Yan Qing said, “A corpse cannot, of course, literally open its mouth and speak — but we can learn from it certain secrets it wishes to tell us.”

She took the transfer form from Ling Ai’s hands and glanced at the recorded cause of death.

“The deceased was thirty-six years old, a resident of Guli Village. The recorded cause of death is ingestion of poison — suicide. The body was discovered this morning by a fellow villager, who then reported it to the authorities. According to accounts provided by villagers, the deceased had a heated argument with his wife two days prior on the evening in question, and may have impulsively consumed pesticide in a fit of distress over the quarrel. The deceased had no children, so no one noticed anything for some time after his death. It was not until two days later, when a villager came to his home on some business, that he was found lying in bed, an almost empty pesticide bottle beside his pillow — already dead.”

Yan Qing gave the class a brief summary from the form.

“Someone once said that every body sent to us for anatomical study is a teacher. And so, I would ask everyone to bow to this body in gratitude.”

As she spoke, Yan Qing herself bowed ninety degrees toward the body first. The others, moved by the same sense of reverence, followed her in bowing.

“Very well. Class begins.”

Yan Qing had already put on her dissection gown. These gowns had been made to order at Liu Huan’s textile mill — the medical college had signed a contract with Liu Huan’s mill, and all dissection-related equipment would be supplied by Liu Huan.

Yan Qing lifted the white sheet covering the deceased. The man’s face, lips, and all ten fingernails were a bluish-purple color. A pungent, garlic-like odor rose from his mouth.

“Organophosphate poisoning,” Yan Qing murmured. “Organophosphates are commonly used in insecticides and are among the most widely encountered types of pesticide.”

“Teacher, is death by poisoning very painful?” a student asked.

“It certainly is,” Yan Qing replied. “After poisoning takes effect, the victim experiences nausea, vomiting, burning pain in the stomach, and difficulty breathing. If death does not come quickly, they are rushed for emergency treatment — and the resuscitation process alone is enough to be halfway to death.”

Yan Qing tilted the deceased’s neck to one side and was suddenly caught by a faint reddish mark visible upon it.

“Bring the alcohol.”

A student immediately passed her a bottle of alcohol.

Yan Qing soaked a cotton ball in alcohol and rubbed it against the deceased’s neck. After a few moments, the reddish mark gradually emerged more clearly.

“Teacher, have you found something?” Zhang Lingxiao, noticing Yan Qing’s suddenly grave expression, could not contain his curiosity.

Yan Qing straightened up, took the dissection scalpel from beside her, and — explaining to her students as she worked — made a series of careful incisions separating the layers of muscle in the deceased’s neck.

“Look here.” Yan Qing indicated the separated muscle tissue. “There is deep muscular hemorrhaging in the deceased’s neck.”

“Teacher, what does that indicate?”

“The deceased’s neck sustained a violent assault while he was still alive — very likely strangulation.” Yan Qing frowned. “Based on the size of the hemorrhagic band and the absence of obvious damage to the outer skin, the weapon was most likely something soft — such as a scarf or a towel.”

When Yan Qing used the word “weapon,” a shock ran through the room. Some students were continuously swallowing from sheer fright.

“Teacher, is this a murder?” Ling Ai asked, working up her nerve.

Yan Qing set down the dissection scalpel. “You are all in luck — on your very first time observing a dissection, you’ve encountered a homicide.”

She looked at Zhang Lingxiao, who was standing closest to her. “Zhang Lingxiao, go and notify the military police bureau.”

“Right.” Zhang Lingxiao answered and ran off immediately.

“This,” said Yan Qing, seizing the opportunity to address her class, “is the value of forensic science. This was originally nothing more than an ordinary case of suicide by pesticide ingestion. Without a body dissection, we would never have discovered the secret the deceased is trying to tell us — his grievance would never be redressed, and the killer would walk free.”

She pointed to the lips of the deceased and continued, “The symptoms of organophosphate poisoning bear a very close resemblance to those of asphyxiation. In the early stages of poisoning, respiratory distress causes bluish-purple discoloration of the face and all ten fingers — which corresponds closely to the typical signs of asphyxiation. A judgment made on surface appearances alone is therefore unreliable.”

The students opened their notebooks and began taking notes one by one.

“That said, though organophosphate poisoning and asphyxiation present with similar signs, there are also many important differences. If the deceased was strangled first and then had pesticide poured into his mouth, the pesticide might reach the stomach, but — because metabolic function had already ceased — it could not reach the liver or kidneys. We need only dissect the deceased’s liver and kidneys and run tests to determine whether death resulted from organophosphate poisoning.”

Everyone had already watched Yan Qing separate the neck muscles of the deceased. Now, seeing her pick up the scalpel again in preparation to open the torso, those with weaker stomachs began shrinking back.

“Make sure everyone knows where the waste bins are — and first one to them wins.” Yan Qing made a light joke, even as the dissection scalpel sliced downward.

As she opened the chest cavity and the internal organs were exposed, the sounds of retching rose up one after another all around her.

Which proved her point exactly — first one to the bin wins.

Ling Ai watched, her own stomach churning uncomfortably. But she had already been thoroughly sick once before, and looking at this scene again, she just about managed to hold on.

“Ling Ai, once I have the sections prepared, take them to the military police bureau and find Gu Zhen in the forensics laboratory. Have him run tests to check whether they contain organophosphate compounds.”

Ling Ai nodded quickly. “Understood.”

This was the first time Ling Ai had watched Yan Qing perform a dissection. This Yan Qing — wielding the scalpel with grave, focused precision — was entirely different from the Yan Qing she knew in ordinary life.

“Why do you keep staring at me?” In the classroom, Yan Qing and Ling Ai addressed each other in the manner of teacher and student, but she always treated Ling Ai a little differently from the rest.

“You look like you’re glowing,” Ling Ai said, her face full of admiration. “I want to become someone as capable as you.”

“You will. Study hard.”

“I will.” Ling Ai nodded with conviction.

With dozens of eyes watching, Yan Qing deftly excised tissue sections from the deceased’s liver and kidneys, placed them into specimen containers, prepared the proper protective measures, and handed them to Ling Ai.

Ling Ai left to deliver the samples to the military police bureau, while the others continued their lesson with Yan Qing.

Several of the students had already been sick three or four times over, every face pale — yet they all suppressed their nausea and listened with earnest concentration to Yan Qing’s instruction.

Ling Ai held the specimen box and arrived at the military police bureau by rickshaw.

She had barely stepped through the door when she ran directly into Zheng Yun on his way out. Zheng Yun saw her and faltered a moment. “Why have you come?”

“Yan Qing sent me to deliver samples.” Ling Ai had not expected to run into him a second time, and a barely concealed delight rose in her heart. “Are you heading to a scene?”

“Yes. Your classmate just came to report that the cause of death of the body we sent over earlier was suspicious. I’m heading to Guli Village.” Zheng Yun’s voice was pleasing to hear, making her forget, without even realizing it, that he was a man of cold temperament.

“Safe travels then.” Ling Ai dipped her head to him and, cradling the specimen box, stepped into the main hall.

Zheng Yun looked back at her for a moment — just long enough to see the hem of her skirt vanish through the doorway.

“Captain Zheng, ready to go?” His subordinate was already calling from inside the car.

Zheng Yun strode to the vehicle, pulled open the door, and got in. The car was just starting to move when someone suddenly ran up to his window, voice urgent and earnest. “Captain Zheng, may I come along?”

“Don’t you need to return to school?”

“By the time I go back, Director Yan’s class will have finished anyway.” Ling Ai gripped the edge of the window, her expression full of hope. “I want to see more crime scenes firsthand. It will help with my studies — Director Yan says forensic scientists always have to attend the scene.”

Before Zheng Yun could respond, the officer beside him spoke up. “Captain Zheng, why not bring Miss Ling Ai along? She might even be of some help.”

Cases had been piling up lately, and the military police bureau was clearly stretched thin on manpower.

“I can help.” Ling Ai quickly nodded, seemingly afraid Zheng Yun might refuse her. “I can do any kind of work, dirty or tiring.”

Does she think she’s going to a construction site?

Zheng Yun let out a quiet sigh. “Get in then.”

Seeing that he had agreed, Ling Ai immediately opened the rear door and climbed in with undisguised delight.

The young officer was the sociable sort — he grinned warmly. “Miss Ling Ai, I’m Xu Jianwei. Everyone calls me Little Xu.”

“Just call me Ling Ai.” Ling Ai smiled at him.

“May I?” Little Xu turned to ask Zheng Yun.

“As you like,” said Zheng Yun.

Little Xu was cheerful and talkative, and chattered away to Ling Ai nonstop the whole journey.

“Don’t let our Captain Zheng’s cold exterior fool you — he has a warm heart. He has helped more people than anyone could count. Even now, come every holiday, people still bring food and gifts to the military police bureau for him.” Little Xu laughed as he said it.

Zheng Yun leaned back against the front passenger seat as though resting his eyes, taking no part in their conversation.

Ling Ai, meanwhile, kept talking with one eye always drifting toward Zheng Yun.

She suddenly recalled the peonies at Zheng Yun’s home — those rare and precious varieties had been given to him by a victim he had helped.

“Oh, and people have come practically begging to give their daughters to him in marriage.”

“Give their daughters to Captain Zheng?” Ling Ai was startled. “Can that sort of thing really happen?”

“Ha, when victims’ families have no other way to repay him, and Captain Zheng is so fine-looking on top of everything else — isn’t it natural that they’d line up hoping to marry their daughters to him?”

“Watch the road,” said Zheng Yun, eyes still closed. “With that route you’re taking, you’ll end up in a ditch, not Guli Village.”

Ling Ai hadn’t expected Zheng Yun to crack a joke, and she couldn’t help pressing her lips together to suppress a smile.

Perhaps it was because her laughter was too pleasant to hear — the taut corners of Zheng Yun’s mouth curved slightly, despite himself.

The car traveled for an hour before a small village gradually came into view.

Guli Village made its living in ceramics, and the man who had “swallowed poison” and died — Cheng Qingsong — had been a ceramics craftsman.

When the car stopped at the village entrance, Zheng Yun got out first, then opened the rear door. “The road here is uneven. Watch your step.”

Ling Ai murmured her agreement. “I’ll be careful.”

Once out of the car, she looked around. The roadsides throughout the village were strewn with fragments of broken ceramics in every direction — no wonder Zheng Yun had warned her to mind her footing.

After entering the village, the three of them made their way to the local security office, where they were warmly received.

“Wasn’t Cheng Qingsong a suicide?” the security officer asked, puzzled. “Why is there a further investigation?”

—