A wave of cheering broke out around Yan Qing, and even Murong joined in, calling Yi Zhi Mei’s name with the crowd.

Yi Zhi Mei truly lived up to his reputation—the moment he appeared on stage, before he had even opened his mouth, he had already sent the fans into a frenzy.

Though he was a man, he was dressed at this moment in magnificent robes, wearing an elaborate crown, with upswept phoenix eyes and lips painted a deep red. His every glance was radiant and flirtatious, brimming with allure.

As the music began, Yi Zhi Mei half-covered his face with a long flowing sleeve and began to sing, his voice clear and bright.

His voice combined crispness, brightness, sweetness, smoothness, and rich fullness—truly a gift of nature. Combined with the supple beauty of his movements and his extraordinary stage presence, he could draw the audience into the world of the performance in an instant.

Yan Qing couldn’t follow the lyrics, so she was simply along for the experience. In the modern age, very few young people still listened to or performed opera. This art form, passed down across a thousand years, was fading and disappearing at a visible rate.

Murong listened with complete absorption, joining the crowd from time to time in applause and cheering.

Just as everyone was lost in Yi Zhi Mei’s singing, the music abruptly stopped. The star who had been moving so gracefully on stage suddenly crashed to the ground.

The musicians backstage were slow to react—they continued playing even after Yi Zhi Mei fell, until someone in the audience shouted “Someone’s dead!” before the music finally ceased.

Yi Zhi Mei lay collapsed in the center of the stage. The audience below fell into chaos. Just as someone moved to go up and check on him, a nimble figure leapt onto the stage. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried absolute authority: “Nobody move.”

The few people who had started to go up immediately stepped back.

Shi Ting was dressed in an ordinary casual jacket and trousers. It was unclear where he had come from. He crouched in front of Yi Zhi Mei, pressing his knuckles to the man’s neck.

Yi Zhi Mei had stopped breathing, his pulse completely still. This opera master, renowned throughout the land, had fallen before his fans—fallen on the stage he loved most.

“Seventh Brother, what’s happened?” The Commander-in-Chief walked over with his aide, his expression grave. “Master Yi Zhi Mei…”

“Dead.” Shi Ting furrowed his brow.

“Dead?” The Commander-in-Chief exclaimed. The audience below burst into murmurs, everyone exchanging bewildered looks.

“The cause of death is unclear. The possibility of foul play cannot be ruled out.” Shi Ting said. “No one present is to leave. Military Police Bureau personnel are on their way.”

“I didn’t kill anyone—why should you detain us? This is a waste of my time!” someone complained indignantly.

“That’s right. Yi Zhi Mei died while we were all watching the opera. How could any of us have killed him?”

Shi Ting paid no attention to these protests. Instead, he looked toward a particular spot in the audience below, then leapt down from the stage and walked directly toward it.

Yan Qing had looked everywhere without finding him; she hadn’t expected him to appear at this moment. He didn’t enjoy opera, nor did he care for crowds—she assumed he had gone back to his own courtyard. But a man like him seemed to possess a sharp instinct for the scene. Whenever a case broke out, he descended like a deity from the heavens.

Watching him approach, Yan Qing asked: “Is this a case?”

“It’s unclear for now. From my initial observation, Yi Zhi Mei’s complexion shows no abnormalities—it doesn’t look like poisoning.”

“Let me have a look.”

Yan Qing had just started to wheel herself forward when Shi Guang came running over to block her. “Where are you going? There’s a dead person on the stage.”

He had assumed that any girl encountering this kind of situation would be frightened out of her wits and desperate to leave as quickly as possible.

Before Yan Qing could answer, Shi Ting spoke. “Miss Yan is the forensic consultant for the Military Police Bureau. In cases handled by the Bureau, she has the right to move freely at the scene.”

“Forensic consultant?” Shi Guang was completely taken aback. “You’re a forensic specialist?”

Yan Qing had no desire to engage with him. She wheeled herself around Shi Guang and moved to Yi Zhi Mei’s side alongside Shi Ting.

“Master Yan, what is your daughter doing?” Sitting at the table next to Master Yan was Shi Ting’s mother, Meng Qiu. Seeing Yan Qing and Shi Ting examining the body, she couldn’t help but let a look of disgust show in her eyes.

Master Yan was equally bewildered. Hearing Meng Qiu’s words, he gave a forced laugh. “My daughter attended a nursing school for women—she probably thinks Yi Zhi Mei might not be dead yet. As a healer, one must always do one’s duty.”

“Master Yan, as you know, a corpse is always an ill omen. And students who graduate from nursing schools for women mostly tend to people in hospitals. Given your daughter’s standing, it would be best if she kept her distance from dead bodies and sick people. Our old matriarch is a devout Buddhist and is especially particular about such things.”

Master Yan could only nod along in placation; there was nothing else he could say.

Shi Ting crouched in front of Yi Zhi Mei and, following what Yan Qing had indicated, pried open the deceased’s eyelids and mouth, then examined his hands and feet.

Yi Zhi Mei was wearing heavy theatrical robes, and his face was covered in thick stage makeup, so only a superficial external examination of the body was possible.

Yan Qing shook her head, signaling to Shi Ting that nothing unusual had been found.

“The symptoms are somewhat consistent with sudden cardiac death.” Yan Qing said. “A full autopsy will be needed before any conclusions can be drawn.”

At that moment, the troupe’s manager came hurrying over. He had been discussing the next performance with a merchant and had rushed over the moment he heard that Yi Zhi Mei had collapsed.

“How can this be?” The manager was ashen with shock. “He was perfectly fine just a moment ago—how could he suddenly just die?”

He knelt before Yi Zhi Mei, unable to hold back his wailing. “We still have over a dozen performances ahead. How am I supposed to explain this to everyone? I’ve already taken the deposit fees!”

“Did Yi Zhi Mei have any known illnesses?” Shi Ting cut off the manager’s crying.

The manager wiped his tears. “He was consumed by his art. When there were no performances, he would practice obsessively, sometimes for over ten hours at a stretch. He had a heart condition, though it hadn’t flared up in several years. Just yesterday evening while he was practicing, I reminded him not to push himself too hard—since arriving in Shun Cheng, we had taken on nearly twenty performances and were running almost without rest. But he wouldn’t listen. In the middle of the night I could still hear him singing.”

The audience below had grown restless. To them, one person’s death was a minor matter—but being made to sit here was a waste of their precious time.

“I’m done waiting. I didn’t kill anyone. Can you compensate me for wasting my time?” Some had grown impatient and started toward the exit, only to be blocked by personnel stationed at the doors.

The Military Police Bureau had deployed more than twenty officers to seal off the scene. Anyone attempting to leave at this moment was turned back without exception.

Whether Yi Zhi Mei had died by accident or by another’s hand, every person present had to be cleared of suspicion first.

Though the crowd grumbled, they cooperated and submitted to questioning by the Military Police Bureau.

E Yuan led men to carry Yi Zhi Mei’s body to the courtyard where Shi Ting resided, so that a more thorough examination could be conducted.

This was Yan Qing’s first time visiting Shi Ting’s quarters. His courtyard wasn’t large, but it held flowers, birds, fish, and insects, along with decorative rock arrangements—everything one could wish for.

The plants in the courtyard were meticulously tended; a few small birds hopped about with lively energy; water trickled over the ornamental rocks in a scene full of life and vitality.

It was clear he was fond of these flowers and birds. And yet the courtyard had not a single person in it, which made the place feel quietly lonely.

E Yuan laid Yi Zhi Mei’s body on a mat, and with the help of a Bureau officer, began removing the performer’s elaborate and heavy stage costume.

Yi Zhi Mei’s head had been covered with a hairpiece, adorned with all manner of ornaments. Once the hairpiece was removed, someone retrieved a theatrical makeup remover oil from the manager. This oil was remarkably effective—after being wiped over the face several times, Yi Zhi Mei’s true features gradually emerged.

Yi Zhi Mei’s stage face had been seductive and graceful, but the man himself—aside from a pair of upswept phoenix eyes—had well-proportioned features and a distinctly masculine presence.

“If I hadn’t seen him with the makeup off, I truly would have thought he was a woman.” E Yuan pried Yi Zhi Mei’s mouth open with some force and sniffed, then shone a flashlight inside to carefully examine his tongue and throat. “No corrosive marks on the oral mucosa or the skin around the mouth. No foreign matter between the teeth. No unusual odor from the mouth or nose.”

Yan Qing said: “What about the body surface? Any burns?”

“No injuries on the body surface.”

Having been through the case of the ghost killer, Yan Qing paid particular attention to the matter of injection marks. “Check the body for any needle puncture marks—pay special attention to areas with dense hair.”

“Understood.” E Yuan brought out a razor and began removing the deceased’s body hair while carefully examining the skin.

Under a magnifying glass, any needle marks on the body would have no place to hide. But regrettably, no suspicious marks were found on Yi Zhi Mei’s body.

“Could it really be sudden death?” Yan Qing murmured.

“Yi Zhi Mei had a history of heart disease and had been pushing himself excessively beforehand—sudden cardiac death seems highly likely.” E Yuan turned the body slightly. “Teacher, what do we do next? Should we take the body back to the Bureau for an autopsy?”

“He has a skin condition.” Yan Qing had noticed large patches of flaking skin on Yi Zhi Mei’s back, spreading to his limbs, like fish scales—reddened and swollen.

“A skin condition can’t kill a person, can it?”

Yan Qing nodded. “Generally not.”

“How is everything going? Have you found the cause of death?” Shi Ting walked in with long strides. The birds in the courtyard began chirping the moment they saw him.

Yan Qing thought of the Big Tiger—once, it had been kept here too.

“No.” Yan Qing said. “It looks like an autopsy will be needed to determine the cause of death. Has the troupe consented to an autopsy of Yi Zhi Mei?”

At the moment, there was no clear evidence to establish that Yi Zhi Mei had been murdered, so conducting an autopsy required the consent of his immediate family.

Shi Ting said: “Just now, one of the troupe’s acrobatic performers had a strange look on his face. I had Zheng Yun speak with him privately. He said that Yi Zhi Mei and the manager had a fierce argument last night—the two of them even smashed quite a few things. Afterward, the manager left in a rage. As he passed by the performer’s door, the performer heard the manager say: ‘I truly want to kill him.'”

“And then?”

“Yi Zhi Mei’s junior fellow apprentice, Jin Shang Hua, has long had a fraught relationship with Yi Zhi Mei. The two of them once came to blows with knives over who would be the troupe’s lead performer.”

“So both the manager and Jin Shang Hua have a motive to kill?”

“Yi Zhi Mei has no immediate family. The Military Police Bureau is taking full jurisdiction over this case. We can bring the body back to the Bureau now for autopsy and examination.” Shi Ting took out his pocket watch. “Have E Yuan transport the body first. Once I’ve wrapped things up here, I’ll take you over.”

E Yuan soon led men to remove Yi Zhi Mei’s body. Only Yan Qing and Murong remained in the courtyard.

Murong said: “Director Shi’s courtyard is arranged so beautifully—flowers, plants, rocks, and water all together. It’s like a miniature summer retreat.”

From where Yan Qing sat, she could see directly into his room—the place where he rested and slept each day.

—