She exhaled a smoke ring and said slowly, “Amin hasn’t worked here in a long time.”
They started reminiscing about the old days.
Amin’s full name was Chi Huimin. Beautiful, feisty, and aloof—she was at the peak of her fame at Jinxiao Nightclub. Some patrons threw away fortunes and gifted designer handbags, all just for the chance to buy her a late-night snack.
But everyone knew exactly what those customers were after.
“Some were wealthy businessmen past fifty. Others had wives at home. It was all just a game to them.”
Only that student was different.
They hadn’t met at Jinxiao Nightclub. The poor student offered his sincere heart, and Amin turned him down again and again. Until finally, she said yes—and the joy and tenderness in his eyes were plain for everyone to see.
After they started dating, Amin supported him through his university entrance exams, and he came to pick her up from work every single night.
At 1 a.m., he’d take the last bus from Sham Shui Po to Tsim Sha Tsui East. Amin told him not to travel so far, but he said he could study on the bus anyway.
“But who couldn’t tell? He just didn’t feel right letting Amin walk the night streets alone.”
“Sometimes a customer would buy out Amin’s time, and he’d show up for nothing. But no matter how long he waited, he’d just smile and say it was fine.”
“That time when Typhoon Signal No. 8 was hoisted, we all bet he definitely wouldn’t come. Then in the middle of the night, he showed up at the door with an umbrella, completely soaked through.”
“Amin laughed and called him foolish… We all laughed too. Was it worth it for her?”
“But really, back then—a lot of people envied Amin. After all, when you make a living in a place like this, sincerity is the scarcest thing.”
“From what Amin said, he was sharp. Could memorize a textbook after reading it once. We all thought that boy would go far someday, and Amin had found herself a good future.”
They chatted on and on about the past, but when asked about Amin’s current situation, they just shook their heads.
When they all worked at the nightclub together, they were sisters. But after parting ways, everyone went their own separate paths. Even if they ran into each other on the street, they’d pretend not to recognize one another. It wasn’t just Amin—everyone who left this place did the same.
“Not like it’s anything to be proud of,” the woman in the cheongsam said indifferently as she stubbed out her cigarette.
“When did Amin leave?”
“Can’t remember exactly. Several years ago, for sure.”
This so-called “nostalgia gathering” for the Shen family’s young heir had gone on for over half an hour, though he himself had barely said a word.
The floor manager sidled up with a syrupy smile. “Young Master Shen, what brings you such sudden interest in our little establishment?”
Shen Zhicheng tilted his chin toward Li Heng.
Nightclub people were most afraid of “cops.” Revealing her identity too early would only put them on guard, and she wouldn’t get any answers out of them.
So it wasn’t until now that Li Heng finally showed her badge. “Chief Inspector Li Heng, West Kowloon Regional Crime Unit.”
“Preliminary investigations suggest the victim in the Sham Shui Po stove body case may be Liang Wei. Contact me if you remember anything.”
The group froze for a moment, then collectively gasped.
With the questioning mostly done, Li Heng stood up and headed out.
Shen Zhicheng was pinned down by the floor manager, who was handing out business cards and introducing himself.
Li Heng stepped out of the booth, her mind churning with case-related information.
“Madam, wait.”
The muffled sound of high heels hurrying across the carpet came from behind.
Li Heng turned around. It was the older woman from earlier—Vivi.
“I just remembered. When Amin left back then, a group of us girls took a farewell photo together. There should be a date on it.”
Li Heng: “Do you have the photo on you?”
“It’s taped to my locker. I’ll go get it.”
A few minutes later, the photo was in Li Heng’s hands.
It had been taken in the back room of the nightclub. Several faces in it were familiar—the same people from the booth just now. The timestamp in the lower right corner showed early August, six years ago. Auntie Wang’s statement clearly mentioned that her child was preparing for the Primary One entrance exam at the end of August that year—and by then, the student on the third floor had already disappeared.
That meant Amin had submitted her resignation during the same month Liang Wei went missing.
In the photo, Li Heng saw Chi Huimin for the first time.
Amin, whom Auntie Wang had described as having “some looks,” stood right in the center, wearing a form-fitting short skirt, raising a champagne glass high. Her posture was bold, her image striking—red hair, red lips, flashing a row of neat white teeth.
Beside Amin stood Liang Wei—slim, wearing glasses, with a clean and shy smile.
“That’s the student,” Vivi said, following Li Heng’s gaze. She sighed. “Such a good person. What a shame.”
Li Heng turned to her. “Would you be available for a follow-up statement?”
A few minutes of questioning followed. Vivi leaned against the wall, arms crossed, filling in details in a casual, offhand manner.
When Shen Zhicheng finally emerged from the booth, Li Heng had just put away her notepad.
The two walked out of the nightclub together. The valet pulled up the flashy sports car and handed over the keys.
Shen Zhicheng took the keys and put on his young master airs. “I’m not driving you home. I don’t have that kind of time.”
But as soon as the words left his mouth—not only was there no polite reply, there was no reply at all.
Shen Zhicheng turned around.
The police chief was already long gone, her figure nearly out of sight.
The valet wisely looked away, pretending to study a lamppost with great seriousness.
Some things—you see them, but you don’t see them.
Uncle Xiang, ever diligent and devoted, had somehow followed all the way to Tsim Sha Tsui East, standing straight as a ramrod in a concealed spot. He pulled out his voice recorder and noted—
“11:21 p.m.: The young master has shown significant improvement tonight—spent the entire evening assisting police with their investigation.”
Shen Zhicheng got into the car and slammed the door.
The engine roared. He drove without stopping, speeding along the winding roads up to the Mid-Levels.
At home, he stood at the door for a long while before pulling out his keys.
The house was empty, echoing with nothing but his footsteps.
…
The next morning, sunlight streamed into the West Kowloon Regional Crime Unit as Li Heng walked into the station right on time.
Passing by Team B, she heard laughter coming from inside.
The officers of Team A had clearly also heard their colleagues celebrating a closed case.
“I heard the head of Team B next door is taking everyone out for happy hour at Lan Kwai Fong tonight.”
“Their team gets afternoon tea every single day!”
Li Heng entered her office and emerged a moment later with a thick stack of case files. “Meeting in ten minutes.”
This was the first case Li Heng had handled since being transferred to the West Kowloon Regional Crime Unit.
She pinned the photo she’d brought back from Jinxiao Nightclub onto the whiteboard, using a marker to draw connections between clues and organize the case.
Now that Amanda—Chi Huimin—had become the key figure in the case, Li Heng had already instructed her subordinates to dig into her background.
So far, nothing had turned up. Amin, like Liang Wei six years ago, had vanished into thin air.
Lin Jiacong flipped through yesterday’s statements. “Liang Wei’s father came in to identify the remains last night. He said Liang Wei had stitches on his right brow bone—it was done at a small clinic, so there’s no record in the medical database, but there might be a paper file. The old man went back to look for it.”
Old Mr. Liang told police that his son Liang Wei had been an excellent student. Even his teachers said he had a chance at a direct recommendation to the University of Hong Kong.
But his family’s circumstances held him back. They lived in a cage home in Tin Shui Wai. Both parents were sick, dependent on medication. Liang Wei had no choice but to drop out and start working in his teens.
“Later, after he started dating, he rented that tenement unit and enrolled in night school.”
Everyone felt heavy-hearted thinking about last night’s identification. An elderly man in his sixties, staring at a pile of bones, unable to speak—just gazing blankly, even reaching out to touch the skeleton’s face, only to be stopped by the officer on duty.
This was the kind of work even seasoned veterans dreaded. Parting through death was cruel enough—but to have a parent bury their child was unbearable.
When speaking of Liang Wei before his disappearance, the old man’s eyes grew distant, as if his son had never really left.
“Mr. Liang said Liang Wei was a good kid. He’d come home from school and brew Chinese medicine for his parents first. Only after making sure they’d taken it would he start on his homework.”
Just then, footsteps echoed from the end of the corridor.
Chief Superintendent Pan Liqin stood outside the meeting room and knocked on the door.
He smiled genially. “How’s it going? Any leads yet?”
“Headquarters is paying close attention. It’s already on the news—quite a bit of public pressure.”
“Everyone, keep up the hard work.”
Li Heng put down her marker and turned around. “Sir Pan, we’re in a meeting.”
Sir Pan cleared his throat. “The Shen family is very concerned. They called this morning to check on our progress. Li Heng, give Young Master Shen a private number so you two can stay in touch directly.”
Li Heng tore off a sticky note, wrote down an eight-digit number, and handed it over.
Sir Pan took it, glanced at it, and nodded approvingly. “Carry on, then.”
Lin Jiacong lowered his voice. “Madam’s mobile phone is going to be blown up by that spoiled heir.”
Old You held a case file up to his mouth and whispered, “She doesn’t even have a mobile phone.”
They watched Sir Pan walk away, sticky note in hand, thoroughly satisfied.
Li Heng’s expression didn’t change. She looked down and continued flipping through the case files.
Everyone was happy.
…
The technical unit, forensics, and the pathology department—none of the reports were back yet.
The only leads so far were the nightclub employees’ testimonies, neighborhood gossip, and a photo from six years ago.
Li Heng organized the statements, her gaze drifting back to the farewell photo on the whiteboard.
The statement form was spread out on the table. Vivi’s separate follow-up statement from last night ran several lines long—
“Amin had been in this business for years—how innocent could she really be?” “She was betting on the student making something of himself and taking her out of the life.” “What’s sincerity worth? I never thought it would work out anyway.”
The meeting room fell silent for a moment.
“Look at Liang Wei’s file—no enemies, no financial disputes,” someone said regretfully. “That year, he was only nineteen.”
According to the timeline, university entrance exams were just around the corner. Amin had quit her job and was changing careers. They could have started living a normal life.
But he died at the very moment closest to his dream.
“He was a simple person,” Gao Zijie said. “The most complicated thing in his life was probably meeting Amin.”
The nightclub girls’ words were also clearly recorded in the statements.
They said: Amin shouldn’t lead that student on.
“He died, and Amin vanished into thin air. The timing lines up perfectly,” someone spoke up. “Is it possible Amin did it?”
“What would the motive be—money? love?”
The officers continued debating heatedly.
Li Heng didn’t join in. She took the group photo off the board and stared at Liang Wei’s face in the picture.
He wore black-rimmed glasses, and the shadow cast by the upper edge of the frames happened to cover his eyebrows.
“Madam!” Wen Jie, who handled clerical work, knocked on the meeting room door and poked her head in. “The technical unit says that after testing the fabric fibers from the remains, they found several strands of hair broken off within the fibers under the microscope. They’re rushing the DNA results.”
“Tell the technical unit to first compare the DNA with the missing persons and the family members.” Li Heng was still studying the photo closely. She turned her head. “Wait, Wen Jie. This photo—blow up Liang Wei’s face as much as possible.”
Wen Jie took the photo and hurried out.
Twenty minutes later, the technical unit faxed back the enlarged image.
Liang Wei’s facial skin, magnified many times over, showed clear texture. Even scars so faint they were almost invisible to the naked eye became distinctly visible.
Li Heng: “Which brow bone did the family say Liang Wei had stitches on?”
The officers paused for a moment, then reopened the family’s statement and compared it with the photo.
Liang Wei’s father had said the right brow bone—consistent with the skeletal remains.
Li Heng pinned the faxed photo to the whiteboard. “But in this photo, the scar tissue on Liang Wei’s brow bone is on the left side.”
“The dead person isn’t Liang Wei at all.”
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