Zhang Huijing’s information was found the next day, but it was temporarily set aside. The core of the case was the victim—Zhang Huijing was merely part of Amin’s background. With a breakthrough on the victim’s identity just emerging, priorities had to be clear.
Li Heng had Old You keep an eye on it, while everyone else focused on the victim’s trail.
In the early stages of the investigation, the police were overwhelmed with leads—every tiny clue had the potential to crack the entire case. The officers of Team A split up, investigating from every angle. The forensic department, the forensics lab, and the technical unit were getting calls nonstop.
By the fifth day, a turning point finally came. The skull reconstruction was published in the newspapers and broadcast on television. Calls came pouring into the station one after another—some from people who had misremembered details about their missing loved ones, others who had simply seen the news and panicked, calling just to ease their minds.
That afternoon, Granny Zhou arrived.
She stood at the entrance of the police station, her hair completely white, gripping the doorframe with trembling hands.
“Officer.” Granny Zhou pulled a neatly folded newspaper from her bosom and unfolded it, pointing at the skull reconstruction image. “This person… looks like my grandson.”
By the time Li Heng and Fang Zhishan rushed to the reception room, Granny Zhou was already crying. Her aged hand pressed against her eyes, tears streaming uncontrollably down her face. In her other hand, she held a photo of her grandson.
Her grandson’s name was Zhang Pingxuan.
His mother had been involved with a wealthy businessman when she was young, becoming pregnant out of wedlock. The child was born with congenital intellectual disabilities. The businessman paid a lump sum to sever all ties and never looked back.
“His mother didn’t want anything to do with him either,” Granny Zhou said. “At first she cried day and night. Later, she drank every day until she ruined her health.”
Li Heng took the photo. “His mother is gone too?”
Granny Zhou nodded.
She had raised this grandson with her own hands. She used to run a small snack shop, and he grew up running around the shop and playing in the streets. The neighborhood kids would bully him, but Zhang Pingxuan never got angry—he would only smile. Over time, a few kids were willing to play with him. He called them his friends.
“Pingxuan wasn’t all there, but he was a good boy. Never caused trouble his whole life—except once…” She stroked her grandson’s face in the photo. “He fell off the sofa and split his brow bone. Needed four stitches. Left a little scar.”
Granny Zhou pointed to the right brow bone.
“The money his biological father left—I never touched a cent of it. It’s all in a bank passbook, with the password written on a slip of paper tucked under it.” Granny Zhou wiped her tears. “A few bad friends took him to the bank and taught him how to withdraw money. Pingxuan believed whatever anyone told him. They’d coax him into buying expensive clothes—bags and bags of them—and only give him one or two pieces. They’d take him here, take him there…”
“By the time I noticed, some money was missing from the passbook. I thought he’d need to spend some when he went out—otherwise, why would anyone want to be friends with him?”
“Six years ago, Pingxuan disappeared. Around that time, he kept pestering me about finding his father…”
Zhang Pingxuan was twenty-two years old, five foot eight, mildly intellectually disabled but able to care for himself. Once he was set on leaving, how could an old woman stop him?
“At first, I thought he really went to find his father. His father was a big boss. I figured Pingxuan would be better off with him than with me, an old woman. I heard from the neighbors that the whole family had emigrated to Canada.”
“I thought, maybe Pingxuan went with them. Even if his father didn’t want to acknowledge him—he was still his own flesh and blood. Maybe he just hid him away?”
But as time went on, Granny Zhou’s unease grew.
“I didn’t dare think something had happened to him.” Her voice grew soft. “I’ve thought about it for all these years, and I still don’t dare.”
Before, Granny Zhou used to think that she was old and would never be able to see her grandson through his whole life. At her lowest point, she even resolved that when she passed, she would take him with her.
But now that this moment had come, she would rather he was still out there, just barely getting by.
Fang Zhishan turned her face away, saying nothing.
“Granny Zhou, when was the last time you saw him?” Li Heng’s tone softened.
“The summer six years ago,” Granny Zhou said. “That year was hotter than this one. Not long after, Typhoon Signal No. 8 hit.”
Early August six years ago—Amin resigned from Jinxiao Nightclub. Late August—Auntie Wang confirmed that Liang Wei had already disappeared, though she couldn’t say the exact date.
And that Typhoon Signal No. 8, according to records, hit in mid-August.
What exactly had happened that month?
“Did Zhang Pingxuan have any enemies?”
“Do you know his friends?”
“Pingxuan had a gentle personality. Whatever others said, he went along with. How could he have conflicts with anyone?” Granny Zhou said, pulling a phone book from her cloth bag. “He used to call these numbers often. Sometimes he’d talk on the phone for ages.”
Li Heng turned to look at Fang Zhishan.
The newcomer paused for a moment before snapping back to attention, handing over the farewell photo from the nightclub.
“Granny Zhou, have you seen these two people?” She pointed at Liang Wei and Amin in the center of the photo.
Granny Zhou glanced at it and shook her head. Her hand once again traced over the skull reconstruction image.
“What did Pingxuan do to offend someone… to make them harm him like this?”
…
Li Heng took the phone book back to the CID office.
The phone book was old. Flipping it open, every corner of every page was filled with dense rows of numbers—but no names. Granny Zhou said she wasn’t sure if all of them were phone numbers; maybe her grandson had just written them down for fun when he was bored. She had tried calling them herself, hoping to get news of her grandson, but the responses ranged from being cursed out to flat-out “don’t know.”
The officers scattered across their desks, each taking a few pages, dialing the numbers one by one.
“What Xuan? Don’t know him.”
“Wrong number!”
Some numbers were already disconnected. Others didn’t know Zhang Pingxuan at all. A few remembered him but couldn’t say anything useful. A rich family’s simple-minded son—even with his intellectual disabilities, as long as he was willing to spend money, there were plenty of people happy to keep him company.
Lin Jiacong hung up the phone and scratched his head in frustration. “Wasn’t he supposed to be intellectually disabled? He’s got more friends than I do.”
Old You shot him a glare. “Zhang Pingxuan is a victim. Not something to joke about.”
Lin Jiacong shrank back and continued dialing the next number.
When he reached the last number—like so many times before—a long, drawn-out “beep… beep… beep…” came through the receiver.
It rang for a long time. No one answered. Lin Jiacong was just about to hang up—
“Who’s this?”
He froze.
“Who’s speaking?”
The voice was too familiar. He had heard it in the cage home in Tin Shui Wai, and outside the identification room.
Lin Jiacong ventured cautiously: “Mr. Liang?”
…
That afternoon, Liang Wei’s father was brought to West Kowloon Regional Headquarters.
In the interview room, he still wore that faded undershirt, his hands clasped together nervously.
“Is there news about Xiao Wei?”
“Not yet.” Li Heng pushed Zhang Pingxuan’s photo across the table. “Do you recognize him?”
Mr. Liang stared at the photo for a long moment, then shook his head.
“His phone book has your home number in it.”
Mr. Liang paused. “Xiao Wei didn’t have a pager back then, and the rental unit didn’t have a phone either. When he left numbers for friends, he used our home number.”
“So Zhang Pingxuan was Liang Wei’s friend?”
“I don’t know. He rarely talked about what went on outside.” Mr. Liang lowered his head. “He had his own mind—he never told me anything.”
Li Heng flipped through the previous statements. “The last time you saw him—did anything unusual happen?”
Mr. Liang was silent for a long time. His hands didn’t know where to go, rubbing against his knees. Cold sweat trickled down his forehead.
Li Heng looked at him, her tone calm. “If you want news about Liang Wei, cooperate with the investigation.”
Mr. Liang looked up.
This young female officer had eyes that seemed to see through everything. Lying was pointless. He didn’t know what had happened to Xiao Wei out there—even if he told a hundred lies, how could he keep them straight?
He let out a weary sigh.
“Xiao Wei’s mother had just had surgery around that time… does that count as unusual?”
His voice grew quieter, tinged with shame.
“Both my wife and I have poor health. We’ve been a burden on the child for years. Those few days, his mother had just come out of surgery, and Xiao Wei stayed by her bedside. But once she was out of danger, he disappeared.”
“I thought he was angry—resentful that we were holding him back, angry that we couldn’t give him anything.”
Li Heng didn’t interrupt.
His voice dropped even lower. “I thought he wanted to start his own life. But later, when his mother passed away, I couldn’t even scrape together the money for her funeral…”
Mr. Liang could only go looking for his son—at the rental unit, at the night school, and at the convenience store where he used to work. No news.
“At that point, I thought Xiao Wei might really be in trouble, so I reported him missing. He’s a good son. Always has been. If he were still alive, he wouldn’t have just disappeared without a word.”
“The money for the funeral arrangements?” Li Heng picked up on the detail. “Did Liang Wei also pay for his mother’s surgery?”
Mr. Liang hung his head low. “He gave us two hundred thousand. Said it was money he’d saved from working.”
“How could he save that much from odd jobs… Why didn’t I ask more questions?”
“It’s my fault—I let Xiao Wei down.” His voice was full of self-blame, his fists clenched as he muttered to himself: “Why didn’t I ask more questions?”
…
That afternoon in the meeting room, the whiteboard was covered with clues.
Those scattered, parallel lines were now gradually converging, ultimately pointing to one possibility.
The officers reported one by one.
“Liang Wei’s bank records are almost blank. Even six years ago, there were no large deposits. That means even if he’s still alive, he hasn’t used a bank account in years—he’s probably been using cash.”
“We’ve checked with family, friends, and old addresses. No leads.”
“There are no immigration records under Liang Wei’s name.”
“Also, Zhang Pingxuan’s bank account shows activity. Six years ago, a lump sum of one hundred thousand in cash was withdrawn—the date matches exactly with the day of Liang Wei’s mother’s surgery payment. Before that, only small, scattered amounts were withdrawn. This was the only big transaction. The passbook at Granny Zhou’s house is a fake—there’s no record of the one-hundred-thousand withdrawal.”
The case was gradually becoming clear.
Zhang Pingxuan died in Liang Wei’s rental unit. Liang Wei got the money and used it to cover his mother’s medical expenses. After that, Liang Wei vanished completely.
“What about Amin? Why did she disappear along with Liang Wei?”
“If we really can’t find Liang Wei… if we find Amin, will we find him?”
Li Heng looked again at the name on the whiteboard: Chi Amin.
Cai Meiqi had said Amin had a sister named Zhang Huijing. Maybe the sister knew where Amin was.
Zhang Huijing’s information had been found days ago, but it had been set aside because there was no direct connection to the victim at the time.
Now, the officers compiled all her information from the population registry—her job, her address, everything clearly recorded, along with monthly disability allowances issued on time.
On the way to find Zhang Huijing, the car was lively.
“I just saw Zhang Huijing’s ID photo. She really is another Amin.”
“Of course they look the same—identical twins, not fraternal.”
“Fraternal twins exist?”
Gao Zijie kicked Meng Zai’s leg. “Did you sleep through all your biology classes?”
Identical twins share the mother’s genes and look exactly alike. Fraternal twins are different.
“Like boy-girl twins—most of those are fraternal,” Gao Zijie said. “But it also depends on luck.”
Meng Zai scratched his head. “They say twins have a connection. What kind of connection?”
Old You was driving up front and teased: “You watch too much TV! What, one gets hurt and the other feels a pain in the chest?”
“Maybe it’s real. That’s why they’re called twins.”
The people in the back seat laughed.
Li Heng sat in the passenger seat, her brow furrowing slightly.
Old You noticed out of the corner of his eye. “Madam, what’s wrong?”
This wasn’t the first time.
Ever since she was little, she’d often felt unexplained palpitations. She’d been to the hospital for repeated checkups, but they never found a cause.
She pressed a hand to her vaguely uneasy heart. “Nothing.”
…
At the same time, Shen Zhicheng walked into the family cemetery, holding three bouquets of flowers.
He wiped his parents’ and sister’s tombstones until they were spotless, then casually sat down on the ground, as if returning to the most stable home.
“Nothing much has happened lately, except Grandpa made me follow that case in Sham Shui Po.”
“Turns out solving cases is pretty interesting.”
“And that cop told me to file a complaint with the Police Public Relations Branch.” He muttered to the cold stone, just like he used to as a child. “Actually, I know the Public Relations Branch doesn’t handle that—you have to go to the Complaints Against Police Office.”
Shen Zhicheng leaned lazily against the tombstone, a hint of defiance in his voice. “Sis, I think she was scared of me.”
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