Chapter 8 “Close Your Eyes.”

The identity of the deceased has been confirmed—  

He Jia’er, Class of 1983 Journalism Department, Hong Kong University.  

Mo Zhenbang circled a figure in the nightclub photo.  

Ten years ago, the case had been classified as a missing person report. However, because the victim’s parents concealed her nightclub employment when filing the report, investigators never traced leads to the nightclub. This also left the identity of the man who bought her gifts and chauffeured her in luxury cars a mystery. Everyone sighed in regret—the ones who cared most about He Jia’er’s safety were her parents. Yet, if they hadn’t been so ignorant back then, if they had understood the gravity of the situation, perhaps her body wouldn’t have remained hidden in the fireplace for a full decade, reduced to skeletal remains, only now receiving this belated autopsy report.  

“Ho Tsai, what about the platinum ring I asked you to look into?”  

“Reporting, boss!” Ho Tsai straightened his crossed legs. “No purchase records found for the ring. It wasn’t a limited edition to begin with, and the store went out of business long ago. Remaining stock was probably dumped at the Temple Street night market…”  

“Pay a visit to He Jia’er’s home. See if the pretty handbag and high heels mentioned by the nightclub staff are still there,” Sergeant Mo continued. “There must be purchase records somewhere.”  

After Mo Zhenbang finished speaking, the younger officers remained motionless.  

“Still not moving?”  

Zeng Yongshan timidly raised her hand. “Sir Mo, our egg tarts haven’t arrived yet.”  

Mo Zhenbang: “…”  

…  

“Who ordered takeout?” A worker from Lei Kee Bakery stood outside the door, carrying multiple bags and shouting.  

Before clerical officer Sister Zhen could retrieve the order, Zeng Yongshan—already stationed by the conference room door—grabbed Zhu Qing’s hand and dashed out.  

Taking the bags from the Lei Kee employee, Zeng Yongshan eagerly opened the egg tart box. The pastries were still warm, their flaky crusts crumbling at the touch.  

“Ever tried these before?”  

“No—” Before Zhu Qing could finish, an egg tart was shoved into her mouth. She hurriedly raised her hands to catch it, the rich aroma of butter melting on her tongue.  

“Madam, I’m looking for Sergeant Mo.”  

A deep male voice came from behind. Zhu Qing and Zeng Yongshan turned simultaneously.  

A stranger stood at the entrance, his features sharp and cold, his uniform impeccably pressed.  

Back in the conference room, while distributing egg tarts and stocking milk tea, Zeng Yongshan frantically winked at Zhu Qing.  

Multitasking, she eavesdropped intently, absorbing every detail about the newcomer.  

“That’s probably the senior officer who just transferred from Criminal Intelligence Bureau!”  

“Zhu Qing, you’re practically a prophet!”  

“Prince Charming…” Zeng Yongshan lowered her voice. “You said it yesterday—tomorrow, at the earliest!”  

The West Kowloon Regional Crime Unit B Team had been understaffed. Mo Zhenbang had submitted countless requests to headquarters, and now reinforcements had finally arrived. The newcomer was named Liang Qikai. Before he could even introduce himself properly, a colleague from the Forensics Department hurried in, clutching the test results for the platinum ring.  

Mo Zhenbang immediately waved Liang Qikai over to join the briefing and catch up on the case progress.  

“The inner band of He Jia’er’s platinum ring does indeed bear an engraved inscription in English,” Sergeant Mo verified, comparing the report to the evidence photos, his brow furrowed. “Two letters. The first one is—”  

Ho Tsai leaned in. “C?”  

The second letter was worn down, illegible.  

“Broken strokes, all squiggly—even a deity couldn’t decipher this!”  

“Forensics did their best. Sir Ge tried everything…”  

Mo Zhenbang suddenly asked, “Zhu Qing, what about the poor handwriting samples from He Jia’er’s parents?”

The note was tucked inside Zhu Qing’s notebook. She pulled it out and laid it flat on the table.

The officers rotated the note 360 degrees, comparing it meticulously with the evidence.

After a brief silence, Xu Jiale narrowed his eyes. “It’s an ‘S,’ isn’t it?”

On the day of identifying the body, the illiterate elderly couple had tremblingly sketched the pattern from their last memory of the ring.

No one had expected that clumsy, crooked handwriting to become the most crucial piece of evidence at this moment.

“Confirmed—the first letter inside the ring is ‘C,’ the second is ‘S’…” Uncle Lai organized his thoughts. “The second son-in-law of the Sheng family?”

Zhu Qing wrote down the Cantonese romanization of Chen Chaosheng’s name on the note:

Chan Chiu Seng.

If their earlier suspicions had been mere speculation, this ring now served as silent testimony.

“So the married man driving the luxury car is Chen Chaosheng?”

“Certain reasons—love turning to hatred, or the victim blackmailing him for money using his status—could have led to conflict, resulting in him killing her accidentally.”

Uncle Lai checked the second son-in-law’s whereabouts during the time of the incident.

Back then, the villa’s renovation had taken a long time, and the Sheng family’s legal team had compiled detailed itineraries for every family member. The lives of the wealthy were dull—meetings, ribbon-cutting ceremonies, or jetting off to some country for vacation… In any case, during the days the fireplace was installed, Chen Chaosheng wasn’t in Hong Kong. His schedule was marked as “overseas business trip.”

“A watertight alibi?” He scoffed. “The second daughter worried about her husband’s brakes failing—did it ever occur to her that the man sleeping beside her might be the real killer?”

“Found it!” Xu Jiale emerged from a pile of old newspapers. “Hong Kong Polytechnic, won first-class scholarships for several years. Quite the high achiever.”

“Do you think someone from the architectural engineering department would know how to build a fireplace?”

“Qi Kai and Uncle Lai, head to the Sheng Corporation. Remember to enter through the underground garage. If the media asks, say you’re consulting Mr. Chen about the Mid-Levels Villa construction accident.”

“Yong Shan, Little Sun, notify the family. The subdivided flat in Kwun Tong, right? Bring extra tissues for the elderly when you go.”

“Ho Tsai, Ah Le, check if their social circles overlapped. Start digging through He Jia’er’s list of journalism classmates.”

“Zhu Qing, come with me to the Sheng residence.”

“Tell me—if the alibi is fake, do you think the second daughter would cover for her husband?”

Zhu Qing stuffed the last bite of egg tart into her mouth, crumbs clinging to the corner of her lips.

The newly transferred senior officer smiled and handed her a tissue, lightly tapping the corner of his own lips as a hint.

Zhu Qing didn’t take it. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, grabbed her stocking milk tea, and followed Mo Zhenbang.

…

In just two short days, this was already Zhu Qing’s third visit to the Sheng residence.

No matter how complex the layout of the Mid-Levels Villa was, she could now navigate it blindfolded.

Steward Cui had been notified by the property management in advance. After the security guards let them through, he waited at the entrance to greet the two officers.

“Sir, ma’am, any progress on the case?”

Mo Zhenbang didn’t respond, so Zhu Qing asked, “Is the second daughter home?”

“You’re here for the second daughter?” Steward Cui quickly replied. “What bad timing—on the first of every month, the second daughter goes out.”

“Please wait a moment,” Steward Cui checked the time and gestured politely. As the two officers stepped into the villa, he followed behind. “The chauffeur drove her there. She should be back soon.”

“Where did she go?”

Steward Cui hesitated, looking troubled. “This—”

Mo Zhenbang had no time for a standoff. His brow furrowed as he stared expressionlessly at the steward.

Under the officer’s piercing gaze, Steward Cui knew he couldn’t conceal it any longer. “She went to visit the Eldest Young Miss…”

Mo Zhenbang exchanged glances with Zhu Qing. They had just discussed this very topic on their way here.

Was the distance from Shek O to Mid-Levels really that far? Even the Governor wasn’t as elusive as Sheng Peirong and Cheng Zhaoqian.

“Rumors say the sisters are like fire and water, but that’s not true. The Second Young Miss is a full decade younger. Since childhood, she followed her elder sister everywhere, even clutching her sleeve to fall asleep.”

“During her Miss Hong Kong pageant days, the master joked that if the host asked about her idol, in the Second Young Miss’s heart, her sister would surely rank above her own father.”

According to Steward Cui, there was no rivalry or scheming between Sheng Peirong and Sheng Peishan—only deep sisterly affection.

“Did Sheng Peishan try to persuade Sheng Peirong when she moved out?”

“How could she? The matter of the Little Young Miss… For the Sheng family’s reputation, the master not only refrained from reporting it but also suppressed all news.”

Uncle Lin from the property management said Sheng Peirong had moved out in frustration over her father’s refusal to relinquish control, becoming a wealthy idler.

But that was because he didn’t know about the Sheng family’s other, long-deceased youngest granddaughter.

“The master’s decisions could never be changed,” Steward Cui sighed. “After that fire, he didn’t even hold a proper funeral for the Little Young Miss. The Eldest Young Miss stood in the rain all night, holding an empty urn.”

This Sheng family case had dredged up too much unresolved history.

Zhu Qing hadn’t forgotten their purpose. “After the White Bone Case, has Mr. Chen exhibited any unusual behavior?”

“The Second Son-in-law?” Steward Cui looked surprised. “These days, he’s been single-handedly managing the entire Sheng household. Strangely enough, he’s been distracted lately.”

“After the master passed, he often worked until dawn,” Steward Cui lowered his voice. “Last night, I saw him open a bottle and drink alone in the backyard till late.”

“He’s always been considerate of the Second Young Miss. Afraid of disturbing her rest when drunk, he’d sleep in the study.”

“We haven’t seen him today—”

“Lead the way,” Mo Zhenbang interrupted curtly.

“This way, please.” Steward Cui bowed slightly, his footsteps heavy.

When light, rapid footsteps echoed from the corridor’s turn, Zhu Qing immediately recognized the Sheng family’s young master.

The Young Master swaggered over with his characteristic bravado, skidding to a halt outside the study to block her path.

“Did you nominate me for the Good Citizen Award yet?”

The child’s train of thought was too abrupt. Only after he finished speaking did Zhu Qing recall the morning’s casual joke.

An offhand remark she’d made, taken seriously by this three-year-old.

“…” Zhu Qing pressed her lips together. “Soon.”

Two crisp knocks sounded as Steward Cui stood sideways by the study’s carved wooden door. “Second Son-in-law.”

Zhu Qing: “Is Mr. Chen using this study now?”

“There’s another study upstairs where he originally worked. After the master’s passing, he moved here.”

Mo Zhenbang nodded, tilting his chin toward the study. “Has he gone out?”

“Probably not,” Steward Cui said. “No one saw Second Master Chen leave this morning.”  

He knocked on the door again, this time with more force. “Second Master Chen, the detectives from the Serious Crimes Division are here.”  

Meanwhile, the young master of the Sheng family persisted with his interrogation. “Is the award ceremony at the revolving restaurant on the top floor of The Peninsula?”  

“No,” Zhu Qing replied. “It’s at Grandma Cui’s Herbal Tea Shop on the streets of Yau Ma Tei.”  

“Is it a Good Citizen Medal or a trophy?”  

“It’s a winter melon from the tea shop.”  

Sheng Fang scrunched up his little dumpling-like face, tilting his head slightly in skepticism.  

Steward Cui’s hand rested on the doorknob. After knocking once more to confirm, he pressed down—only to freeze. “The door isn’t locked.”  

“Second Master Chen…” He pushed the door open gently, lowering his voice. “Are you asleep, or—”  

Just then, a maid entered with a tray of tea for the two officers.  

As the door swung wide open, a heavy *thud* echoed. The tray slipped from her hands, crashing to the floor. Cups shattered, sending sharp fragments flying.  

Facing the study door was a computer.  

On the screen, a document was open.  

Three large, glaring words in blood-red font: **”I’m sorry.”** Below it, dense lines of smaller text filled the page.  

Everyone’s gaze followed the screen downward.  

Chen Chaosheng lay slumped in the leather swivel chair, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle. The computer screen cast a ghastly white glow over the scene—an unmistakable case of suicide out of guilt.  

“Ah—!” The maid’s scream pierced through the villa.  

Sheng Fang instinctively turned his head, but a firm hand held him in place.  

Zhu Qing pressed the little curly-haired bundle into her chest with one hand while covering his eyes with the other.  

“Close your eyes,” she said coolly. “Unless you want nightmares.”  

The usually domineering little tyrant forgot to struggle, his eyelashes fluttering faintly against Zhu Qing’s palm.  

At the study’s entrance, the air grew so thick it was nearly suffocating.  

This child, who always pretended to be a grown-up—  

Was finally, in Zhu Qing’s awkward but protective embrace, shielded like the vulnerable little boy he truly was.