Cheung Sha Wan was far from the bustling nightlife of Lan Kwai Fong.
The so-called nightlife here amounted to a few tea restaurants that stayed open past midnight, and the dai pai dong on Apliu Street where the raucous sounds of fist-pumping drinking games carried on into the small hours.
Shen Zhicheng had been standing at the alley entrance for a while, his patience long exhausted. That cop was late—she’d said fifteen minutes, and he had no idea how much time had actually passed. Leaning against the railing, he gazed at the darkened windows of the old tenement buildings on either side, his expression growing sourer by the minute, looking like he was about to snap at any moment.
The late-night streets grew quieter and quieter, with fewer and fewer passersby. A bus pulled slowly into the stop, and he glanced at it casually.
Then the doors opened, and Li Heng stepped off.
Her expression flickered slightly when she saw him.
Shen Zhicheng could hardly believe his eyes: “I waited here for an hour, and you took the bus?”
“Police vehicles can’t be used for personal errands. I need to get home afterward,” Li Heng explained a little more patiently. “The night bus runs all night.”
“You couldn’t take a taxi?” His tone carried an air of entitlement.
Li Heng walked closer: “Do you know how expensive a taxi is?”
If they kept this up, dawn would break before they got anywhere. Li Heng didn’t give him a chance to keep arguing and cut straight to the point.
That day in the back alley when they’d been following “Zhang Huijing,” no formal statement had been taken. She wanted to go over the details of that moment with him.
“Why should I help you?” Shen Zhicheng deliberately mimicked her tone from that day at the newspaper stand. “If I hadn’t suddenly shown up, you wouldn’t have needed rescuing.”
He wore a defiant look—until he met Li Heng’s expression, which seemed to say she was listening to something utterly foreign. Then it dawned on him.
No way—she’d completely forgotten.
“Fair enough.” Li Heng switched tactics smoothly. “The distance was too great that day, and you’re not a professionally trained officer—not sharp enough. You probably didn’t hear anything anyway.”
One second of silence. Two.
Shen Zhicheng ground his teeth and spat out a clear sentence: “Mom, it’s me—is it nighttime over there?”
That was the opening line of the phone call.
A faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of Li Heng’s mouth. She turned and walked into the alley.
The alley was deep and silent. As they walked further in, the only sound was their footsteps—softly overlapping, almost merging into one, just like that first time they’d worked together, with an instinctive sense of synchronicity.
Li Heng walked slowly.
In fact, that day, the person they’d seen was Chi Ah Min—not Zhang Huijing.
She recalled the tone of Chi Ah Min’s voice at the time: “I’ve listened to you—”
“That’s not it,” Shen Zhicheng interrupted her. “That’s not how you talk to your mother.”
Li Heng tilted her head, a hint of confusion in her eyes: “Then how should it be?”
His voice dropped very low: “I don’t know.”
Li Heng froze for a moment.
She had always been a thorough rationalist. She never believed that infants could retain complex, clear memories—even if fragments remained, they shouldn’t be this complete. And besides, that dream she kept having—she was immersed in it, yet at the same time watching from the outside like a spectator—so bizarre and inexplicable that no scientific explanation could account for it.
It was just a dream—she shouldn’t read too much into it. But looking at Shen Zhicheng’s profile, she couldn’t help thinking of those hands in the dream that had held her so firmly inside the car.
Warm, powerful hands.
Perhaps only the closest, most beloved person would use every last ounce of strength to protect her at the final moment.
And Shen Zhicheng’s “I don’t know” had essentially confirmed her suspicion.
Shen Zhicheng said lightly: “Don’t go selling that to the tabloids—they’re crazy for Shen family secrets.”
Even though she’d already sensed it, Li Heng’s heart still sank slightly.
She pretended not to care: “Do they pay well for tips?”
“Next Magazine actually does pay,” Shen Zhicheng said matter-of-factly.
He knew that the shadier the tabloid, the more generous they were.
Growing up, plenty of people who’d tried to get close to him had made a nice profit that way.
Somehow, the conversation shifted, naturally circling back to the case.
They fell quiet, trying to reconstruct Chi Ah Min’s exact words from that day.
Shen Zhicheng walked straight over to the stone steps and sat down.
This was exactly where Chi Ah Min had been sitting that day.
He mimicked her tone, softening his voice: “I’ve been eating well, going to bed early and waking up early.”
“Last night’s eight o’clock drama was dreadfully long.”
“I added an extra roast goose leg to my dinner—the skin was crispy.”
“The flowers on the windowsill are blooming…”
“You promised. Next time you come back, I’ll leave with you.”
They took turns, quietly reciting those trivial, mundane words—the atmosphere inexplicably softening.
Li Heng suddenly thought, this must be what it feels like to talk to your mother—even your heart softens.
She looked up at the night sky, where stars sparkled brightly.
So late at night, yet the stars never seemed to grow tired.
“I got into the police academy. After graduation, I was assigned to Sha Tin. On my first case, I went in with my Madam—carrying a gun.”
Shen Zhicheng understood what she was doing.
He too looked up at the stars, mimicking Chi Ah Min’s tone from that day, speaking to a mother far away: “I’m number one at street racing—on the mountain roads around Hong Kong Island, no one can catch me.”
“At the academy, there’s a rule—you have to move out right after graduation, no more dormitory. So I rented a place near the station. I can walk to work—no need to take the bus.”
“I’m number one at fighting too.” Shen Zhicheng picked up naturally, with a hint of cockiness.
“Madam Wen at Sha Tin station is famously strict—she spends all day yelling at people. But she’s also the most capable cop I’ve ever met. Later, she personally recommended me for the promotion exam, and that’s how I got transferred to West Kowloon’s Major Crime Unit.”
After Li Heng finished, Shen Zhicheng added flatly: “I dropped out of school.”
Li Heng couldn’t help frowning: “Can’t you tell your mother something good?”
“There are no good things,” he said.
Li Heng didn’t respond.
These words were clearly meant for their departed mother—yet every single one fell into her ears.
They say twins have a psychic connection.
So the palpitations she’d felt all her life—were they because he too had been struggling?
After a moment of silence, Li Heng finally asked: “You said before that twins have a connection. Was she your older sister or younger sister?”
“Older sister.” Shen Zhicheng answered casually, rising to his feet and regaining his usual bravado. He turned and tossed over his shoulder, “Police Madam—are you running a background check?”
Li Heng watched his retreating figure and thought to herself, just as she’d expected.
Sure enough—she was the older sister.
The two walked side by side to the end of the alley, silent the whole way.
Just as they were about to step out of the narrow lane, Li Heng stopped: “Did you notice anything off about her?”
“She didn’t know…” Shen Zhicheng paused, thinking. “She didn’t know how a normal adult should talk to their mother.”
Li Heng nodded in agreement.
Chi Ah Min wasn’t good at acting coquettish with her mother. She said many childish things, but they came across as stiff and forced.
As if they’d never been close to begin with—so even her imitation carried a certain distance.
She seemed to be pretending to be her deceased sister, but it wasn’t purely an act. The handwriting seemed real. The limp seemed real. Even that clumsy tone was etched into her very bones.
On the day Chi Ah Min disappeared, a Zhang Huijing appeared out of nowhere.
“It’s late—I still have work tomorrow.” Li Heng turned to leave, but paused.
Without looking back, she said softly: “Just wait a little longer—maybe something good will happen.”
Shen Zhicheng was taken aback, then immediately understood she was responding to his earlier words: “There are no good things.”
Li Heng’s figure grew increasingly distant.
He curled his lip and called out after her: “Getting dragged out at one in the morning to fill in your statement—that’s the worst thing!”
…
This was her first time facing Shen Zhicheng since learning the truth. Li Heng had already accepted reality, and her emotions had steadied considerably.
But the fact that she had a fraternal twin brother—even as she neared home—still felt—
Absurd. Bizarre. Unbelievable.
She didn’t know whether gaining an older sister counted as a good thing for Shen Zhicheng.
Maybe it was just a nuisance.
But for now, she didn’t want personal matters to disrupt her work rhythm.
After all, Shen Zhicheng was a person who loved to make a racket.
All the clues were now laid out on the table—it was time to close in.
Every sign pointed to Chi Ah Min. Even just the charge of identity theft was enough to bring her back to the station for a thorough questioning.
It was time to bring her in.
Before heading upstairs to her apartment, Li Heng passed a street-side phone booth. The red booth seemed to beckon her, and she had to resist the urge to call her subordinates right then to arrange tomorrow morning’s summons.
It was too late—let them get a good night’s sleep.
Li Heng was prepared to keep fighting the stove-bottom body case to the very end.
But when she stepped into the station the next morning, she received an unexpected piece of good news.
“Madam—we found Zhang Fengying!”
Li Heng took the coffee handed to her by an officer, walked briskly toward the interview room, and gave a few low instructions.
“I’ll take care of it right away.”
Years ago, neighbors had spread rumors that Zhang Fengying had been having an affair. The police had followed that lead, verified the man’s identity, and traced him through business registration records—finally making a breakthrough. When they found him, he was with someone else. Speaking of Zhang Fengying, he dismissed it as just a fling from his younger days.
Even so, the information he provided allowed the police to successfully contact Zhang Fengying.
“Zhang Fengying has been working at a grocery store these past few years. When we found her, she was sitting at the shop entrance chatting with someone next door,” the officer said. “She’s already inside.”
Li Heng stopped at the interview room door and pushed it open.
Zhang Fengying was sitting in a chair, gripping a disposable paper cup, her brows tightly knitted, restless and uneasy.
When she heard the door open, she immediately stood up.
“How much longer?” Her tone was clearly anxious. “I didn’t ask for time off—I need to get back and watch the shop.”
Before she could finish, she saw a female officer walk in with someone.
The female officer had a cool expression, carrying documents. She identified herself as an inspector and sat down with a composed presence that made others unconsciously rein in their demeanor.
“We’ll be as quick as possible,” Li Heng said. “As long as you cooperate.”
Zhang Fengying sat back down, her hands once again clasping the cup.
Li Heng quietly studied her.
According to the old neighbors in Yuen Long, this mother had been pretty and liked to dress well. Whenever she wore anything decent, Chi Guodong would become suspicious. But the Zhang Fengying before her now had long been worn down by time—her hair thin and streaked with gray, deep lines etched into her brow. Her clothes were old and nearly faded. It was clear she hadn’t been living well.
She didn’t match the “mother” that “Zhang Huijing” had described—the one settled overseas with a stable life—in the slightest.
“Do you know why we called you in?” Li Heng asked.
Zhang Fengying nodded, then shook her head: “That police officer with glasses mentioned something to me… something about my daughter.”
“But actually, I haven’t been in contact with my daughter for over a decade. If something happened to her, you won’t get answers from me.”
“There’s no point in coming to me.”
Zhang Fengying had two daughters, yet she referred to them with only a single “her.”
When Liang Wei had lost control during questioning, he’d mentioned that Chi Ah Min’s younger sister had died at twelve. Since there was no death record for her, the police couldn’t confirm whether Zhang Fengying had already left home by then.
Now it seemed she knew everything.
Which meant the story about the parents divorcing and the sisters separating at twelve was a complete lie.
Li Heng opened the file, pulled out a document, and slid it across the table to Zhang Fengying.
It was a name-change application. At sixteen, Chi Ah Min had applied for a replacement ID card for her deceased sister, giving her their mother’s surname and changing her name to Zhang Huijing.
Zhang Fengying’s hand on the table froze, her fingers curling slightly.
After a long moment, she slowly picked up the paper.
“Why?” Her voice trembled slightly.
Li Heng’s gaze was sharp, not missing any flicker of expression on her face. She suddenly remembered that day during the first statement, when “Zhang Huijing” had said those words about her mother:
“As long as I grow up healthy and safe, she’s not afraid of anything. If I can grow up, she’ll never be afraid again…”
Was that reasonable? A mother’s only wish was simply for her child to grow up?
So from that very moment, the answer had been right there in plain sight.
Zhang Fengying’s hands were trembling, her lips quivering—she wanted to speak but couldn’t make a sound.
“When did it happen?” Li Heng asked.
“Xiao Jing was only a teenager then.” Zhang Fengying closed her eyes. “I remember—she was twelve. Only twelve…”
Zhang Fengying was long past the age of easy tears. She didn’t cry now, but her grief was unmistakable as she recounted the past.
In Cai Meiqi’s version, the mother had favored the younger daughter, taking the disabled child with her after the divorce, and the two had lived peacefully ever since. Chi Ah Min, meanwhile, stayed with her father, suffering and neglected.
But Zhang Fengying’s version was different.
She said it was a past like a nightmare. Back then, when Chi Guodong drank, he’d beat the three of them. Xiao Jing had trouble with her legs and couldn’t run away—she always got the worst of it.
“Xiao Jing’s leg was crippled. Her father always thought she was an embarrassment—said she did everything slower than others, that just looking at her made him furious.”
“That day, Xiao Jing accidentally knocked over a bottle of liquor on the table. When I got home, Chi Guodong had already gone out to play mahjong. Xiao Jing was covered in blood—only Ah Min was there watching over her.”
“We thought it was like before—that it would scab over and heal. Ah Min gave her a cup of water. But who knew—after drinking it, her condition worsened. She coughed up blood on the spot.”
Back then, Zhang Fengying didn’t know that you should never give water to someone with severe internal bleeding. Young Chi Ah Min knew even less.
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