It was just past eight in the evening. Shen Zhicheng drove all the way to Kai Tak Airport.
The last time he’d seen Shen Yong Xuan was over a decade ago. In his memory, she was still young — arguing with his uncle’s family, insisting on taking him away. But his uncle’s family had refused, saying she couldn’t even take care of herself, and dragging her nephew along would ruin her future marriage prospects — it was utterly ridiculous.
Back then, no one had ever asked Shen Zhicheng what he wanted.
But even if they had, the little boy wouldn’t have known how to answer.
After all, he didn’t have much of an impression of this aunt — and knew even less about her.
Shen Yong Xuan was the youngest daughter of the family, born in the luxury mansion on the Peak. Her two older brothers and her parents doted on her without limit. As Grandfather liked to say in his old-fashioned way — they were afraid she’d break if they held her too tightly, and afraid she’d melt if they kept her in their mouths. Yet this spoiled youngest daughter of the Shen family grew up to be the most rebellious — headstrong to the point of recklessness. For reasons unknown, she insisted on cutting ties with her family. In the end, though she had a home, she refused to set foot in it.
Shen Zhicheng took the tunnel highway. About twenty minutes later, he walked into the arrivals area at Kai Tak Airport.
He paced near the exit for a long time, his gaze sweeping over the weary, hurried figures dragging suitcases. But he waited and waited — no sign of Shen Yong Xuan.
Then it dawned on him — Grandfather used to say that this aunt could never tolerate any discomfort. Crowded places were too noisy, restaurant chairs were too hard — she was famously picky and never willing to compromise.
With that in mind, Shen Zhicheng turned and walked into the airport coffee shop.
With his memory, he figured he’d be able to recognize his aunt.
Sure enough — there she was, sitting right in the most prominent spot in the café.
Her fingers gently stirred a coffee spoon. When she heard footsteps, she slowly turned her face — her well-preserved features set in an expression of impatience.
Shen Yong Xuan looked up and gave Shen Zhicheng a thorough once-over, from top to bottom.
After over a decade apart, her first words were: “What took you so long?”
Her second: “You’ve grown so tall?”
Shen Zhicheng didn’t ask why she’d suddenly returned. She didn’t mention it either. She just got up and walked ahead, signaling with her eyes for him to follow.
So he trailed behind his aunt — playing valet, or personal assistant. Three large suitcases — judging by the scale of it, she was planning to stay in Hong Kong for a while.
He had to push one suitcase with each hand, and awkwardly grip the handles of the remaining two with his other hand, shuffling along slowly.
Shen Zhicheng said: “Can’t you help a little?”
Shen Yong Xuan, striding briskly in high heels, didn’t even slow down. She glanced back: “What’s the use of you being so tall?”
They made it out of the airport and arrived at Shen Zhicheng’s sports car.
He fell silent.
The car was flashy enough — but completely impractical. There was no room for three suitcases.
Shen Yong Xuan’s brows drew together, her expression souring.
Shen Zhicheng looked at her, then at the suitcases on the ground: “Aunt, I’m not even the one getting impatient here.”
Shen Yong Xuan wasn’t about to offer any solutions. She just looked at him coolly, as if urging him to figure it out.
With no other choice, Shen Zhicheng pulled out his phone and arranged for someone to come pick up her luggage.
Shen Yong Xuan stood with her arms crossed the entire time, her critical gaze clearly saying: can’t even handle something this small.
Only when she finally bent down, got in the car, and buckled her seatbelt did her expression ease slightly.
“Now to Repulse Bay?” Shen Zhicheng started the engine.
“What for?” Shen Yong Xuan shot back. “I remember I have a hotel in Central. Have someone arrange a suite for me.”
Then she added, her tone full of disdain: “First, take me to eat. That airplane meal — is that fit for human consumption?”
…
The private car slowly pulled out of West Kowloon Regional Headquarters.
Li Heng explained: “I ran into my superior just now — didn’t want to deal with him. Drop me off at the next intersection.”
Tong Yi Wei smiled, his tone relaxed: “Since you flagged me down, let the ‘taxi driver’ take you all the way.”
Li Heng didn’t stand on ceremony: “Then take me to the Horizon Evening Post building.”
The car cruised steadily down the main road, headlights cutting through the dark night.
Inside, the two discussed the case.
After completing his transfer paperwork, Tong Yi Wei had taken over the current cases from colleagues. Before leaving work, he’d already gone through the case files. Now he spoke:
“The case has a strong ritualistic element — deliberately choosing the special Ullambana Festival to commit the crime, using Feng Shui rumors to build momentum.” His tone was professional and measured. “The killer seems more like someone desperately craving attention.”
Li Heng continued: “We just interrogated the Feng Shui master Ku Cheung Fung — for now, it’s confirmed he didn’t have time to commit the crime. But we’re not sure yet if he’s an accomplice or if there’s something else going on. What do you think?”
“Not necessarily about profit. The killer deliberately used talismans to mark the scene — possibly for self-gratification. They likely have a strong desire for revenge against the victims.”
Li Heng pondered for a moment.
Desire for revenge? Tong Yi Wei’s meaning was clear — if the killer was someone else, Ku Cheung Fung’s profiteering off the two cases might have been part of the killer’s plan from the very beginning.
As they spoke, the car pulled up at the entrance of the Horizon Evening Post building.
Li Heng reached up to unbuckle her seatbelt.
The streetlights were dim, casting shadows across Tong Yi Wei’s sharply defined profile.
“Leaving?” He rested one hand loosely on the steering wheel.
Li Heng acknowledged, then said casually: “Need me to pay the fare?”
“Can’t make change.” Tong Yi Wei turned to look at her, the corners of his eyes curving slightly, his tone gentle. “Madam.”
“I’ll treat you to a meal another day.”
It was a familiar rain check — one she’d issued many times.
He accepted it without protest, gave a low chuckle, and waved lightly.
Li Heng pushed open the door and went upstairs alone.
According to police protocol, if questioning or bringing someone back to the station was required, a second officer had to be present. There was no need to waste Tong Yi Wei’s time — her brother was off duty and free, on standby. Li Heng patted her pocket to confirm she had her mobile phone, ready to call Shen Zhicheng if needed.
The newsroom was especially busy — especially with the “ghostly vengeance” case causing an uproar across the city. Everyone was fighting for headlines, and in news, timing was everything.
At nine in the evening, the office area was still brightly lit.
A few journalists sat at their desks, huddled together, discussing the hot topic in low voices.
“This Master Ku rose fast, but he fell even faster. I heard the TV station was planning to have him as a regular on their show Between the Worlds — they were already halfway through planning and were going to pay him big money. Who knew the master would crash and burn like this?”
“Their producers are lucky — they only got halfway through planning. We’re the ones who got screwed — our articles were already written and ready to go, and now we have to scrap everything. Who could have guessed it? This master was red-hot in the morning, and by the afternoon he’s exposed as a fraud. Pages of work gone to waste. The editor-in-chief already chewed me out for being inefficient.”
“I was watching when that live broadcast got cut. That Madam gave the order and took Ku away on the spot — too bad I only caught her silhouette. While the buzz is still fresh, I wonder if I can pitch a feature article — I’ve already got the headline: ‘Iron-Faced Policewoman Busts Feng Shui Shop.’ That’d definitely get clicks.”
“If you can get first-hand info from the police, I’ll give you my page space.”
They chatted while working, the rustle of paper rising and falling between workstations.
Only then did they notice — a stranger was standing by the door.
Li Heng stepped forward and showed her badge: “West Kowloon Major Crime Unit — I’d like to ask about someone.”
Ten minutes later, Li Heng walked out of the Horizon Evening Post building, her brows tightly knitted in frustration.
The journalists’ words still echoed in her mind.
“Yeung Mong Suet? Are you sure she works here? Never heard that name.”
“We don’t have anyone by that name here, Madam — you might have the wrong place.”
“I can check the staff directory for you, but we’ve all been here for over a decade — we know everyone in every department. I can tell you with certainty — Horizon Evening Post definitely doesn’t have anyone by that name.”
During those ten minutes, besides confirming that Yeung Mong Suet wasn’t on staff, Li Heng had also been fending off repeated interview requests. She’d declined them all and barely managed to get out of the building. The trip had been a complete waste.
The lead had hit a dead end. Passing a lamppost on the street, Li Heng thought of the wasted effort — and kicked it.
Just then, the mobile phone in her pocket rang.
She answered — Shen Zhicheng’s voice came through immediately.
“Done for the day? Aunt’s back — come have dinner with us.”
…
Around dinner time, Li Heng had only grabbed a sandwich from the station canteen, taken a few bites, and then gone with Old You to interrogate Ku Cheung Fung.
Now, after Shen Zhicheng’s call, she headed straight to the Western restaurant in Tsim Sha Tsui.
She knew, of course, that the Shen family had an aunt and an uncle.
Though she’d never met them, she’d heard that her grandfather had held her father in the highest regard — and that his youngest daughter, her aunt, was his most beloved.
Even the usually talkative Shen Zhicheng rarely mentioned this aunt.
Now, learning of her sudden return and the dinner invitation — it was unexpected.
Li Heng walked quickly to the restaurant entrance.
The maître d’ at the door smiled politely and stopped her: “I’m sorry, madam — we have a dress code.”
The restaurant had strict rules — ladies were required to wear dresses or formal trousers, and men had to be in suits. Li Heng glanced down at her casual attire, said nothing more, and turned to leave.
But she’d barely taken a few steps when the restaurant manager hurried over, his demeanor respectful: “Miss Li? Your family is already waiting inside.”
The maître d’ quickly caught on and stepped aside, extending his hand: “Miss Li — this way, please.”
Li Heng followed the manager into the restaurant.
The interior was elegant — a violinist played softly in the corner, the melody flowing smoothly. The window seats overlooked the stunning Victoria Harbour night view. The manager led her to a private room, knocked gently, and pushed the door open.
The first person Li Heng saw was Shen Yong Xuan.
Shen Yong Xuan was eight years younger than Li Heng and Shen Zhicheng’s father — now just over forty.
She wore her hair in a sleek short cut, her bangs swept back to reveal a smooth forehead. Large earrings glinted under the lights. Her makeup was impeccable, her hands folded on the table as she gazed toward the door with elegant poise.
The moment she saw Li Heng, her folded hands paused almost imperceptibly.
It wasn’t until just before they entered the restaurant that Shen Zhicheng had told her his twin sister was still alive.
The accident over twenty years ago had been a wound that never healed for Shen Yong Xuan. Her eldest brother and sister-in-law had died suddenly, and even her little niece Zhining hadn’t survived — half the family was gone. That day, she had sat alone in the funeral hall, staring at the cold faces in the portraits, remembering how alive they once had been. She stayed there in silence, from dusk till dawn, until there were no tears left — and she collapsed to the floor.
And now — she was looking at the child who had survived by some miracle.
But that moment of emotion lasted only a few seconds.
Shen Yong Xuan quickly masked her feelings, her gaze sweeping slowly from top to bottom over Li Heng, who stood at the door.
Li Heng stepped into the private room and took the seat across from her.
Shen Zhicheng spoke up at the right moment, briefly introducing: “This is Aunt.”
Li Heng gave a slight nod in acknowledgment.
Even with another family member added, her heart didn’t stir much.
“Why aren’t you saying anything?” The moment the words left his mouth, Shen Zhicheng realized he sounded like an elder urging a child to greet someone — and couldn’t help but laugh.
Neither Li Heng nor Shen Yong Xuan’s expressions changed.
Neither responded. No one played along.
Shen Zhicheng didn’t mind. He raised his hand to signal the waiter: “You can start serving.”
One by one, the delicate dishes arrived. The three of them, strangers to each other, sat quietly and shared the meal.
The atmosphere wasn’t exactly warm.
Shen Yong Xuan showed no joy at seeing family, nor was she warm like a hostess. Her expression remained neutral throughout, only criticizing the dishes for lacking care — wondering where the chef had been hired from.
Shen Zhicheng had long been prepared for his aunt’s fussiness. He steered the conversation toward Shen Chongnian.
“Now that you’re back, when are you going to tell Grandfather?”
Grandfather never said he missed her. When Shen Yong Xuan came up, he’d only say, with restraint, that she was his own daughter — spoiled by his own hand.
But Shen Zhicheng knew — in his study at Repulse Bay, there was a childhood photo of the three siblings. Sometimes it was face down on the desk — but it was never put away.
“I don’t plan to tell him,” Shen Yong Xuan said flatly. “Don’t you meddle either.”
Li Heng had once heard Uncle Cheung mention that Grandfather often mocked himself as a failure — an old man with no one to share holiday meals with. He’d been decisive and uncompromising his whole life — a strong personality that made it hard for his children to warm to him. Now that he was old, he still wouldn’t bow his head. Even from behind, leaning on his cane, his back was always straight — never letting anyone see the loneliness in his heart.
Shen Yong Xuan didn’t want to dwell on it. She changed the subject: “You called me earlier — what did you want to say?”
Shen Zhicheng remembered and pulled out the evidence photo of the victim Ng Mei Yan’s red dress, glancing at Li Heng.
“It’s for her — she needs it for the case,” he said, turning to Shen Yong Xuan. “Aunt, you should recognize this brand. Can you help us find out its exact overseas release date?”
Li Heng added: “Domestically, it’s a new style that just launched this month.”
Shen Yong Xuan didn’t take the photo. She just glanced at it briefly.
“I’ve seen the fashion show. A friend of mine pre-ordered it before — I have some recollection.”
Li Heng pressed: “The same style?”
“I’d recognize such an ugly dress anywhere,” Shen Yong Xuan said bluntly.
Shen Zhicheng pressed further: “When exactly was that?”
“May, I think.”
“That was months ago,” Shen Zhicheng said. “Why do you remember so clearly?”
“So many questions?” Shen Yong Xuan looked at him. “I was going through a divorce at the time — I went to Fashion Week to clear my head. Happy?”
“Are you sure it was May?”
Shen Yong Xuan raised an eyebrow: “Want me to dig up my divorce papers for you?”
Li Heng nodded: “If it’s convenient, that would be helpful.”
Shen Yong Xuan shot them a sideways glance, momentarily speechless.
She’d expected to be grilled about family matters on her return — she was tired of all that feigned concern. She hadn’t wanted to bring it up herself. But here they were, not asking a single question, just fixated on that tacky dress.
She frowned slightly: “I told you, it was May. No mistake.”
Li Heng and Shen Zhicheng exchanged a glance.
“So the dress launched overseas three months earlier than domestically. We can start checking entry records from May onward — then cross-reference the list with Ku Cheung Fung, Ng Mei Yan, and Yiu Chun Fai,” Li Heng reasoned.
“There are so many people coming and going every day — just one month of entry records is already a mess, a headache to go through. That’s going to be a lot of work.” Shen Zhicheng paused, then continued: “But if we can find the overlap, we’ll find the breakthrough.”
As the two siblings talked, Shen Yong Xuan elegantly set down her knife and fork, dabbed the corner of her mouth with her napkin, and looked at Li Heng: “Zhicheng said you’re a police officer?”
Without waiting for a response, she turned to Shen Zhicheng, her tone certain: “You’re one too.”
Shen Zhicheng coughed lightly, trying to smooth things over: “Aunt—”
Shen Yong Xuan cut him off, a smile curving at the corner of her mouth: “Grandfather doesn’t know about this, does he?”
No need to ask — no one knew her father’s stubbornness better than she did.
His newly found granddaughter was already an Inspector — there was nothing he could do about that. Even if he tried to force her to resign, she wouldn’t listen.
But if his grandson also wanted to be a police officer — Shen Chongnian would never allow it.
“I knew it,” Shen Yong Xuan said.
Shen Zhicheng turned to Li Heng for help.
She spread her hands — since they’d been found out, there was nothing to do but accept it.
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