That the killer was left-handed was something Shi Ting had already determined during his examination of the scene. The forensic autopsy report had also confirmed this based on the shape of the wounds. Yet this Yan Family Sixth Miss had seen neither the bodies nor the original state of the scene.

“If you deduced from the bloodstains that the killer was left-handed, then what is your basis for saying the killer was injured?”

“The reasoning is quite simple — but I’m afraid it will require Director Shi’s cooperation.”

Shi Ting decided he must be out of his mind: deep in the night, in the middle of a murder scene, having come to look for useful leads, he somehow ended up re-enacting the crime with a young girl.

“All right. What would you like me to do?”

“Please stand in the position where the steward died, facing in my direction.”

Once Shi Ting was in position, he looked down at her from above.

Yan Qing let out a helpless sigh. “Director Shi, please crouch down.”

This man was simply too tall. Even when he crouched before her, she still had to tilt her neck back.

“Now you are the steward, and I am the killer.” Yan Qing pressed her left hand against Shi Ting’s throat like a blade. “Based on the chalk outline on the floor, the steward was an adult male — heavyset and not short. For the killer to subdue him instantly and cut his throat with precision would not have been easy. So when the killer struck, he would have used his right hand to fix the steward’s position, ensuring a single fatal blow.”

Yan Qing placed her right hand on the other side of Shi Ting’s neck. “He gripped the steward’s throat with his right hand and slashed swiftly across the neck with his left. But the steward was strong — he struggled — and the cut wasn’t deep enough. By the force of the motion, the blade slid along the steward’s neck and caught the killer’s right hand, opening a deep wound.”

“Your basis?” Shi Ting’s gaze fixed on her luminous face. In the moonlight, her eyes were bright and clear, gleaming like stars.

“The basis is the bloodstain on this wall.” Yan Qing gestured toward Shi Ting’s left side. There were indeed some bloodstains there — not many, but clearly visible.

“The victim’s right carotid artery was severed — so how did blood end up sprayed on the left wall? Moreover, these stains are densely clustered and distributed in a dotted pattern. This is not projection spatter. This is cast-off spatter — blood flung outward by motion. Two things produce this kind of stain: first, the killer swinging a blood-coated weapon; second, the killer moving an injured and bleeding limb. The killer was left-handed, so the weapon would not have flung blood toward the right side. That leaves only one possibility: the killer accidentally injured his own right hand, and by reflex he rapidly withdrew it — which is why, in this particular spot, he left behind this peculiar, incongruous series of stains. And judging from the volume of blood, the wound was not shallow. It would certainly have left a scar.”

“So, Director Shi — the killer you’re looking for stands approximately 185 centimeters tall, is a repeat offender, a professional killer, or someone with a military background, and has a prominent scar on his right hand.”

Shi Ting said: “Finding a person matching that description in a sea of people is no different from searching for a needle in a haystack.”

“One more lead is one more path forward. At least your investigation has been narrowed down a little further — hasn’t it?”

“Miss Yan truly gives this one reason to see her in a new light,” Shi Ting remarked, his gaze moving with casual, passing attention to his own neck.

Only then did Yan Qing realize that in her absorption with the analysis, her hand was still resting on Shi Ting’s throat. She felt a sudden rush of embarrassment and pulled it back at once.

To dispel the awkward moment, she hurried to ask: “Director Shi, where have the thirteen bodies been taken?”

—