I pressed play and listened to the recording.
White One's face slowly changed from red to pale blue, then drained of all color. I smirked, "Officer White, you should know better than me what the charge is for sabotaging police unity and maliciously framing others."
White One stammered, "What do you mean by malicious framing? Do you actually have proof?"
"Of course. I also recorded your attempt to pin the blame on us just now," I said.
That was a bluff—I hadn't recorded that part.
Huang Xiaotao chuckled quietly, whispering, "Song Yang, you really are something. I'm tempted to give you a nickname—'Recording Maniac.'"
"Don't! That's a terrible nickname," I shook my head.
White One's lips turned blue with anger. "W-w-what do you want to do?"
"Just apologize and we can forget this ever happened," I replied calmly.
"Never!" White One's eyes widened.
"Then we'll just see about that." I waved to Huang Xiaotao and the others, "Let's go."
Just as I turned to leave, White One called out hesitantly, "I—I'm sorry for earlier. Please don't take it to heart."
"Did your father never teach you how to apologize? Say 'sorry' properly," I said sternly.
White One bit his lip tightly and bowed to Wang Yuanchao, "Coach Wang… sorry."
"That's better. Enough wasting time. Let's get back to the autopsy," I said.
On the way back, Wang Dali said excitedly, "Yangzi, you were so fierce just now—completely different from your usual self."
"Flatterer," I replied modestly. "The more polite you are with people like that, the more they walk all over you."
"Haha, first Uncle Wang taught him a lesson with his fists, then you gave him a mental beating. He's going to think twice now. That was some show," Wang Dali said.
White One, however, couldn't swallow his pride and slipped away halfway. I held a special investigation order signed by the director that gave me full authority over the task force. Officially, he was my subordinate, so I could have punished him for ditching. But since his father was the bureau chief and he didn't care about losing some pay, I decided not to press the issue. Out of sight, out of mind.
Meanwhile, Luo Weiwei shot me daggers with her eyes the whole way. I guessed she was planning to redeem her boyfriend's lost face during the autopsy.
I thought to myself—her plan was seriously misguided. The real battle would be in the mortuary.
The mortuary was icy cold. Chilling air poured down like a waterfall from several air conditioners, giving me goosebumps. Three steel tables held three corpses, each covered by a white sheet stained with blood that had frozen into icy shards.
Wang Dali started to chicken out again. "Yangzi, do you need anything? I can go buy whatever you want."
"I need to examine the bodies first. It's too cold here—go get the coats we brought from the car," I ordered.
"Got it!" Wang Dali hurried out.
I washed my hands carefully at the sink, but found no rubber gloves. I asked Luo Weiwei, "Where are the gloves?"
She snorted coldly and tossed a few pairs from a metal cabinet into my arms.
"Thanks," I said stiffly, handing sets to Huang Xiaotao and Wang Yuanchao.
Before putting on the gloves, I pulled out a small pack of chewing gum from my pocket and dumped three small black pills into my hand—black with hints of blue. I gave one to each of them.
"What's this? Candy?" Huang Xiaotao asked, examining the pills.
"Suohexiang pills," I explained. "Made from a blend of Suohexiang, borneol, water buffalo horn, musk, agarwood, and other herbs. They clear the senses, calm the mind, and ward off foul odors. I'm afraid the smell in the mortuary might be unpleasant."
Huang Xiaotao put one in her mouth skeptically, but her expression changed instantly. "Wow! It smells amazing—stronger than mint, like it clears your whole nose. This must be great for colds."
I laughed, "You got it. It also promotes circulation, relieves pain, and opens the lungs."
Wang Yuanchao popped one in too. For a moment, his poker face softened; his brows rose and pupils narrowed slightly. I knew the feeling of Suohexiang pills on first use: one word—refreshing.
"These are recorded in the True Records of Washing Away Wrongs as a powerful anti-evil remedy. Don't chew, just let it dissolve in your mouth. The effect lasts over two hours," I explained.
Huang Xiaotao grinned, "Song Yang, you're really getting professional. Hey, save me a few next time—I'll share them with my coworkers."
I waved her off. "You don't know how much I spent on these herbs. One pill costs dozens of dollars."
"Really? That expensive?" she gasped.
Luo Weiwei scoffed, "Why bother with pills? Just wear a mask."
She pulled out a perfumed tissue and stuffed it inside her mask.
She didn't understand—unlike forensic doctors who use scalpels and high-tech gear, morticians rely fully on their senses during autopsies. So I never wore a mask.
Besides using eyes, ears, nose, and hands, Chronicles of the Corpse Whisperer even records an ancestor called Song Shennong, who famously licked corpses, blood, and even excrement during examinations. That chapter is definitely not for the faint-hearted. That ancestor gained many valuable insights from such bizarre methods, though I doubt I'll ever use them myself.
Gloved, I approached the first body—a wife from a family of three. Her death was horrific. Huang Xiaotao gasped, eyes wide.
Her clothes were cut away, skin frozen stiff and pale as paper.
Her injuries were even worse than Team Leader Liao had described: over twenty deep cuts, with the right side of her face sliced off from above the eye down to the neck. Her eyeball was split in half, barely hanging by a scrap of tissue. Her torso was riddled with wounds, skin torn and sometimes bone exposed. Her abdomen was cut open in several places.
One wound cut through her navel; one of her hands was chopped off. The severed fingers clenched tightly on a kitchen knife beside her body—as if she gripped it until her last breath.
Staring at this tragic sight, it was hard to believe her husband—someone she spent every day with—was responsible for such cruelty.