The Zhang Huijing that the police knew was the one she had described herself as.
At age twelve, she’d left home with her mother, and the two had depended on each other ever since. She’d gone on to school smoothly and found a stable job. She had a gentle disposition, loved reading and traveling, and took care of plants and flowers—she seemed like someone who had been overly sheltered.
But had the two sisters ever appeared together?
Li Heng opened the case file and flipped through it page by page.
The nightclub sisters’ statements only knew the older sister; the colleagues in Cheung Sha Wan had only met the younger sister.
Mrs. Wong from Haddon House recognized the older sister; the neighbors at the Shek Kip Mei estate knew the younger sister.
Wan Zhibang and the group of night school classmates had seen the “good girl” but weren’t sure of her name.
And DNA proved that the Zhang Huijing of today was actually Ah Min—
Which meant that from age twelve onward, the two had never appeared together again.
Li Heng walked out of the office.
“Old You, pull up all the records on Zhang Huijing again—focus on household registration, identity cards, and all the documents related to her name change.”
“Zhishan, Jiacong—go verify the schools she attended. Get her report cards, graduation certificates, and student records from that period.”
“Zijie—check her employment records from graduation to the present.”
“The rest of you—cover the addresses. Visit every place she’s ever registered.”
…
With the investigation’s focus shifted, the officers spent the entire afternoon looking into one thing: who the real Zhang Huijing was, and where she had gone.
By the time dusk fell, they trickled back one by one and gathered in the meeting room.
Each person carried a thick stack of documents.
Old You dropped his materials onto the table: “The household registration office took forever to dig through—everything’s on paper files. Finally found it, but I was breathing in dust the whole time in their archives.”
“This is Zhang Huijing’s name change application from when she was sixteen. Chi Xiaojing applied to change her name to Zhang Huijing, taking her mother’s surname.”
“Minors need a guardian’s consent for a name change. There’s one very unusual thing—the person who signed the consent was Chi Guodong.”
“The father signed it?” Li Heng said. “But by all accounts, Zhang Huijing had already been taken away by her mother after age twelve.”
“And the disability allowance was also collected by Chi Guodong,” Old You continued.
The other colleagues reported their findings one by one.
Zhang Huijing’s records from childhood onward were scattered and chaotic. The schools registered in the population system—Fang Zhishan and Lin Jiacong had visited them—had no matching student records. The teachers didn’t recognize her name or her photo. The addresses she’d registered were numerous, but the names on the lease agreements and property purchase contracts didn’t match her information. As for her employment history—it was a complete blank, except for her current job in Cheung Sha Wan, which she’d held for six full years.
At this stage, they could barely trace anything about Zhang Huijing’s life path.
Every piece of information seemed real on the surface—but once you dug deeper, it became like a reflection in water: visible but intangible, indistinct.
“The two sisters separated at age twelve—one went with the father, the other with the mother. But were they actually living in two different places?”
“Zhang Huijing’s life trajectory is like a mystery—even more elusive than Chi Ah Min’s.”
Li Heng added one more instruction: “Keep a close watch on Chi Ah Min for now. Don’t alert her, and don’t make any moves prematurely.”
…
Li Heng immediately ordered another interrogation of Liang Wei.
Compared to last time, Liang Wei looked even more haggard.
He sat rigidly in the interrogation chair, hands cuffed, lips pressed tightly together, his hollow gaze fixed on his own clasped hands.
“Madam, it doesn’t matter how many people you bring in, or how many times you ask. I killed him. I buried him. No one else is involved.”
Old You glanced sideways at Li Heng and spread his hands helplessly—gesturing that this guy was a rock that wouldn’t crack. No matter how many times they interrogated him, he held firm, never relenting.
“Let’s go through the case again from the beginning,” Li Heng said, her tone calm. “After all, this is a murder case—human life is at stake. We can’t miss a single detail.”
She started from the beginning, slowly laying out the entire timeline.
Liang Wei kept his eyes lowered, silent throughout, his gaze fixed on a corner of the interrogation room—whether he was actually listening was anyone’s guess.
Until Li Heng’s tone suddenly shifted: “Ah Min was there that day too, wasn’t she?”
“She wasn’t there,” Liang Wei finally spoke. “She went back to Yuen Long to care for her sick father and handle the funeral—it had nothing to do with her—”
“At the beginning of August, Chi Ah Min quit her job at the nightclub. Your mother was suddenly hospitalized with a serious illness, and you were desperate for money to save her life.” Li Heng cut him off. “After she finished handling Chi Guodong’s funeral, she came back. The two of you were backed into a corner, so you set your sights on Zhang Pingxuan.”
“No.” He slammed his hand on the interrogation table, the handcuffs clanging harshly. “I told you—Ah Min had nothing to do with it.”
“But even if he had intellectual disabilities, he wasn’t someone to be easily manipulated. That day in the rental unit, it was Ah Min who accidentally killed him, wasn’t it?” Li Heng pressed on relentlessly. “After it happened, Ah Min was panicked and lost. You made up your mind to bury the body and figure out how to get away.”
“At that moment—” Li Heng’s tone softened, becoming gentler. “Did you think about turning yourself in?”
Liang Wei was stunned. A flicker of daze passed through his eyes.
Turn himself in… At that moment, staring at Zhang Pingxuan’s lifeless body on the carpet, he had indeed entertained the thought. But it was quickly extinguished—because she was crying.
“Ah Min came up with a way out.” Li Heng leaned forward, her gaze fixed on Liang Wei. “She had another identity—Zhang Huijing.”
Liang Wei’s head shot up, his pupils contracting sharply.
Old You sat quietly to the side, observing his expression without a word, jotting down every detail on the statement paper.
“She wanted to start over using Zhang Huijing’s identity.”
“That identity had no connection to Tonight’s Nightclub, no connection to Zhang Pingxuan, no connection to you.”
“Only then could she completely remove herself from it all.”
“No. Absolutely not.” Liang Wei’s voice rose. “Ah Min knew nothing!”
Li Heng paused for a moment, then slowly leaned back in her chair. “There’s no need to cover for her. We pulled surveillance footage from near her company. You visit her often—the evidence is solid.”
Old You’s pen paused. He knew very well that wasn’t true.
There was more than one route to that company. The police had combed through every inch of surveillance footage and found no further leads. Clearly, Madam was using her own methods to bluff Liang Wei.
“The surveillance footage is crystal clear.” Li Heng’s fingertip tapped lightly on the interrogation table.
Liang Wei’s expression shifted abruptly, and the words slipped out before he could stop himself: “I just pass through Cheung Sha Wan a few times a week—it’s not on purpose—”
“I didn’t say Cheung Sha Wan.” Li Heng looked up.
The moment the words left her mouth, he realized he’d slipped up. His face went pale.
Seizing the opening, Li Heng pressed on: “I also know how Ah Min became Zhang Huijing.”
“After killing Zhang Pingxuan, in order to completely extricate herself, she went all the way—she killed her sister Zhang Huijing too.”
“For you two, killing one or killing two—there was no real difference.”
“You’re lying! No. We would never do that!”
“The plan went smoothly. From then on, Chi Ah Min completely took her place—isn’t that right?”
“That’s not how it was! We didn’t kill her!” Liang Wei finally broke down, his cuffs clanging against the table as he screamed. “Her little sister had already died when she was twelve!”
The interrogation room fell utterly silent.
Old You’s heart jolted. He instinctively looked up at Li Heng. This was the first time he’d truly witnessed the sharp, formidable skill of this young inspector.
Li Heng understood.
This statement matched the leads they’d uncovered perfectly. The younger twin sister had long since passed away—just never registered as deceased. In those days, population registration procedures were lax, nothing more than a formality. No one verified anything, which had given Chi Ah Min the opportunity to take over her sister’s identity.
Li Heng paused the interrogation and glanced at the statement in front of her.
Sincerity was never trustworthy—especially in police work, where you see too much of it. Even from the very beginning, before any doubts had surfaced, when she first heard Liang Wei and Chi Ah Min’s story, she had viewed it with suspicion.
“What else are you hiding?” She stared at Liang Wei, pressing in a low voice: “Why did you go to her company to see her, but never show yourself?”
There was no longer anyone in this world by the name of Zhang Huijing.
Six years ago, Chi Ah Min and Liang Wei had committed the crime together at the scene. From that moment on, they’d carried the same secret, living their separate lives.
Was Liang Wei protecting Chi Ah Min?
Li Heng still couldn’t make sense of it.
But one thing was certain—something must have happened when Chi Ah Min was sixteen that led her to change her sister’s name to Zhang Huijing.
Old You stopped writing: “Why are you willing to take on all the blame rather than tell the truth?”
Liang Wei clamped his mouth shut. No matter what, he refused to say another word.
The interrogation room fell into a deathly silence.
Li Heng gathered the statement in front of her and rose slowly: “It doesn’t matter if you won’t talk. We’ll get to the bottom of it.”
The door clicked shut softly, leaving Liang Wei alone in the room.
He closed his eyes, his cuffed hands covering his face—his entire body crumpled.
…
Over the course of that full day, major breakthroughs had come one after another. Pan Liqin had heard every bit of it.
Tech had issued the final results: the handwriting on the nursery rhyme note pulled from the cement matched “Zhang Huijing’s” perfectly. And with Chi Ah Min’s identity now proven to be false, anyone could see there was still plenty hidden beneath the surface.
Pan Liqin stopped pushing for closure. Even late into the night, he remained at the station.
With his hands clasped behind his back, his leather shoes clicking across the CID floor, he paced back and forth, his face etched with anxiety.
At this point, all the previously sorted leads had been thrown into disarray—they’d have to start over.
Team A was all working past midnight. Some had instant noodles sitting on their desks, gone cold before they could eat them—they could only take a sip of the hot broth now and then, then bury their heads in the files again.
The case meeting lasted a full two hours. Everyone chimed in with their own thoughts and theories.
“In plain terms, Liang Wei and Chi Ah Min committed the crime together. Liang Wei went into hiding for six years, while Chi Ah Min assumed her deceased sister’s identity and lived a stable, peaceful life for those six years.”
“Do you remember—Liang Wei said he arranged to meet Zhang Pingxuan at the rental unit in Haddon House because he was worried about Zhang Pingxuan’s family tracking him down? But wouldn’t that make it easier for them to find him?”
“At the time, Liang Wei’s explanation was that it was just a rental—no one would pay it any mind… But in the end, the remains were discovered in that very rental, and that’s exactly how we locked onto him as a suspect!”
Li Heng flipped through the statement records many times, turning it over in her mind.
Back then, Zhang Pingxuan was always being dragged to upscale venues by that group of so-called friends—could he have gone to Tonight’s Nightclub and met Ah Min there?
“Even now, Liang Wei still refuses to tell the truth.”
“He’s determined to take all the blame himself. What secret is he so desperate to protect?”
“Have you noticed—he seems really scared.”
“He’s already confessed to murder… what exactly is he still afraid of?”
Pan Liqin looked at the weary officers in the meeting room, then raised his wrist to check his watch: “How did it get so late without us noticing?”
“We’ve been at this case all day—our brains are fried. Even if you’re made of iron, you can’t keep this up.” His tone carried a rare note of understanding. “Go home and get some sleep. We’ll pick it up again tomorrow morning.”
…
The officers packed up their things one by one, yawning and stretching as they filed out of the station.
By the time Li Heng returned to her office to tidy up, the night had grown very deep.
The mental exhaustion of the day was beyond words.
The stove-bottom body case was nearing closure, yet doubts kept surfacing, shrouded in fog. And on top of that, there was the DNA comparison result between her and Shen Zhicheng that Xu Le’er had handed her—two heavy weights pressing on her mind.
More often than not, her thoughts would drift without her realizing it, and she’d have to force herself to focus again and again, pulling her attention back to the case.
The case files on her desk were strewn about in disarray.
As Li Heng bent down to organize them, she casually placed the handwriting sample of “Zhang Huijing” next to the personal information form Chi Ah Min had filled out when she first joined Tonight’s Nightclub. The form had been obtained from the nightclub manager, who’d said at the time that it was just a small joint—no formal procedures, and no one ever verified the so-called personal information. The police had checked the information and found it useless, so they’d casually stuffed it into Ah Min’s file and forgotten about it.
But now, with the two handwriting samples side by side, the difference was glaring.
Ah Min wasn’t an actress, yet after six years of disguise, her performance had become flawless.
She had completely lived as Zhang Huijing—even her handwriting was like a different person’s.
And then there was the way she walked—that uneven gait, one step deep, one step shallow.
What else had they missed?
Li Heng remembered that day in the back alley in Cheung Sha Wan, when “Zhang Huijing” had pretended to call her mother Zhang Fengying on her mobile phone.
What crucial piece of information had she forgotten?
Everything related to the case had been recorded in the police statements. The only thing missing was that scene in the back alley—that phone call—which had never been documented.
Li Heng pulled out the property documents provided by the Shen family from the filing cabinet. On the contact person line, Shen Zhicheng’s name was written.
He had been there that day, following alongside her the entire time—even turning back several times, listening just as intently.
She had to find him and go over the details of that day together.
Li Heng picked up the receiver and, for the first time, dialed the number on that page.
“Brrr—brrr—brrr—”
After a long series of waiting tones, the call was picked up.
Shen Zhicheng’s languid voice came through, laced with impatience: “Do you know what time it is?”
“One,” Li Heng said crisply. “Come to Cheung Sha Wan—that back alley we were at last time.”
There was a pause on the other end.
“I’m not your subordinate.”
Li Heng thought about their relationship and sighed inwardly.
“If you were my subordinate, this would be a lot easier.” She glanced at the time. “Can you make it in fifteen minutes?”
This time, the Shen family heir didn’t stay silent. He let out a scoff: “Crazy. Do you think I’m actually coming?”
With a click, he slammed down the phone.
Li Heng could only sit back down and bury herself in the case files again.
Fine, don’t come. It wasn’t like she could actually issue him a formal request for assistance.
But just ten minutes later, the pager on her desk started buzzing wildly without pause.
A relentless barrage of pages came pouring in.
…
Meanwhile, in the back alley in Cheung Sha Wan, the night breeze was blowing.
Shen Zhicheng was already standing at the same spot as last time.
The call finally connected, and he exploded on the spot: “Miss! Do you have any sense of time?!”
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