Chapter 12: Not a Romantic Relationship  

Zhu Qing had come this time intending to ask Sheng Peirong about Cheng Zhaoqian’s connection to the deceased He Jia’er. Unexpectedly, she ended up uncovering new leads from the nurses’ idle chatter.  

Bringing a child along while investigating was inconvenient no matter what, especially when the child in question was the esteemed Young Master of the Sheng family.  

Outside the sanatorium, Zhu Qing glanced around, preparing to send him back first.  

Sheng Fang had a bad feeling: “What are you looking for?”  

“Checking where the mini bus stop is.”  

“Mini bus?!” The Young Master’s voice shot up an octave. “Call a taxi!”  

Zhu Qing silently turned out both her pockets, letting the fabric flap in the air.  

“What does that mean?”  

“Empty.”  

The locations of affluent neighborhoods were always so impractical. The winding roads leading up to Mid-Levels required multiple transfers even for mini buses…  

Not to mention taxis—the fare would make her wallet ache.  

“Check again?” Sheng Fang refused to give up, stomping his feet in frustration. “How can you be this broke?”  

Zhu Qing shot back, “Do you have money?”  

The Young Master of the Sheng family nearly bristled with indignation.  

What kind of Young Master carried his own spending money when going out?  

Outside the sanatorium, the stoic policewoman and the irritable Young Master were at a standoff.  

Until a black sedan pulled up beside them.  

“Madam.” Sheng Peishan’s voice remained gentle and composed. As she spoke, her gaze fell on her younger brother, and she shook her head helplessly. “Being mischievous again?”  

Sheng Peishan politely invited Zhu Qing into the car to drop her off at the police station.  

The second young miss’s personal maid, Aunt Liu, sat in the back with her, while Sheng Fang—small enough to squeeze between them—took the middle seat. Zhu Qing, meanwhile, sat in the passenger seat.  

It was clear that Sheng Fang rarely went out and had never ridden in his second sister’s customized sedan. The modified car had a strong mechanical aesthetic, and the little one craned his neck to examine all the switches.  

“Thank you, Madam, for looking after my brother.”  

“I heard from Sister Zhang that you came specifically to bring toys for your younger brother. My apologies for leaving in such a hurry earlier—I didn’t have time to greet you properly.” Sheng Peishan paused before continuing, “The person inside is my elder sister…”  

“With so many sudden changes at home recently, there have inevitably been oversights. I never expected my little brother to hide in the trunk. Thankfully, Madam was alert.”  

After expressing her gratitude and apologies, the second young miss fell silent.  

The nurses had mentioned that the second young miss and Sheng Peirong were deeply devoted sisters. Even after her elder sister became vegetative, Sheng Peishan still insisted on reading the newspaper to her every month.  

Zhu Qing couldn’t help but recall the scene from yesterday afternoon, when Sheng Peishan sat by the curved floor-to-ceiling windows of the Mid-Levels Villa.  

When Serious Crimes Unit B wrapped up their investigation, Sergeant Mo had specifically told her that they would contact her again once the autopsy report was ready.  

At the time, Sheng Peishan had also spoken very softly, saying, “Thank you for your hard work, officers.”  

As if she had mustered every ounce of strength just to maintain her last shred of dignity.  

“That place—” Sheng Fang suddenly pointed. “Is that the Yau Ma Tei Police Station?”  

As the car was about to stop in front of the station, the Young Master caught sight of the familiar location from TV and nearly leaned his entire upper body out the window.  

The driver panicked and slammed on the brakes.  

“Young Master!” Aunt Liu immediately grabbed the child to steady him.  

Sheng Peishan also hurriedly said, “That’s dangerous.”  

The sudden jolt sent loose items tumbling from the storage compartment.  

Zhu Qing bent down to help pick them up.  

The curly-haired Young Master, now restrained by Aunt Liu, couldn’t squirm free—but his heart had already flown off to the impressive West Kowloon Serious Crime Squad.  

…

Zhu Qing knocked on Mo Zhenbang’s office door as soon as she returned to the CID office.  

After listening to her, Sir Mo pondered for a moment.  

“You suspect that Chen Chaosheng and He Jia’er weren’t in a romantic relationship?”  

The He Jia’er described by Zhong Rujun had lofty ambitions.  

Could someone like that really be so lovelorn as to blackmail a married man? Zhu Qing didn’t believe it.  

“Every student and journalist who participated in the Hong Kong Rising Star Journalism Program received a commemorative gift after the event—a dark green leather notebook with gold-embossed lettering and a custom-made pen.” Zhu Qing pointed to the pen pinned to the deceased’s chest in the photo.  

“Before Sheng Peirong fell into a coma, she clutched that notebook every day, repeating that it contained clues about her daughter.”  

“Where’s the notebook now?”  

“It was lost when she was moved to a different ward…”  

“Even if the notebooks are the same,” Mo Zhenbang tapped the desk, “there are so many participants in the ‘Rising Star Program.’ How can you be sure it was given by He Jia’er? The event has always had celebrities endorsing it, and it wouldn’t be unusual for the Sheng family to sponsor it. Maybe Sheng Peirong just kept the notebook because it looked elegant.”  

“As for her muttering about its contents… you said it yourself—she suffers from severe PTSD and depression. Hallucinations and delusions are common symptoms.”  

Zhu Qing: “But how do you explain Cheng Zhaoqian—”  

The case files of the White Bone Case lay on the desk. Mo Zhenbang stood up, pressing his hands heavily onto them.  

His voice was low, carrying an oppressive weight.  

“How about you give me an explanation first?”  

“If Chen Chaosheng and He Jia’er weren’t in a relationship, how do you explain the engraved couple’s rings? How do you explain him stopping the construction crew late at night to rush the completion of the fireplace? And what about the deliberately falsified alibi—”  

Mo Zhenbang took a step forward, his gaze sharp. “Zhu Qing, investigations require evidence.”  

Outside the office, Sister Zhen, the clerical staff, answered a phone call and shouted loudly.  

“Hey, a kid’s on the line asking for ‘Broke Guy.’”  

“Who’s ‘Broke Guy’?”  

Zhu Qing: “…”  

After Zhu Qing left with her head down, Mo Zhenbang rubbed his temples.  

The doubts were tangled, and he wanted to convince himself that it was all just a coincidence.  

His gaze fell on an old photo on his desk—a group shot from his early days in the Hong Kong police force, young, stubborn, and full of sharpness.  

Before sitting back down, he picked up the internal phone.  

“Twenty years ago, Sheng Peirong and Cheng Zhaoqian’s daughter…”  

“Look into it. I want to know how that child really died.”  

……  

Under the bewildered stares of her colleagues, Zhu Qing walked toward the phone.  

“What kind of code is this?” Uncle Lai chuckled. “The ‘Broke Guy Hotline’?”  

Gossip was human nature.  

The officers in Team B had long been intrigued by this mysterious rookie police officer. Now, with the nickname given by a kid, the murmurs rose and fell.  

“Wing Shan gets a new outfit every day after work, but Zhu Qing’s T-shirt is so faded from washing!”  

“Who in their right mind would turn down tickets to Aaron Kwok’s concert…”  

In this tight-knit team, Zhu Qing was the only enigma.  

Liang Qikai, newly transferred, listened to his colleagues’ banter, his gaze unconsciously following her upright figure.  

Was this cold-faced policewoman even this aloof when making phone calls?  

“Go ahead, I’m listening.” Zhu Qing held the receiver with one hand while organizing the documents she had brought into Sir Mo’s office with the other.

“I just got home. There’s someone with a telephoto lens in the tree at three o’clock.” The calm, youthful voice of the Sheng family’s Young Master came through the phone line. “I saw it through my telescope.”

Back when Old Mr. Sheng was still around, he could always ensure Sheng Fang’s safety.  

But now that he’s gone, ever since the White Bone Case was filed, paparazzi had infiltrated the Sheng residence, their gaze firmly locked on the direction of the third-floor children’s room. They must have already suspected something back then.  

“Aren’t you scared?” Zhu Qing asked, flipping open a folder as she spoke.  

“I’ll hit them with my slingshot.” The sound of a rubber band being stretched tight came through the phone. Sheng Fang sounded frustrated. “But it’s too far. I can’t reach.”  

Zhu Qing tucked the phone receiver between her ear and shoulder. “Have the adults chase the paparazzi away.”  

“Marisa and the bodyguards? They’re just doing their jobs. They won’t take it seriously.” Sheng Fang replied with surprising worldliness.  

The maid Marisa took care of daily needs, while the bodyguards handled security. Yet in the vast Sheng household, the young master could only think of calling the detective at the police station when he wanted someone to talk to.  

“You could always ask—”  

Suddenly, Zhu Qing noticed a faint scent coming from the folder and paused mid-sentence.  

She didn’t know who to suggest the child ask for help. The only person in charge of the Sheng family now was Second Miss Sheng, who already had her hands full.  

“Daddy and Mommy?” The Young Master finished her sentence. “They’re dead. They can’t protect me.”  

Zhu Qing fell silent for a moment.  

Everyone had been careful to keep the truth from Sheng Fang, but the clever child had pieced it together from their evasive words.  

“Doesn’t matter,” she offered a dry consolation. “Not all parents protect their kids anyway.”  

“Would yours protect you?”  

“Parents? I grew up in an orphanage.”  

Liang Qikai watched this exchange quietly.  

What kind of person could discuss such facts with the calm detachment of everyday conversation?  

“I’ve seen it on TV—orphanages have lots of kids,” the Young Master pressed curiously. “They’re called… orphans, right?”  

Zhu Qing flipped through the folder.  

When the driver had slammed on the brakes earlier, she’d helped gather the scattered medical records. Something must have gotten mixed in by accident.  

She absently replied, “Mhm,” as she leafed through the documents.  

There it was.  

Tucked between the folder’s pages was a velvet-textured invitation card, emitting a faint perfume scent.  

A sigh came through the receiver as Sheng Fang’s voice softened slightly. “Qing, I didn’t know you had it so rough too.”