Zhang Huijing worked as an employee at a company in Cheung Sha Wan. At the time, the police had taken her statement in the company’s reception room.
And before the statement was even finished, news came from Sham Shui Po that Liang Wei—inextricably linked to this case—had finally reappeared after six years.
Cheung Sha Wan and Haddon House in Sham Shui Po were practically next to each other—close enough that cutting through the maze of alleys and hurrying at a brisk pace, you could get there in under five minutes.
The reconstructed skull image of the deceased, Zhang Pingxuan, had been circulating on major TV stations and in newspapers for days. If Liang Wei had truly suffered a mental breakdown and wanted to die, he could have found any rooftop corner to end it. Even if—for argument’s sake—he wanted to kill himself at the scene of the crime, he should have chosen a quiet time of night to avoid attention.
But he didn’t. Instead, he chose the afternoon, when the old neighbors were most likely to gather and watch. He waited until the crisis negotiators arrived on-site, then, in full view of everyone, made the most dramatic leap from the rooftop of the tenement building—as if staging a suicide out of guilt.
So deliberate—could that really be just a coincidence?
Li Heng found it hard to convince herself otherwise.
Back at the West Kowloon police station, the web of clues on the whiteboard in the meeting room had not yet been taken down.
The officers hadn’t rested either—they huddled together, analyzing in low voices.
At the time of the crime six years ago, Ah Min had been in Yuen Long handling her father’s funeral arrangements, and the funeral home’s registration records provided her with an alibi.
But Old You never expected the tide of the case to turn so suddenly—now the younger sister, Zhang Huijing, who had seemed completely unrelated to the case, had become the focus of the investigation.
“Ah Min gave way on everything. As kids—food, toys, drinks, even her mother—she let her sister take it all.”
“She told Maggie that she had nothing, that no one truly cared for her. And maybe that’s exactly why—someone who should have known best how to weigh costs and benefits—fell headfirst for a poor student like Liang Wei when he showed up.”
“But what if fate had other plans? Six years ago, Ah Min was in Yuen Long caring for her dying father… while in Mong Kok, Liang Wei ran into Zhang Huijing, held her by the wrist, and acted intimately—his night school classmates at the time could testify to that.”
The officers flipped through page after page of statements.
“A girl equally pretty, but with a clean background, a gentle and simple nature… Tell me, when Liang Wei faced her, wouldn’t he have felt something different?”
Zhang Huijing’s testimony was laid out before them again.
She seemed like a girl who had been overly sheltered—her guilt toward her sister so palpable, tears streaming down her face at the mention of her sister’s misfortunes… She claimed she didn’t know Liang Wei.
“Such good acting?” Lin Jiacong frowned. “Crying so pitifully—she could win a Best Actress award.”
Fang Zhishan also vividly remembered how moving Zhang Huijing’s sorrow had been.
But even as a rookie in the force, she knew just as well that investigations couldn’t be run on emotion.
If Liang Wei had turned himself in to shield Zhang Huijing—desperately trying to keep her out of the police’s sight—then all of Zhang Huijing’s testimony would have to be completely overturned.
The focus of the investigation shifted in an instant.
Li Heng immediately assigned tasks, sending everyone to work separately and thoroughly investigate every intersection between Liang Wei and Zhang Huijing over the past six years.
“I just ran into Pan Sir on my way to the restroom.” Gao Zijie leaned in close to Li Heng and lowered his voice. “The higher-ups are pushing hard—they want us to close the case as soon as possible and give the public some answers.”
“Give me two more days.” Li Heng’s tone was firm. “This case can’t be wrapped up carelessly. I want the whole truth.”
…
After coming out of the meeting room, Li Heng detoured to the station canteen to buy a cup of coffee, picked up the plastic bag she’d taken from Ah Min’s landlord, and headed to the evidence room.
The archivist was chatting and joking with a few colleagues from other departments. When she saw Li Heng come in, she quickly pulled out the registration log and began checking the old items in the plastic bag.
One of the colleagues glanced at the bag and teased: “Your evidence room is turning into a secondhand recycling center.”
“No helping it—I deal with this stuff every day.” The archivist sighed. “A few days ago, I even had a nightmare that all these things started talking and scared me awake.”
“If evidence could actually talk, that’d be great!” A young woman with a high ponytail beside her laughed and chimed in. “Then we wouldn’t have to work day and night running tests until our hands nearly cramp.”
Li Heng waited nearby for the registration to be completed, her gaze lingering on the girl’s face for a moment, stopping at her faint dimples.
She hadn’t been transferred to West Kowloon Regional Headquarters long, and she still didn’t know everyone by name—only now did she realize this was Xu Le’er from the technical unit, in charge of evidence testing.
“Any progress on testing the strand of hair found in the clothing fibers from the skeletal remains?” Li Heng asked.
Xu Le’er looked up and shook her head. “Buried in cement for six years—too badly corroded to extract any useful information. The higher-ups just said to release the test results directly tonight and hand it in for closure.”
“Six years without seeing the light—in that kind of damp, sealed environment, the DNA has probably degraded beyond repair.” Xu Le’er shrugged, her gaze falling on the plastic bag in the archivist’s hands. She pointed casually at the powder puff inside. “Honestly, if you’re hoping for results from those few strands of hair in the clothing fibers, you might as well bet on this powder puff instead.”
Hearing that, Li Heng’s eyes lit up. “The powder puff can work?”
“DNA from human cells can actually be preserved stably,” Xu Le’er said. “As long as the storage conditions for the powder puff are dry and away from light—”
Li Heng immediately spoke up: “Could you please send it in for testing?”
Xu Le’er froze. She’d brought extra work upon herself with her own big mouth.
Her face fell. “Huh? That’s a bit—”
“Please.” Li Heng handed over the untouched cup of coffee, her tone sincere. “This is for you.”
Xu Le’er pursed her lips and took it. “Alright… I’ll get you the results as soon as I can.”
“Don’t rush it too much!”
…
By the time Li Heng returned to the tenement building where she rented a room, it was already past ten at night.
She had joined the police force three years ago and had risen quickly—not by luck, but through sheer grit and determination. The investigation into the connections between Liang Wei and Zhang Huijing was still ongoing, while her superiors kept pressing for a quick closure. But the case closure report couldn’t be filed until all the test results from the technical unit, forensics, and the identification bureau were in.
Now that she’d requested expedited testing, the reports that were supposed to be finalized had to be put on hold—which conveniently bought her a few extra days to keep investigating.
Li Heng had to race against time to uncover new leads.
As the tangled threads of the case gradually settled in her mind, she turned on the small lamp by her bedside and sat cross-legged on the bed.
Beneath her pillow, the property section of the newspaper was folded neatly. She pulled out her calculator and ran the numbers over and over—down payments, installment interest rates.
The police dormitory waiting list stretched on indefinitely, and the public housing queue would take at least five years.
So much so that she dreamed of having a home that was truly her own—a stable place that would never send her back.
Calculating down payments had become her nightly ritual before sleep.
An inspector’s salary wasn’t low, but against the sky-high property prices, it was disheartening.
Still, just watching the numbers on the calculator inch closer to her goal gave her a small sense of security.
Right—if she closed this case well and got an excellent rating on her year-end performance review, that would mean an extra “bonus.”
Li Heng keyed in the estimated amount, satisfied, and put the calculator away.
Outside the window, neon lights flickered.
She lay in bed with her eyes open, her thoughts bouncing between the case’s loose ends and housing prices.
After a long while, her eyelids finally grew heavy.
Li Heng didn’t know when she fell asleep—only that the dream came again.
In the dream, the car rode smoothly, with streetlights occasionally flickering past the window.
The scenes unfolded like pages of a past life being turned, nothing like an ordinary nightmare.
Someone patted her back gently, humming a lullaby in a soft voice: “Round and round the chrysanthemum garden, rice crackers and sticky rice balls…”
The next second—a violent crash. The car jolted violently, the world spinning upside down.
Screams rang out, glass shattered, and a wave of searing heat surged toward her.
A pair of slender yet strong arms wrapped tightly around her.
Those hands…
With their last ounce of strength, they lifted her up and shoved her hard through the broken window.
Her back scraped against the shattered glass along the window frame, leaving a long trail of blood—
Then came the sensation of falling. She tumbled down, rocks scraping past.
A baby’s cry, an adult’s hoarse plea for help—all swallowed by the deafening roar of an explosion.
Flames lit up the night sky in brilliant red.
Li Heng’s eyes flew open. She bolted upright, drenched in cold sweat.
The old scar on her back seemed to throb with a dull ache.
…
The villa on the hillside was silent.
Shen Zhicheng still couldn’t sleep. His chest felt tight, his heart racing as if it might leap out of his ribcage.
He quietly pushed back the covers, stepped onto the floor, and walked out into the hallway.
His footsteps echoed softly through the empty villa. He wound his way up the spiral staircase, floor by floor, until he stopped in front of the attic room.
The door was shut. Shen Zhicheng stood there for a moment.
Inside and outside the door felt like two entirely different worlds.
Outside was the relentless noise and malice of childhood that never quite faded.
No one in the family dared to accuse him to his face—but everyone treated him like something that brought bad luck, keeping their distance. He hid, stood on tiptoe, and eavesdropped on the servants’ whispered gossip—familiar voices, yet so distant—
“The young master’s fate is too heavy—he’s a jinx who killed his whole family,” “He’ll drag down the entire Shen family sooner or later,” “Don’t look at him, don’t talk to him—you’ll catch his bad luck…”
He cut off the tangled thoughts and pushed open the door.
Inside was extraordinarily quiet—the only place in this vast house that brought him any peace.
He pulled back the curtains, and starlight spilled in, falling on the old crib.
Two small blankets were folded neatly—always washed and aired on time, soft and clean despite the faded fabric.
On the cabinet beside it sat an old photograph.
Two infants the same size, wrapped in red sweaters, cradled in their parents’ arms, one on each side.
It was the only family portrait this house had ever known.
In truth, he didn’t remember what his parents and sister looked like. He relied on this single photograph, staring at it again and again, year after year, committing it to memory.
Shen Zhicheng’s gaze lingered on it briefly, then shifted to the music box beside it. He reached out, gripped the winding key, and turned it gently.
All his life, this music box had been his solace.
On countless nights growing up, he lay on the floor, staring up at the sloped attic ceiling, listening to its soft melody until he could finally fall asleep.
But at this moment, the music box was utterly silent.
Shen Zhicheng wound it again. The key felt stiff and dry as he turned it.
Once more, and again—the familiar melody never came. He swapped in new batteries, but still, no sound.
He wound faster and faster, nearly frantic, almost losing control.
Finally, he slumped to the floor in defeat, staring silently at the old keepsake.
Above the crib, a glass globe cast shifting colors in the moonlight.
Shen Zhicheng sat there until the night faded and the first rays of sunlight streamed into the room, falling on his pale face.
At last, he remembered a place—a place where, he’d heard, they could fix anything.
…
Back at the police station, Li Heng pulled open the curtains in her office.
Warm sunlight fell across her face.
A subordinate knocked and poked his head in: “Madam, we found out that Zhang Huijing and Chi Ah Min’s mother, Zhang Fengying, has no exit records at all. She definitely lied—gave false testimony.”
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