"What further steps do you intend to take?" Yàn Hóngtiān, who had remained silent and unreadable in his high seat, finally spoke.
"Dissection," Zhuó Qíng replied calmly.
Many were still unclear about what she meant, but Dān Yùlán's brows had already furrowed tightly. He sighed and said, "You intend to open the abdominal cavity for examination?"
O–pen–the–ab–do–mi–nal–cav–i–ty–?
This time, everyone understood. A collective gasp spread like a wave through the hall.
Xù Xún Sī, unable to contain his fury, shouted, "Impossible! I absolutely will not tolerate you treating my sister's body in such a manner! You are overstepping your bounds!"
Dān Yùlán, after a moment's thought, proposed, "Is there no alternative method? Perhaps use silver needles to detect the poison?"
"No." Zhuó Qíng shook her head, her tone resolute. "The toxin has already spread. With the circulation of blood, both muscle and bloodstream carried the poison before death—hence the faint bluish tint of the skin. Silver needles are highly sensitive to toxins; they will turn black upon contact with any poison, but that does not differentiate whether the fatal agent was the wine she drank or the needle wound at the back of her head."
To conclude based on a few silver needles would lack rigor—a lapse she would never permit in her professional career.
As soon as Zhuó Qíng finished, Xù Xún Sī raised another objection. "If the entire body is tainted with poison, even a so-called dissection cannot prove anything!"
"On the contrary," she explained patiently yet again, "victims who die from snake venom typically succumb to acute failure of the heart and kidneys. If the poison was ingested orally, it would linger in the throat, esophagus, and especially the stomach—resulting in visible organ damage or even corrosive burns along the poison's path. But if the needle wound at the back of the head was the source, the poison would travel through an entirely different neural pathway, and there would be no such traces in the digestive tract. Dissection would clearly reveal the truth—it is the only way to determine how she truly died."
Dān Yùlán was once more astonished by her intimate understanding of human anatomy. Yet, even if what she said was true, dissection remained nearly unheard of in Qióngyuè—such procedures were rarely permitted by grieving families. And indeed, as expected, Xù Xún Sī was the first to erupt.
"No matter what you say, I will never allow you to so much as touch a single hair on my sister's head!" With that, he strode toward the veil separating the body, intending to enter.
A slender hand stopped him mid-step. Xù Xún Sī turned, puzzled. Zhuó Qíng remained composed, but her voice was cold and devoid of emotion. "Your Highness, if your sister was not poisoned through wine but was instead killed by a needle to the back of the head—then as the first person to rush to her side and hold her, you are a prime suspect. As such, you may not approach the body."
"You—you—you are outrageous!" Furious at her words, Xù Xún Sī could no longer contain himself. His tall figure surged toward her, eyes blazing with disbelief. "Preposterous! Why would I harm my own sister?!"
Zhuó Qíng felt a gentle warmth on her shoulder as Lóu Xīyán stepped forward, shielding her to one side. His distinctive, clear voice echoed near her ear. "Your Highness, please calm yourself."
Xù Xún Sī inhaled deeply, suppressing his rage. Unwilling to clash directly with Lóu Xīyán, he turned away with his hands behind his back, but his tone remained firm. "She is already gone. To subject her to such cruelty now, to humiliate her even in death—this I will never permit!"
Tension tightened the air. For once, Dān Yùlán's forthright face revealed rare anxiety. Was the needle truly the cause of the princess's death? Without examining the corpse, it remained mere speculation. Yet Xù Xún Sī's opposition was unwavering. They could not proceed forcibly—not when the deceased was a princess of the realm. What now?
Zhuó Qíng glanced back at the gauzy curtain. She recalled the breathtaking dance from earlier. Then her gaze fell to the now-rigid silhouette on the cold stone floor—once dazzling, now lifeless. Gently brushing aside Lóu Xīyán's protective hand, she stepped toward Xù Xún Sī, who met her advance with a look of disdain.
Pointing to the veiled body, she said icily, "Your sister did not die a natural death. In other words, she was murdered. She died unjustly, and her killer remains at large. That—that is the true humiliation, the true unrest that will bind her soul. An autopsy is not a desecration; it is an act of justice. Through it, she will speak. Her body will reveal the truth. And you, as her brother, are not shielding her—you are silencing her."
Her voice was cold, not loud, but every word rang with clarity throughout the grand hall.
And just then—whether coincidence or omen—a sudden chill swept in from the palace doors. The gust snuffed out the entire row of candles lining the golden carpet, leaving only those on the second platform—where the corpse lay—still alight. The gauze canopy billowed violently in the wind.
Startled, many palace maids shrieked and covered their heads, shutting their eyes tight. Even the empress turned pale, her fingers trembling uncontrollably. Ministers once proud and composed now quaked visibly.
Everyone was shaken. Zhuó Qíng stood motionless, her expression cold, though in truth, she was stunned. What on earth was that? In all her years as a coroner, she'd heard tales of the uncanny, but never encountered them herself. She was a firm believer in science and evidence, not superstition. And if spirits did exist—if wronged souls truly lingered—they would not harm her. After all, she was their voice.
The wind passed as swiftly as it came. The hall returned to stillness, but no face remained calm. Xù Xún Sī's was especially pale, his brows deeply furrowed as he stared intently at the veiled form, his expression unreadable.
Dān Yùlán shot Zhuó Qíng a meaningful glance. Now is the time to persuade him. But Zhuó Qíng deliberately looked away. After the commotion, the way people stared at her had grown... strange. She wisely chose to say no more. She was a coroner, not a mystic. She had spoken all she needed to.
Ignoring him completely, Dān Yùlán had no choice but to step forward himself. Standing behind Xù Xún Sī, he said quietly, "The Seventh Princess's death is a tragedy—for both Qióngyuè and Northern Qí. Discovering the truth and restoring her dignity is what truly matters now. Your Highness, please reconsider."
A long silence followed. Finally, Xù Xún Sī's firm resistance began to waver. He raised his hand feebly and sighed, "Do it, then."
Zhuó Qíng rolled her eyes. It seemed that, in ancient times, nothing swayed people more than fear of the supernatural. She might as well thank that eerie wind...
Turning, she lifted the veil and began issuing instructions with ease. "Dān Yùlán, I need three sharp blades of varying lengths, one small pair of scissors, several clean handkerchiefs, a few porcelain bowls, needle and thread, and a basin of clean water. Also, bring a fresh pair of gloves."
This was the best she could ask for under the circumstances—she would make do.
"You're performing the autopsy yourself?" Dān Yùlán was truly stunned. In all of Qióngyuè, no more than ten coroners were qualified to perform a full abdominal dissection—and she, a woman, was one of them?
Zhuó Qíng turned to him, unfazed. To her, this was nothing out of the ordinary—she had done this countless times before. She shrugged lightly. "If you'd rather examine her yourself, I can observe."
Observe?
She said it so casually, unaware that the men around her were already drowning in unease...