Through the glass window, his room was clearly visible. The bedding was folded with perfect neatness; his black uniform and cap hung on the clothing rack.

He had a preference for rosewood furniture—the tables, chairs, and wardrobe were all crafted from rosewood, understated and dignified in appearance yet remarkably fine in quality. After all, rosewood was no ordinary wood; a single good piece was often difficult to come by.

“Good day, Miss.” A young attendant dressed in servant’s attire walked in from outside. Seeing Yan Qing, he gave a bow.

Yan Qing said: “You’re Director Shi’s attendant?”

The attendant answered respectfully: “Yes.”

“Do you tend to this courtyard?” Yan Qing couldn’t quite explain why, but she was filled with curiosity about the place where he lived day to day—she even found herself wanting to know more.

The attendant said: “Every plant and flower, every bird in this courtyard was personally planted and raised by the Seventh Young Master. I only water and weed—nothing more.”

“And the room itself? Surely there are maids who clean it?”

“There are no maids in the Seventh Young Master’s courtyard—only myself. The Seventh Young Master is very disciplined in his habits. He has always tidied and cleaned for himself and doesn’t allow others to interfere.”

Yan Qing was genuinely surprised. In her mental image, someone of such distinguished birth would typically be surrounded by rows of attendants and clusters of maids, with a word from him summoning a hundred responses.

The thought of him washing up each morning alone, making his own meals, dressing himself—she felt a small pang of something like tenderness, and even greater admiration.

As they were speaking, Shi Ting had already stridden into the courtyard. Seeing Yan Qing talking with the attendant, he stepped forward. “Wait for me a moment. I need to change my clothes.”

Yan Qing looked up at him with a faint smile. “Of course.”

After Shi Ting went into the room, he didn’t draw the curtain. He simply stood in front of the clothing rack and removed his leather jacket. Yan Qing accidentally caught a glance—just as he was reaching for his uniform, his upper body bare.

She quickly looked away, her face flushing involuntarily.

“Let’s go.” Shi Ting emerged in his black uniform, his cap set at a precise angle, his whole bearing spirited and impressively commanding.

Murong went to the front courtyard to inform Master Yan so he wouldn’t worry, while Shi Ting personally wheeled Yan Qing to the Military Police Bureau’s vehicle.

As the car pulled away, a figure emerged from behind the main gate, watching the vehicle disappear into the distance with a deep, brooding gaze, brows drawn together tightly.

“You don’t enjoy opera?” Shi Ting’s voice came slowly from within the car.

Yan Qing said: “I wouldn’t say I dislike it—I suppose I’m just not accustomed to it.”

She turned to look at him, a small look of puzzlement on her face. “How did you know I don’t enjoy opera?”

“I could tell.”

“Were you in the audience? I didn’t see you.”

Shi Ting’s gaze met hers. “You were looking for me?”

Yan Qing: “…”

She quickly averted her eyes, fidgeting with the hem of her jacket, her voice coming out notably unnatural. “Certainly not. You’re tall—I don’t need to look carefully; I’d spot you in an instant.”

“So you were still looking.”

Yan Qing turned and glared at him. “I was not.”

Her desperate self-defense made her look like a small creature whose tail had been stepped on, all bristled up and clawing without any real menace—rather endearingly flustered.

“Since you don’t enjoy opera, what do you enjoy?” He stopped teasing her and changed the subject.

“Watching films, I suppose.” Since arriving in this era, Yan Qing had never once been to a cinema, though she often saw film posters plastered everywhere.

These people prized romance—they delighted in poetry and moonlight. For those in high society who had been steeped in foreign culture, attending a film, sharing a cup of coffee, dancing at a social gathering, or composing a love poem were all considered the height of romance.

“What kind of films do you like?”

“Foreign blockbusters.” Yan Qing had barely finished speaking before she noticed Shi Ting looking at her strangely. She gave an awkward laugh and offered a strained explanation. “I mean, imported films from abroad.”

She could hardly tell him about films like The Avengers or Interstellar—that would certainly alarm him.

“There are quite a few imported films at the cinema.” Shi Ting said. “If you’d like to go, I can have someone buy tickets.”

Yan Qing waved a hand. “Never mind, never mind. Don’t go to the trouble.”

As they spoke, the gates of the Military Police Bureau were already close ahead. Someone opened the gate and the car drove slowly inside.

Once they stepped out, Shi Ting said: “Go to E Yuan first. I need to stop by the interrogation room.”

“Have you identified a suspect?”

“The guests in the audience have been temporarily cleared—most had people sitting beside them who could vouch for their whereabouts during the performance. Those currently being held are only the members of the troupe under suspicion: the manager, Jin Shang Hua, Yi Zhi Mei’s apprentice Mei Wu Zi, and the acrobatic performer A Jiu.”

Yan Qing nodded. “The most important thing right now is to establish the cause of death. If Yi Zhi Mei died of natural causes, everyone’s suspicion can be cleared. If it was homicide, the killer is most likely among these people.”

As the two of them spoke, they had already reached the entrance of the autopsy room. Shi Ting pushed Yan Qing through the door.

Directly opposite the door stood the autopsy table. Yi Zhi Mei’s body lay covered beneath a white sheet. It was hard to imagine that the man who had just been singing on stage was now a lifeless corpse, entirely cold.

E Yuan was making preparations for the autopsy. Seeing her enter, he said excitedly: “Teacher, you’ve arrived just in time. I’ve finished the external examination—nothing unusual was found.”

Shi Ting and Yan Qing exchanged a glance, and he turned and headed toward the interrogation room.

Yan Qing wheeled herself to the autopsy table and conducted a thorough examination from head to foot. As E Yuan had said, Yi Zhi Mei’s body surface was intact, with no signs of any violence. Lying there, his head shaved and his makeup removed, he looked like an ordinary person in peaceful sleep who might wake at any moment.

Yan Qing put on an autopsy gown, secured her mask and gloves, and took the autopsy knife E Yuan handed her. “Let’s begin the autopsy.”

E Yuan watched as she first opened the deceased’s neck, chest, and abdominal cavity. After removing the entire ribcage, she set down the knife and slid a hand into the deceased’s throat.

“Teacher, what are you doing? Why aren’t you using the knife?” E Yuan was startled by this approach.

“The deceased has no external injuries. It’s likely either natural cardiac death or poisoning, so it’s better to remove all the internal organs intact for observation.” Yan Qing said. “How does one remove them intact?”

“Watch carefully—it isn’t as complicated as it looks. After making an incision along the lower edge of the jaw, you can precisely locate the deceased’s tongue. Grip the tongue and pull downward, taking care with the angle and force. The internal organs are called a ‘full set’ for a reason—they are connected to one another. As long as the technique is correct, they can all be removed in one piece.”

As she spoke, Yan Qing had already removed the organs cleanly and efficiently. This was a technique she had long used, practiced to the point where she could do it with her eyes closed.

To E Yuan, however, it was nothing short of astonishing. He had never seen this method of autopsy before. Though it looked rough, it was remarkably simple and practical.

“Is it sudden cardiac death?” E Yuan asked. “The manager said Yi Zhi Mei had a heart condition.”

“Has anyone else confirmed this besides the manager?” Yan Qing sliced off a few tissue samples for toxicology testing.

“His apprentice Mei Wu Zi also confirmed it. He said Yi Zhi Mei always took heart medication before going on stage.”

“The deceased’s arterial walls show white plaques—most likely atherosclerosis. He did indeed have heart disease. However, Yi Zhi Mei did not die of sudden cardiac death.” Yan Qing’s brow furrowed slightly. “The organs and tissues show no significant congestion. The blood in the heart and major vessels is normal in color. The deceased did not die of sudden cardiac arrest.”

“Then how did he die?”

Yan Qing shook her head. “We can only wait for the toxicology results. Some symptoms of poisoning aren’t visibly apparent in a body.”

The testing methods of this era were also quite primitive—nothing like the advanced equipment of later times—and obtaining results would take three full days.

“The deceased suffered from a severe chronic skin condition—a persistent ailment that can only be managed with medication and cannot be cured.” Yan Qing said. “Although this condition is not fatal, it places a significant burden on the patient both physically and psychologically. I imagine Yi Zhi Mei must have been a person of volatile temper, extremely prone to anger.”

“Teacher, his temper wasn’t good.” In the interrogation room, Yi Zhi Mei’s apprentice Mei Wu Zi sat with his head lowered, tear stains still on his face. “He was quick to lose his temper, and when he did, no one could stop him.”

“Did he frequently beat and berate you?” Zheng Yun asked.

Mei Wu Zi quickly waved his hands. “He scolded me—only for not practicing hard enough. But he never struck me.”

This Mei Wu Zi had a boy’s face with feminine features—delicate and smooth-skinned, with a tapered chin bearing not a single whisker. Had he not kept his hair short and worn men’s clothing, it would have been very difficult to determine his gender.

“What was your relationship with him like?”

“I started learning opera under my master when I was ten years old. My master treated me like his own son, and I regarded him as a father.” Mei Wu Zi said, tears flowing unchecked. “If my master hadn’t taken me in and taught me opera, I would have starved to death in the streets long ago.”

“Who had grievances with your master in his daily life?”

Mei Wu Zi said: “Officer, what do you mean by that? Are you saying my master was murdered?”

“This is only routine questioning. Just answer honestly.”

Mei Wu Zi let out a small sound of acknowledgment. “As I said, my master had a volatile temper and may have offended people because of it. Everyone in the troupe, including the manager, had been berated by him at one time or another. But if we’re talking about real grievances, it would have to be his junior fellow apprentice, Jin Shang Hua.”

“Tell me more specifically.”

“Actually, I only know this from what I’ve heard. Back in the day, my master and Jin Shang Hua fought bitterly over who would become the lead performer, each trying to make a name for himself in the world of opera. In the end, my master won. Jin Shang Hua could only play supporting roles. Once I ran into Jin Shang Hua—he had just been drinking, and he grabbed me by the hair and said he would kill that bastard one day.”

“Were you aware that your master had a heart condition?”

“Yes.” Mei Wu Zi said. “My master’s heart condition wasn’t severe. I never saw it flare up.”

“Did he have any other illnesses?”

Mei Wu Zi shook his head. “That I don’t know.”

“If you were to point to one person as the killer, who would it be?”

“I—I don’t know.” Mei Wu Zi looked frightened.

“Just hypothetically.”

Mei Wu Zi thought for a moment and said: “Jin Shang Hua.”

After Mei Wu Zi left, Zheng Yun interrogated Jin Shang Hua.

This Jin Shang Hua was about the same age as Yi Zhi Mei—somewhere around twenty-seven or twenty-eight—but he had a menacing look about him, with a pair of sharply angled eyes that gave off a cold, hard edge.

—