and finally to his own office — never able to sit still.
Until the field officers sent back the latest update.
“The couple, Wong San Man and Wai Suk Wan, emigrated with the child nine years ago. Before that, they lived in an old building in North Point — the address and surrounding area information have already been faxed over.”
“We asked around the old neighbors in that area — the Wong family’s place had been empty for over a decade, locked up and untouched. But last night, someone out for an evening walk clearly saw a light on in the second-floor unit for half the night.”
Pan Liqin’s eyes darkened. He strode out of his office: “We’re heading to North Point immediately. The suspect is likely connected to two violent murders — extremely dangerous. Stay alert at all times — ensure the child’s safety.”
…
Inside the empty house, Wai On Yi sat in silence.
The room was cold and desolate — the sofa, coffee table, and bedside table all covered with white sheets. She lifted one gently, sending a cloud of dust spiraling into the sunlight streaming through the window — the specks floating before settling somewhere unknown.
Nannán stood at the bedroom doorway, watching her. In a small voice, she called out: “Teacher Wai.”
They had spent the night here.
Nannán didn’t understand why Teacher Wai had brought her to this place. There were no toys, and Teacher Wai wouldn’t talk. It was so quiet she could hear the wind blowing. She didn’t like it — it scared her a little — but she didn’t cry or make a fuss. She just stood there timidly, looking at her as if she’d done something wrong.
Nannán didn’t have much sense of time — she only knew that when morning came, it was time to go to kindergarten.
She slowly shuffled toward Wai On Yi: “Teacher Wai — aren’t we going to school?”
Wai On Yi didn’t look up. Her voice was cold: “Don’t call me that.”
Nannán immediately fell silent, shrinking back slightly, watching her warily.
Wai On Yi turned and walked to the piano. She swept the white cloth off it in one motion and slowly sat down on the bench.
A pair of slender, beautiful hands gently touched the black and white keys.
She wasn’t Teacher Wai. She wasn’t Wai On Yi.
Ten years ago, she was still Yeung Mong Suet.
That day, someone came to the children’s home to adopt her.
At ten years old, she hadn’t looked forward to a new family. She missed her own parents — she wanted to go back to the footbridge on Temple Street, where her father sold ding-ding candy and her mother sat mending odd sewing jobs, while she did her homework at a little table. A whole family, quietly together.
But the social worker had ruffled her hair and said many gentle things.
She said: “It’s time to go. Your mother is gone, and your father is in prison. Those of us left behind need to start a new life.”
They said her new parents would love her and take good care of her.
And so she came here.
The house was so spacious — much bigger than their subdivided flat. She no longer had to cling to a white dress, afraid of getting it dirty. From then on, she would have endless beautiful dresses.
Her adoptive parents were kind to her, always smiling, their eyes full of unspoken tenderness. They led her to the piano, took her small hands in theirs, and taught her to play — their fingers gently brushing the stray hairs from her forehead.
Wai On Yi closed her eyes, as if returning to that day, that time…
The sound of the piano echoed softly through the room.
But in her heart, she still couldn’t stop missing her real parents. Her adoptive parents said it was okay — she didn’t have to change how she addressed them. She could live and grow freely — as long as she kept her real parents in her heart, they would always be there.
Wai On Yi kept her eyes closed, her fingers resting on the keys.
Beside her, Nannán could no longer hold back. Tears began to fall, one after another, as she let out quiet sobs.
“Stop crying!” Wai On Yi’s eyes flew open, her voice sharp. “I told you — stop crying!”
She stood up and strode into the kitchen.
A clatter of knives, the shattering of dishes against the floor — one sound after another. When she emerged again, Wai On Yi was holding a fruit knife in her hand.
Nannán stood frozen, her small shoulders trembling uncontrollably, her hands clutching the hem of her dress tightly.
A long, long moment passed.
“Teacher Wai…” Nannán looked at the distraught Wai On Yi, slowly raising a hand, trying to reach for her face. “Why are you crying?”
…
Several officers squeezed into the police car, heading toward North Point — to Wong San Man’s old residence.
Shen Zhicheng gripped the steering wheel, his voice low: “You all get some rest.”
The officers in the back seat stared out at the passing streets, too drained even to speak. They sighed softly and closed their eyes to rest.
Li Heng was silent too, her head resting against the window, eyes closed in exhaustion.
Unlike the past few days, her mind was no longer flooded with fragmented clues. Now, whenever she closed her eyes, all she saw was Nannán.
At the public mortuary, Nannán had gazed at the half-closed door and tugged at her father’s shirt. At her doorstep, she’d insisted her mother had worn a yellow dress when she left. At the kindergarten, she’d pushed forward a childish drawing and said in her little voice that she wanted to help Madam sister solve the case. And that day in the counseling room, through the glass, she’d shyly pressed her lips together to greet them.
Li Heng’s brow was deeply furrowed.
She should have noticed something was wrong with Teacher Wai much sooner.
The police car bumped along. Her mobile phone suddenly rang, breaking the tangle of thoughts.
“Madam — Liaison just got back to us. The overseas local police have responded to our inquiry.”
“Wai On Yi’s adoptive father, Wong San Man, was found dead two months ago — cause of death: suicide by overdose of sleeping pills. As for the details and the status of her adoptive mother, Wai Suk Wan — since it’s an international cross-border request, there’s no word yet.”
Li Heng hung up.
The police car finally pulled up in front of the North Point building.
They hurried upstairs — and found the door ajar.
Inside, the room was empty. Wai On Yi sat by the piano, motionless.
In her hand, she gripped a fruit knife — the blade stained with blood, dripping silently, one drop at a time, seeping into the gaps between the floorboards.
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