A person in a state of extreme terror is incapable of making a sound. Exhibit A: Hua Yitang — he sat down hard on the ground, his eyes stretched as wide as his mouth, breathing only inward, nothing coming back out, approximately resembling a carp that had beached itself.
Lin Sui’an’s hair stood on end too, her scalp prickling, her heart hammering wildly. Her first instinct was to grip Qian Jing — the cold touch against her palm steadied her by a fraction.
She was holding a mystery-investigation script. How could there possibly be any ghosts?!
“The world is material; without matter there is no consciousness; matter produces consciousness; matter determines consciousness!” Lin Sui’an rattled off the memorized lines in a string, then laughed coldly. “I refuse to believe this nonsense!”
The words had barely left her mouth before she launched herself on the wind, Qian Jing’s blade ringing free of its scabbard. Like a ghost’s eye snapping open, the light of the blade lit up the world. Those few feeble wisps of ghost-fire were no match at all — they scattered in every direction, shredded by the wind off the blade. Lin Sui’an swept forward through the dark air and struck in a flash of sword-light, fierce as lightning — but at that very instant, the dark shadow spun around and revealed half a pale face. Lin Sui’an’s heart lurched. Her left palm struck her own right arm and she wrenched the blade back with sheer force, the enormous momentum spinning her body around. She stumbled several steps before she regained her footing.
Before she could even collect herself, a rapid series of heavy footsteps thundered toward her. Billowing robes carrying the scent of flowers and wood swept past, and Hua Yitang planted himself in front of Lin Sui’an with his fan held high — the posture was undeniably impressive, but the tightly shut eyes and the trembling voice gave everything away:
“Quick, quick, quick, quick, quick — run! I — I’ll — I’ll hold the rear!”
Lin Sui’an: “…”
She poked Hua Yitang in the shoulder.
Hua Yitang: “Don’t — don’t worry about me. My fate is cursed with the Heavenly Killer Star — even the King of Hell would take a detour around me!”
“Open your eyes first,” Lin Sui’an said helplessly. “Take a proper look — it’s not a ghost. It’s a person.”
“Hm?” Hua Yitang opened his eyes a crack. “Hm?! Hm hm hm?!”
The figure before them was indeed not a ghost, but a man — though in bearing and appearance, he was not so much a “ghost” as he surpassed one.
At first glance, the single word was: thin. At second glance, only one word remained: pale. His skin was pallid white, his neck long and slender, his pupils black as lacquer, his frame so insubstantial he might have been a white crane folded from paper, capable of riding the wind away at any moment.
The man was bound in a black head wrap and a black face covering, their color melting seamlessly into the surrounding darkness — which was why at first no one had been able to see his head at all. A pair of eyebrows, set against his white skin, looked as if they had been drawn on with fine ink, their tips pressed tightly together in a frown. The face covering shifted faintly, and a single word seeped through: “Leave.”
Neither Lin Sui’an nor Hua Yitang moved. Both their gazes were drawn to what the man held in his hands. He wore a pair of white cloth gloves, and inside those gloves was a small knife of strange design — like a blade and a spoon merged in one. The blade was smeared with sticky blood. Drip, drip, drip — the blood fell to the ground — where a large pit yawned open. Inside the pit lay a rotund, heavyset figure. A grim wound split him from chest to belly, exposing vivid, glistening entrails.
“Ugh!” Hua Yitang turned away and vomited violently.
Lin Sui’an clenched her teeth and held her breath, her blade held crosswise in front of Hua Yitang. Could she and Hua Yitang really be this unlucky, she thought — to stumble upon a murderous lunatic dismembering a corpse in the Wasteland Burial Grounds?!
The man showed no apparent interest in fighting Lin Sui’an. He gave them both a cold stare and said: “Vomit further away.”
With that, he jumped back into the pit, crouched down, and resumed carving at the body with the small knife in his hand. It was a dark, windy night, the ghost-fire flickering faintly. The sound of the blade cutting through sinew and flesh was unnervingly clear — scrape, scrape, scrape — boring directly into Lin Sui’an’s ears, and along with it came a thick, putrid stench.
Wait — what he was cutting open should be — Lin Sui’an forced herself to take another look, her scalp crawling — that was not a heavyset man at all, but a corpse in the advanced stages of decomposition — and one she recognized.
“That’s Lu Shi’s body!” Lin Sui’an said.
“What?!” Hua Yitang snapped his head back, took one look, turned away, and continued to vomit.
Lin Sui’an felt she was nearing her own limit as well.
The body had clearly been freshly exhumed. An iron shovel was stuck in the earth beside the pit, the straw mat it had been wrapped in thrown to one side. On the other side lay a white cloth measuring about three feet long and two feet wide, upon which four white porcelain jars had been placed — wide-mouthed, like urns for ashes. Set off to one side was a black lacquered wooden box, clearly packed with many things, though the light was too dim to make out what.
The man raised a white candle, and by its light, reached one hand into the chest cavity, pushing entrails aside. He drew out a blood-drenched lump of flesh — shaped like a heart — cut it open, examined it, and placed it in the first jar. He pulled out two lung lobes, turned them over in his hands, examined them, and placed them in the second jar. He scooped out the stomach, poured the stomach fluid into the third jar. He pulled out a length of intestine, carefully straightened it out, cut off a section, and placed it in the fourth jar.
Lin Sui’an broke: “Ugh!”
Hua Yitang: “Ugh, ugh, ugh!”
“Vomit further away!” the man barked sharply.
Lin Sui’an retched until she was dizzy and lightheaded, and Hua Yitang fared no better. The two of them leaned on each other, finally quieting only when they had brought up every last drop of stomach acid.
“What are you doing in the Wasteland Burial Grounds?” the man asked.
Hua Yitang produced two silk handkerchiefs, passed one to Lin Sui’an, and pressed the other over his own nose and mouth. “That’s the question we should be asking you. Coming out to the Wasteland Burial Grounds in the dead of night to dismember a corpse — what are you doing?!”
The man shot Hua Yitang a look. “The body is intact. What has been dismembered?”
“You were clearly just—” Hua Yitang started, then fell silent as he got a proper look at what the man’s hands had been doing.
The cuts in the body had already been sutured shut, the stitches neat and even — clearly skilled work. The man was now gently wiping the body’s surface with a white cloth, his motions so light they could almost be called a caress.
Hua Yitang yanked wildly at Lin Sui’an’s sleeve. “What is he — what is he — what is he doing?!”
The handkerchief Hua Yitang had given her carried a faint scent of fruit and wood, with a steadying, mind-clearing quality. Lin Sui’an drew in two careful breaths, composing herself, then compared the man’s build and features against her memory of that afternoon’s encounter, and arrived at her conclusion: this was the odd man who had stood beneath the weeping willow in the distance, watching Lu Shi’s house. “I’ve seen you before. You went to Lu Shi’s house today.”
The man made no reply, continuing to wipe the body with careful attention. When he had finished, he retrieved a sheet of white cloth from the wooden box, draped it over Lu Shi, then covered the white cloth with the straw mat, climbed out of the pit, and began slowly shoveling earth back in. A full incense stick’s worth of time passed before the grave was mounded up again. He turned to look at Lin Sui’an. “I have seen you too. You’re the fool who got swindled out of a gold leaf by Lujiu.”
Lin Sui’an: “…”
Does this person know how to have a normal conversation?!
“What is he — what is he doing now?!” Hua Yitang was on the verge of pulling Lin Sui’an’s sleeve clean off.
They watched as the man placed the four white porcelain jars into the wooden box one by one, retrieved a yellow paper talisman from his robes and burned it together with his gloves, scattered the ash over the grave mound, and pressed his hands together in a brief bow.
Lin Sui’an understood. “He’s a coroner.”
Hua Yitang was taken aback. “Not a butcher?”
“I am not a coroner.” The man pulled down his face covering, revealing a gaunt, pallid face. “My name is Fang Ke. I am a physician.”
Fang Ke was, astonishingly, actually a physician.
Lin Sui’an stood on the south street of Zhongyue Ward, staring up at the dark signboard of the Fang Family Medical Clinic, thinking to herself that she was still far too young, far too inexperienced.
Heyue City, unlike Yangdu, still observed the curfew. After nightfall the city gates were sealed, and ordinary people were not permitted to pass in or out. Yet Fang Ke was clearly no “ordinary person” — when they re-entered the city, not only was he allowed through without restriction, the gate soldiers greeted him with warm smiles, and were perfectly cordial to Lin Sui’an and Hua Yitang in his company as well. Most notably of all: from start to finish, Fang Ke had not slipped a single coin to the gate soldiers. He had walked through entirely on his face.
“Could this man have some unspeakable background?” Hua Yitang’s expression sharpened, his voice dropping to a warning murmur. “Be on your guard. This could be a trap.”
Lin Sui’an had much the same thought, and kept her gaze fixed on Fang Ke’s back — until she saw him open his lock, push open the door, and turn around. His face floated in the darkness like a pale mask. “I simply treated a few of those gate soldiers for illness. As for backgrounds — mine is nothing compared to Hua Family’s fourth son.”
Hua Yitang narrowed his eyes. “You know who I am?”
Fang Ke’s black pupils held not a trace of light. “Look across the entire Tang nation — who else would dress in such an ostentatious, gaudy, garish, and overwrought fashion?”
“If you wish to know the cause of Lu Shi’s death,” Fang Ke said, turning and walking inside, “then come in.”
Hua Yitang’s fingers around his fan tightened until the veins stood out. “He dares to mock my attire? He himself looks as black and bedraggled as a crow, and he has the audacity to mock me?!”
Lin Sui’an patted his shoulder. “Hua Family’s fourth son is magnanimous. No need to lower yourself to his level.”
The general layout of a medical clinic was usually much the same: divided broadly into a front hall and an inner residence, with consultation and medicine dispensing in the front hall and daily living in the inner residence. The Fang Family Medical Clinic was no exception — but its overall décor was distinctly unconventional. The counters, medicine cabinets, and consultation tables were all done in black; the screens and curtains all in white. If you added a spirit tablet, a censer, and three sticks of incense, scattered a few paper offerings — it would have passed perfectly well as a funeral parlor.
Hua Yitang covered his nose with his fan, deeply disdainful. “That anyone comes here to seek treatment must be nothing short of miraculous!”
Lin Sui’an swept the room with a quick glance. The medicine cabinet drawers were already empty, gaping wide and pitifully waiting to be stocked. A thick layer of dust coated the counter’s abacus and account books. The writing brush bristles had dried and frayed. A cobweb hung in the upper right corner of the screen — old, ragged, without even a single insect carcass to show for it. Apparently even the spider had found the desolation too unbearable and packed up to leave.
Fang Ke raised a tinder-box torch, rounded the screen, and entered the inner residence. His dark roofline cast a long shadow trailing behind him, like a specter prowling the night. Hua Yitang grabbed Lin Sui’an’s sleeve again, not daring to breathe, while Lin Sui’an silently followed Fang Ke’s footsteps through the inner courtyard, around the back of the main wing, ducked through a low narrow door, and entered a side room.
The moment they stepped inside, a sharp odor struck them. Hua Yitang quickly pulled out his fragrant handkerchief and held it over both their noses, then tugged Lin Sui’an a little closer to his side.
The room was very low, as if it had been built as a temporary addition. Hua Yitang, given his height, nearly had to duck to avoid hitting the ceiling beams. There were no windows — only a row of ventilation holes cut high in the wall. The room was abnormally cold, a bone-deep chill pressing in from all sides. Lin Sui’an thought of a mortuary.
There were no bodies here, however — only a large wooden table over three inches thick, a wooden rack beside it, and a black lacquered wooden box. The upper third of the rack held small and large porcelain bottles of various colors, all sealed with wax. The middle third held an assortment of strange tools — miniature versions of axes and hooked blades. The lower third held white porcelain jars all of the same size, about three or four of them — identical to the jars Fang Ke had used that night.
Fang Ke lit a white candle and set it at the head of the table. He removed the wooden box from his shoulder, took out the four porcelain jars, and arranged them neatly on the rack, adding labels: “Lu Shi Sample 1,” “Lu Shi Sample 2,” “Lu Shi Sample 3,” “Lu Shi Sample 4.”
“Don’t tell me those jars contain—” Hua Yitang couldn’t finish the sentence. By his expression, he was on the verge of vomiting again.
Lin Sui’an, however, had recovered her composure. She carefully sorted through the various scents drifting through the air — an initial sharp assault like rotting eggs, a middle note of bitter herbal brew, and a base note rich and mellow with a faint trace of alcohol. It was a smell unlike anything Lin Sui’an had encountered before, and yet it conjured an immediate association: formaldehyde and a specimen laboratory.
Well now — this was getting interesting. Lin Sui’an thought to herself — could it be that Hua Yitang’s protagonist’s luck had finally kicked in, attracting a technically gifted, meddlesome individual who also happened to be skilled in autopsy?
“The immediate cause of Lu Shi’s death is clear enough,” Fang Ke said, retrieving a sheet of white paper and writing as he spoke. “An epileptic seizure. Vomit blocked his throat, and he asphyxiated. On that point, Ji Gaoyang said nothing incorrect, and nothing was concealed.”
Hua Yitang narrowed his eyes. “From your tone, you seem to think Doctor Ji concealed something?”
Fang Ke’s brush kept moving. “He concealed the cause that triggered the epileptic seizure.”
Lin Sui’an: “Was it not his longstanding illness of coughing and wheezing?”
Fang Ke set down his brush, blew on the ink, and a glimmer of something passed through his dark pupils. “He was poisoned.”
A moment of absolute silence.
Lin Sui’an and Hua Yitang exchanged a look, each seeing their own stunned expression reflected in the other’s eyes. Almost in unison they asked: “What poison?!”
Fang Ke’s brow furrowed slightly. “I don’t know.”
Good heavens, what is this man playing at?! Lin Sui’an inwardly went into a panic. They’d burned through half the night with candles for company, and the conclusion he had to offer was that he couldn’t determine what the poison was? Was he toying with them?!
Hua Yitang’s reaction was far less contained than Lin Sui’an’s. He rolled his eyes and let out a long, drawn-out “tch—” conveying disdain to the fullest possible degree.
Fang Ke seemed entirely unaware of either of their expressions, and continued speaking as if only to himself. “When the poison took effect, the heart rate accelerated, breathing became difficult, closely resembling the onset of a wheezing attack, ultimately inducing an epileptic episode.”
“If you cannot even determine what poison it was, how can you be certain it was poison?” Hua Yitang said. “Perhaps you are simply making things up.”
Fang Ke finally deigned to look at Hua Yitang directly. He transferred the four porcelain jars one by one to the wooden table. “These are Lu Shi’s heart, lung lobes, stomach fluid, and large intestine. Each one proves my conclusion. Shall I explain them to you one by one?”
Hua Yitang: “Ugh — that won’t be necessary! Ugh!”
Lin Sui’an: “I would be glad to hear it.”
Hua Yitang nearly fainted.
Fang Ke’s dark gaze moved to Lin Sui’an’s face. He paused, then said: “The heart muscle shows damage — blackened and necrotic — indicating that at the time of death, Lu Shi was experiencing severe heart palpitations. The lung lobes bear dark spots, a consequence of many years of lung disease and smoking — not a direct cause of death. The stomach fluid has an acrid smell; the intestine is blackened, swollen, and the intestinal wall shows seepage of blood. When tested with a silver needle, all samples turned black, indicating that the poison entered through the stomach and was absorbed into the intestine. Based on the body’s digestion timeline, by the time symptoms manifested, Lu Shi had already ingested the poison several hours prior.”
Lin Sui’an: “You are saying that Lu Shi consumed the poison several hours before any symptoms appeared, and by then it was too late?”
Fang Ke nodded.
Lin Sui’an frowned. “That means either Lu Shi took the poison himself and intended to die—”
“Or Lu Shi did not realize he had been given poison.” Hua Yitang fanned himself vigorously, making every effort to disperse the strange odors in the air, with depressingly little effect.
Fang Ke shook his head. “If he wished to die, hanging or drowning would be far more convenient than poison. Moreover, this poison is rare and difficult to obtain. I am a physician and still cannot identify it — Lu Shi was destitute and aged. Where would he have found such a thing on his own? But to say he noticed nothing is also illogical. After ingesting this poison, while it would not cause immediate violent effects, there would certainly be mild reactions — skin redness and swelling, elevated heart rate, weakness in the limbs, dryness of the mouth and eyes. It is impossible he would be unaware for several hours — unless—” Fang Ke paused. “Unless—”
“Unless these symptoms appeared regularly enough that he had ceased to notice them.” Lin Sui’an said.
“Which gives us a third possibility,” Hua Yitang said, his pupils suddenly gleaming bright. “Lu Shi had been taking this poison over a long period of time.”
Fang Ke was silent for a moment. “What he was given was not poison. It was medicine.”
Side Story
Meanwhile, at the Hua Family’s secondary residence:
Yita: “Pig person, go kill everyone?”
Jin Ruo: “Yes, yes, yes — Lin Sui’an is extremely capable. Anyone she finds disagreeable gets cut down without mercy.”
“Pig person and Fourth Young Master, went stupid?”
“They’re sharp as monkeys — how could they possibly go stupid?”
“They, did what what?”
“Help me, Lin Sui’an, Hua person — what on earth did you two go off to do?! This little one is going to drive me insane!”
P.S.
Fang Ke: Who said I was a corpse? Step forward and walk two steps.