Only at this moment did Ku Cheung Fung realize the gravity of the situation. His face went pale, and he sat upright in the interrogation chair.
“I didn’t.” He retorted loudly. “I had no grudge against them — how could I have killed anyone?”
“You didn’t kill anyone?” Old You slammed the interrogation table. “Then how did you know someone had died at Ngong Shuen Chau? How did you pay a cleaner a thousand dollars to give false testimony?”
“It’s not my fault!”
“I thought I was just getting lucky — making some incense money off these two cases. But the money hadn’t even warmed in my hands before it was taken!”
“I wouldn’t even dare to step on an ant — how could I dare to kill someone?”
“You can’t wrongfully accuse me… It really wasn’t me.”
Ku’s face was ashen. He braced his hands on the table, cold sweat beading on his forehead.
Li Heng watched his panicked demeanor without surprise, her tone still cold: “Tell me what you know, what you did — and let’s see if I can help you.”
…
Only then did Ku Cheung Fung finally start talking.
The supernatural show at 1 AM on the 15th of the seventh lunar month was a last-minute addition. The time slot was poor, the audience nonexistent — they just offered a small travel allowance. But Ku was so broke he could barely make ends meet, so he took whatever he could and agreed to go.
Old You’s pen paused: “On the 14th of the seventh lunar month, between 10:30 and 11:30 PM — where were you? What were you doing? Can anyone vouch for you?”
“I was on my way to the TV station!” Ku said urgently. “They required us to be there by 11:30 — I got on the bus around 10. Witnesses, witnesses… There were hardly any people on the bus. Go ask — I don’t know if the bus driver would remember me.”
Ku was completely rattled.
On TV, in cop shows, it always looked so easy for suspects to find witnesses — but when it happened to him, he realized how hard it really was. He racked his brain trying to recall the bus ride that night, but had no memory of any other passengers. As for the driver — he couldn’t even remember if they were tall or short, fat or thin.
“We’ll verify it.”
Old You observed his expression, frowned slightly, and continued writing.
Li Heng raised her hand and pointed at the cleaner’s identification statement on the table: “What about this?”
Ku’s fingers clenched: “I… I did get to the TV station before 11:30. I signed in on the register and waited in the green room. Those TV people — they act like they’re better than everyone, looking down on guests like me. We weren’t supposed to gather that early, but they made us sit around doing nothing.”
“I was bored, so I went downstairs for a smoke — and ran into a female journalist on the phone. I overheard her telling someone that at 11 PM, someone had died at Ngong Shuen Chau — a woman in red jumped into the sea, and they could use the Ghost Festival angle for news.”
“What time was that?”
“I remember it was over an hour later that I went downstairs — probably after 12:30, before 1 AM.”
“Go on.”
“I went over to ask if it was true. She insisted it was, saying that as long as we called it a water ghost claiming a life, a vengeful spirit looking for a replacement, it’d definitely get attention.”
“I offered her a cigarette and asked where she got the information. She showed me her press credentials and said she had to write another article — wondering how much bonus she’d get if she broke the exclusive.”
Ku recalled the scene, wiping cold sweat from his forehead: “While we were smoking, she said that’s what journalists do — grab attention. Someone drowns, it’s a water ghost killing. Someone hangs themselves, it’s a hanging ghost claiming a life. Someone burned to death, it’s a fire ghost looking for a replacement. Sensational stuff like that — that’s what the public loves to read.”
“I thought — if journalists could get bonuses for exclusives, why couldn’t I get ahead of them? So when I went on the show, I said exactly what she said — that this year the gates of hell are open, yin and yang are overlapping, and vengeful spirits are claiming lives.”
“I figured — if it was true, this would be my big break.”
But the next day, after scouring every newspaper, Ku didn’t see a single related story.
He went to Ngong Shuen Chau — no police either.
“I thought the female journalist had lied to me,” he said. “But just as I was about to leave, I actually saw that woman in red floating in the water. Just floating there, her face already swollen…”
Ku’s expression was complicated.
He said, honestly — seeing a dead body was terrifying. But after the fear came excitement.
“That place is so remote — I waited a long time before an old cleaner came by.”
“The creditors came every day, saying if I didn’t pay up, they’d splash red paint all over my door and my shop… I was desperate to get ahead. I was out of my mind — I gave that person a thousand dollars to tell the police that at 11 PM the night before, she’d seen that woman talking to a water ghost.”
At the time, Ku didn’t know anything about the time of death — he only knew what the female journalist had said on the phone: that the woman in red had jumped into the sea at 11.
Then the news spread fast. Someone dug up what Ku had said on the show.
Overnight, he became a famous Feng Shui master in Hong Kong.
From that day on, people lined up outside his shop every day. Ku had hired an assistant to hold people back and not let them see him easily — and the more inaccessible he seemed, the more people believed he was the real deal.
But Ku hadn’t been this successful in years. He couldn’t resist disguising himself and going to the front of his own shop. Those people didn’t recognize him — but behind his back, they were singing his praises. For a moment, Ku felt like he was on top of the world.
“That day, I happened to overhear someone saying they’d come from Prince Edward Road. They said a tutoring king had died there — in the middle of summer, wearing a red trench coat with nothing underneath. Everyone was terrified. I heard them huddled together, saying the gates of hell really were open — this was the second one, and who knew when it would stop. They had to buy more jade pendants for their families to ward off evil…”
“I went to Prince Edward Road to see what was going on. The place was packed with people. I remembered what that female journalist had said, so I called out from the crowd that it was a lecherous ghost claiming a life. No one noticed me at the time — but the words spread like wildfire.”
Until the police took him away from the studio, Ku Cheung Fung had only thought he was being brought in for questioning — that once he explained everything, he’d be released.
But now, Li Heng pushed the evidence photo of the talisman in front of him, comparing it with the trigram symbol on his business card. It was almost irrefutable proof — things were far more complicated than he’d imagined.
“I used to sell talismans like that… but the profit margin was thin, so I stopped recently.” Ku suddenly realized. “Are you saying the victim was holding an identical talisman?”
His emotions spiraled out of control. He leaned forward and cried out: “It’s her! That female journalist set me up — she framed me!”
“I don’t know her — I’ve never seen her before. Why would she do this to me?”
Li Heng raised a hand, signaling him to calm down, and asked in a low voice: “What’s the name of this journalist you’re talking about?”
“I think her surname is Yeung…” Ku strained to remember, his chest heaving with agitation. “She’s from Horizon Evening Post — her name is Yeung Mong Suet!”
Li Heng turned to Old You, who was taking notes.
Old You nodded and jotted down the key information.
After the questioning, the two quickly organized the statement and walked out of the interrogation room.
It was well past closing time. Most colleagues had finished their work and gone home — only Gao Zijie was still at his desk.
Old You glanced his way: “Zijie — still here?”
“Just entering Tech’s forensic results into the system — I’ll be done soon,” Gao Zijie looked up.
Li Heng and Old You put away the statements and walked out of the office area.
She gave instructions: “Ku Cheung Fung’s alibis for both cases — and the statements from the TV station staff and guests that night — arrange for them to be verified first thing tomorrow. Focus on whether there were any witnesses when he made contact with that journalist.”
Old You nodded: “Yeung Mong Suet from Horizon Evening Post — want me to assign someone to look into her?”
“No need.” Li Heng’s tone was firm. “I’ll follow up on this lead myself.”
…
Meanwhile, Shen Zhicheng had already left the station.
He’d had dinner alone, but didn’t want to go home by himself.
He drove aimlessly at first — but somehow, his thoughts drifted back to the case.
He headed to the department store in Causeway Bay.
The mall was brightly lit. Shen Zhicheng took the escalator to the third floor and walked straight to the women’s clothing counter.
The day’s investigation had been interrupted by the composite sketch of Ku Cheung Fung, leaving some loose ends. According to the data, within all of China, this brand only had a counter in Hong Kong. As Li Heng had deduced, the red dress Ng Mei Yan was wearing had likely been brought in from overseas.
But the release dates for new collections could differ between domestic and international markets. If this style had launched earlier overseas, then they couldn’t just look at entry records from the past month — they’d have to go further back.
Shen Zhicheng stood at the counter, stopping the salesperson to ask about the release date of the red dress.
“Sir, I’m not really sure about that. All I know is that according to this season’s catalog, this dress is newly released here.” The salesperson looked troubled. “As for overseas release dates, the company training never covers that. But I’ve worked at other brands before — sometimes what they call ‘current season’ here has already been on sale abroad for a while.”
“It’s actually quite common in our industry — nobody goes out of their way to check. Unless you travel frequently between here and abroad, or ask directly at overseas counters, you can’t get the exact release timing.”
“Most customers don’t care about these things anyway.”
Hearing this, Shen Zhicheng hesitated for a moment.
Walking out of the department store, he stood on the neon-lit street, holding his mobile phone for a long time.
Then he made an overseas call.
The moment it connected, he said: “Aunt.”
Before he could say more, a crisp female voice came through: “Is that Zhicheng?”
This aunt was their father’s younger sister.
In the family, she was known as hot-tempered and willful. She’d had a falling out with Grandfather years ago and, in a fit of anger, had moved overseas — rarely returning to the country.
Shen Zhicheng had only seen her twice.
Once — over twenty years ago, at the funeral, but he was too young to remember.
Another time, years later, at his uncle’s house. His aunt had tried to take him away, but in the end, she’d lost out to his uncle’s family.
After that, Shen Zhicheng had almost no contact with her.
Only that phone number — which she’d had someone leave for him, saying he could reach out if he ever needed to.
This was the first time Shen Zhicheng had ever dialed it.
“Aunt — the brand counter on your side—”
Suddenly, it hit him — she didn’t even know his sister was alive.
Through the receiver, the voice came in fragments.
“What’s with this signal?” The voice on the other end sounded annoyed. “Can you hear me?”
“I just landed at Kai Tak Airport.” After a brief pause, Shen Yong Xuan’s voice came through clearly. “Come pick me up now.”
…
The station was quiet at night. Li Heng and Old You walked downstairs together.
“Madam, I really have to head home today,” Old You said, a hint of fatigue in his voice. “I’ve been out early and back late every day — my wife’s been complaining.”
They say even the toughest men have a soft side — and that couldn’t be more true for Old You.
One day, passing through the office area, Li Heng had overheard Lin Jiacong revealing that Old You and his wife had been happily married for over twenty years — his secret was that every Friday after work, he’d bring home a bouquet of flowers.
His wife loved flowers most of all.
“Go ahead and head back,” Li Heng said gently. “We’ll continue with the case tomorrow morning.”
They stepped off the last stair.
Old You lowered his voice: “Madam — you already knew Ku Cheung Fung wasn’t the killer, didn’t you?”
“This afternoon, while waiting for the live broadcast at the TV station, I borrowed the fax machine and asked the show’s intern producer,” Li Heng said slowly. “That 1 AM show on the 15th of the seventh lunar month was a last-minute addition. The pre-recording preparations were complicated, so all the guests had to check in by 11.”
“Forensic Examiner Chen’s conclusion was that Ng Mei Yan’s time of death was around 11 PM on the 14th of the seventh lunar month, give or take half an hour.”
Old You understood immediately: “Even if we assume Ku committed the crime at 10:30, driving from Ngong Shuen Chau to Clear Water Bay TV City would take at least 45 minutes — there’s no way he could have made it in time. So Ku Cheung Fung isn’t the killer.”
“But that doesn’t mean he’s completely innocent,” Li Heng added.
Why had Ng Mei Yan left home carrying two bags? Where did that red dress come from? And what did she mean by “atonement”?
Those were just the loose ends on her side. As for Yiu Chun Fai — what was the killer’s motive?
The case was still full of mysteries — no clear leads in sight.
They hadn’t gotten to the bottom of it yet.
Old You chuckled: “You knew all this, but you didn’t report it in advance. If Sir Pan finds out, you’re done for.”
Li Heng’s tone was light: “How would he possibly find out?”
Just as she finished, a clear sound of footsteps came from behind.
The clicking of leather soles on the stairs was like an alarm — one the whole of Team A had grown all too familiar with over the past few days.
Li Heng remembered what Pan Liqin had said that evening —
“Thanks to you, I’m working overtime tonight!”
She quickened her pace and instinctively tried to slip away.
Just then, a car pulled slowly out of the parking lot.
The sound of Pan Liqin’s footsteps behind her grew closer, descending step by step, the sound growing louder.
Li Heng peered through the windshield, recognized the person in the driver’s seat, and raised her hand to stop the car.
Inside the car, Tong Yi Wei was momentarily taken aback, then understood — and pressed the brake.
Without waiting for him to speak, Li Heng opened the door and slipped in.
Outside the station, the streetlights cast a dim yellow glow.
The car sped off quickly, leaving Old You standing where he was. Pan Liqin walked out of the station and slowly strolled over to him.
“I just heard Li Heng’s voice — why’d she leave in such a hurry?” Sir Pan asked.
“Our Madam —” Old You coughed lightly, “— called a taxi.”
“Her place is only two steps from the station.”
The police force had a mandatory reporting system — any change of address had to be updated with HR.
Pan Liqin narrowed his eyes, craning his neck to look at the retreating taillights: “And that was clearly a private car.”
His expression tightened, and he looked about to explode —
The next second, Old You remarked: “Sir Pan, you’re still sharp as ever.”
One sentence — a game-changer.
Pan Liqin’s expression shifted from overcast to partly cloudy, then to clear.
“You’ve all worked hard lately,” he said, straightening his tie with composure. “Once the case is closed, I’ll throw a celebration banquet to reward everyone.”
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