Chapter 3: “What’s Your Name?”

Although the main evidence from the fireplace had been transferred to the forensics department, second son-in-law Chen Chaosheng was still worried about whether his wife could handle the situation and considered moving out. However, the family trust stipulated that heirs must cohabit for a full hundred days, so he could only help Sheng Peishan wrap her cashmere shawl tighter around herself.

Fortunately, the two interconnected villas were relatively independent. Chen Chaosheng half-embraced Sheng Peishan’s shoulders and said, “Apologies, my wife is having palpitations. I’ll accompany her back to rest.”

The second daughter of the Sheng family leaned weakly against her husband, the hair at the nape of her neck damp with cold sweat.

Sergeant Mo nodded understandingly. “We still need to confirm the air conditioning duct with forensics before wrapping up. Please feel free to go.”

The private elevator doors opened, and from the third floor came the broken Cantonese of the Filipino maid: “Young master, it’s dangerous! Don’t run!”

Out of the corner of her eye, Sheng Peishan saw her younger brother sprinting like a whirlwind, startling her into a cold sweat. She leaned forward anxiously. “Be careful on the stairs!”

“Marisa, take him back to his room,” Chen Chaosheng said calmly, continuing to steady the wheelchair’s back handles. “Peishan, don’t worry about these things now. Your health comes first.”

Ho Tsai raised his eyebrows and nudged Zeng Yongshan’s elbow.

It seemed the will dispute was about to take another turn.

“That young master can’t be more than three or four years old,” Zeng Yongshan whispered mysteriously. “How could he compete with his two older sisters?”

The aroma of angelica and deer tendon soup wafted from the kitchen, where Aunt Ping was sprinkling goji berries into the stew pot.

Mo Zhenbang stepped inside, clipping his police walkie-talkie to his belt.

“The shrimp fried rice at the police canteen barely has any shrimp, unlike this fine soup—packed full of ingredients.”

Even the presentation was meticulous. Aunt Ping, still distracted by the skeleton incident, only snapped back to attention when the officer praised the delicious aroma of the dishes.

“Right?” Mo Zhenbang sniffed the air.

He was prompting Zhu Qing to respond.

She took a step closer. “Did you add five-finger fig to the soup? Not many people know to use that method.”

“The master loved it when he was alive…” Aunt Ping wiped the glass stovetop sadly. “I didn’t expect Madam to be such a gourmet.”

Once the conversation started, Aunt Ping couldn’t help but reminisce about the old days, recalling how the master and madam had tried chefs from all over the world but still preferred her cooking.

Sergeant Mo leaned against the kitchen island, surprised. “Aunt Ping, you’re a long-time veteran of the Sheng family.”

“Twenty-three years now,” Aunt Ping said. “After moving to Mid-Levels, the second madam worried I’d overwork, so she added two helpers in the kitchen.”

The rich fragrance of the soup rose from the pot as Aunt Ping stirred it gently with a ladle.

Mo Zhenbang pulled out a cigarette, holding it unlit between his lips, his tone casual. “It must have been hard for everyone when Sheng Peirong’s daughter passed away.”

“Sir, you mean the little miss?” Aunt Ping said. “The little miss looked like a doll. When she was born at Grace Hospital, all the nurses crowded around to see her. Who would’ve thought…”

Aunt Ping covered the clay pot lid. “Who would’ve thought she’d be gone… The master was always concerned about the Sheng family’s dwindling lineage. He invited so many masters to set up Feng Shui formations while he was alive.”

“Such a shame,” Mo Zhenbang sighed deeply. “From what your second son-in-law said, the little miss passed away very suddenly.”

Zhu Qing didn’t take notes but committed the key details firmly to memory.

Who would’ve guessed that the details Chen Chaosheng had never mentioned would be so effortlessly revealed?

“At first, we thought it was a kidnapping, worried it might be like the widely reported ransom case of the shipping tycoon’s family, where the victim was killed after payment. That’s why we kept silent. After waiting a long time with no call from the kidnappers, we later discovered the child had been taken by the former driver. Rushing to the driver’s old village home, we arrived just as it caught fire.”

Zhu Qing listened quietly.

No wonder the young master in the children’s room mentioned Sheng Wenchang hiring bodyguards for him.

“Both the adult and child were burned to death.”

“If the young miss were still alive after all these decades, she’d probably be about your age now, madam.”

It proved that when wealthy families were determined to conceal something, even a child’s birth certificate could be voided.

“How was it confirmed the child was inside?”

“We found the jade pendant the old master personally placed around his granddaughter’s neck—it rolled out from the thick smoke!”

The scandal of a wealthy family twenty years ago attracted media attention, not the police.

The reason for hiding the young master’s existence was the Sheng family’s desire to prevent history from repeating.

“The old master didn’t want outsiders treating this as gossip, so he sealed off—”

Aunt Ping suddenly fell silent, her expression not yet fully suspicious before Madam cleverly interrupted.

“Aunt Ping, your soup-making skills are exceptional.” Zhu Qing leaned forward, stray hairs brushing against her pale face as steam curled around her nose. “Could I…”

By the time she finished speaking, Aunt Ping’s doubts had dissipated, and she smiled while handing over the soup bowl.

“Thank you.” Zhu Qing’s slender fingers cradled the bowl. Her cheeks puffed slightly as she blew away the oil droplets, flushing faintly pink in the mist.

The warmth from the bowl seeped into her palms, the familiar porcelain texture reminding her of that winter at age seventeen in the hotel kitchen. A bone china plate shattered, the supervisor docked her pay, and as she crouched gathering shards, her cut fingers dared not stop.

The hot soup slid down her throat. Zhu Qing’s eyelashes fluttered lightly as she drained it in one go, her satisfied expression fleeting before she set the bowl down, lips pressed into a controlled line.

Meanwhile, in the third-floor children’s room, the young master lay sprawled on the carpet, monitoring his rival through binoculars.

“I want the bodyguard’s bowl of soup,” he gulped, dimples forming in his soft cheeks. “Three minutes.”

The maid thanked her lucky stars and dashed downstairs.

The young master was finally willing to eat!

…

That afternoon, as the police team left the Sheng residence, the driver’s seat colleague shoved away a TV reporter’s microphone thrust through the window, quickly raising the glass.

“The Sheng family was surprisingly cooperative—immediately called to restore surveillance records from the renovation period.”

“Skeleton House—how much will the property value drop per square meter?”

“The world-famous painting in their foyer alone could buy half a public housing block.”

“The Sheng Family Charity Foundation just donated a shooting training center to the Junior Police School last year. Want to bet whether the Commissioner gets a call from them? This’ll get messy—wealthy family cases always have people nitpicking procedural flaws.”

Ho Tsai pondered: “Could the killer be one of the renovation workers? The corpse concealment method was too specialized—sealing a fireplace with that many layers of cement requires at least twenty years of craftsmanship.”

It was Mo Zhenbang who stopped Ho Tsai’s speculation.

With the skeletal remains’ identity still unconfirmed, premature assumptions were meaningless without sufficient evidence.

The team hastily swallowed a few bites of char siu rice before splitting up for investigations, reconvening at the station conference room just as sunset fell.

• team detectives had barely settled into folding chairs when overlapping voices began reporting progress updates.

“I just checked the property records at the Land Registry. The property has been registered under Sheng Wenchang’s name since 1984, with three renovation applications filed,” Ho Tsai stood up. “One was for converting the attic into a wine cellar, another for renovating the backyard, and the most recent one two years ago was for installing a smart security system.”

Sergeant Mo pinned several photos onto the whiteboard, connecting them with arrows, his marker tapping against the surface. “Forensic Specialist Xiang found remnants of a bone plate in the victim’s left lower limb. We’ll cross-check it with medical records of missing persons and arrange for family identification tomorrow.”

“The contractor in charge of the construction ten years ago now runs a building materials company. The construction team roster wasn’t officially registered.”

“Sheng’s legal team sent over the original construction contracts, but they only included these material purchase lists.”

Sergeant Mo put down the marker and rapped the board with his knuckles.

“Ho Tsai and Ka Lok, contact jewelers to verify information on the ring purchaser.”

“Yongshan, get the list of construction workers who left Hong Kong after 1984 from the Immigration Department.”

“The butler submitted records of the domestic staff and drivers. Uncle Lai, screen them to see if anyone resigned after the incident.”

The meeting room was filled with incessant sighs.

“Some changed careers, others returned to their hometowns, and the successful ones even emigrated. How are we supposed to investigate this?”

“Why don’t you mention those serving time in Stanley Prison?”

Someone laughed loudly. “That makes it easier. Just ask the Correctional Services officers for a list and bring some egg tarts when visiting.”

The sound of firm footsteps interrupted the laughter.

Inspector Weng Zhaolin adjusted his tie and glanced at his wristwatch. “The Sheng family’s old White Bone Case has caused a media uproar. The Regional Headquarters called this morning to inquire.”

The officers maintained straight faces but exchanged knowing glances.

This was delaying Inspector Weng’s appearance on *Police Report*.

Everyone quickly lowered their heads to flip through files. Inspector Weng’s gaze swept across the room before settling on Zhu Qing’s face.

“New here?”

“PC33196, Zhu Qing.” She didn’t stand up but turned to ask, “Sir Mo, should I handle the security guard interviews for the property?”

“…” The new recruit assigning herself tasks made Sergeant Mo chuckle. “Who’s the boss here, you or me?”

Inspector Weng was momentarily speechless, straightening his crisp suit. “Just wrap it up quickly.”

Uncle Lai took off his reading glasses and nudged a colleague.

Once the inspector left, Zeng Yongshan leaned toward Zhu Qing, mimicking a senior’s tone in a hushed voice.

“Not bad, rookie. You’ve got guts!”

…

The luxury villa was guarded around the clock.

Zhu Qing obtained the security shift schedule—the most senior guard, Uncle Lin, was on night duty today.

Getting from the police station to the Mid-Levels Villa required three bus transfers. The last bus crossed the harbor bridge.

Leaning against the window, Zhu Qing let moonlight cast shadows on her notebook. She listed the known information, but the sparse clues soon turned into meaningless scribbles. When she refocused, the lines had morphed into the ghastly white bones she’d seen that morning.

The night air was pleasant. As Zhu Qing ascended the hill, the only sound was her own footsteps.

The homeowners came and went in chauffeured luxury cars. As Ping Jie mentioned, even the servants would pick a car from the garage to go grocery shopping.

Especially with today’s big news on the hill, even strollers were absent.

Until a blinding light suddenly pierced the darkness.

…

The young master of the Sheng family had finally seized the chance to steal the keys dangling from Marisa’s waist. By the time he slipped out, he was fully equipped.

Who would have thought that the spotlight from above and the military-grade flashlight carefully selected from Daddy’s study would completely expose his position.  

The young master turned into a little chick again, being lifted up from behind by the collar.  

His clothes tightened, his little feet flailed, and he turned his head indignantly.  

The female bodyguard held him with one hand, her left face reading “strangers keep away” and her right face reading “no mercy.”  

“Should I notify the butler to pick you up?”  

The young master’s bravado weakened. “What do you want?”  

The layout of the luxury residential area was complex, and the night shift positions had changed, completely different from what was shown on the structural diagram—requiring guidance from someone familiar with the property.  

Zhu Qing shook the duty roster attached to the building’s structural diagram. “Lead the way.”  

Reluctantly, the young master’s adventure turned into a guided tour.  

Not far away, snores came from the security booth. Rumors claimed the luxury estate’s security system was professional and flawless, a position countless people fought to get—yet the veteran guard was peacefully napping.  

Zhu Qing quickened her pace.  

The little master still had his pride to salvage. “Hey, what’s your name?”  

No answer came after a long wait.  

“Fine, don’t tell me.” He bared his little millet teeth, looking smug. “I won’t tell you either. Don’t regret it—so many people dream of chatting up this young master!”  

He clasped his hands behind his back, fuming, his cheeks puffier than the little backpack on his shoulders.  

The young master refused to introduce himself, but the gilded letters on his backpack straps had long betrayed him.  

“Hurry up.” Zhu Qing glanced back. “Short-legs Sheng Fang.”