“First Squadron Captain Zheng Shu Shi: take your team and investigate every hospital in Shun Cheng capable of performing an appendectomy. Obtain records of female patients who underwent appendectomies in February and are between the ages of nineteen and twenty.”

Zheng Yun nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Shi Ting turned toward Bai Jin. “Second Squadron Captain Bai Jianchuan: focus on canvassing recent missing persons reports filed with the authorities, specifically looking for females between the ages of nineteen and twenty.”

“Third Squadron Captain Shi Junhao: continue canvassing the upper reaches of the Liao He, looking for potential witnesses and further leads.”

“Yes, sir.” Everyone rose together, gave their salutes, and dispersed to their respective duties.

Once they had all left, Shi Ting turned to Yan Qing. “I’ll have someone escort you home.”

Yan Qing had just witnessed Shi Ting in full command — steady, decisive, calm at the center of it all — and she couldn’t help but feel a surge of admiration. She hadn’t expected to encounter in this era that same sweeping, authoritative air she had known at the Bureau, with its clear division of duties and its chorus of responses.

“Director Shi — has there been any progress in the Chen family massacre?” she asked as they headed out, unable to keep the question she’d been carrying back any longer.

That case had been weighing on her mind for a long time; she simply couldn’t let it go.

“Not yet.” His gaze settled on her briefly. He seemed about to say something — but in the end, it dissolved into a quiet: “Let’s go.”

Back at the Yan Mansion, Yan Qing was restless and distracted. Whenever a case took hold of her, she found eating and sleeping almost impossible.

The senior colleagues in her department used to say that a forensic examiner should use the time when the investigative team was working to rest and restore their energy. But the moment she closed her eyes, her mind would roll relentlessly over images of the bodies, afraid she had missed some crucial detail. After all, a body was the only language the dead had left in this world.

Yan Qing was flipping through a book in her hands, not particularly taking anything in. She picked up the teacup from the table out of habit — and immediately burned herself. Her hand released its grip, and the water tipped over onto her lap.

She had already changed into a pair of cream-colored silk trousers. The fabric was thin and sheer, and the soaked cloth clung damply to her thighs.

Jing Zhi let out a cry. “Miss, be careful!”

Murong set down what she was doing and hurried over with a dry towel to blot it dry. “Jing Zhi, why didn’t you warn Miss that the water was hot?”

“I did,” Jing Zhi said, looking genuinely distressed as she lowered her head. “But it’s my fault. Next time I’ll make sure the tea has cooled before I bring it in.”

“Hot,” Yan Qing suddenly said, the single word dropping from her lips.

“I’m so sorry, Miss. I’m so sorry,” Jing Zhi said, anguished. “Please bear with it for a moment.”

Murong, in the middle of blotting the fabric dry, paused. She stared at Yan Qing with barely concealed disbelief. “Miss — what did you just say?”

A flicker of barely suppressed excitement passed across Yan Qing’s face. She repeated it: “Hot.”

“Hot?” Murong looked both astonished and overjoyed. “Miss — you mean you could actually feel that it was hot?”

Yan Qing nodded. She ran her fingers gently over the thin layer of trouser fabric. The heat had already dissipated; it was actually a little cool now.

“Miss, you really felt the heat?” Jing Zhi had forgotten all about her self-reproach as well. She crouched down in front of Yan Qing, a faint flush of pink spreading across her face.

“It wasn’t very strong,” Yan Qing said with a smile, “but there was something. Just a little.”

Sixth Miss’s legs had had no sensation since she was very young — they hadn’t even needed anesthetic when she had stitches in them. That fleeting moment of sensation just now left Yan Qing half wondering whether it had truly happened at all.

“Miss, it seems like the daily acupuncture and the medicine are really making a difference,” Jing Zhi said, moved to happy tears.

—