Beside her — there was no one.
Nannán was gone.
A wave of dread swept through the officers — their hearts tightened.
“You’re here.” Wai On Yi didn’t even look up.
Li Heng’s hand immediately went to her sidearm. The officers beside her tensed in unison.
Shen Zhicheng took a single, quiet step back, slipping out the door, and quickly dialed for backup.
“You knew we’d come,” Li Heng said, enunciating each word. “Yeung Mong Suet.”
It had been so long since anyone had called her that name.
She was no longer Teacher Wai, not Wai On Yi — returning to her original identity, Yeung Mong Suet felt almost dazed.
“I didn’t know the Hong Kong police were this slow.” Yeung Mong Suet’s gaze was cold, a mocking smile curving her lips. “You really were late. That child — she’s already dead.”
She tilted her head toward the inner room: “Always crying for ‘Mommy, Mommy’ — well, now she can keep Ng Mei Yan company. Mother and daughter reunited — I’m happy for them.”
The officers drew in sharp breaths, their faces changing.
Li Heng’s gaze fell on the bloodstained blade in her hand. Her instinct was to step forward —
“Stop!” Yeung Mong Suet’s voice rose sharply, pressing the knife against her own neck with a hint of pressure.
“If anyone takes another step, I’ll die right here.”
“If I die, all the secrets die with me — you’ll never find out the truth.”
They halted immediately — no one dared to call her bluff.
Li Heng raised her hand, signaling the officers to hold steady, her eyes fixed on the knife in Yeung Mong Suet’s hand: “We won’t move. We’ll stay right here.”
“Don’t get worked up either.”
“We can talk about what happened ten years ago — about Ng Mei Yan and Yiu Chun Fai — slowly.”
Yeung Mong Suet looked at her expression. After a long pause, the hollow madness in her eyes gradually receded.
“You wanted to know, didn’t you?” Her voice returned to calm. “Yes — I killed them.”
“Ng Mei Yan wasn’t what I expected. Because of the child, we had a lot of interactions. She was kind — polite to everyone. The way she looked at Nannán, her eyes were always smiling.”
“She seemed like such a thoughtful person. Once, a kid at the kindergarten threw up — she arrived early and without a word, took out a clean shirt she’d brought for Nannán and changed that child into it. Then she grabbed a mop and cleaned the floor — no complaints at all.”
“The cleaner’s child was sick and needed money for treatment — we had a fundraiser at the school. After that, whenever she packed snacks for Nannán, she’d bring an extra portion — an extra piece of fruit — for the cleaner to take home to her child.”
“She was always so polite to everyone, so soft-hearted — her first reaction in any situation was to think of others.” Yeung Mong Suet paused, then her tone turned sharp, a flicker of mockery in her eyes. “Yet that same person took money for false testimony — and with a few words, destroyed my family.”
Yeung Mong Suet said that that day, she had deliberately brought up the old case from ten years ago as if it were casual conversation.
“I told her I grew up on Temple Street — under the footbridge at the end of the street, there was an uncle who sold ding-ding candy. His candy was always bigger than anyone else’s — crunchy and sweet. He was very clean — he’d wrap each piece in a little oil paper bag and hand it to me without a single grain of sugar touching his fingers.”
“She listened happily, saying that Nannán loved candy too — every time they passed a ding-ding stall, she’d stare at it like a little foodie. But she’d always worried about hygiene and never dared buy any. She even asked me if I could still find that stall on Temple Street.”
“I said the uncle worked hard — he was out there every day, rain or shine. Unfortunately, he was arrested by the police — accused of robbing someone of a gold watch, a gold necklace, a large sum of money — and charged with murder. The moment I said that, her hands froze. That smile on her face suddenly looked worse than tears.”
Yeung Mong Suet let out a soft laugh — as if recalling something absurd.
“You think a cup dropping from someone’s hand is just something in the movies?” Not at all. Ng Mei Yan was holding Nannán’s cup when she heard me — her hand shook, and it crashed to the ground.”
“I could tell — she knew better than anyone that what she’d done was wrong. But for the sake of her hard-won little family — for their comfortable life — she’d knowingly watched as my family was destroyed.”
Li Heng listened quietly.
“No wonder Ng Mei Yan said she needed to atone.”
That day at Lee Wai Yi’s place, she’d said her cousin had been acting strange lately — saying she needed to atone for her sins.
So it was those “casual” conversations with Teacher Wai that had stirred the guilt buried deep in Ng Mei Yan’s heart.
“Atonement?” Yeung Mong Suet laughed coldly. “I don’t need that.”
“When it was time to act — after school that day, I stopped her and said we needed to meet that night. There were things that had to be said. I also told her — if she didn’t want Tung Chi Ming to find out about her eldest son, she’d better not ask any questions.”
“I’d already done my research — I knew what she was afraid of. Her biggest fear was her past — the child she’d had before — being exposed.”
“When she showed up, her expression was clearly different — she still tried to act calm, asking if something was wrong.”
That day, Yeung Mong Suet stood by the desolate shore of Ngong Shuen Chau, staring at the calm sea.
“I told her — remember that uncle who sold ding-ding candy? I’m his daughter.”
“She was so easily scared — it completely broke her. She stepped back, didn’t even defend herself, just said ‘I’m sorry’ over and over.”
“What I wanted was never an apology. If a hollow ‘sorry’ could fix everything — all the suffering I went through, and my parents’ deaths — it would be a joke.”
Just then, the screech of police sirens came from downstairs.
Backup had arrived — officers quickly established a perimeter. Pan Liqin had already been updated via radio and rushed upstairs.
Something had happened to the child. Even if the scene was dire, they had to confirm with their own eyes. Even if there was only a sliver of hope, they couldn’t give up. Maybe she was still alive — maybe she could still be saved.
“How is the child? We need to see her immediately.” His voice was low, his expression grave. “She’s innocent.”
Yeung Mong Suet’s eyes churned with hatred: “She’s innocent — and what about—”
“You were innocent too.” Li Heng’s voice cut through suddenly, stopping her mid-sentence. “I know — ten years ago, you were innocent too.”
Yeung Mong Suet froze, standing rigid, staring blankly at her.
“Your knife was never truly aimed at Nannán.” Li Heng took a step forward. “You were that small once too — you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.”
Pan Liqin, first startled, then turned sharply to look at Yeung Mong Suet.
She stood there, her fingertips trembling slightly as she slowly lowered her gaze to the knife in her hand.
The blood on the blade wasn’t the child’s at all.
She opened her palm — the wound was still seeping.
At that moment, when she’d raised the knife at Nannán, the child had stood on tiptoe and gently wiped away her tears. Instinctively, she’d flinched — the blade slicing deep into her own palm. The searing pain had snapped her back from the brink of madness.
But waking from that frenzy brought only deeper despair. Back then, Ng Mei Yan and Yiu Chun Fai had taken money for false testimony, sending her father to prison. Ku Cheung Fung had driven her desperate mother to suicide with words of a “bloody calamity.”
Back then — who had cared about how she felt?
In truth, from the day she returned to Hong Kong, Yeung Mong Suet’s original target had never been Ng Mei Yan — it had been her daughter, Nannán.
A woman in a red dress drowning — taken by a water ghost. A man in a red trench coat, naked — claimed by a lustful ghost. Then a child in red, strangled to death — taken by a hanging ghost.
She had planned it all — to make Ng Mei Yan taste the agony of losing a loved one, the piercing pain that would leave her consumed by regret for the rest of her life.
But—
“Where is Nannán?” Li Heng’s gaze swept over her bleeding fingertips, her tone certain. “You didn’t want to hurt her — right?”
Yeung Mong Suet’s grip on the fruit knife tightened.
Blood dripped between her fingers, yet her expression remained utterly numb.
She had looked into Tung Chi Ming. Though busy with work, he genuinely loved Nannán. For her sake, he had interviewed countless nannies, offering high pay — but whenever he sensed even a hint of impatience, a flicker in their eyes, or any casual carelessness in their manner, he’d reject them without hesitation. He knew — his child couldn’t afford to be hurt again.
Nannán had a father who protected her, someone who cared for her — she could still celebrate her birthday.
But she — after that year — had never celebrated a birthday again. Never again squeezed into a cramped subdivided flat with her parents. Never again had a bowl of long-life noodles with a fried egg on top. Never again closed her eyes over steaming food and made a wish: that her family would stay together forever.
Those endless regrets tormented her day and night — she’d nearly reached her breaking point.
From the moment she brought Nannán here, to when she’d lost control and raised the knife — she’d had countless chances to end it all, to settle every score.
But she’d never been able to go through with it.
On the night of the 14th of the seventh month, she couldn’t bring herself to strangle the child. And just now, she couldn’t bring the knife down either.
Nannán — was even younger than she had been back then.
“You just wanted to tell the truth — to make that old case seen.” Li Heng’s voice was gentle and steady, carrying a conviction that was hard to doubt. “You just wanted to speak — we’re listening.”
Yeung Mong Suet stared at her.
For a long, uncertain moment — then her lips moved, and she finally spoke.
“Just because there’s blood on a knife, does that mean someone was killed? Back then — just because my father had blood on his hands, did that make him a murderer? And anyway — it was only Yiu Chun Fai who said there was blood on his hands. Was that even true? I didn’t see it. My mother didn’t see it. When he came home, his clothes were perfectly clean.” Yeung Mong Suet broke the long silence, her voice rising in accusation. “Just because Yiu Chun Fai had no connection to my father, the prosecution decided his testimony was impartial — and they believed him.”
“But what makes you think he wouldn’t lie? What makes you think he wouldn’t wrong an innocent man?”
“Just because he was a respectable teacher, and my father was just a nobody street vendor — is a teacher’s word worth more than a vendor’s life?”
Her voice cut through the air, sharp and clear, each word laced with deep resentment.
The echoes rang through the small room — resounding and undeniable.
Pan Liqin spoke at just the right moment, his tone solemn: “If this is true, the Sha Tin case will be formally reopened. The police will re-examine all the evidence.”
The officers held their breath, not daring to act rashly — they just watched her in silence.
That little girl, once knocked down at a fortune-teller’s stall on Temple Street, glaring up at the adults with hatred in her eyes.
And now — she stood there, hollow.
As if she’d been walking too long, too far — and was finally spent.
Her grip on the knife tightened — then, with a sharp clatter, the fruit knife fell to the floor.
“The rooftop,” Yeung Mong Suet said, her voice hoarse. “I left her on the rooftop.”
Several officers immediately sprinted toward the roof.
Some waited for the elevator, others couldn’t wait — they raced up the stairs, floor after floor.
Such a tall building — a five-year-old child alone on the rooftop. Every second that passed was another moment of danger.
Bam—
The rooftop’s iron door burst open.
At the edge of the roof — a small figure sat there.
Teacher Wai had told her to stay put. Not to move. Not to leave.
Her feet dangled over the edge. She sat obediently on the rooftop ledge — no one knew how long she’d been there.
The people below had become tiny specks. The cars too — small black dots, blurred and indistinct.
Nannán heard the sirens and craned her neck to look — her body leaning forward slightly.
“Watch out!” Lin Jiacong had run up over ten flights of stairs, his breath still ragged, and shouted: “Don’t lean forward!”
Just as Nannán’s balance wavered — rapid footsteps approached from afar.
Shen Zhicheng and Lin Jiacong lunged forward, wrapping their arms securely around the child, pulling her into their embrace and quickly stepping back from the dangerous edge.
“It was just a game Teacher Wai was playing with you — don’t be scared,” Shen Zhicheng said softly.
Nannán’s gaze was clear and innocent. She shook her head and said in her little voice: “This game isn’t fun.”
“I don’t think it’s fun either,” Lin Jiacong said, trying to keep his tone light. “It’s really boring — we’re never playing this again!”
The officers who’d taken the elevator up arrived as well. Everyone’s heart — which had been in their throats — finally settled back into place.
Relief flooded through them.
Back in the dusty old room on the second floor, several officers had Yeung Mong Suet securely restrained.
She didn’t struggle — only looked at Li Heng and asked, carefully and deliberately.
“Can the case be reopened?”
“I know who the real killer is — but he’s already dead.”
“Can it really be reopened?”
…
Team A officers escorted Yeung Mong Suet back to the station.
The Team B officers who had been huddled together gossiping about how much trouble Team A would be in all looked up in unison — shock written across their faces.
The “Ghost Gate” case had already claimed two lives. The massive operation before had only netted a con artist. Chief Inspector Pan Liqin had been hounded by his superiors — his office phone ringing from morning to night, all of them calls he had to field.
He never said a word about it — but he had quietly shielded Team A, giving them a peaceful workspace to focus on the investigation.
Then a child went missing — and the situation grew even more dire. If a third person died, no one knew how Team A could face the public. Yet no one expected — when everyone had written them off — that the case would be solved.
The missing little girl had been brought back to the station safely.
Tung Chi Ming had been waiting since morning, restless and anxious in the lounge.
When he saw his daughter being led in by the officers, his eyes instantly reddened. He rushed forward unsteadily and pulled Nannán into a tight embrace.
He was too shaken to speak clearly — his words a tangle of guilt and relief.
It wasn’t that he didn’t love his child — but from the start, his contribution to the family had been barely a tenth of his wife’s. When she was gone, everything fell on him at once. He’d been overwhelmed and stretched thin — and he’d failed to protect his own daughter.
Just as she had gently wiped away Teacher Wai’s tears, Nannán reached up her little hand and wiped the tears from her father’s eyes.
“I didn’t get hurt,” she said in her soft voice.
After a whole day of torment — it was only at this moment that Tung Chi Ming fully understood what truly mattered to him.
In his heart, he made a promise to his wife — and to himself — that he would set aside work whenever he could, stay by his child’s side, and watch her grow up.
“Nannán — Daddy got you a cake. Your favorite strawberry cake.” Tung Chi Ming’s voice was gentle, trying to force a smile. “And Mommy said you love Cabbage Patch Kids. Let’s go home and play — okay?”
“A present? Why is there a present?”
The strawberry cake and Cabbage Patch Kids doll were too tempting — they briefly swept away Nannán’s unease.
She looked up at him, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth — pure and well-behaved. She placed her little hand in her father’s palm and held on trustingly.
“It’s a birthday present.” He looked down and gently rubbed her chubby cheek. “Nannán — happy birthday.”
Hand in hand, the father and daughter politely thanked the police, completed all the paperwork, and walked out of the station.
Outside, the blazing sun poured down — sweeping away the gloom of the past days.
On the other side, the interrogation was set up, and all the case files were prepared.
Li Heng held the thick stack of documents, ready to begin the final questioning of Yeung Mong Suet — the last step in wrapping up the case.
Before the handcuffs went on, Yeung Mong Suet had said she knew who the real killer was in the old case.
About the deeper secrets behind that case — about how Ng Mei Yan came to wear that red dress, and how she’d been killed — about how she approached someone as cautious as Yiu Chun Fai, step by step… All of it needed a final conclusion.
Li Heng strode toward the interrogation room.
Passing through the hallway, she caught a glimpse of Shen Zhicheng leaning against the wall, looking out the window.
His eyes were lowered, a hint of dejection in his expression.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asked casually.
Shen Zhicheng turned his head — his dark eyes fixed on her. He didn’t speak.
Li Heng’s footsteps slowed involuntarily.
Was it Yeung Mong Suet’s story that had stirred up his own buried pain?
She couldn’t help thinking — maybe she should have Dr. Tong arrange a psychological session for him as soon as possible.
But the next second, Shen Zhicheng suddenly spoke — his expression serious, yet laced with something like longing: “I want a gun too — that’d be so cool!”
Li Heng rolled her eyes at him and walked away.
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