Chapter 2: Old Stories  

The spacious villa echoed with the shrill screams of “vengeful spirits demanding lives” from an old Cantonese film.  

Accompanied by the ancient singing style of the old-fashioned projector, the reverberations pounded against the eardrums.  

A child, kicking his bare feet, dashed back into the house. The Filipina maid in an apron set aside the fallen silver tray, chasing after him while pleading, “Young master, please have mercy! I can’t keep up if you keep running like this!”  

Clattering noises came from the room. By the time the little master returned, he was already decked out in new gear, his chubby little hands gripping a Laser Sword as he charged forward with a single leap.  

His childish cheer pierced through the eerie background music. The boy planted one hand on his hip and brandished the sword hilt. “State your name!”  

Zhu Qing got a clear look at the young master’s face.  

The child was around three years old, his soft, naturally curly hair slicked back with gel to mimic an adult’s style. A rebellious strand hung over his forehead from playful roughhousing, and his eyes—bright and clear like black grapes—were trying their best to look fierce.  

The sword was deflected with one hand by Zhu Qing, landing on the floor with a dull thud.  

He looked down at his palm and muttered in his baby voice, “When did Daddy buy a new shield…?”  

Zhu Qing studied the child discreetly.  

The boy’s features bore an uncanny resemblance to the childhood photo of Old Master Sheng included in his autobiography.  

Over the years, Hong Kong media had spun increasingly bizarre speculations about the Sheng family’s heir. Some even had fortune-tellers hinting in interviews that Old Master Sheng had spent a fortune on Feng Shui Arrangements to alter his fate, yet remained “destined to have no grandsons.”  

If this child really was Old Master Sheng’s grandson, why keep him hidden?  

Zhu Qing probed, “Is your daddy Sheng Wenchang?”  

The young master clearly knew exactly how illustrious his father was. Proudly planting his hands on his hips, he retorted, “Are you the bodyguard Daddy sent?”  

The tabloids had long speculated about the Sheng family’s dwindling lineage, with Hong Kong media spinning tales of inheritance battles between the so-called “first wife” and “second wife,” even dubbing it “The Battle of the Two Beauties.”  

But no one had expected a third child to emerge—one never before exposed to the public.  

A voice sounded from nearby: “The young miss and her husband have returned…”  

Zhu Qing turned, her gaze following the railing down to the floor below.  

The little master, impatient for an answer, blocked her view. “Answer properly! This young master is interrogating you!”  

She took a step to the side.  

The young master of the Sheng family had never been treated like this before. His little head was practically steaming. “Hey—!”  

Zhu Qing’s eyes looked past him. “Quiet.”  

After waiting so long, not only had the new bodyguard failed to show proper deference, but she had the audacity to order him around. The young master was so furious he started wailing.  

Fire her! Make Daddy fire her!  

…  

The antique clock chimed on the hour. The maid, Marisa, coaxed and cajoled the little boy back to his room.  

As Zhu Qing leaned against the teak spiral staircase and looked down, she caught sight of the second son-in-law handing his suit jacket to the butler.  

“My sincerest apologies. There was an issue with the engraving on the elders’ tombstones that needed correction.”  

Chen Chaosheng, the second son-in-law of the Sheng family, was the picture of refined elegance—gold-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, his face weary.  

As he spoke, he removed his glasses and rubbed his temples, his demeanor humble and polite.  

“The construction of this estate took a long time. From the start of the project, it employed several engineering teams, with countless workers coming and going…”  

“After construction ended, we waited through two rainy seasons before moving into the hillside villa. The bones in the fireplace—to be honest—are an undeserved calamity for the Sheng family.”  

Zeng Yongshan had long heard about the second son-in-law’s charm. Curiosity piqued, she sidled up to Zhu Qing for a better look.

“This Mr. Chen has won the Best Son-in-Law award at the Hong Kong Weekly for three consecutive years,” Zeng Yongshan whispered in a hushed tone. “The second young miss really hit the jackpot!”

Zhu Qing used the edge of her notepad to block Sir Mo’s sharp glance.

Zhu Qing used the edge of her notepad to block Sir Mo’s sharp glance.

Zeng Yongshan guiltily touched her earlobe, gesturing thanks to her new colleague for the cover.

Mo Zhenbang asked, “Mr. Chen, when was the last time you used the fireplace?”

“Last Christmas Eve,” Chen Chaosheng replied, polishing the lens in his hand. “The renovation team suggested switching to a smart thermostat system, but Daddy is traditional and insisted on keeping the cast-iron design. Who would have thought that secret had been hidden in the pipes all these years?”

“Regardless, this place has become a haunted house now,” he sighed. “On the way back, Peishan was still racking her brains about hiring an auction house to inventory the collection.”

When the new colleague didn’t respond, Zeng Yongshan switched to gossiping with the old colleagues.

“I heard the second young miss was stunningly beautiful in her youth!”

“Well, she was a top-three Miss Hong Kong finalist—the judges had sharp eyes… Though she’s still young now.”

It’s widely said that the eldest daughter Sheng Peirong is the iron lady of the business world, while the second daughter Sheng Peishan was born for the camera.

Even now, TV stations still frequently rebroadcast Sheng Peishan’s beauty pageant clips from over a decade ago.

“Then why did she leave the industry later?”

“Working with harnesses at 4 a.m.—why would the second young miss endure such hardship? Just her rental income alone could feed us for ten lifetimes!”

“No wonder there’s a fight over the inheritance.”

“I’d definitely bet on the second young miss. This time, her husband has been running around tirelessly for the old master. As for the eldest young miss… she didn’t even contribute to the funeral expenses!”

Zhu Qing turned and looked at the family portrait in the stairwell corner visible in her peripheral vision.

Two gilded chairs stood side by side, with Sheng Wenchang and Qin Lizhu seated unquestionably at the center. In the back row, the Sheng family’s eldest daughter, wearing tortoiseshell glasses, stood on the right, arm-in-arm with her husband. The second daughter, clearly closer to her birth mother, leaned slightly forward, playfully wrapping her arms around Qin Lizhu’s shoulders, while her husband Chen Chaosheng smiled at her.

Zhu Qing slowly walked up to the portrait.

Sheng Peirong, the eldest daughter of the Sheng family, was rumored in the outside world to be ruthless and decisive. Over a decade ago, there were already whispers that Old Master Sheng intended to groom her as the group’s successor. Yet, from this portrait alone, one couldn’t discern the subject’s forceful demeanor—instead, her eyes seemed somewhat dim.

Judging by the ages, this portrait was created before the existence of the young master now residing on the third floor.

Strangely, however, the overall composition of the painting clearly left an empty space to the left of Sheng Peirong.

“Who is this space reserved for?” Zhu Qing asked.

Everyone turned their gaze to the portrait.

Chen Chaosheng, who had been speaking eloquently, suddenly fell silent. Just as he was weighing his words, the elevator doors opened.

“It’s for a child of the Sheng family,” a gentle female voice said, accompanied by the sound of wheelchair wheels rolling across the floor.

The second young miss from the portrait had appeared, leaving Zeng Yongshan nearly speechless with shock.

Unlike the innocent and lively expression in the portrait, over a decade later, she seemed like a completely different person. The outside world had always speculated why Sheng Peishan quietly withdrew from the entertainment industry after the Miss Hong Kong pageant, concluding that the wealthy heiress had only participated for fun…

Yet no one could have imagined that upon her reappearance, the second young miss—raised in a greenhouse since childhood, untouched by life’s hardships—would now be in a wheelchair.

Chen Chaosheng stepped forward, placing a hand on his wife’s shoulder and lightly brushing her nose with his finger. “You’re not resting in your room despite the headache. Still not listening, huh?”  

“Don’t worry.” Sheng Peishan’s smile was gentle and serene as she clasped his hand in return. “I’m feeling much better.”  

The couple moved with effortless harmony.  

Following the second son-in-law’s signal, a servant brought over a cup of hot tea and draped a woolen blanket over Sheng Peishan’s knees.  

Mo Zhenbang noticed that beneath the cashmere blanket, one side of her skirt hung empty.  

“She was my niece,” Sheng Peishan said, withdrawing her gaze from the painting as she continued explaining to the police. “She passed away when she was just six months old.”  

She lowered her eyelids, her voice soft. “Father said this spot is reserved for the child who never came home.”  

It was the Sheng family’s nightmare.  

Chen Chaosheng kept his hand on his wife’s shoulder. “That’s an old tragedy from twenty years ago. It has nothing to do with this case.”  

“If we’re not bringing up the past, then what about the present situation—” Zhu Qing lifted her eyes. “For example, the young master Sheng in the children’s room.”  

Sheng Peishan’s teacup clinked back onto the gilded bone china saucer, and even the teaspoon had to be steadied by her husband.  

The officers stiffened internally but maintained their composure, lest Sir Mo compare them and deem their investigative skills slower than a snail’s pace.  

Mo Zhenbang also looked surprised.  

Before the battle over inheritance could even begin, a young heir had suddenly appeared. No doubt the tabloids would soon spread rumors about a septuagenarian’s undiminished virility, secretly harboring a young prince in the hills.  

…  

By the third-floor staircase railing, the little master had sneaked out, about to perform a daring slide down the banister—until he overheard his sister’s words.  

He abandoned his plan, gripping the railing with both hands as he peered down.  

The house was filled with unfamiliar faces. The only person Sheng Fang recognized was his bodyguard.  

But the bodyguard had abandoned his post, no longer sticking close to play with him. Instead, he stood in the living room, staring at an oil painting.  

The adults’ conversation was only half-understood by the child.  

Marisa, the Filipina maid, spoke Mandarin poorly and could only grasp the gist. Still, she knew to cover the little master’s ears whenever sensitive topics arose.  

Marisa’s hands were plump.  

The gaps between her fingers left the young master’s ears partly uncovered.  

Chen Chaosheng’s expression darkened.  

“Who knows why those bones were there? That’s the police’s job to figure out.”  

“Officers, I’d appreciate it if you handled this case with discretion regarding the Sheng family’s privacy. If the media catches wind of this, I’ll be filing a complaint with the Complaints Against Police Office.”  

Marisa gasped sharply.  

A three-year-old hearing about skeletons hidden in the fireplace would surely have nightmares.  

“When my father-in-law and mother-in-law were alive, they shielded my brother-in-law like an impenetrable fortress. The Sheng family has already lost one child—we don’t want to go through that again.”  

Marisa gasped again.  

Thank heavens the little master didn’t ask what “losing a child” meant. If a three-year-old heard that, he’d be screaming in the middle of the night.  

“Young master, it’s time to go back to your room and watch cartoons,” Marisa said anxiously. “These things aren’t for children’s ears.”  

Having spent enough time in the Sheng household, Marisa knew the rebellious little master’s temperament all too well.  

The more you tried to stop him, the more he’d raise hell.  

She stood awkwardly in place, trying to block the child’s view with her large frame.  

“Marisa, what’s a niece?”  

How could Marisa possibly explain such complicated family relations?  

She scratched the back of her head, thought hard, then shook it helplessly.  

The little master crouched into a tiny ball, cupping his cheeks in his hands as he puzzled over the question.  

He was too clever to be stumped by this.

At that moment, Zhu Qing seemed to sense the scorching gaze and looked up.

Their eyes met across the distance of three spiral staircases. The young master stood up, chin raised, exuding an air of arrogance.

Amidst the dazzling golden splendor, the poor little policewoman’s faded trouser cuffs, soaked in puddle water and tucked into protective shoe covers, stood out glaringly, making her seem completely out of place.

The little brat clearly remembered how he’d just been defeated by this female bodyguard. If not for the interruption downstairs, he might have been flipped over her shoulder in a judo throw.

He had to retaliate. If he couldn’t win with fists, he’d fight back with words.

Summoning all his concentration, he racked his brain for the most cutting insults from his life experience.

“Pork bun! Stinky tofu! Snot worm!”

The young master’s round face resembled a pineapple bun as he curled his lips into a fierce pout.

Putting on airs of maturity, he crossed his arms like the gangsters from Temple Street he’d seen on TV, just about to speak—

Zhu Qing turned her head away.

The Mid-Levels gangster wannabe: …

Furious. Beyond. Words.