Chapter 75 "Why is she crying?"

The children in the show consider becoming a police officer to be their highest ideal.

I vaguely remember that not long ago, he asked Little Coconut if she wanted to become a real Coconut Madam, and she refused without hesitation. Coconut is indeed a child with ideals; once she said she wanted to be a fashion model, she never wavered…

Now, Shengfang asked Aunt Ping the same question again.

His tone was serious and resolute, yet full of enthusiasm: "Do you want to be Madam Ping?"

Aunt Ping smiled kindly at the young master and said, "I don't want to."

Fangfang looked puzzled.

Aunt Ping also shook her head and sighed.

"Not only do you have to learn to scale walls and be a female knight-errant in period dramas, but you also have to learn to investigate cases and go undercover," Aunt Ping said. "Young master's demands on Aunt Ping are too high. I'm an old man, I get out of breath after running a few steps, how am I supposed to catch thieves?"

Fangfang pointed to her little head: "Solving cases relies on your brain."

Aunt Ping was both amused and exasperated: "Qingqing said that all I need to do is take good care of you, my little rascal."

There has finally been progress in the murder case at the theater. According to Tsang Wing-shan, she felt that the deceased looked familiar, and after searching for a long time, she finally remembered that she had read a report about a famous Hong Kong director, and the deceased was the late director Chow Wing-sing mentioned in the report.

Zhou Yongsheng was indeed quite famous in the industry, but directors are different from actors and rarely appear in public. Those with unremarkable features are generally forgotten after a single glance. Fortunately, Zeng Yongshan was meticulous and followed her intuition, which led to the confirmation of the deceased's identity. Otherwise, the case might have remained unsolved for who knows how long. After all, the deceased was already "dead," and even if they had been missing for ten or twenty years, their family might not have reported it, and the murder case could very well have remained a cold case.

Confirming the victim's identity is a major breakthrough. A person who had "died" once, and then murdered again, makes the case even more perplexing. Seeing that it was getting late, Mo Zhenbang only told his subordinates who lived nearby to return to the police station to sort through the clues; those who couldn't get away could come back the next morning. If the people in Team A knew, they'd definitely be envious—overtime was something they could choose to do.

"Aunt Ping, I'm going back to the police station. You take Fangfang upstairs first."

If we're talking about living close by, no one lives closer to the police station than Zhu Qing. She parked her car, handed Fangfang to Aunt Ping, and turned to go back to the police station to work overtime.

Under the streetlights, Shengfang stood still, her little mouth pouting into a downward curve, looking aggrieved.

He had been separated from Qingzai all night and was looking forward to their "reunion" tonight, but it turned out to be another disappointment.

When Zhu Qing turned around, this was the scene she saw—

Her uncle stood alone under the streetlight, his small shadow stretched long, gazing at her with reluctance, a truly heartbreaking sight.

"Qingzi hasn't told me a story in a long time," Shengfang said sadly.

Didn't your older sister tell you yesterday?

"It would be more appropriate for me to explain it to her," Fangfang muttered.

As they were talking, Zhu Qing had already walked back to him.

Normally, Fangfang would always try his best to look up at her, even if it made his neck ache, he would never look down. But today, he hung his head, his shoulders slumped, and he looked listless.

He thought he was going to have to say goodbye to Qingzai again.

Suddenly, a pair of warm hands pulled him into a tight embrace.

Zhu Qing squatted down, hugged him tightly, and rubbed his little head: "Good boy."

Like fireworks suddenly bursting in the night sky above Victoria Harbour, Fangfang's scrunched-up little face instantly lit up.

He's the easiest kid to coax; a hug from Qingzai is enough to make him forget all his grievances.

The little boy was no longer upset or fussy. He kicked his little feet lightly and hopped along, urging Aunt Ping to go home.

"Qingzai has to go to work overtime." Fangfang raised her little fist, her eyes sparkling, "Catch the bad guys!"

...

There were only a few people in the Serious Crimes Unit's meeting room at night.

Liang Qikai, Zeng Yongshan, and Haozai arrived early. The table was covered with a pile of old magazines, and the messages on the whiteboard were no longer scarce.

An entire row of magazines, all dated, all on the same front page. The two large, blood-red characters "Love Suicide" ran across the page, with director Zhou Yongsheng's profile and actress Gu Niman's tearful eyes crudely juxtaposed. Especially the character "love," right next to the woman's wet eyes, her gaze purely sorrowful.

"Back then, all the magazines were vying for this headline."

“In 1985, renowned Hong Kong director Chow Wing-sing and actress Koo Ni-man committed suicide on their private yacht.” Tsang Wing-shan read the article aloud, “They took poison and left a suicide note; even the contents of the suicide note were photographed.”

The paparazzi back then were even more ruthless than they are now. They captured everything from photos of the coffin and the contents of the suicide note to panoramic views of the funeral hall.

I don't know where they got the original photo of the suicide note from, but it's extremely clear.

The handwriting of Zhou Yongsheng and Gu Niman overlapped on the two suicide notes—

We will be together forever.

“The innocent actress Gu Niman was eighteen years old.” Liang Qikai wrote the number on the whiteboard. “Director Zhou Yongsheng was thirty-four years old at the time. Now, ten years later, the deceased should be forty-four years old.”

“That was three days after filming wrapped up,” he continued. “The whole crew said that the director and the female lead were so immersed in their roles that they chose to die together because they were so engrossed in the movie’s atmosphere.”

Zhu Qing looked up from the magazine: "What kind of movie was that?"

"The theme of 'Lunar Eclipse' is revealed in these small prints—'The Part That Cannot Be Illuminated'." Tsang Wing-shan placed the movie poster on the table. "It's a tragic art film that tells a story of forbidden love. After its release, the film caused a sensation in Hong Kong and won numerous awards at home and abroad. Everyone says that the director gave her the most beautiful shots. This is not just a movie, but art."

The poster features a silhouette of Gu Niman.

The girl's fair back and graceful figure were breathtaking, yet they did not arouse any evil thoughts.

This time, Zeng Yongshan was not moved by the "true love" portrayed by the media.

Instead, her brow furrowed slightly, expressing regret and sorrow for the life that had been lost.

"She had just turned eighteen when she passed away... which means that she was not even an adult when she was with Zhou Yongsheng."

"What could she possibly know? A highly talented actress, supposedly dedicated to art, ultimately sacrificed her vibrant and precious life."

"Those so-called international awards... I don't know if they stem from the film itself, or from the gimmick of the director and actress committing suicide together."

The case of Zhou Yongsheng and Gu Niman's suicide pact was a non-natural death, and the police preserved the complete case file at the time. However, the case file is now stored in the archives management center, and the procedure for applying for a review order from the headquarters is extremely cumbersome, and it certainly cannot be completed in one night.

At this moment, they first tried to piece together the truth of what happened back then by relying on their memories and magazine reports.

The magazine's pages featured news from the search and rescue operation that year.

"After taking poison, the two left suicide notes and jumped into the sea to commit suicide."

"Only the actress's body was found, along with the director's watch and suicide note. At the time, maritime search and rescue capabilities were limited, so even if Zhou Yongsheng's body had not been found, he would have been presumed dead."

“Searching for missing persons at sea is already an extremely difficult task, and everyone thought that Zhou Yongsheng’s body had been washed away by the waves.”

"After all, personal belongings and suicide notes pointed to a double suicide, and crew members confirmed that the two were 'abnormally depressed,' so the court later declared them dead."

“Look at these reports from back then, they were written in such a romantic way.”

"Let love be frozen in its purest and most beautiful moment."

"So pure... the actress who committed suicide for love is dead, but he's still alive?"

"If you really loved him that much, even if you were lucky enough to survive that time, you should have ended it in another way, instead of hiding away and being murdered ten years later."

Mo Zhenbang picked up the photo of the deceased.

Ten years ago she had long hair, but now it's short, and her face shows the marks of time.

"We cannot completely confirm that it is the same person just from the photo. To be more rigorous, we need to do more verification."

“It’s him… Last time, in Lin Tingchao’s case, I spent the whole day in the forensic department. Look at the comparison photos of Zhou Yongsheng ten years ago and ten years later, the outline of his ears is exactly the same.”

"On the other hand, even if they loved each other, it wouldn't warrant committing suicide together, would it? What exactly happened back then?"

"What happened?" Mo Zhenbang scoffed and threw a brown paper bag on the table.

Inside are the original marriage registration documents and hospital birth records.

“This Director Zhou is a married man with children,” Mo Zhenbang said.

The office erupted in an uproar.

So it's an extramarital affair?

"They talk like it's true love... I wonder if Zhou Yongsheng was this 'romantic' towards his wife back then."

Zeng Yongshan gasped and whispered in Zhu Qing's ear, "I knew it... something was wrong, so this is where the problem lies."

"My eyesight has really improved!"

...

The next morning, Fangfang was awakened by the fragrant aroma of chicken porridge filling the house.

It was easy to guess that Aunt Ping had put a lot of effort into preparing breakfast for them.

"Get up and go to school." Zhu Qing sat down beside his bed.

The child, just woken up, rolled around in bed, reluctant to get out of bed, his soft hair sticking up like antennas.

Zhu Qing cupped his little face and pinched it repeatedly, waking the uncle and nephew up in the morning.

Fangfang crawled out of the soft blankets, blinked, and made sure she was in the right place.

For him, there wasn't much difference between living at home and in a nursing home; wherever his family was, that was home. The only advantage was that it was closer to kindergarten, so he could sleep an extra twenty minutes.

Unlike before, it's not difficult to wake Shengfang up now.

The child was able to get dressed quickly and neatly in less than ten minutes, with water droplets on his face and toothpaste residue still stuck to the corners of his mouth.

Zhu Qing wiped Fang Fang's mouth and led him to sit down at the dining table.

As usual, Aunt Ping prepared a sumptuous and meticulous breakfast.

The uncle and nephew sat side by side, each with the same breakfast in front of them. Even the way they raised their hands to pick up their spoons was as if they were copying each other, showing perfect tacit understanding.

"It's been a long time since I had breakfast with Qingzai."

Zhu Qing scooped up a spoonful of the thick, simmering chicken porridge and gently blew on it to release the steam.

Indeed, it had been a long time since the uncle and nephew had eaten breakfast so quietly.

Aunt Ping smiled and said, "What about a couple of days ago?"

At that time, Aunt Ping was staying at the sanatorium with Sheng Peirong, and the two of them, uncle and niece, came back together.

Fangfang, cheeks puffed out, complained. Qingzai, unable to catch up on her sleep, was dragged out of bed and, half-asleep, shoved a piece of bread into his hand before being sent on the school bus.

“Qingzai will definitely turn around and go back to sleep.” He held up his chubby finger and shook it, looking serious. “She didn’t eat breakfast!”

“Aunt Ping,” Fangfang tugged at Aunt Ping’s sleeve, “you have to talk to her about it.”

Aunt Ping laughed out loud.

In the past, she would have said that she couldn't possibly care about so many things. But things are different now—those carefully considered boundaries and the deliberate sense of propriety no longer matter in front of this uncle and nephew who genuinely accept her.

“I’ll talk to her mother,” Aunt Ping said as she walked over, wiping her hands.

Zhu Qing almost choked on her porridge and couldn't help but laugh.

How novel! No one could complain to her parents when she was little, but now that she's grown up, she gets to experience it.

Aunt Ping placed two dark brown drinks in front of them.

"Water chestnut and sugarcane juice with turtle jelly powder," she said. "I just learned how to make it, so I'm going to try it right away."

The niece and uncle both showed expressions of disgust.

The children pointed out the window: "Look, there are little birds!"

As soon as he finished speaking, he picked up the cup with his chubby little hands and took the opportunity to pour it for Zhu Qing.

"The bird flew over there." Zhu Qing pointed in another direction, then turned back without changing her expression.

"Don't talk nonsense!" Fangfang nudged her arm with her little head. "That's the bathroom over there, it doesn't have a window!"

"I'm finished eating." Zhu Qing grabbed her coat and slipped away. "Let's get to work."

Fangfang tried to catch her and bring her back, but ended up being dragged back herself first.

"Young master, this herbal tea is the best for clearing heat and removing dampness, you should try it."

The baby buried his face in the cup, pinched his nose, and said, "Yue—"

...

In the conference room, photos of Zhou Yongsheng from ten years ago and photos of his current body were placed side by side on the table.

Time has left its mark on his face, but his slender figure remains unchanged. Even the location and size of the mole on the side of his neck perfectly match the old photos.

"Twins?" Haozai crossed his legs and joked, "Or maybe they got plastic surgery like Kwong Siu-yin, just like in the Lin Ting-chao case?"

Mo Zhenbang tapped the documents in front of him: "After comparing the dental records and the microscopic features of the mole on the neck, it can be confirmed that it is the same person."

"In other words, he did fake his death ten years ago."

"But what was the motive for faking his death? We investigated and found that he had no huge debts, had no grudges against anyone back then, and didn't seem to be trying to avoid anything. He hadn't even bought insurance."

"Maybe he didn't intend to fake his death in the first place, but he failed to die immediately and didn't have the courage to die again?"

"Anyway, the actress is completely innocent. She's young, and she was fooled by the director, thinking she'd found true love, but..."

"When the news of their suicide pact broke, the movie was released not long after, and the film received a lot of attention and became a classic. If he were alive, this 'artistic suicide pact' would have become a publicity stunt."

Uncle Li sneered: "So he has to 'die' completely in order for this movie to become a timeless topic of conversation."

Outside the meeting room, footsteps approached from afar.

Weng Zhaolin knocked heavily on the glass door twice.

“The media has already reported it.” He tossed down a newspaper, pointing to a corner of the page, “The regional headquarters just called, demanding an explanation from us as soon as possible.”

Mo Zhenbang frowned as he glanced at the headline, then read it aloud: "Director who died for love has come back to life? Where did this rumor come from?"

He rubbed his temples in frustration and then asked, "Has the autopsy report come out yet?"

“Zhu Qing went to the forensic department,” Zeng Yongshan said.

At this moment, Zhu Qing was sitting opposite Cheng Xinglang in the forensic office.

Dr. Cheng tapped his well-defined fingers lightly on the report: "The key conclusions are here."

"But there is a contradiction: the deceased was highly nearsighted, but no glasses were found at the scene."

Zhu Qing raised an eyebrow: "Contact lenses?"

"No contact lens material remains on the surface of the eyeball."

Zhu Qing recalled that when she was in school, she had a classmate who was severely nearsighted and could not live a normal life without glasses.

She frowned slightly: "So... the murderer took the victim's glasses?"

"There are no temple marks on the deceased's temples." Dr. Cheng lightly tapped his own nose to indicate, "The nasal bone also shows no bone indentation or pressure marks, which indicates—"

Zhu Qing suddenly leaned forward, getting so close that she could see a non-existent pressure mark on the bridge of his nose.

Cheng Xinglang's gaze paused for a moment.

“The deceased had not worn glasses regularly for at least two years,” he continued.

High myopia, but doesn't wear glasses?

Zhu Qing seemed to be deep in thought, and then took the report away.

Her gaze swept over the anatomy textbooks spread out on the table.

A metal bookmark was sandwiched in the middle.

Zhu Qing returned to the conference room, where everyone gathered around to analyze the autopsy report.

Haozai exclaimed, "Dr. Cheng's efficiency has been ridiculously high lately, and he's working with our Group B more and more smoothly."

"The stomach contents test shows that he ate shrimp rice noodle rolls three hours before his death?" Mo Zhenbang flipped through the report. "Shrimp rice noodle rolls... I feel like I've seen them somewhere before?"

“It’s this ‘Food Weekly’.” Zeng Yongshan pulled one out from a pile of old magazines. “It says here that Zhou Yongsheng’s favorite dish is shrimp rice noodle rolls with peanut sauce at Fu Nian Ice Room.”

Mo Zhenbang tapped the whiteboard: "Uncle Li is taking people to Fu Nian Ice Room, bringing Zhou Yongsheng's photo with him."

"Zhu Qing and Jia Le went to find his wife and son."

"Qi Kai, Yong Shan, investigate this 'female protagonist who committed suicide for love'." Mo Zhenbang pointed to Gu Niman's photo on the whiteboard, "Let's see if they were really in love back then."

"Furthermore, find out exactly what identity Zhou Yongsheng has been living under all these years. He's been living in anonymity for a full ten years? He's quite capable."

...

Zhu Qing and Xu Jiale stood in front of an old-style Western-style house.

“This is it.” Xu Jiale took two steps back, squinting as he checked the house number. “This location and this size are quite expensive. Leaving it to his wife and children is probably the only decent thing Zhou Yongsheng did before he died.”

They had seen the interview; the house was bought by Zhou Yongsheng when he made his first fortune.

The exterior walls of the house bear mottled marks, with several patches of plaster peeling off. However, the flowers and plants in the courtyard are carefully tended, growing lush and verdant.

Zhu Qing raised her hand and tapped the wooden door three times with her knuckles.

With a creak, the door slowly opened a crack.

The person who opened the door was a middle-aged woman wearing a long cotton and linen dress. After only a moment of silence, she had already guessed their purpose.

"Are you a police officer?" She stepped aside to make room for him. "Please come in."

Ten years ago, after filming wrapped on the movie "Lunar Eclipse," director Zhou Yongsheng and the female lead committed suicide together on their private yacht.

He had been married for seven years at the time, and the woman in front of the police was his wife, Jiang Xiaowei.

The house is old and shows signs of age everywhere. The armrests of the leather sofa are obviously worn and the texture is no longer shiny.

Several magazines were on the coffee table, and it was those sensational headlines that were giving Inspector Ong a headache. The media had a keen sense of smell; initially, someone recognized the body at the public mortuary and was bribed by paparazzi, but now reporters were racing against the police to report on Zhou Yongsheng's story of "dying and coming back to life only to die again in a bizarre way."

Jiang Xiaowei had obviously already seen these reports.

Her face didn't look good, and there was a self-deprecating look in her eyes.

She wore a forced smile, as if talking to herself: "Actually, I said everything that needed to be said ten years ago."

The interior decoration is old-fashioned, but it is spacious and bright, with sunlight shining in and illuminating several conspicuous nail marks on the wall.

Judging from the arrangement of the small holes, several photos, probably family portraits, used to hang there. The frames were only removed after Zhou Yongsheng "died for love," but even after all these years, the marks are still clearly visible.

“We met on set. I was an art director assistant and was being harassed by a male actor. I was almost crying when he stepped in to help me out.”

"Later I found out that he was so young, and he was actually a director."

“I thought that I was insignificant in the director’s eyes. But I didn’t expect that he would remember me. I come from an ordinary family and I was responsible for the livelihood of my whole family. I was mediocre and dull. But Yong Sheng remembered my name and always encouraged me. Actually, at that time, he was a very gentle person.”

Jiang Xiaowei's eyes glistened with tears as she spoke of the past.

"We fell in love... falling in love, getting married, everything happened naturally."

“Working on set is tough, and after I married Yongsheng, he suggested that I quit my job. Not long after, I got pregnant, so I decided to stay home and rest.”

"He is the most responsible person I have ever met."

“From prenatal checkups to the birth of our child, no matter how busy he was, he never missed a single one. At that time, Yifan was only a few months old. If he happened to be out, I don’t know how I would have managed to take care of my son.” Jiang Xiaowei shook her head with a smile as she said this. “Our family of three used to be very happy. I don’t know why… I have never met that actress. I have always trusted him. In the seven years of our marriage, I have almost never visited her on set.”

"We thought he was dead."

"Ten years have passed, and you've moved on from the pain, only to have it all come back to this?" Jiang Xiaowei looked up, her eyes filled with confusion. "Was that person who died in the movie theater really him?"

After receiving confirmation from the police, Jiang Xiaowei fell silent, clasped her hands together, and gently placed them on her knees.

Xu Jiale took notes in the record book, focusing on verifying the deceased's debt situation and life insurance benefits.

"Are you suspecting insurance fraud? That's impossible."

“The policy has a suicide exclusion period. Once the exclusion period has passed, even if it is suicide, the insurance company still needs to pay compensation,” Jiang Xiaowei said. “Back then, the insurance company determined that the suicide pact was ‘deliberately creating an insured event’ and refused to pay a single penny.”

“Originally, we were going to take it to court and sue them. But in the end, the film company gave us compensation privately.” Jiang Xiaowei smiled bitterly. “After the news of our double suicide came out, they wanted to erase the existence of me and Yifan. The person is gone, but the movie still has to be released, and they need the gimmick of ‘double suicide’.”

"To outsiders..." her voice trailed off, "my son and I have become the people who can't see the light of day."

"Everyone says that the famous director and actress have all sorts of romantic relationships, but who would know that he also has a wife and children at home?"

“Sometimes I really wish that my relatives and neighbors didn’t know about this either. That way, at least the child could go to school with his head held high. You wouldn’t understand, those pitying looks are more painful than cold, mocking words.”

Zhu Qing observed every subtle change in her expression: "In these ten years, have you ever doubted that Zhou Yongsheng might still be alive?"

Jiang Xiaowei shook her head and asked again, "Are you sure it's him?"

"The comparison results are here." Zhu Qing handed over the documents. "Please arrange a time to identify the body as soon as possible."

...

In the art studio of Weston Kindergarten, sunlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, spilling onto the floor covered with drawing paper.

A dozen or so children in the toddler class were wearing special aprons for art class and were concentrating intently on creating their artwork.

Children kneel on the ground applying paint, their sleeves stained with vibrant colors.

Here, paint can be smeared on paper, walls, and even fly onto children's faces, but no one will stop them. It is precisely this educational philosophy of allowing children to explore freely that makes it so difficult to find a place at this kindergarten.

At this moment, Fangfang looks like a little kitten with three colors of paint on her cheeks.

He was completely unaware of his own comical appearance, pointing at the rainbow-colored coconut flakes and Jinbao, covering his mouth with his little hand and laughing.

There are still 30 minutes until school ends.

Little Fangfang kept a close eye on the end of class. After school, he had to go to the police station to pick up Qingzai, and then go to the nursing home to see his older sister. Since his sister woke up, he had become increasingly busy—this was what Aunt Ping meant by "fulfilling"!

"Fangfang, don't forget you have tennis lesson tonight," Jinbao suddenly reminded him.

Fangfang froze instantly—

We're doomed!

A while ago, he and Jinbao signed up for tennis lessons together. This week, because he was too busy at home, Shengfang completely forgot about it.

He wrinkled his nose in distress: "But I promised my older sister I would go see her tonight."

A-Juan leaned closer: "You have an older sister?"

Ever since the last time the two of them rode a mop across the classroom together, Shengfang and Ajuan have become nodding acquaintances.

They began to live together peacefully, and A-Juan never complained to the teacher again.

"Of course!" Fangfang puffed out her chest, her little nostrils pointing skyward. "Big sister!"

How big is it?

"He's in his forties or fifties!"

"Wow, that's really amazing..."

The art teacher, who was pretending to organize his art supplies, quietly pricked up his ears.

So... what makes it so amazing?

...

Jiang Xiaowei simply changed into a black coat before accompanying the police to the mortuary.

The forced smile on her lips was more bitter than tears. Ten years ago, at that funeral without a body, she wore a similar black dress, bidding farewell to her husband before the empty coffin. Only, that dress from back then no longer fit; time shows no mercy to anyone.

“At least this time, there’s a body,” she said softly.

It was clearly a joke, but even the usually carefree Xu Jiale turned his face away.

Zhu Qing paused for a moment, then said, "Please accept my condolences."

Jiang Xiaowei took a deep breath, stood in front of the morgue freezer, and nodded slightly: "I'm ready."

The refrigerator door was opened, and white steam billowed out. After ten years, Jiang Xiaowei saw her husband, who should have died long ago.

She didn't cry, but felt a strange yet familiar feeling. Ten years ago, Zhou Yongsheng was only thirty-four years old, a spirited and successful director. But today, ten years later, he looks old, with gray hair at his temples and downward-pointing lines at the corners of his mouth.

"How can one not age?" She ran her fingertips through her temples. "When I was forty, I only had a few gray hairs left, and sometimes I'd have my son pluck them out for me, out of sight, out of mind. Now, a few years later, the gray hairs are increasing—"

Jiang Xiaowei smiled helplessly, fine lines appearing at the corners of her eyes: "Yifan said, 'Mom, I have so many gray hairs that I can't pluck them all out.'"

Xu Jiale: "Didn't you notify your son to come and see him one last time?"

“No,” Jiang Xiaowei said. “I don’t know how to tell him yet that Yifan used to idolize his father the most.”

The year Zhou Yongsheng faked his death, his son Zhou Yifan was six years old; he is now sixteen.

Jiang Xiaowei said that this news has caused a great stir again, and her biggest worry is for her son.

“When he was six years old, he learned of his father’s death and cried from morning till night, even shedding tears in his sleep. At the time, I didn’t tell him about the double suicide; I just said it was an accident.”

"Yifan always proudly told everyone that his father was a director. It wasn't until he was ten years old that he learned that Yongsheng had committed suicide with an actress... It seems that a classmate who had a conflict with Yifan told him this, and the parents of those students always treated it as a joke."

"Yifan almost broke down and had a big fight with me when he came back. He felt that his sadness and nostalgia were ridiculous."

"It's also my fault. I never knew how to tell him the truth. After that, Yifan never mentioned his father again, as if Yongsheng had become a stain on his life."

Jiang Xiaowei sighed softly and turned to look at the corpse lying flat.

She wasn't afraid and reached out to touch it, but then, as if remembering something, she sadly withdrew her hand.

“If he didn’t die at all…” Jiang Xiaowei suddenly asked, “Doesn’t that prove that he wasn’t actually that deeply in love with Gu Niman?”

Her eyes were determined, as if she hoped to get an answer from the police that would save her from further embarrassment.

Neither Zhu Qing nor Xu Jiale responded.

Does this answer still have any meaning? Jiang Xiaowei asked herself this question in her heart.

Did Zhou Yongsheng wear glasses before?

“I wear them from morning till night, except when I’m sleeping,” Jiang Xiaowei said. “I have 700 degrees of myopia and can’t live without glasses.”

Zhu Qing lowered her head and wrote it down.

She also remembers that in the few photos of directors in the magazine, Zhou Yongsheng was wearing glasses.

Where is your son now?

“At school,” Jiang Xiaowei said. “He won’t want to show his face.”

"In the past ten years—" Xu Jiale flipped through the files, "has Zhou Yongsheng contacted Zhou Yifan?"

“No, of course not.” Jiang Xiaowei shook her head and then corrected, “It’s Jiang Yifan. He didn’t want to take his father’s surname anymore, so he asked me to change his surname.”

After leaving the public morgue and parting ways with Jiang Xiaowei, Xu Jiale seemed to have been suppressing his emotions for a long time, and finally let out a long sigh.

“Even if her son is hiding and not seeing anyone now, he’s still going to have a hard time in his own social circle,” he said in a low voice. “He’s only sixteen. Whether it was ten years ago or ten years from now, Zhou Yongsheng has never considered his son.”

The two walked in silence for a while.

It is foreseeable what Jiang Yifan will face at school.

Media attention is indeed a troublesome thing.

...

After reporting back to the police station, it was time to leave work.

That film from ten years ago is Gu Niman's representative work, and also her only film. She is not famous, and there is very little information about her, so we have to do a thorough investigation.

When Zhu Qing arrived at the sanatorium, the dim sunset had just shone on the empty corridor, as if warmly illuminating the way home.

Mom was reading a book when she heard the door open. She looked up, a smile in her eyes.

The kids went to their tennis lessons and couldn't come tonight. Without her little brother's chattering voice, Sheng Peirong felt a little uneasy.

Zhu Qing said that's how kids are; sometimes when they're left at home without making a sound, she thinks it's too quiet.

The nutritionist prepared a simple dinner, and the mother and daughter ate quietly, facing each other, a warmth flowing through their hearts.

This ordinary way of getting along made Zhu Qing feel that the years she had missed were being made up for little by little.

"Mom," Zhu Qing suddenly spoke up, "Do you know Zhou Yongsheng?"

“That young director?” Sheng Peirong recalled, “Your father really liked his work, and we went to see it together at the theater.”

That was more than twenty years ago. At that time, Zhou Yongsheng was only in his early twenties, but his shots were full of inspiration and had a unique style.

Zhu Qing flipped through the materials at hand. The director's first work was highly praised, but his later works were mediocre. People ridiculed him for being a flash in the pan and having lost his talent.

When he was thirty-four, he met Gu Niman—the "muse" in the media's eyes—and then jumped into the sea with her to commit suicide together.

Upon hearing this, Sheng Peirong put down her chopsticks and shook her head.

She could not condone suicide pacts.

What is love? Is dying together love?

Sheng Peirong's gaze fell on the couple's photo on the corner table next to the sofa. In the photo, the husband was smiling at the camera. She thought, he must have seen it, and he must have seen that she and Coco were doing well now.

“So you have to live.” Sheng Peirong’s voice was firm. “Only by living can you have hope.”

...

At 7:30 p.m., Shengfang, a child, stood at the entrance of the court, waving his small tennis racket and looking around.

Aunt Ping has arrived.

Then, Fangfang looked over her shoulder and spotted the black SUV parked by the roadside.

"Qingzai!"

Fangfang's short legs moved swiftly as she rushed towards Zhu Qing.

Although taking tennis lessons in the middle of a busy schedule is annoying, and it's also annoying that Jinbao can't even catch the ball, at least his niece remembers to catch him, so Baobao reluctantly forgives the whole world.

Shengfang and Aunt Ping got on the bus together.

Zhu Qing turned the steering wheel and merged into the main road with the traffic, but she was not heading home.

"Qingzai, Qingzai, where are we going?"

Fangfang leaned closer, her soft, baby voice drifting over.

Twenty minutes later, they stopped in front of a video store.

The store was dimly lit, and rows and rows of shelves were filled with videotapes, labeled with categories.

The shop owner was tidying up, moving nimbly up and down the stairs. He turned around, noticed the customer, and asked, "Beautiful lady, what kind of tape are you looking for?"

"Do you have the disc with Zhou Yongsheng?"

Before Zhu Qing could finish speaking, the boss had already precisely pulled out a videotape.

"Eclipse?" the shopkeeper said. "It's the last film of the director who died for love. It was just published in the newspaper this morning, and the price has tripled."

He waved the videotape in his hand: "It's out of print."

"One plate, please." Shengfang's little hand had already reached into Zhu Qing's pocket.

"Not even asking the price?" Zhu Qing hooked the tip of his nose.

Fangfang tiptoed and whispered, "After reading this, I'll sell it tomorrow and make even more money reselling it."

The price of the rare videotapes has been driven up today, and it's likely to be even more expensive tomorrow or the day after, as the news spreads.

Zhu Qing pinched his chubby cheeks: "He really is a child of the Sheng family."

Aunt Ping suppressed a laugh.

He inherited his father's and older sister's business acumen; if he doesn't become a police officer when he grows up, he could become Chairman Sheng.

Just yesterday, Fangfang was planning to take Qingzai to the movies...

In the blink of an eye, they were home, nestled on the sofa. The videotape was pushed into the projector, and Zhu Qing told the children, "This is a home theater."

In the living room, the lights were deliberately dimmed, and the niece and uncle sat side by side on the sofa.

Shaking my head and swaying my body makes me feel great.

Has Qingzai forgotten that he can only watch TV on weekends? He's hit the jackpot!

The television screen flickered; Zhou Yongsheng and Gu Niman's "suicide pact" was a tragic love story.

The film's male lead was relegated to a supporting role and was hardly discussed.

Every shot in the film that involves Gu Niman is breathtakingly beautiful.

The little boy, Shengfang, sat cross-legged next to Zhu Qing, holding an opened bag of potato chips. He first put a chip in his own mouth and then offered it to Zhu Qing.

"Qingzai, why is she crying?"

"Maybe they're hungry."

"You're just giving me the runaround."

The potato chip bag rattled, and Fangfang's little feet dangled back and forth.

Zhu Qing stared at Gu Niman on the screen.

She was too young. When she decided to die, did she really understand what death meant?

The girl paid the ultimate price, while the director lived a life of ignominy; it was truly not worth it.

But it must be admitted that even setting aside the hype, the film itself is a masterpiece.

Aunt Ping couldn't sit still any longer. She yawned and went back to her room, saying, "These love movies, you and I dating, me and you dating... they haven't come up with anything new in decades."

Before Aunt Ping closed the door, she heard Zhu Qing and Fang Fang chatting idly.

The uncle and nephew always had endless pleasant topics to talk about.

Fangfang ate until her little belly was round and bulging.

Even the most cunning villain couldn't comprehend such complex cinematic language. All he knew was that the male and female leads were just looking at each other…

"Qingzai, have you ever been in a relationship?"

"No."

The baby opened his little mouth, took another bite of the potato chip, and leaned comfortably against Qingzai's shoulder.

"I don't have any either."

Zhu Qing: ...