Chapter 253: The Bizarre Drowning Victim

At 9:00 a.m. on April 17, 2015, Longhu Reservoir, Jiangnan District, Zizhen City.

On the vast lake surface, apart from a few elderly anglers, the shore glowed with flashing police lights, and officers in uniform came and went constantly.

When Gu Changzheng stepped onto the scene, morning mist was rising from the lake’s surface, thick and swirling, turning the water into a haze—fifty meters away, everything was completely blurred, invisible.

Outside the cordon, the elderly angler kept babbling to the young officer: “The float suddenly sank—I thought it was a big fish, but who knew! Oh my god! It scared me half to death...”

On the nearby shore, Forensic Officer Old Zheng crouched on the slippery steps, his stainless steel instruments glinting coldly white against the blue-and-white waterproof tarp.

The corpse was face-down, jammed between the spillway grates, its dark blue jacket swollen like a balloon from the current.

Luo Fei swept the corpse’s nape with the inspection lamp—a nail-sized red patch glowed with an eerie sheen under the bright light!

“Time of death?” Gu Changzheng asked as he slipped on latex gloves.

“Measured water temperature: 7.2°C, slowing postmortem changes,” Old Zheng lifted the eyelid. “Moderate corneal clouding, combined with rigor mortis...” The autopsy scissors suddenly halted between the victim’s right fingers. “Wait—this color is wrong.”

The tips of three fingers on the corpse glowed pink, as if smeared with diluted strawberry jam.

Luo Fei leaned in, sniffed, and his brow tightened sharply: “Bitter almond?”

———

The exhaust fan in the autopsy room hummed like an old motor.

Gu Changzheng stared at the corpse under the operating light, his mind flickering back three days—to the day Chen Guodong stood on television accepting an environmental contribution award, the backdrop behind him showing before-and-after images of Longhu Reservoir’s cleanup.

Gu Changzheng still remembered: Chen Guodong’s award speech line—“turning industrial wastewater into drinkable water”—had aired for thirty seconds during prime evening news time.

————

“Numerous hemorrhagic spots in the alveoli,” Old Zheng pried up a piece of lung tissue with forceps. “Typical drowning fluid stimulation response.”

“So drowning?” Gao Ye marked it in his notebook.

“But no defensive injuries in the nasal passages or trachea,” the scalpel turned toward the throat. “Look—vocal cords are smooth, no fragments of aquatic plants—like someone held him under sterile saline.”

Ye Lin suddenly raised an evidence bag: “Captain Gu! This was found in the victim’s pant pocket.”

Gu Changzheng looked—inside the bag, half-melted chocolate oozed brownish grease; the edges of the silver foil clung to blue-green crystalline grains, like chemical crystals... From the remnants of the wrapper, he could read the brand: Ferrero.

———

In the municipal bureau’s major case conference room, the whiteboard was divided into three sections.

Luo Fei drew a timeline beneath “Longhu Reservoir Surveillance”: “Victim entered through the east gate at 1:23 a.m., appeared on the lakeside walkway camera at 2:04 a.m.” On the projection screen, the figure in the dark blue jacket clutched the railing, coughing violently.

“Focus here,” Gu Changzheng froze the frame at 2:07 a.m.—the victim pressed his left hand to his chest, staggered two steps, then suddenly flipped over the railing. In the instant water splashed, a half-glimmering object flashed at the edge of the camera’s view.

Gao Ye pulled up a 3D topographical map: “The entry point lies in a blind spot, but according to projectile calculations, an adult’s self-initiated jump cannot exceed four meters of water entry distance.” He circled a radius in red on the map. “Yet we recovered the body twelve meters away.”

“Current speed: 0.3 m/s. The body needed at least forty minutes to drift this far,” Old Zheng slammed the autopsy report on the table. “But the victim’s actual drowning time was within fifteen minutes of entering the water.”

The conference room fell silent. The central air vent hissed, as if waiting for an answer.

“Three contradictions,” Gu Changzheng drew a sharp zigzag line on the whiteboard with a marker. “First: a person who jumps in voluntarily instinctively holds their breath—but the victim’s lung silica content is five times over normal—meaning he breathed violently underwater.”

Luo Fei touched the scar on his chin and continued: “Second: a mechanical paradox between the entry point and the body’s discovery location.” His black pen moved to the third point. “Most critical: the victim’s gastric contents tested positive for 200 mg/kg barium chloride.”

At that moment, Xiao Sun’s laptop beeped.

“The victim’s call log!” the young detective exclaimed, turning his screen toward them. “At 1:47 a.m., he received a call from an unknown number—the cell tower location: the abandoned meteorological station on the southwest shore of Longhu.”

Gu Changzheng’s pupils contracted slightly—the southwest shore of Longhu! That was precisely the hidden discharge outlet of Huasheng Chemical Plant.

As the tech department delivered the chocolate test report, a cold rain began outside.

Old Zheng shone a UV light on the foil’s crystals—blue-green patches bloomed into a web-like pattern in the dark.

“Barium chloride dihydrate,” he pointed to the spectral analysis chart. “This crystalline form requires strict temperature control. When heated, it releases highly toxic hydrogen cyanide gas.”

Luo Fei suddenly grabbed the crime scene photos: “The burn on the victim’s right palm! We thought it was scrapes from gate rust...”

“Second-degree burn from contact with a high-temperature object,” Old Zheng pulled up microscopic images. “The epidermis shows wavy carbonization patterns—consistent with instantaneous thermal radiation.”

Gu Changzheng stood, pulled on his coat, and his wrinkled eyes reflected in the glass window: “Let’s go—to the meteorological station.”

The abandoned meteorological station’s iron door hung slightly ajar; the stench of mold and rust hit them. Luo Fei swept his flashlight over the dusty control panel and suddenly caught a patch of damp water that hadn’t dried. Gu Changzheng crouched, pinched white powder from the water’s edge.

“Aluminum hydroxide,” he observed the crystal structure under the light. “Common component in water purifiers.”

Gao Ye found charred paper ash in the corner. When Ye Lin swabbed the residue, she frowned: “Bitter almond smell.” The portable detector shrilled—cyanide reaction positive.

At that moment, Gu Changzheng’s phone vibrated. Xiao Sun sent a new update: “Huasheng Chemical Plant filed equipment maintenance two hours ago—but thermal imaging shows its wastewater treatment workshop is running at full capacity.”

In the night, Gu Changzheng stared toward the faint red glow of the chemical plant; raindrops wove a fine net before the headlights. Distant cargo ship horns echoed like a long sigh.

Now Deputy Director of the Zizhen Municipal Public Security Bureau, Party Committee member, and Chief of the Criminal Investigation Brigade, Gu Changzheng stared at the rain before him, his face grim—this was an extraordinary murder case.