After Xiong Wanyi finished telling his story of how he joined the Bureau, he still looked dazed, like he hadn't fully stepped out of that nightmare from years ago. I glanced at the half-eaten roast lamb left on the table and felt my stomach churn—any appetite I had was completely destroyed by his tale.
Sun Fatty poured a cup of tea and passed it to Xiong Wanyi, but Xiong didn't even look at it. Instead, he grabbed a cup of baijiu, clinked glasses with Ximen Lian, and downed it in one go. That move made even Old Mo and Ximen Lian look uncomfortable—and frankly, even I felt a little awkward. Xiong Wanyi had clearly drunk too much tonight. If he were sober, no matter how much he disliked Sun Fatty, he wouldn't have been so brazen about showing it.
But Sun Fatty was nothing if not thick-skinned. He casually put down his teacup, looked at Xiong Wanyi, and said, "Xiong the Bastard, go on—don't stop halfway. If you're gonna tell it, tell the whole thing. Don't leave us hanging."
Xiong looked confused. "Sun Fatty, what do you mean, half the story? I told you how I got into the Bureau—what's left to say?"
Sun Fatty glanced at the untouched roast lamb on the table, but his appetite hadn't been affected at all. He reached over, tore off an entire leg, and said while chewing, "You didn't tell us about the thing wearing human skin. What, you want me to guess?"
He bit into the lamb, chewing noisily. It was impressive—he'd just listened to such a grotesque story and still had the stomach to eat. At his comment, Xiong Wanyi, Ximen Lian, and Old Mo all gave the newly promoted Deputy Director an odd look.
Sun Fatty, for his part, looked proud and utterly shameless. Not the slightest trace of embarrassment at being a senior officer who didn't even know the basics of his own department's strange cases. I picked up the teapot and poured him a cup, trying to cover for him, saying, "Da Sheng, you must be drunk. What Old Xiong ran into was a Ren Wei—a Taoist who went mad while cultivating longevity techniques. They couldn't fully relinquish their mortal body, lost their powers without shedding their physical form, and ended up having to survive by constantly replacing their skin. They masquerade among the living, clinging to life. Remember? You mentioned in Ouyang Pianzuo's archives that back in the Yuan Dynasty, they were called Oil-Skins, and only started being called Ren Wei around the late Ming. Ring any bells now?"
But Sun Fatty tilted his head, thought for a bit, then pointed at me and said, "Lazi, who's the one not thinking clearly here? What you said doesn't add up. Ouyang Pianzuo's archives? That's a place I'm even allowed to enter? Just this afternoon, Director Gao was pointing at my nose and yelling—told me that archive room is a forbidden zone for me, for life! You're saying I was in there chatting with you? Ask Fatty Gao—see if he agrees!"
Just like that, Sun Fatty ripped the cover I'd given him to shreds. I was so angry I nearly splashed tea in his face. But Old Mo, being the elder here, tactfully changed the subject: "Da Sheng, we're all friends here—no need for formalities. Calling you 'Deputy Director Sun' just makes things feel distant."
As he spoke, he poured Sun Fatty another cup of tea and asked, "Let me ask you something, as a friend. Now that you're in the top ranks, what's actually on the fourth underground level? You think you can tell us a little—just the parts you're allowed to share?"
Sun Fatty took the tea, but didn't rush to drink it. He squinted his bloodshot eyes at Old Mo and replied, "The parts I'm allowed to say? Well, in that case—there's nothing I can say."
Old Mo didn't look surprised; he probably expected that kind of answer. Sun Fatty smiled and turned the tables: "Old Mo, now you've heard how I, Lazi, and Xiong the Bastard got into the Bureau. What about you? Care to share your story?"
Old Mo looked at him and said, "You could just read the personnel file. What I'd tell you wouldn't differ from what's in there."
Sun Fatty set down the lamb leg and wiped his hands on a napkin. "Old Mo, do I look like someone who enjoys reading personnel files? I'm not like Lazi. If it can be explained with words, I won't waste time reading books."
Then he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and passed them around. Old Mo took one, lit it, took a few drags, then finally said, "My story's similar to Xiong's. The only difference is, he was a cop—I was a forensic pathologist. Actually, my heart condition came from that case…"
Old Mo was from the south, and forensic pathology had been a family trade. His father had been a well-known forensic specialist in the local police force. Back then, Old Mo had been half-coerced, half-persuaded into attending medical school. After earning his qualifications, he was assigned to the Criminal Investigation Department's technical unit.
Maybe it was the exposure from a young age, but it didn't take long before Old Mo developed complete immunity to the dead bodies on his autopsy table. One time, he was called out to examine a corpse from a car accident. The victim's head had been crushed by a tire—eyeballs and brain matter blasted over ten meters. The scene was so gory that even officers with over a decade on the force were left with trembling knees.
By the time Old Mo arrived at the scene, he calmly gathered the eyeballs and scattered bits of brain matter strewn across the road. After finishing the preliminary autopsy on-site, he did something utterly stomach-churning—in full view of several hundred bystanders.
He was just about to head back to the precinct when, nearby the crash site, Old Mo bought a few spiced rabbit heads. No one knew whether he hadn't eaten enough for lunch or simply couldn't resist the temptation of rabbit brain, but without the slightest hesitation, he pulled off his gloves, picked up a rabbit head, and began gnawing on it with loud crunch-crunch sounds.
When he dug out the rabbit's brain and eyeballs and popped them into his mouth, over a hundred onlookers simultaneously covered their mouths and dry-heaved. Old Mo acted like nothing had happened and reached for a second rabbit head. That was when the head of the technical team ran over and slapped it out of his hand. "You sick bastard! If you touch that rabbit brain again, I'll bash your brains out!"
After that day, Old Mo's name spread like wildfire throughout the local law enforcement system. Any time a particularly gruesome case came up, the department heads would call on him by name for the autopsy, joking: the case finds the man it deserves.
Just when Old Mo thought he'd spend the rest of his career neck-deep in corpses, something happened that would literally scare him into a heart condition.
One night, not long after dinner, he got a call from the precinct. An unidentified body had been found in the outskirts, already showing significant signs of decay. The case required a forensic examiner. Assigning such jobs to Old Mo had practically become an unspoken rule.
When he arrived, he found the nude male corpse lying in a field of tall weeds. The body was badly decomposed, though the face was relatively intact—enough to make out his features. He looked to be a man in his sixties. The initial on-site exam showed no visible injuries, and based on the degree of livor mortis and decomposition, the man had likely been dead for more than five days. Exact time and cause of death would require a full autopsy back at the station.
Normally, that would have been the end of Old Mo's job. But just as he gave the body one final glance, he noticed something strange—the dead man's facial expression had changed.
A moment ago, the mouth had been closed and the eyes were half-lidded. Now, the corners of his mouth curled slightly upward, and his eyes narrowed into a subtle smile.
Old Mo jumped. If the man had just died recently, it could have been residual nerve reflex. But this body had been rotting in the open for nearly a week. That smile was not natural.
As seasoned as he was, Old Mo still had limits. His eyes met the corpse's, and he clearly saw the once-dilated pupils begin to contract again. A cold wind blew up his spine, raising every hair on his body. He shuddered violently.
Thankfully, someone nearby called out, "Old Mo! Wrap it up, we're heading back!"
That shout snapped him out of it. With a yelp, Old Mo stumbled back several steps.
His reaction startled the officers nearby, and all eyes turned to him. He was pale and shaken, but when he looked back at the body, the face had returned to its original, peaceful expression. Eyes closed. Mouth shut.
Was I seeing things? he wondered. He took a deep breath and checked his watch. Just past midnight.
Nothing strange happened during the ride back. But once at the station, instead of performing the autopsy as usual, Old Mo stuffed the corpse into a cold storage locker and bolted straight home.
That night, he was plagued by nightmares. In them, the smiling corpse had followed him home. When it saw his family, it grinned even wider.
The next morning, before Old Mo had even gotten out of bed, his phone rang again. Another body had been found not far from where the first one was discovered. The two corpses looked remarkably similar, which is why they were calling him so early.
He was just thankful the sun was already up—at least the nightmare seemed to have ended.
What he didn't realize was that this was just the beginning.
The second body was found less than twenty meters from where the first one had been. Last night, officers had been combing the area and swore there hadn't even been a blade of grass, let alone a dead man. If not for the villagers returning in the morning to gawk, the second corpse might've gone unnoticed for days.
This new body belonged to a man about twenty years younger, in his forties. Like the first, he was completely nude and heavily decomposed, but his head and face were relatively intact. Another forensic specialist had already performed the initial assessment—the conclusions were virtually identical to Old Mo's report from the night before.
Because of the strange experience he'd had, Old Mo hesitated a moment before stepping closer. But it was broad daylight now. Surely nothing weird would happen under the sun?
He braced himself and looked directly at the body.
The man's face was serene—like he was just sleeping. Old Mo let out a quiet sigh. Maybe last night had been a hallucination. He'd been staying up late playing World of Warcraft lately, barely sleeping at all. A little delirium wasn't too surprising.
Just then, another forensic officer approached. "Old Mo, you find something weird again? Come on, spill it."
Before Old Mo could answer, the man's face drained of color. He wobbled, then fell hard on his rear. Trembling, he raised a shaking finger at the body but couldn't form any words.
Old Mo followed his gaze—and saw the corpse's eyes were now open.
The man stared at nothing, eyes wide, lips peeled back in a furious snarl, as if he were glaring at his murderer standing right in front of him.
No escape after all… Old Mo shuddered. Last night's body had smiled—this one was contorted in rage, as though he had died with deep, bitter resentment.
The commotion drew more attention. The lead homicide detective came over and barked, "What are you two getting all worked up about? It's broad daylight—you think you've seen a ghost?"
As he walked up and blocked their line of sight, he glanced at the body and muttered, "Nothing wrong here. Looks peacefully dead to me."
When Old Mo and the other officer looked again, the snarl was gone. The corpse's expression was back to that of someone sleeping peacefully.
The young officer muttered in fear, "Old Mo… you saw it too, right? He was glaring at me just now…"
"You were seeing things. Nothing happened." Old Mo turned and gave him a sharp look, putting a finger to his lips.
The other officer got the message. Though still shaken, it was daylight after all—less terrifying than Old Mo's lonely encounter the night before.