Liu Cui shook her head. “No.”

“Did he say anyone was coming?”

“No.” Liu Cui was certain. “If guests were expected at home, he would ask me to stay later to help entertain them.”

Shi Ting pointed at the leather shoes on Song Zixian’s feet. “Did he always wear leather shoes at home — never slippers?”

“He used to wear slippers. But recently he suddenly stopped, and would walk around the house in leather shoes.”

“When you say recently, can you give a more specific time?”

Liu Cui thought for a moment. “About a week ago. When the master came home, the first thing he would do was check the doors and windows. Even when I left each day, he would still be checking them. Even during the day, he wouldn’t let me open the windows on my own, as though he was terrified of someone breaking in.”

“In the past week, has anyone come to the house?”

“Only Miss Song — no one else. Oh, Miss Song is the master’s daughter. The master also has a son, who’s been abroad for six or seven years now and hasn’t returned to the country. Miss Song comes to see the master often; she’s come twice this week.”

As they were speaking, a commotion broke out outside. Two officers were trying to restrain a fashionably dressed woman. “Miss, this is the scene — you can’t go in.”

“Let me through.” the woman cried out shrilly. “I want to see my father.”

“Is this Miss Song?” Shi Ting asked.

Liu Cui nodded.

Shi Ting strode over. “Are you Miss Song?”

“I am.” Song Meimei’s eyes were red-rimmed. “My father — how is he?”

“The medical examiner is conducting an examination. You cannot go in for now.”

At the words ‘medical examiner,’ Song Meimei’s vision went dark. The officer behind her quickly caught her before she fell.

Once Song Meimei had recovered, she tried to push her way inside again. Shi Ting said sternly, “If this is a murder case, going in now means contaminating the scene and destroying critical evidence. Whoever killed your father could very well walk free.”

“Was my father murdered?” Song Meimei asked, tears streaming down her face.

“I said, the medical examiner is conducting the assessment.”

“Sir, my father was murdered.” Song Meimei’s expression turned grave, as though she had remembered something. “Over the past few days, he’d been very uneasy, constantly feeling as though someone wanted to harm him. I asked if he’d run into any danger, but he wouldn’t tell me. I suggested he report it to the police, but he even scolded me for meddling.”

At this point, Yan Qing wheeled herself over. Once Song Meimei had finished speaking, she said, “The entry wound on the deceased’s head is at the occipital region — the back of the skull. The exit wound is inside the oral cavity. In other words, the gun was fired from behind the head, not from inside the mouth.”

“What does that mean?” Song Meimei didn’t understand. “Entry wound, exit wound — what are you talking about?”

“Your father was murdered,” Shi Ting said.

Song Meimei’s body trembled.

“If he had shot himself, the entry wound would be inside the oral cavity and the exit wound at the back of the skull. But your father’s situation is exactly the reverse — this means the gun was pressed against the back of his head when it was fired, and the bullet exited through his mouth. When your father fell, his right hand was gripping the gun, while the entry point was on the left side of the back of his head. Given the length of the gun itself, it would be physically impossible for a normal person to carry out such a self-inflicted shot. Equally, no one would choose such an awkward method of suicide.”

Shi Ting looked toward Song Meimei. “We’ll need Miss Song to come to the Military Police Division to give a statement.”

Song Meimei’s expression was sorrowful, but she still nodded and agreed to cooperate with the Military Police Division.

Song Zixian’s body, covered with a white sheet, was carried out of his two-story home. Crowds of onlookers gathered around, pointing and whispering.

~

Inside the Military Police Division’s autopsy room, Yan Qing was putting on her autopsy gown. This kind of gown fastened at the front and tied at the back, and usually required two people to help each other into it.

She was about to reach for the tie at the back when a pair of slender hands appeared, deftly tying the strings of her autopsy gown for her.

Yan Qing’s face flushed. “That’s enough.”

Shi Ting hadn’t seen her in some time. With a murder scene earlier, there had been no opportunity to be warm with her. Now, taking advantage of E’Yuan being outside handling paperwork, he had seized the chance to create a moment alone.

“Have you missed me?” He handed over the autopsy gloves.

When Yan Qing reached out to take them, he closed his hand around both her hand and the gloves.

She glanced nervously toward the door, afraid someone might walk in. Her clear eyes shot him a reproachful look. “Shi Ting, stop causing trouble — I’m working.”

“I’m helping,” he said with an air of complete innocence.

She tugged at her hand — it didn’t come free. He only held it tighter.

Then she understood: a man who appeared so proper on the surface could, it turned out, act shamelessly with exactly that same composed demeanor.

“Mentor…” E’Yuan pushed the door open, eyes on the stamped documents in his hand. “We can start the autopsy.”

In Yan Qing’s moment of fluster, Shi Ting had already released her hand and was calmly arranging her autopsy instruments, not a trace of guilt on his face.

Yan Qing had no idea how he managed to stay so unruffled — but that didn’t stop her from shooting him a glare.

After Shi Ting left, only E’Yuan and Yan Qing remained in the autopsy room.

E’Yuan was putting on his autopsy gown while asking curiously, “Mentor, is Seventh Brother pursuing you?”

“Would you like to complete this autopsy on your own?” Yan Qing replied.

E’Yuan quickly raised both hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, I’ll stop asking.”

Song Zixian’s clothing had already been removed. He lay naked on the autopsy table — however powerful and high-ranking he had been in life, in death he was no different from any ordinary person.

The force of the gunshot had nearly torn apart Song Zixian’s facial features. The inside of his mouth was charred black. His tongue was severed halfway. His lips were torn and turned outward. Several of his teeth were loosened — a rather grim sight.

Yan Qing took a probe and inserted it into the wound on Song Zixian’s head. It emerged at his palate.

E’Yuan had already shaved Song Zixian’s head. On the snow-white scalp, a roughly circular wound was visible.

E’Yuan measured the diameter of the wound — approximately 11.22 millimeters.

“At the entry wound, the tissue beneath the skin is bone. With less skin tension at that point, the entry wound diameter is almost equal to the bullet diameter. That bullet was approximately 11 millimeters in diameter as well,” Yan Qing said.

“Mentor, how did you determine that this wound on the occipital region is the entry wound?” E’Yuan asked. “To me, it doesn’t look much different from the wound inside the deceased’s oral cavity.”

“Look here at the scalp — there is a ring of bright red marks. These form when the bullet tip presses into the skin and rotates forward. We call this the abrasion collar. An exit wound would not have such a marking. The presence of the abrasion collar is the key to distinguishing entry from exit wounds.” As she spoke, Yan Qing used a small brush and tweezers to collect samples from around the wound. “The area around an entry wound generally has traces of oil and rust adhering to it. A laboratory test can confirm this conclusively.”

E’Yuan hurriedly jotted notes on paper.

After Song Zixian’s skull was opened, the brain tissue was removed in sequence.

Yan Qing measured the diameter of the entry wound near the palate, growing more certain of her assessment. The bullet had passed through the skull, causing a perforating fracture: in the direction of entry, the outer plate of the skull had a smaller opening while the inner plate had a larger one.

Near the oral cavity wound, Yan Qing extracted several bone fragments. These fragments had been produced when the bullet penetrated the skull and shattered the bone. Such fragments would shift in the direction of the bullet’s travel. Finding them at the oral cavity provided strong evidence that the bullet’s trajectory had been from the left rear of the skull straight through to the oral cavity.

“Cause of death confirmed. Now let’s look at the time of death.”

E’Yuan had checked earlier and now had a question. “Rigor mortis generally reaches its peak 12 to 24 hours after death. The body has already reached maximum rigor — does that mean he died before eight-thirty? But Liu Cui said she brought medicine to the deceased at eight-thirty.”

“A gunshot wound can accelerate the onset of rigor mortis. Using rigor mortis alone as the measure of time here would inevitably introduce error. Let’s look at other indicators.”

In a murder case, accurately estimating the time of death is extremely important. Precise time estimation can save investigators from many wrong turns and quickly narrow down the range of suspects.

Song Meimei was very displeased at being treated as a suspect. “You think I would kill my own father? Absurd!”

“Miss Song, we hope you will cooperate with our investigation. Whether or not you have any connection to your father’s death can only be proven by your speaking the truth,” Zheng Yun said.

“Fine, I’ll talk. Ask whatever you want.” Song Meimei looked exhausted. “I hope you finish quickly — I still want to go and see him.”

“Where were you last night after eight-thirty?”

“At home.”

“Is there anyone who can confirm that?”

“No one.”

Zheng Yun raised an eyebrow.

“My husband and I divorced six months ago. I live alone. I have a part-time housekeeper who finishes at seven every evening.”

“What was your relationship with your father like?”

“Very good.”

“But according to our investigation, Song Zixian was an extremely frugal person, and you had a falling out with him over money. You wanted to open a Western dress shop, which required substantial funds, but Song Zixian refused to lend you the money.”

“He was tight-fisted ordinarily, but I wouldn’t kill him for money. After he died, that money would come to me anyway — why would I go to the extra trouble?”

“You also have a brother.”

“He left the country eight years ago, and we’ve had no news of him since. Whether he’s alive or dead, no one knows.”

“Do you have a key to Song Zixian’s home?”

“No.” Song Meimei shook her head. “He was very cautious. Only the housekeeper Liu Cui had a key — none of the rest of us did.”

“Why did he trust Liu Cui?”

“He once did a great favor for Liu Cui’s husband and arranged his current employment. Liu Cui’s family is very loyal to him — they would never harm him.”

“In your recollection, did Song Zixian have any enemies?”

“He was the bank director, and came into contact with all kinds of people. Conflict was inevitable, but I’ve never heard of anyone who had a grudge against him to the point of wanting him dead.”

Zheng Yun placed an evidence bag in front of Song Meimei. “Please identify whether this gun belongs to Song Zixian.”

Song Meimei shook her head immediately. “My father didn’t own a gun.”

“Look carefully — this gun was found in your father’s hand.”

“My father was allergic to gunpowder, so he never carried firearms. During these recent days when he was so on edge, I also suggested he get a gun. He said he didn’t like the things — cold and with an unpleasant smell.”

“Perhaps he took your advice in the end and bought one?”

“Impossible.” Song Meimei said. “He was so frugal that even changing a door lock would take him a week of deliberation.”

Although the interrogation of Song Meimei hadn’t yielded much of substance, it had produced one critical lead: the gun used to kill Song Zixian was very likely not his own.

*** This case contains a great deal of information — it is not an ordinary case. After this case, there will be new surprises. Stay tuned. ***