"Last night?!" Wu Zhigang's already narrow eyes snapped wide open in fury as he glared fiercely at the uneasy Wang Bingsheng standing nearby. "Tell me, what exactly happened?! You can't even determine the time of death clearly, and yet you still call yourself a coroner!"
"The corpse..." Wang Bingsheng's voice trembled slightly. He glanced cautiously at Zhuo Qing, and seeing her silent, he replied in a hushed tone, "The presence of these burn-like patterns on the body, along with the onset of rigor mortis, indicates the deceased died not long ago."
Zhuo Qing slowly lifted her head. Wang Bingsheng immediately fell silent, ashamed after noticing the wounds on the victim's back. His earlier overconfidence had blinded him to such a crucial detail. The strange youth had not been entirely wrong—he was indeed guilty of neglect. Wang Bingsheng stammered, unable to find words. Zhuo Qing's voice turned cold: "Come here."
What was she planning? Wang Bingsheng hesitated, unsure whether to approach. Seeing his wary stance, Zhuo Qing's patience snapped: "Come here!" Why dawdle? Was she going to devour him? Swallowing nervously, Wang Bingsheng took slow steps behind her. Despite his years, facing such an enigmatically sealed young man, he felt inexplicably uneasy.
Lou Xiyan stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his index finger tapping rhythmically, a gentle and refined smile never leaving his face. Yet his eyes, fixed intently on Zhuo Qing, shone with unusual brightness.
Crouching by the deceased's feet, Zhuo Qing calmly explained, "These postmortem discolorations are called livor mortis. Typically, they begin to appear one to two shi (traditional Chinese time units) after death..." She paused to mentally convert the units before continuing, "Between one to two shi, these patches emerge; by three to four shi, they become clearly visible. Pressing on the patches at this stage causes blanching, which returns once pressure is released. Six shi after death, the lividity coalesces, darkens, and pressing no longer causes complete blanching, only partial fading with slower color restoration after release. Beyond twelve shi, pressing no longer alters or erases the coloration."
Wang Bingsheng listened intently, his brow furrowing deeper with doubt. Not convinced? Zhuo Qing pointed at the livor mortis. "You, press it."
Nodding, Wang Bingsheng eagerly sought confirmation. Applying some pressure with his fingertip, the discoloration faded slightly, then gradually returned. According to this, the victim had indeed been dead for about six shi.
Wu Zhigang urged anxiously, "Wang Bingsheng, is what he says true?!" If so, Li Ming would be the prime suspect!
"I..." Wang Bingsheng hesitated, glanced at the young man, and replied truthfully, "I do not know. I only know that the lividity appears one to two shi after death and darkens over time. As for the rest, I am uncertain."
Embarrassingly, he truly could not gauge such precise timings from these marks. Had it been earlier, he would have outright dismissed the youth's claims. But hearing his confident assertions, he dared not make a rash judgment.
Wang Bingsheng's admission enraged Wu Zhigang, who shouted, "Then how am I to know whether he's speaking truth or fabricating?"
Clearing his throat, Wu Zhigang shot a sidelong glance at Zhuo Qing, demanding loudly, "How can you prove your words are factual?"
He had suspected the youth was peculiar from the start, but out of respect for Chancellor Lou, he restrained his anger. Ah! What a splendid question—and its answer was simple: he could not.
In this era, how could she substantiate her claims with scientific proof? Should she declare herself a master of forensic medicine, a young chief coroner, and cite numerous academic papers? Or conduct a live anatomical demonstration on the spot—Lady Lin would likely pounce to tear her apart!
Zhuo Qing lightly tapped her forehead in mock self-mockery. Why entangle herself with these ancient folk?
Leaning against the cold stone wall of the cell, she replied nonchalantly, "I speak the truth, but I do not know how to prove it in a way you would comprehend."
"So, you still cannot prove it!" Wu Zhigang was about to press further, but reconsidered. The youth seemed to share some bond with Chancellor Lou; better to tread carefully. Turning to Lou Xiyan with a respectful bow, he quietly asked, "Chancellor Lou, what say you?"
He believed the youth's words were truthful, meaning he must have had a distinguished mentor—someone reputable. Revealing his teacher's name would verify the truthfulness. That he refused to do so could only mean he wished to protect his master's identity. Little did he realize the more secretive he was, the greater the curiosity he provoked.
Fortunately, Wu Zhigang was in no hurry.
With a faint smile, Lou Xiyan was about to respond when a crisp yet resolute voice suddenly rang out: "What he says is indeed the truth."
Everyone turned toward the source. Zhuo Qing slightly lifted her hat's brim to reveal a man in his early thirties standing outside the cell, seemingly having waited long.
Tall, roughly the same height as Lou Xiyan, though the latter appeared leaner. His features were less handsome, but his deep, unwavering eyes conveyed earnestness, unlike Lou's perpetually smiling, inscrutable gaze.
The man wore a simple dark blue robe, appearing travel-worn as if hurriedly arriving from afar—not shabby, but noticeably rushed. Unlike Lou's composed elegance and polished attire.
And... why did she keep comparing him to Lou Xiyan? Had she lost her mind?
Before she could ponder further, Wu Zhigang and the other officers called out in unison: "Magistrate of Criminal Inquests!"
The Magistrate? Zhuo Qing arched an eyebrow, her interest piqued. Any forensic scholar would know Song Ci. This man held the same office—though whether he matched Song Ci's skill was unknown.
Raising his hand slightly in greeting, Shan Yulan bowed lightly to Lou Xiyan, his voice low yet respectful and composed: "Chancellor Lou."
Lou Xiyan stepped forward, a teasing glint in his lifted eyes. "Magistrate Shan's return is timely."
Neither early nor late.
Unmoved, Shan Yulan replied formally, "It is my duty, Chancellor, and no trouble at all."
Lou Xiyan smiled casually, "You overstate, Magistrate Shan. We both serve the court."
Such is the artifice of officialdom, Zhuo Qing thought with boredom, stifling a yawn—which, despite herself, escaped freely.
As she yawned shamelessly, Shan Yulan entered the cell and approached her directly: "What you said is indeed true, every word exact. What is your name? Where do you hail from? Who trained you?"
In truth, Shan Yulan had arrived long before the youth's reproach of Wang Bingsheng, remaining silent to gauge the boy's forensic knowledge. He was not disappointed. The youth's understanding of livor mortis surpassed that of an ordinary coroner. Shan Yulan's urgency to uncover the identity of this gray-robed youth—and especially his mentor—was palpable. Who could produce such a disciple?