I had just finished speaking when several officers forcefully pressed down on my shoulders.
"Who gave you permission to be here?" the female officer asked coldly.
"No one," I replied. "But I saw he was making a mistake. I couldn't help but point it out."
"Ridiculous!" The forensic expert scoffed. "I'm the most experienced forensic doctor in the precinct. Kids like you, who think reading a few Sherlock Holmes stories makes them a detective—I've seen plenty. Xiaotao, let him talk. I'm curious to see what pearls of wisdom come from this brat's mouth."
"Dr. Qin, we've got real work to do. We can't waste time with this kid," the female officer reminded him.
"It won't take long," Dr. Qin said, clearly intrigued. "Alright, kid, I'll give you a shot. Tell us how this man was murdered. But think carefully—interfering with an investigation can get you detained. Apologize now and I might just forgive your rudeness."
I chuckled to myself. Rude? Let's see who owes whom an apology. "What if I'm right?"
"Not a chance!" Dr. Qin laughed.
"I mean, what if I just get lucky?" I said, taking a step back.
"If you are, I'll quit this case and let you take over," he said. The other officers laughed, their eyes gleaming with anticipation.
"Dr. Qin!" the female officer frowned, warning him not to go too far.
He waved her off. Clearly, his seniority gave him weight.
"Alright, let's hear it," he said.
I walked over to the ancient locust tree where the victim had allegedly hanged himself. A pile of stones had been stacked beneath his feet so he could reach the branch. But just beside it, on the grass, was a faint but telling depression.
"You see this indentation here?" I pointed. "It means someone stood here while stacking the stones and helped lift him. Ever heard of a suicide needing assistance? This is murder."
Dr. Qin burst into laughter. "That's your grand insight? That's just a footprint from the janitor who found the body this morning and took him down."
I shook my head. "That's not a footprint."
Silence fell. The female officer looked at him questioningly. Dr. Qin hesitated, then muttered, "I just remembered—it's from my toolbox. I set it down earlier while moving the body."
I almost laughed. What a clumsy cover-up.
But the female officer nodded, seemingly convinced. She probably trusted Dr. Qin's authority too much to doubt him.
They didn't realize what I saw wasn't ordinary. During my training with Grandpa, he made me drink a bitter herbal decoction called Bright Eye Powder for forty-nine days straight. At the end of it, I went completely blind. Grandpa told me not to fear—it was just part of the process.
Three days later, my sight returned. But what I saw was no longer the same.
A sesame seed looked as big as a millstone. I could see blood vessels shifting under the skin, even wings fluttering in slow motion. At first, my eyes were so sensitive that even the light of a match felt like needles stabbing into them. I had to stay in a dark room just to survive.
Eventually, I adapted. Grandpa called my eyes the Eyes of Deep Sight, a special gift passed down in our family. They would one day guide me in solving cases with uncanny precision.
To me, the grass indentation screamed murder. The crushed blades, the degree of wilt—based on those, the pressure was applied roughly 8 to 10 hours ago. Coincidentally, that matches the actual time of death I inferred from rigor mortis, lividity, and pupil dilation. But Dr. Qin claimed the victim had been dead for over 10 hours. I didn't even bother correcting him.
Unfortunately, what I saw, they couldn't see.
"Enough of this nonsense," the female officer snapped. "Get him out of here!"
"Wait," I said. "Aside from the grass, the killer left a handprint on the victim. Didn't any of you notice?"
That gave her pause. She signaled the officers to hold off.
Dr. Qin sneered. "I already checked with UV light. No fingerprints."
"I'm not talking about fingerprints. I mean a pressure imprint. Any object pressed firmly leaves a mark, even on a corpse. A body, once dead, is just an object with halted circulation."
Dr. Qin rolled his eyes. "You're seriously saying you can see what high-end forensic tools can't? With your naked eyes?"
"What if I can make it visible?" I smiled confidently.
"Impossible! My imported tools cost tens of thousands!"
"Tools aren't everything," I said. "Sometimes a piece of paper can show more than a machine."
The female officer eyed me curiously. "What's your major?"
"Nothing related to forensics. But I know I'm better than him," I said, pointing at Dr. Qin.
His face turned red. "Xiaotao, let him try. I want to see this show. If he finds something I missed, I'll quit on the spot!"
"That might be going too far," she said.
"It's fine. I'll teach him a lesson." Dr. Qin plopped down on the ground.
"You sure you'll keep your word?" I asked.
"Absolutely. But what if you fail?" he growled.
"Then arrest me."
The female officer sighed. "You're in your third or fourth year, aren't you? One mark on your record and your future's over."
"I understand," I said calmly.
It wasn't arrogance. Even if my Deep Sight couldn't reveal the handprint yet, my deductions were rock solid. There was no way the killer hoisted the victim without touching him.
"Alright then," she said. "What tools do you need?"
"None." I looked beyond the police line. Wang Dali stood there nervously.
"Dali! Come here!"
He jogged over. "Yang, are you nuts? You really went all in this time! Wait—did you ask Officer Beauty if she has a boyfriend?"
I rolled my eyes. "Go to my room and bring me the red oil-paper umbrella from the back of my wardrobe. And don't touch anything else."
"Got it!" he dashed off.
Dr. Qin lit a cigarette and grinned. "Can't wait to watch this train wreck."
"Don't blink," I said, head held high.