Shen Zhicheng leaned against the window in the police station corridor, gazing at the unchanging street view outside — yet a vague sense of melancholy stirred within him.
A moment ago, when Li Heng and the other full-time officers had all drawn their sidearms in one smooth, commanding motion — it had struck a chord deep inside him.
It wasn’t that auxiliary officers couldn’t carry guns at all. They did receive training upon joining, but the actual training period was very short — just the basics of investigative theory. Not everyone qualified for a formal sidearm permit.
To carry a gun, one had to pass rigorous additional training and a final assessment.
Shen Zhicheng knew he was different from the full-time officers trained at Wong Chuk Hang Police Academy.
Usually, he didn’t feel the difference much — but in those critical, life-threatening moments, the gap became clear.
Standing off to the side, he’d felt like a bystander.
In the past, whenever Shen Zhicheng was alone and his mind had nothing to occupy it, dark thoughts would start churning. Negative emotions, painful memories — they’d tangle together into an endless torment.
Now it was different. Those chaotic feelings were pushed aside — making room for questions he’d never considered before.
Like dreams.
Like how to truly stand shoulder to shoulder with Li Heng — to become the kind of officer who could actually be of help to his sister.
Maybe even — to become an outstanding police officer.
Light footsteps approached from the distance.
Xu Le’er walked past, clutching a stack of documents — and spotted him immediately.
They’d had lunch together at the canteen that day, and another time she’d run into Madam Li when buying coffee. As the station’s unofficial gossip hub, Xu Le’er had realized that she seemed to be the only person in the entire West Kowloon Regional Headquarters who knew about Inspector Li’s sibling relationship with Auxiliary Officer Shen Zhicheng.
She loved gossip — she had a mental directory of everyone in the force: which two had dated and parted bitterly, who were sworn enemies, who wore smiles but hid daggers underneath…
She collected all this information, but she wasn’t a blabbermouth. That day, she’d patted her chest and promised Li Heng she’d keep the secret. Then they’d talked about how the siblings got along since reuniting. Li Heng had told her that her brother had many good qualities — but one of his flaws was that his wires sometimes got crossed. If there was no official business, best to stay away from him.
Now, Xu Le’er looked at Shen Zhicheng’s figure.
Tall, broad-shouldered, long-legged — his profile sharply defined, carrying a faint air of loneliness that only made his presence more striking.
She passed by with her documents and gave a casual greeting.
Shen Zhicheng glanced over, recognized her, and asked seriously: “Do you have a gun?”
“Me?” Xu Le’er was taken aback, then shook her head. “Tech doesn’t issue guns.”
The aloof, distant aura around Shen Zhicheng immediately dissipated — replaced by a look of kindred recognition.
One look — and he was definitely a little off.
Xu Le’er nodded, gestured that she had to go, and walked on without stopping.
…
Outside the interrogation room, Li Heng stood by the door.
For most interrogations, she prioritized efficiency and reliability — choosing more experienced partners.
But today was different.
Though the case wasn’t fully closed, it had reached a resting point.
She remembered when she’d first joined the force — just a green rookie. Madam Wen at Sha Tin station had given her chance after chance, taking her on calls, teaching her to run investigations independently, helping her grow into the Inspector she was today — capable of holding her own. Now, there was another rookie in the team waiting for that same opportunity.
“Madam!” Fang Zhishan jogged over.
This time, Li Heng had specifically brought Fang Zhishan along.
“All set?”
“All set.” Fang Zhishan nodded firmly. “I even brought extra pens — in case the interrogation runs long and we run out of ink.”
Fang Zhishan knew that during an interrogation, she couldn’t just avoid being dead weight.
She’d asked Old You for advice — speak less, observe more, take careful notes. Not just the statement itself, but Madam’s interrogation techniques and methods. She’d etch them into her memory — accumulating lessons that couldn’t be learned in the classroom.
After confirming all the case files, paper, and pens were ready, she raised her hand and pushed open the interrogation room door.
Yeung Mong Suet sat alone in the interrogation chair — she’d been waiting for a long time.
The wound on her palm had been carefully bandaged. A dull ache pulsed through her — a constant reminder of what had happened over the past days, and how this nearly uncontrollable madness had come to a premature end.
Nannán was still alive.
Even though hatred had nearly consumed her reason — even though she’d planned everything and waited for the final blow — in the end, she couldn’t bring herself to harm that five-year-old child.
She should have been the one most deserving of sympathy. But since becoming Nannán’s teacher, watching the child grow more timid and well-behaved — she’d ultimately chosen to let her go.
The interrogation room door creaked open.
Yeung Mong Suet looked up at the two officers taking their seats across from her.
“Let’s begin,” Li Heng said in a low voice.
Yeung Mong Suet nodded slightly — all the things buried in her heart for so long, never spoken to anyone, finally had an outlet.
“It all started when I was ten. My father’s case was finally decided — life imprisonment. The social workers kept telling me not to wait anymore — he was never coming back to the children’s home to get me. So I had no choice but to follow my adoptive parents to our new home in North Point.”
“They were good to me. They’d already prepared my room — a proper children’s room, filled with plush toys and brand-new little dresses.”
Even though the social workers at the children’s home always emphasized that Yeung Mong Suet had been unusually mature for her age — in the end, she was still just a ten-year-old child. After such a devastating upheaval in her family, she had no strength left to process it. She spent her days clutching a stuffed animal, hiding in her room, refusing to speak, refusing to step outside.
Wong San Man and Wai Suk Wan never forced her. Even meals were brought to her room. They accompanied her with patience and gentleness, trying every trick to tempt her with snacks and toys — waiting for the day she would finally speak.
Until one day, they brought home a piece of ding-ding candy.
“It was raining so hard that day. They went out together, and came back drenched through — but the oil paper package they’d kept close to their chests was completely dry, not a drop of rain on it.”
“Inside was a piece of ding-ding candy.”
Yeung Mong Suet’s voice trembled slightly: “The candy was so carefully protected… but when I tasted it, it wasn’t as good as my father’s.”
Her voice grew very soft — as if crossing through time to stand back in that children’s room, looking at her helpless younger self.
“I couldn’t hold back the tears. That was the first time I’d cried openly since leaving with them.”
“They looked at me with such tender sympathy, telling me over and over — it’s all in the past. Those wounds will heal.”
“From now on — they would protect me.”
That day, she cried for a long time, until she was tired and sleepy — and finally fell asleep in her adoptive mother’s arms.
It was from that moment that she was willing to leave her room and accept their care and kindness.
Yeung Mong Suet said she was an unruly child — her home had never followed any rules, and she didn’t know proper table manners. Her adoptive parents taught her gently, never scolding. Her adoptive mother could play the piano — she held her hand and taught her to play. Her fingers stumbled over the black and white keys, but they still smiled and encouraged her, rubbing her head with boundless patience, telling her that On Yi was the best child.
Fang Zhishan flipped through her file — she couldn’t find any record of her name change back then.
Yeung Mong Suet was her former name — but on her entry records and kindergarten employment file, her name was Wai On Yi.
“Only then did I understand why they treated me so well,” Yeung Mong Suet said softly. “They’d had a daughter of their own. If their daughter hadn’t gotten sick back then, if she’d grown up safely, she would have been about my age. But she had poor health and died young.”
“Her name was Wai On Yi. They showed me her photo — pale skin, a bit thin. We did have a certain resemblance in the eyes.”
“That resemblance was enough for them to pour all their longing for their lost daughter into me — especially my adoptive mother. She never spoke a harsh word to me, never even frowned at me. She said — in this home, I could live and grow however I wanted.” Yeung Mong Suet continued. “In a way, I was lucky. It was their unconditional love that pulled me through the darkest days.”
That year, her adoptive parents completed the immigration process and decided to take her away — to leave Hong Kong behind for good.
Yeung Mong Suet boarded the plane with them and took a new name — Wai On Yi.
Life overseas was stable and smooth — a truly fresh start. The bloody wounds had scabbed over and were slowly healing. But she still missed her birth parents. In the dead of night, she’d think of the cramped but warm days in the subdivided flat — and cry quietly. Her adoptive parents said — as long as she kept her real parents in her heart, they would always be there.
Just as they would always remember the real Wai On Yi.
“Remember when I said that Nannán would secretly think of her mother and cry during naptime?” Yeung Mong Suet murmured. “I was the same back then. I’d cry quietly from missing my parents — then bury my face in the blanket and wipe my tears away.”
It was from then on that she’d felt a reluctance to hurt Nannán.
“To be fair — our patchwork family of three was happy. Simple meals, evening walks together, keeping a cat and a dog — just like a real family of three.”
“They’d lost their most beloved daughter. I’d lost my parents. We warmed each other, leaned on each other. Through me, they saw the Wai On Yi who never got to grow up. And through them, I found a complete family.”
“Over time — Yeung Mong Suet lived on as Wai On Yi.”
Just as her uncle and the social worker had said, Yeung Mong Suet had aced every exam in school. After moving abroad, her grades remained top-notch — she took accelerated courses and became her adoptive parents’ pride.
“So for all those years — Yeung Mong Suet stopped celebrating birthdays. The birthdays they celebrated for me were Wai On Yi’s.” Yeung Mong Suet said calmly. “I didn’t really mind. There’s no such thing as kindness or favoritism without reason — because I resembled their deceased daughter, they were willing to give so much. So love does come with conditions — but at least that made me feel more at ease.”
Fang Zhishan glanced sideways at Li Heng — full of confusion.
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