Chapter 1: Explosive Headlines!  

In the sweltering summer of 1995, Zhu Qing completed thirty-six weeks of rigorous training at the Wong Chuk Hang Police School.  

The moment she pinned the CID Detective badge onto her light blue shirt, she officially became a member of the West Kowloon Regional Crime Unit.  

When she first reported to Team B, whispers circulated in the station’s pantry.  

What’s the use of acing the arrest techniques exam? The top graduate thinks drawing a few Clue Tree Diagrams will crack cases—police work isn’t that simple.  

No one expected this underestimated rookie to be assigned her first case—a high-profile Armed Robbery Case supervised by the Organized Crime and Triad Bureau. Armed and ready, she followed Sir Mo on round-the-clock stakeouts and crime scene investigations, flawlessly handling everything from case initiation to resolution. During the case debrief, even the notoriously critical Sergeant Mo broke his usual demeanor to praise her, calling her a rare talent with relentless drive.  

From then on, the “Temporary Assignment” label on Zhu Qing’s duty roster was removed. She moved from a provisional desk to a permanent one, with her own dedicated locker.  

“Another smooth day—clocking out at five!” Ho Tsai tapped a takeout menu with his pencil in the Criminal Investigation Division office. “A new Bing Kee Congee shop just opened in Sham Shui Po. Wanna try it?”  

“Another time. There’s Tangerine Peel Red Bean Soup at home.”  

“I’m in! How can Bing Kee’s Fish Congee compare to Uncle Wing’s homemade dessert?”  

The team got along well, and after work, they quickly agreed to crash at a colleague’s place for dessert. The laughter paused subtly when their gazes landed on a figure who always stood rigidly straight.  

“Zhu Qing… wanna join us?”  

Zhu Qing kept her head down, organizing case files. “No, you go ahead.”  

She declined without offering excuses, and no one batted an eye.  

Less than a month into the job, Zhu Qing hadn’t blended into the group—no gatherings, no small talk, let alone forming deeper connections.  

She never ate at the station canteen, mostly bringing her own lunch, microwaving it for a quick meal. Even when fieldwork forced her to dine out, she rarely spoke. Her aloof demeanor gradually became the norm, and everyone adjusted.  

The colleagues resumed their earlier topic, debating whether to bring Roast Goose as an extra dish. Just as the office buzzed with post-work relaxation, Sergeant Mo walked in.  

“Save the roast goose and red bean soup for another day.”  

“Workers found human bones in a fireplace during a renovation at a Mid-Levels villa.”  

……  

The Mid-Levels had always been a gathering place for Hong Kong’s elite. Mansions nestled among lush greenery lined the winding mountain road. The police car climbed smoothly, encountering little traffic along the way.  

Following the report, the officer driving pulled up in front of a Portuguese-style villa.  

The expansive residence, formed by merging two units, belonged to Sheng Wenchang, Hong Kong’s jewelry tycoon.  

Zhu Qing reviewed the documents faxed by headquarters—three full pages detailing the Sheng family’s rise.  

Sheng Wenchang started in the garment trade before pivoting to jewelry. His eldest daughter, Sheng Peirong, was born to his first wife. It wasn’t until the first wife passed from illness that his second wife gave birth to his younger daughter, Sheng Peishan. Tabloids feasted on headlines like “Old Man, Young Wife.” Records showed the eldest daughter was now 47, the younger 37—a full decade apart, fueling endless public speculation about their sisterly bond.

The most sensational event was the recent death of Sheng Wenchang and his wife Qin Lizhu in a plane crash, leaving the family heir position vacant. According to the old patriarch’s stipulation, the formal reading of the will had to wait a full hundred days.

Everyone watched with bated breath as rumors about the Sheng family’s inheritance dispute grew increasingly intense.

Rounding the private driveway, two interconnected granite villas came into view, with three TV news vans crowded outside the police cordon.

The butler, visibly shaken, stood before the officers with trembling hands, his tie even askew.

The crowd parted as Sir Mo displayed his badge. “What’s the situation?”

“The fireplace flue wasn’t drawing properly—thick smoke kept billowing out when burning pine logs.”

“When the repairmen dismantled the cast iron firebox, they found the chimney blocked with concrete chunks. During repairs, the chiseling sounds grew increasingly muffled until the drill got stuck, pulling out blackened finger bones and a faded ring that had been lodged between them.”

“The butler immediately stopped further excavation and called the police.”

Amid the chaos, forensic investigators conducted preliminary examinations.

“From the reassembled skeletal remains and considering site conditions and climate, the victim was an adult female, approximately 20-25 years old at death around ten years ago, standing about five foot three.”

The ultraviolet light passed over the hollow eye sockets of the skull—Zhu Qing’s first encounter with actual skeletal remains. She held her breath silently.

Adjusting her medical gloves with faint friction sounds, the evidence bag in her hand suddenly felt heavier.

“The bones show significant osteolytic damage. Cause of death appears to be skull fracture from blunt force trauma.”

“As for clothing fibers in the concrete residue, other site evidence, and cranial reconstruction, we’ll need further test reports.”

As the investigation commenced, Mo Zhenbang assigned search areas.

As the rookie, Zhu Qing followed standard procedure shadowing Sir Mo’s team, just as she had during the previous armed robbery case.

Mo Zhenbang: “How would you approach this case? Let’s test your observation.”

Her finger tracing the villa blueprint on the second page of faxed documents, Zhu Qing replied, “First visit the Land Registry to check property transfer records and renovation permits.”

“Good. There might have been previous owners.” Mo Zhenbang nodded approvingly. “Then request missing persons files from HQ—see if there are similar cases, issue public appeals. Since the remains were found in the Sheng residence, we need to trace the owners’ movements ten years ago. The house was under renovation then—contractors and construction crews are prime suspects.”

Mo Zhenbang’s speech slowed momentarily as he glanced at Zhu Qing.

“No notetaking?”

The new team member spoke so little she might as well be invisible—Uncle Lai had privately nicknamed her “Iceberg Woman.”

Now the Iceberg Woman, sensing her superior’s displeasure, hadn’t even taken out her pen, her gaze already extending past him toward the garden.

“He’s acting suspicious.”

Sir Mo raised an eyebrow slightly.

The man curled in the flowerbed shadows shifted position.

Dressed in brand-new contractor overalls, he’d been staring fixedly in one direction until noticing Zhu Qing’s approach.

Learning this was routine questioning, he relaxed with a hoarse response.

“At the time, I was in the kitchen asking for water. When I came out, I heard Uncle Cai shout loudly.” His gaze drifted toward the bay window on the third floor. “There was nothing unusual in the house, just the butler and servants around. The drama of wealthy families is truly fascinating. Old Mr. Sheng’s body isn’t even cold yet, and his two daughters and their husbands have collectively vanished into thin air, as if they planned it.”

The tabloids spelled it out clearly: before Sheng Wenchang and Qin Lizhu passed away, aside from the staff, the Sheng household had six members in total.

The eldest daughter, Sheng Peirong, was more capable, but she and her husband, Cheng Zhaoqian, had always kept a low profile, avoiding media exposure. In contrast, the younger daughter, Sheng Peishan, stole the spotlight, founding multiple charity funds and stepping back to let her husband, Chen Chaosheng, attend high-profile private dinners. Known as the philanthropic couple, they were actually quietly gathering allies.

Strangely, none of the four have shown up so far.

Zhu Qing: “I heard the second daughter of the Sheng family and her husband are busy handling the funeral arrangements for the elders. They’re on their way back.”

Sergeant Mo raised an eyebrow.

The ice queen was sharp—she’d learned to fish for information without being taught.

“Anyone actually buying their nonsense? It’s not like they just passed away three or five days ago. What funeral arrangements are left to handle?” He scoffed. “Madam, you might not know this, but the second daughter is still busy printing invitations for the Peninsula Hotel charity gala!”

Zhu Qing didn’t respond further.

It was clear now—he was an undercover tabloid reporter.

At this point, he glanced up and accidentally met Zhu Qing’s eyes. Uncomfortable, he averted his gaze and poked the Yellow Wax Stone Rockery in the koi pond with a drain hook. “This family… hasn’t been at peace lately…”

……

Zhu Qing took a few steps back, blending into the crowd. She looked up.

The third-floor balcony on the side was immediately noticeable for its gilded decor. Only the room at the very edge stood out—its balcony was sealed off, clashing with the overall style.

The villa’s double bronze doors were wide open, and everyone was gathered in the living room, uneasy and restless.

Zhu Qing changed direction, turning into the house and ascending the spiral staircase.

Inside, it was eerily quiet. The crystal chandelier shimmered brilliantly as Zhu Qing made her way up to the third floor.

The tabloid reporter had somehow slipped in with the maintenance crew, yet he showed no interest in the skeletal remains case—a story anyone could get from the police press office. It seemed he had another target.

Why was he so fixated on the third floor?

Zhu Qing moved silently down the hallway, her shadow gliding past the enamel screen.

“Young master, have a bite of shrimp dumplings first!”

Zhu Qing pressed against the door and stopped. Cold air blew from the hallway vent. Inside, the TV was on, the sounds of cartoons mixing with video game effects.

“I! WANT! ICED! LEMON! TEA!” A haughty yet childish voice rang out.

Who would’ve thought the Sheng family had such a character? Even the resourceful Hong Kong paparazzi would struggle to get this explosive scoop.

“Young master, have some water first, okay? Be good.”

The noise inside quieted.

Zhu Qing listened closely. Suddenly, the sound of “thud, thud, thud” grew louder.

“I said I want iced lemon tea!”

“Alright, alright, I’ll go change it… Young master, don’t you dare go downstairs!”

Now she didn’t even need to knock.

With rapid footsteps, the carved oak door swung open, and a Transformer figurine flew out through the gap.

The little master the maid had mentioned, clad in an Iron Man cape, darted out and accidentally stepped on the remote control. The TV channels began flipping rapidly.

Before he could crash into her, Zhu Qing grabbed him by the collar.

The little meatball in the Iron Man suit dangled mid-air, kicking his legs as the cape fastener snapped with a *click*, revealing the child’s fencing uniform adorned with medals beneath.

Time seemed to freeze. The room was strewn with toys, and the silver tray in the Filipina maid Marisa’s hands clattered to the floor as she stared wide-eyed in shock.

The young master, his fate hanging by the scruff of his collar, turned his head with cheeks puffed in anger, glaring at the audacious intruder.

It was in that very moment Zhu Qing finally saw the young master’s face.

Just then, the TV in the room switched channels, broadcasting a line from a Cantonese drama—

“Big sister’s vengeful ghost comes to claim your life!”