Chapter 10: “So Pitiful…”

The atmosphere in the car was lively on the way back to the police station.

Xu Jiale patted the back of the driver’s seat and teased, “Boss, since we cracked a decade-old cold case, shouldn’t you treat us to a Wagyu feast to celebrate?”

“That’ll have to wait until the boss gets a promotion and raise!” Zeng Yongshan laughed. “How about our usual spot at Wing Kee for Abalone with rice instead?”

Zhu Qing was about to speak—

“The whole team’s going,” Mo Zhenbang said, steering with one hand as the car turned onto Nathan Road. “Nothing in the world is more important than Abalone with rice.”

After days of tension, the officers finally relaxed, the weight lifted from their hearts.

“Never thought we’d crack the case this fast. Once Forensics and the Medical Examiner’s reports come in, we can close it.”

“Thinking back now, when Bobo died and Sheng Peishan insisted we keep investigating, it must’ve been like slow torture for Chen Chaosheng. That was murder—holding out until now before breaking down takes serious mental fortitude.”

“Hold on, let me check this.” Mo Zhenbang’s pager beeped. He signaled and pulled over to the side of the road.

“Is the missus checking up on you?”

“The missus doesn’t have that kind of pull—must be Nannan!”

“Noted. Next time we go to Sir Mo’s place for hot pot, I’m telling the missus!”

As Zeng Yongshan and Xu Jiale bantered, Uncle Lai took the opportunity to share stories about how “cheesy” Mo Zhenbang was when he was courting his wife.

When Mo Zhenbang returned, he carried several bags of steaming egg waffles, their aroma instantly filling the car.

“Nobody’s in a hurry, right?” Mo Zhenbang said. “Nannan wanted egg waffles from Wah Wong Cafe.”

Except for Uncle Lai, Team B was all young officers. Though Mo Zhenbang wasn’t that much older, as their leader who always had their backs, he naturally treated them like kids.

Each got a portion of egg waffles, effectively silencing Zeng Yongshan and Xu Jiale. Zhu Qing accepted hers too, nibbling small bites as the fragrance melted on her tongue.

Mo Zhenbang lived in the alley behind Yau Ma Tei Police Station. As he carried the egg waffles upstairs, Xu Jiale’s muttering drifted from the car window.

“This afternoon, we were at Hong Kong University checking He Jia’er’s old photos when we got called back. Who’d have thought we’d still get Abalone with rice tonight?”

Xu Jiale pulled a photo from the evidence bag.

It was a group photo displayed in the journalism department’s showcase, with He Jia’er as an outstanding student representative at an event.

“Wait, this is the Hong Kong Rising Star Journalism Program? That’s a big deal—even the souvenirs are gold-plated. They must’ve poured serious money into it… He Jia’er had such a bright future ahead.” Zeng Yongshan sighed. “That bastard Chen Chaosheng, how dare he promise to buy her a Mid-Levels Villa? He was living off the Sheng family, sponging off Second Miss Sheng for everything!”

“He’s a total fake! Always wearing that plastic smile around Sheng Peishan… Of course he’d fawn over a billionaire heiress.”

“Zeng Yongshan, you’re such a Monday-morning quarterback!”

Zhu Qing’s fingers still traced the edge of the photo, her brow gradually furrowing. “Don’t you think this person looks familiar?”

Several heads leaned in.

“This man,” Zhu Qing pointed to a corner of the photo. “I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere before.”

“Glasses, suit, middle-aged scholarly type… You can find dozens like him in HKU’s Law and Journalism departments!”

Zhu Qing adjusted the photo’s angle against the sunlight outside. “Can I hold onto this photo for now?”

“Take it. Return it to He Jia’er’s parents after the case is closed,” Xu Jiale tossed the evidence bag over. “That is, if the forensics team doesn’t need it for archives.”

…

Early the next morning, Sir Weng appeared punctually at the entrance of Team B’s office.

Humming a tune, he pushed the door open—his leather shoes polished, suit impeccably pressed, his demeanor a world apart from the gloom of previous days.

“Well done. Solving this White Bone Case within forty-eight hours is remarkable efficiency.”

“I heard you already held a celebration party last night? Then I won’t bother with additional expenses.”

Among Team B’s officers, the younger ones remained silent while Uncle Lai busied himself counting floor tiles with unusual enthusiasm.

Mo Zhenbang could only offer a strained smile and exchange pleasantries with Sir Weng.

Zeng Yongshan leaned close to Zhu Qing’s ear: “Weng Zhaolin is the stingiest. Every penny saved from celebration banquets goes into his luxury watch collection.”

The Sheng family White Bone Case had gripped the entire police station, keeping both forensics and the medical examiner’s department working overnight until finally submitting complete reports by dawn.

The poison analysis from the wine bottle matched the on-scene samples perfectly, and all fingerprints pointed solely to Chen Chaosheng.

Now, the case was finally drawing to a close.

As colleagues dispersed to the break room in small groups, only Zhu Qing remained at her workstation.

Surrounded by stacks of documents, she organized files with meticulous precision, aligning every corner with exacting neatness.

When Mo Zhenbang summoned her to discuss dormitory applications, Zhu Qing’s thoughts still lingered on the case.

“Sir Mo, this case… hasn’t it progressed too smoothly?”

Mo Zhenbang chuckled at her question.

New recruits always overcomplicated things, failing to recognize that some cases really were this straightforward.

“How many criminal masterminds do you think exist? In reality, we mostly deal with idiots.”

“I used to overthink everything when I was young too,” he offered with veteran wisdom. “But the suicide note, fingerprints, eyewitnesses—”

“Yesterday before leaving, the Sheng child mentioned Chen Chaosheng’s suitcase was placed in the bedroom, as if preparing for a trip.”

“Children say the darndest things. Besides, can’t a man waver between fleeing justice and taking his own life?”

Zhu Qing’s brow furrowed slightly.

Having met Chen Chaosheng several times, she wondered—would that calculating man really end his life so easily?

“Sir Mo, I’d like to revisit the crime scene,” Zhu Qing said.

Just then, Inspector Weng called from the doorway: “That new policewoman! Free? Help me with—”

Zhu Qing turned to Sergeant Mo, her eyes betraying rare pleading.

Though incapable of clasping her hands in supplication, the slight tightening of her lips clearly spelled “save me.”

Sir Mo came to her rescue: “Zhu Qing needs to help me with urgent documents.”

Like a pardoned convict, Zhu Qing hurried out—nearly colliding with the doorframe in her haste.

Mo Zhenbang shook his head.

Playing innocent and pitiful now? Troublesome. Each new recruit more difficult than the last.

…

Zhu Qing still sought answers.

Ten years later, He Jia’er’s former classmate now worked at their alma mater.

The gilded nameplate “Zhong Rujun” gleamed under corridor lights outside the office.

“Please have a seat, Madam.” Learning Zhu Qing’s purpose, Zhong Rujun slid a newspaper across the desk.

The Hong Kong Evening News had identified the White Bone Case victim, its headline still arresting—

Elite Student’s Descent into Portland Street, Skeletal Remains Cry Out for Justice.  

“Ka Er was very cheerful. Back when I first came from the mainland alone, I couldn’t speak the language and was too shy to talk… She was the one who kept trying to cheer me up with her broken Mandarin.”  

“She was so outstanding—she won the Principal’s Scholarship twice… If it weren’t for—”  

When reminiscing about their student days, Zhong Rujun lowered her gaze.  

She and He Jia’er had been roommates, but because of her own introverted nature and difficulty socializing, the two had always maintained a polite distance.  

“Dating? I never heard about that.”  

“Jia’er… She even took notes analyzing the plot structure when watching romance films. It’s hard to imagine her being involved in anything related to love.”  

“By the way.” Zhu Qing placed a yellowed commemorative photo on the desk.  

In the picture, a spirited female university student in a crisp white shirt, a fountain pen clipped to her chest pocket, faced the camera with a bright smile on her lips.  

He Jia’er’s father claimed that the nightclub money came too easily, and his daughter couldn’t resist the temptation of designer handbags. Chen Chaosheng, however, wrote in his suicide note that she had accepted many gifts, growing increasingly greedy, and pressured him for commitment.  

Yet now, Zhong Rujun’s eyes reddened—  

“Her dream was to become a war correspondent, to let the world hear the voices of the oppressed.”  

Zhu Qing pointed to a silhouette in the corner. “Do you recognize this person?”  

“Professor Cheng?”  

“He passed away from illness three years ago. Even on his deathbed, he was still asking people to look for his daughter… It’s heartbreaking…”  

With the fragments of memory pieced together, Zhu Qing finally understood why the figure seemed familiar.  

He was Cheng Zhaoqian, the eldest son-in-law of the Sheng family, who had appeared in the family portrait taken when the Mid-Levels Villa was completed.  

Uncle Lin from the property was spreading rumors again.  

Professor Cheng had already died—how could he have moved to Shek O with Sheng Peirong?  

“Did He Jia’er and Professor Cheng have any connection?”  

“Professor Cheng wasn’t a teacher at our university, though he once gave a lecture. Any connection with Jia’er? Probably not.”  

…  

By the time Zhu Qing rushed back to the Sheng residence, it was already evening.  

Steward Cui: “Madam, is there something else about the case that needs clarification—”  

“No.” Zhu Qing remained expressionless. “Your Young Master left his toy at my place.”  

A few minutes later, Zhu Qing stood at the door of the third-floor nursery, gently knocking on the slightly ajar door.  

The Young Master was playing with building blocks on the carpet. When he saw her enter, he narrowed his eyes warily.  

“Do you know where your eldest sister lives?”  

The Young Master’s chubby face scrunched up like a steamed bun, his eyebrows lifting arrogantly as if the bun had folded. “You can’t find out?”  

The whereabouts of the Sheng family’s eldest daughter were well-concealed—the address registered in police records had long been changed.  

Zhu Qing sighed deliberately. “I forgot you’re just a kid. Asking you is pointless.”  

“Who says? I know!” Sheng Fang nearly bristled, then mimicked an adult by clasping his hands behind his back to negotiate. “Unless you take me with you.”  

Zhu Qing stared at him for two seconds before replying bluntly, “Let’s go.”  

Sheng Fang’s eyes lit up as he bounced after her. “Where’s your car parked?”  

Zhu Qing: …  

Young Master: ?  

She! Didn’t! Have! One!