In every detective story Lin Sui’an had ever read, nearly all of them shared the same stock plot: at the critical moment when all evidence pointed to a single suspect, the suspect died inexplicably, was confirmed as the true culprit, and the case was neatly closed.

But it was all an illusion. The suspect had in fact been silenced by the real killer, who remained at large.

This could be called the “worst-case scenario” in any detective story.

“Mouth closed; eyes slightly open; hands open; abdomen mildly distended; hair topknot tight; fingernails and toenails dirty; water foam and pale blood residue in the mouth and nose; skin of the left side of the face scraped and peeled, flesh curled outward, wound pale and without blood, oozing foul-smelling fluid.” The coroner Ding examined Su Chengxian’s body methodically from head to toe, meticulous in every particular, paying especial attention to the hands.

“Cause of death?” Zhu Dachang asked.

The coroner Ding finished his inspection and lit the ritual paper. “Drowning.”

Mu Zhong: “Did he drown before or after death?”

Coroner Ding: “Before.”

Lin Sui’an: “Did he fall in himself, or was he knocked unconscious first?”

Coroner Ding: “No injury to the head. No injury to the body. He fell in by accident.”

“Isn’t the wound on his face an injury?” Zhu Dachang pointed at the body. “The skin has been completely peeled off!”

Coroner Ding: “That is a post-mortem injury.”

Mu Zhong crouched down and examined Su Chengxian’s clothing. When he had been pulled from the drainage channel, his garments were in tatters, shoes and socks gone, his hair pin broken in half — the broken end on the same side as the damaged face.

“The current in the channel was swift, so after death he was carried along and the sharp stones scraped the skin from his face,” Mu Zhong demonstrated with a gesture. “The current was fast, which is why the wound looks so severe.”

Zhu Dachang: “Ugh—”

Lin Sui’an quietly sighed. In life, what this man had prided himself on most was his noble-clan status; he had placed enormous value on appearances. Yet in death, he’d lost even his face. The irony was striking.

Lin Sui’an: “Time of death?”

Coroner Ding: “Chen hour to si hour.”

“Meaning when he fled through the ward gate in a panic, he lost his footing and fell into a drainage channel and drowned.” Mu Zhong shook his head. “Heaven’s law never fails. What goes around comes around.”

“He was left-handed,” Coroner Ding suddenly added.

“And what does that matter?” Zhu Dachang pinched his nose to ask.

Coroner Ding: “Luo Shichuan’s body has been seized back.”

Zhu Dachang: “What?! When did that happen? Why are you only telling us now—”

“This is the examination record for Luo Shichuan.” Coroner Ding presented a form with an expressionless face.

“Oh, so the second examination was already completed — you gave me a fright.” Zhu Dachang took the examination record and waved Mu Zhong and Lin Sui’an over to look.

This was Lin Sui’an’s first encounter with this world’s autopsy report. It was more detailed than she had imagined. Along the leftmost side were four columns: the first was the document serial number, ordered according to the Thousand Character Classic — “Heaven, Earth, Dark, Yellow, Universe, Vast” — the second listed the responsible prefecture and county; the third recorded the deceased’s name, sex, and other basic particulars; the fourth specified the time and the examining coroner — one Ding Kui. Following these were the detailed findings of the examination, the language archaic and formal enough to test Lin Sui’an’s classical reading abilities considerably.

Fortunately, Zhu Dachang also had no patience to read through the whole thing, and simply asked directly.

“What did the second examination find?”

Coroner Ding: “Luo Shichuan’s heart is positioned abnormally — on the right side.”

Zhu Dachang: “Hm?”

Coroner Ding: “In an ordinary person, a blade driven deep into the chest would pierce the heart and cause immediate death. But Luo Shichuan’s heart is on the right side, so a single stab did not kill him outright.”

Mu Zhong: “So how exactly did Master Luo die?”

Coroner Ding: “Excessive blood loss.”

Everyone: “…”

“Coroner Ding, why did you specifically mention that Su Chengxian was left-handed?” Lin Sui’an asked.

The dried-out face of the coroner showed no expression whatsoever. “I carefully examined Luo Shichuan’s wound. It was made by a person who habitually uses their left hand, holding the murder weapon.”

Zhu Dachang slapped his thigh. “It was Su Chengxian, no doubt about it!”

Mu Zhong nodded. “Everyone in the Luo household — servants included — is right-handed.”

Zhu Dachang’s face fell again. “Although this Su Chengxian is the killer, he was after all a member of the Su clan, and his death is particularly ignominious. How should the aftermath be handled? I humbly seek Sir Mu’s guidance.”

Mu Zhong folded his arms, looking somewhat troubled. “This matter concerns the Su clan’s reputation. If handled carelessly, it will invite trouble. When is the new county magistrate expected to arrive?”

“Probably another month or so.”

“Keep Su Chengxian’s identity under wraps for now, and wait for the magistrate to arrive before making any decisions.”

“Excellent — I’ll go discuss it with County Lieutenant Zhang right away…”

Lin Sui’an did not join their discussion. Su Chengxian being the killer meant she was cleared of suspicion, which was greatly to her advantage. But one question kept circling in her mind:

【Was Su Chengxian truly the killer?】

The evidence was there — the leather cord and fire-starter found in his room, the items used to create the sealed-room mechanism, blood on both. His time of death also matched up perfectly with when he would have fled through the ward gate. Su Chengxian was left-handed; so was the killer. Most importantly, he had a motive for killing Luo Shichuan.

Luo Shichuan had summoned Su Chengxian for a talk the previous night, most likely intending to confront him — to dissolve his betrothal to Luo Kou. Su Chengxian had been on the verge of marrying into the Luo family, only to be told it was all a fantasy. In a fit of humiliated rage, he killed Luo Shichuan. Then he happened to see her enter the room, and seized the opportunity to create a sealed-room scenario and pin the murder on her. But when she managed to break out of the sealed room, Su Chengxian panicked and fled, only to stumble into a drainage channel in his haste.

Physical evidence. Motive. It must be him.

And this man had been rotten to the core — dying as he had was no injustice.

And yet… Lin Sui’an’s gut just wouldn’t settle. Her whole body felt as if it were crawling with caterpillars, itching and stinging at once.

What if… all of this had been arranged by the real killer—

【The worst-case scenario.】

“Coroner Ding, may I see his eyes?” Lin Sui’an asked.

The gaunt coroner paused, looked at Lin Sui’an with considerable puzzlement, but did as asked and pulled back Su Chengxian’s eyelids. Lin Sui’an dug her nails into her palm and looked directly into Su Chengxian’s eyes.

A buzz in her skull, and the strange channel-switching sensation arose again.

Dim light. Tangled hair. A temple damp with sweat. Ten fingers interlaced. Rapid breathing. A voice trembling with desire: “Su Lang… Su Lang…”

Oh!

Lin Sui’an jolted. The vision vanished, but the voice she had just heard still echoed in her mind — the person lying beneath Su Chengxian… had been a man!

*

Lin Sui’an had by now established a fairly solid theory about her golden ability — looking into a corpse’s eyes allowed her to see a flash of the deceased’s last memory in life. But the rules governing which memory was selected grew murkier with each use.

The original owner’s memory had been a diary — presumably because of the original owner’s deep hatred for Su Chengxian. Luo Shichuan’s memory had been the tea table and two letters — physical objects that hadn’t yet been found, but instinct told her they were things of great importance to him. So Lin Sui’an had previously theorized that what she saw was the deceased’s deepest, most persistent fixation. But what on earth was Su Chengxian’s memory?

An intimate scene between two men?

That was his dying obsession?!

Good grief!

Now that she thought about this body nearly having been married to Su Chengxian, Lin Sui’an wanted nothing more than to stomp on his corpse a few times to vent her fury.

“He was fraudulently engaged, and batting for the other side,” Lin Sui’an seethed, “utterly contemptible from start to finish, without a shred of principle. He deserved to die, died well, and died beautifully!”

“Ahem — ahem!” Mu Zhong coughed. “Watch what you say.”

Lin Sui’an breathed in and tamped down her anger, then raised her eyes toward the mourning hall ahead.

Luo Shichuan’s mourning hall was set up in the Luo family’s main reception room — the same place where she and Su Chengxian had signed the betrothal dissolution. Of the main players in that scene: Luo Shichuan lay in his coffin, Su Chengxian lay in the county office’s mortuary, Luo Kou knelt before the coffin, pale and hollow-eyed as a wandering spirit, and Lin Sui’an herself stood in the long queue waiting to pay respects.

A few days — and everything had been overturned. The world of the living, transformed beyond recognition.

The number of mourners who came to pay respects to Luo Shichuan was unexpectedly large: merchants, village gentry, tradespeople, and common laborers alike. Some were longtime business partners of the Luo merchant convoys, some were shopkeepers who had received the Luo family’s support over the years, and many more were ordinary townsfolk who had once received Luo Shichuan’s kindness. Lin Sui’an moved slowly through the line, listening to their low, murmured weeping: a tenant whose business had gone under and who had debts, whose shop rent the Luo master had waived; a medical clinic on the edge of collapse that received funding from the Luo household to offer free treatment to the poor; a destitute person who’d eaten from the Luo family’s charity gruel kitchen; children from impoverished homes whom Luo household funds had sent to a school…

Mu Zhong listened with a sorrowful air and sighed. “The Luo merchant convoy’s integrity set it apart among traders. The Mu convoy came here this time precisely to discuss a partnership — and yet it has come to this.”

“I too was saved by Master Luo when I was ambushed by bandits on the road—” Lin Sui’an paused, recalling Master Luo’s bright, hearty laughter amid the osmanthus fragrance that day, and felt a pang in her chest.

The queue moved slowly forward, and Lin Sui’an finally reached the mourning hall.

In front of her in the line was a young couple carrying a bamboo basket, leading a small child. The man’s eyes were swollen from weeping. “Master Luo, I’ve come to see you — and brought your favorite steamed cakes.”

The woman dabbed her tears. “My cooking isn’t very good — Master Luo, please don’t mind…”

Their little one was perhaps four or five, blinking with a pair of large dark eyes. “Father and Mother said we were coming to see Master Luo. Where is Master Luo?”

“Master Luo is lying in that big box over there, Liuer. Bow your head.”

The man pulled the child down to kneel and kowtow, weeping as he did.

The Luo clan members seated on both sides returned the bow in unison. Meng Man placed the steamed cakes from the basket on the offering table and inclined his head in thanks. Luo Kou’s eyes were unfocused, mechanically bowing and returning courtesies like a puppet.

Liuer finished kowtowing and looked up at the coffin. “Master Luo, I’ve done my kowtow. Have you woken up yet? The schoolmaster taught us the Thousand Character Classic. I learned it. Shall I recite it for Master Luo?”

“Heaven and earth, dark and yellow, the universe vast and wild, sun and moon waxing and waning, stars and constellations arrayed, cold comes and warmth goes, autumn’s harvest, winter’s store…”

The clear, high child-voice rang through the mourning hall. White paper spirit banners swayed gently, rustling softly.

The room fell suddenly quiet; then came the sound of muffled weeping. The mourners could barely bring themselves to listen; many could not hold back their tears. Several turned their faces away.

Luo Kou watched Liuer in silence. Gradually, tears gathered in her blank, distant pupils. Then, with a sudden piercing cry, she wheeled and flung herself toward Luo Shichuan’s coffin.

In the same instant, Lin Sui’an shot forward and caught Luo Kou in both arms. The force of the impact slammed Lin Sui’an hard into the coffin, wrenching a hiss of pain through her clenched teeth.

“Kou’er!”

“Young Mistress Luo!”

Meng Man and Mu Zhong sprinted over together. Meng Man’s face had gone the color of ash; Mu Zhong had broken into a cold sweat.

“I want to go with Father — I want to go!” Luo Kou buried her face in Lin Sui’an’s arms and sobbed without restraint. Lin Sui’an gently patted her bony back, her own heart clenching with each heave of weeping. Luo Kou was only fourteen — by the standards of the modern world, still a child, still underage. The man she had admired had turned out to be contemptible. And he had killed her own father. This was too cruel.

“Ha — and you have the face to cry?”

A cold laugh suddenly broke from somewhere in the mourning hall.

Lin Sui’an’s eyelid twitched. Her gaze went out like a blade.

From among the Luo clan members, a narrow-eyed man in his thirties offered a thin smile. “Wasn’t it you who brought a wolf into your own home and killed your own father? What are you performing here, crying as if anyone believes you?”

Meng Man erupted: “Luo Liulang, hold your tongue!”

“Did I say anything wrong?” Luo Liulang smoothed his clothing and rose to his feet. “If Luo Kou had not been set on stealing someone else’s intended husband, would the master have died?”

“That’s right — ruining someone’s betrothal brings retribution,” another Luo clan member chimed in.

That remark seemed to be a signal. More and more Luo clan members joined in:

“Swore up and down she’d marry the man, forced the man’s fiancée to dissolve the engagement, then backed out herself — that’s an unspeakable humiliation for any man!”

“If it were me, I couldn’t stand it either!”

“Brought it on herself, dragged her own father down with her, led the man into a rage that killed the master and ruined two lives — and she still feigns innocence here, weeping for an audience!”

“What a shameless creature!”

“Stop it! Stop it!” Meng Man bellowed. “Shut your mouths!”

“Well, look at that — there’s even a man here who’s devoted to her.” Luo Liulang curled his lip in a mocking smile. “Luo Kou really does have a way with people.”

Meng Man’s right hand seized Luo Liulang by the collar and his fist swung — but was grabbed by several servants nearby and pinned to the ground, his hair coming loose, his eyes murderous. The sight of it was rather frightening.

Luo Liulang smoothed his lapels and looked down at Meng Man. “A mere adopted son who isn’t even in the clan registry — and you dare raise your voice and raise your fist at me? You’ve got quite the nerve.”

Low snickering rippled among the clan members.

Luo Kou had stopped crying. She stared blankly at the Luo clanspeople, her pale little face etched with despair, her whole body shaking beyond control.

All the mourners were stunned by the sudden scene. They retreated to the edges of the hall, murmuring to one another, their gazes at Luo Kou growing uncertain.

Lin Sui’an’s eyes narrowed as she scanned the Luo clan members’ faces one by one. They wore mourning clothes and white grief-bands, yet not a trace of sorrow showed on any face — every one of them gleamed with sharp, calculating eyes, the corners of their mouths curled with smug satisfaction, like a pack of wolves who had spotted a plump, tender lamb.

Mu Zhong gave a cold laugh. “No early risers without profit to gain.”

Luo Liulang surveyed the room, his face flushed with triumph. “Today, Master Luo lies in state, and the Luo clan grieves deeply. Given the complex circumstances of the master’s death, and the fundamental responsibility borne by his unfilial daughter Luo Kou, our clan cannot allow such a woman to shoulder the role of family head. I call upon everyone here as witnesses today — we will select a new head of the Luo family!”

Lin Sui’an’s nails drove into her palm.

A fine pack of Luo clan members — Luo Shichuan’s body not yet cold, and they were already baring their fangs to strip the family bare.