On the way back to the Bureau, Old Mo recounted the strange smiling corpse encounter from the night before to a colleague. The story sent chills down the man's spine. Once the bodies were back in the forensic lab, Old Mo briefly looked away, and that same colleague proceeded to relay the eerie experience in vivid detail to the rest of the team. As a result, after hearing the ghost story, no one was willing to conduct the autopsies on those two corpses.
Finally, the lab director stepped in and made the call: nobody was getting out of this. With a problem this big, everyone had to face it together. The autopsies on both bodies would be a group effort by the entire forensic team.
Though it was a collective task, Old Mo remained the lead pathologist—after all, he had performed the initial on-site examinations. There must be a proper beginning and an end. Despite his strong reluctance, Old Mo's curiosity about the two corpses kept him going. Perhaps these weren't supernatural occurrences after all; a thorough dissection might reveal scientific explanations.
So the operating table was soon surrounded by forensic colleagues, and the director himself held a video camera to document the entire process. At first, the autopsies proceeded as usual. After cleaning the bodies, Old Mo opened the first corpse's chest cavity and removed the internal organs, handing them off for pathological analysis. No abnormalities appeared in this phase.
But just as Old Mo was cutting through the first corpse's ribs to extract the heart, problems arose. The heart was carbonized—something Old Mo had never heard of before. Furthermore, the cut edges of the ribs were blackened, resembling chronic poisoning. Yet the external appearance and the liver and kidney tissues showed no signs of poisoning at all, making this blackened rib condition inexplicable.
Old Mo then examined the hearts and bones of both corpses. Without exception, the two hearts looked identical—like they had been burned in a fire—and the bones were a strange color, resembling the dark bones of a black-boned chicken rather than normal human bones.
Just as Old Mo prepared to examine the lymph nodes and nerves, the operating room phone rang. A colleague who had accompanied him to the scene answered and, after a few words, his face turned pale. Stammering, he hung up and told everyone: "Another body was just found at that same location."
Looking outside at the darkening sky, not a single forensic specialist dared to go to the site alone this time. Once again, the director made the final call: everyone had to go. Even if most were just there for moral support, the entire team was going.
Within 24 hours, they were at the crime scene for the third time. This corpse lay about twenty meters from the previous two, forming a pin (品) character pattern with the three bodies.
As they prepared for the initial autopsy, the homicide captain approached, looking troubled. He asked about the autopsy reports for the two previous bodies but received no clear answers. The director harshly scolded the captain for failing to assign officers to guard the scene, which had allowed this third corpse to appear.
The captain was clearly upset but insisted he had assigned two junior officers to watch the site. Yet, after Old Mo and the team had been gone for only four or five hours, during the brief moment those two officers were taking a smoke break, a naked corpse suddenly appeared less than five meters behind them.
The two officers were stunned. After a long moment, they realized they were not dreaming. This was an open area with almost no cover; the corpse had appeared out of thin air.
This time, not only did the entire forensic team respond, but the entire homicide division mobilized as well. Three times in a row, corpses were dumped in the same place, right under the police's noses. This was clearly a provocation.
Though the forensic team had not yet determined cause of death and couldn't confirm homicide, the charge of illegal corpse dumping was certain—plus disorderly conduct. The homicide team and local police combed a ten-mile radius without finding any clues.
While the detectives were busy, the forensic team also worked nonstop. This time, the director personally conducted the initial autopsy, with the homicide captain and several pathologists watching.
This corpse was younger than the previous two, looking under thirty years old. As before, there were no external wounds, and much of the skin was decomposed.
Finally, under the watchful eyes of the forensic team, the director sliced open the back of the corpse's hand, revealing gray finger bones.
At that moment, a chill wind swept through, causing everyone to shudder.
The colleague who had been with Old Mo at the scene spoke up: "Director, you don't know how evil this place is. Once the site inspection's done, just leave the rest for the lab—don't linger here…"
Before he could finish, the corpse on the ground suddenly lifted its hand and gripped the director's arm tightly.
The director screamed, hair standing on end, and collapsed onto the ground. He tugged and pulled with all his might but could not free his arm from the dead hand's grasp.
Fortunately, the corpse did nothing else besides grabbing the director's arm, lying still like any other dead body.
Covered in sweat, the director suddenly remembered he hadn't come alone. Struggling, he shouted at the forensic team behind him: "You're just going to stand there and watch?!"
These were forensic experts—no ordinary people. Though initially frozen, the director's yell jolted them into action. Several brave souls, along with the homicide captain, rushed over and pried the corpse's fingers apart, freeing the director.
The homicide captain pulled the director away, and inadvertently glanced down at the corpse on the ground. His body hair stood on end again, and he shouted loudly, "Look at the corpse's face!"When the forensic team turned to look, the corpse suddenly opened its eyes. It looked sorrowfully in the direction where the director was standing, as if it had just endured a heartbreaking separation between life and death.
Everyone instinctively took a few steps back, afraid the corpse might suddenly leap up and attack them. The homicide captain immediately drew his pistol, chambered a round, and aimed for the corpse's head.The director, quick as a flash, pressed down on the captain's gun barrel and said, "Don't shoot. If you damage it, it won't be worth anything."
While the two argued, the corpse slowly closed its eyes again, returning to the typical expression of death. Nearby police officers, hearing the commotion, craned their necks to see what was going on.
"What are you all staring at? Don't act like busybodies!" The homicide captain turned back and scolded his subordinates, though it sounded more like venting frustration. The director no longer cared to explain; cautiously, he crept closer to the corpse again. After confirming there were no signs of life, he called out, "That was just a reflex—it hasn't completely died yet. Now it's fine. Who's going to check it again?"
None of the forensic team responded. Even though they made their living studying corpses, any ordinary person could tell that scene had nothing to do with reflexes. If it weren't for the fact that the man talking nonsense was their boss with a bad temper, someone would have long ago snapped at him.
Seeing no one answer, the director felt a little embarrassed. Rubbing his arm, which bore a purple bruise from the corpse's grip, he said, "Don't say I didn't warn you—the autopsy report on this body has to be on my desk by tomorrow morning. Are you planning to wait until midnight to take it back for dissection?"
His words had effect. The events of the day had exceeded the forensic team's understanding of corpses; no one wanted to deal with these bodies any longer—let alone be left alone with them late at night.
All eyes turned to Old Mo. According to protocol, since he had handled the first corpse, the subsequent bodies in this case should not be assigned to others.
Old Mo gritted his teeth and approached the corpse again for a thorough inspection. The corpse's limbs were stiff as wood; it was impossible to bend its arms like before when it grabbed the director. He found nothing abnormal and concluded the bodies had to be taken back to the Bureau for detailed autopsies.
Back at the Bureau, the autopsy on this corpse was again Old Mo's responsibility. Finding a moment alone, he called his father and told him about the strange events since last night. His father fell silent for a long moment. Just as Old Mo wondered if the line was dead, his father's voice came through, warning him to stop touching those corpses. No matter the excuse—even if it meant claiming his father was ill—Old Mo had to hurry home.
Before Old Mo could ask more, his father hung up. Anxiety grew in Old Mo's heart. Ultimately, he followed his father's advice, didn't ask for leave from the director, and simply stored the three corpses in the cold storage before driving home.
At home, Old Mo saw his father making phone calls, but the other side never answered. Yet his father kept dialing again and again, ignoring Old Mo's presence.
After countless attempts, the other side finally responded. Old Mo's father respectfully spoke with the caller in a manner Old Mo had never seen before. The call was brief—five or six minutes—and when it ended, his father said, "Don't go anywhere these days. Just stay home quietly. When that person arrives, listen to what he has to say."
From his father's expression, Old Mo sensed he knew more than he was letting on. But no matter how much Old Mo pressed, his father just repeated, "Wait a little longer. When that person comes, ask him yourself."
His father took the matter seriously, even going so far as to turn off Old Mo's phone to cut off outside contact. (There was no computer at home.)
Thus, Old Mo spent the night at his father's house. That night, his nightmares felt vividly real—sometimes dreaming the three corpses stood silently by his bedside; later, the director appeared, bloodied and pleading, "Why did you make me die for you?"
Old Mo woke up in terror, realizing his sheets were soaked with cold sweat.
In a daze, Old Mo noticed a misty shadow by the bedside, staring at him. Unsure if he was still dreaming, he reached out to touch the shadow. The moment his fingers made contact, an icy chill shot through his entire body.
In an instant, Old Mo felt as if he was trapped in a freezer. His teeth chattered uncontrollably, and though he tried to pull back his arm, his fingers felt glued in place.
Just as Old Mo was about to freeze solid, the door opened. His father's head appeared, and he said, "What are you doing? It's the middle of the night—why aren't you sleeping?"
No sooner had he spoken than his father's hand reached behind his back and scattered a handful of dazzling white powder in front of Old Mo. The misty shadow vanished instantly before their eyes.
Freed from the chilling grip, Old Mo collapsed back onto the bed. But his father was still cautious, continuing to sprinkle the white powder into every corner of the room.
After a long while, Old Mo finally gathered the strength to sit up and asked, "How did you know something was wrong here?"
His father took a deep breath and said, "I was so cold in that room I woke up. If not for a trick a friend taught me long ago, your little life would have been over tonight."
Old Mo looked at the powder scattered everywhere and asked, "What is this white stuff?"
His father reached into his pocket and pulled out a small plastic bag filled with white powder, tossing it onto Old Mo's bed. "Salt," he said.