Chapter 357: Science Is the Most Terrifying Curse of the Evil Sacrifice

Chen Yang was like a drowning man clutching at the last straw, lunging at Feng Ju with reckless desperation, his voice carrying a despairing urgency:

"Captain Feng, Captain Feng, please help me."

Feng Ju's gaze was cold as a knife blade quenched in poison, his eyes sweeping over Chen Yang's face as if looking at a freshly excreted pile of feces.

His black hand gleamed with cold light under the incandescent lamp, his tone full of mockery:

"Not ruthless enough, not smart enough, yet harboring ambition far exceeding your own ability."

He paused, his voice suddenly turning cold,

"It's exactly stupid trash like you that's most disgusting."

Before the words fell, Feng Ju's mechanical arm had already clamped onto Chen Yang's wrist.

The instant metal touched flesh and blood, Chen Yang gasped sharply in pain.

Feng Ju's fingers brutally pried open Chen Yang's fingers, pulling out that stack of autopsy reports he had subconsciously clenched tight, soaked with sweat.

Feng Ju's gaze rapidly scanned the autopsy report, then he turned and strode away, Dong Ping following close behind, hurrying to catch up.

Li Shang stood in place unmoving, his gaze fixed dead on Feng Ju's swaying mechanical black hand, his eyes mixed with irritation and wariness.

Only after Feng Ju's back figure had completely vanished at the corridor's end did Li Shang furrow his brows and walk quickly toward the morgue.

Regardless of why Feng Ju wanted to snatch the autopsy report, or what calculations he was making in his heart, that charred corpse brought back should not remain any longer.

As a professional Divine Detective, Li Shang's case solving rate was one hundred percent, and there had never been a wrongful, false, or mistaken case.

His secret lay in that near-perverted sensitivity — he could always stay one step ahead, blocking off every option that might overturn a case.

He never gave the "murderer" a chance to overturn the case, because all loopholes had already been blocked by him; what remained was only the "truth" he gave.

This was Li Shang's case-solving way — not seeking truth, but creating truth.

In his world, truth was never an objective existence, but a perfect artwork crafted single-handedly by him.

Since he could accurately convict people, Li Shang naturally could also perfectly exonerate people; the principle behind it was consistent, and Li Shang had already mastered it thoroughly.

The morgue's air conditioning hit his face; Li Shang's hand lightly rested on the door handle.

Then his gaze swept over the surveillance camera in the middle of the corridor; that little gadget seemed to sense his displeasure, obediently flashing twice, then turning blind.

Pulling open the heavy morgue cabinet door, two corpses lay silently on the cold metal plates.

One was a charred corpse, skin pasted and flesh blackened; its back indeed had a fine knife slit. The other corpse's neck was wound with a circle of rough, terrifying stitching thread.

"Heard the Second Prison got incinerators long ago; the Patrol Bureau is lagging far behind in this regard."

Fortunately Li Shang had prepared in advance; his uniform jacket pocket always held a bottle of corpse-dissolving water, thumb-length bottle body without any markings, only a cartoon fox etched at the bottom grinning a bizarre smile.

This was "good stuff" he scavenged from the Black Market, far stronger than those "cleaning agents" produced by legitimate manufacturers.

Legitimate products need a full 100cc to process one corpse, while this "Fox Bottle" only needs 25cc to make a corpse vanish without a trace.

Small bottle, astonishing power, convenient to carry, truly achieving "one bottle beats four bottles."

Li Shang unhurriedly unscrewed the bottle cap; pale green liquid slowly flowed out along the bottle mouth.

The instant the liquid contacted the corpse, a burnt smell mixed with a cloying fruit fragrance exploded in the morgue; skin and flesh immediately billowed white smoke, as if devoured by invisible flames.

Muscle tissue dissolved and evaporated at visible speed; even bones turned into a pool of turbid liquid, finally seeping into the morgue cabinet's drain holes.

The whole process was terrifyingly quiet, not leaving a trace of strange odor; the effect was even cleaner than those corpses he'd seen devoured by the Curse of the Evil Sacrifice.

Li Shang stood before the empty morgue cabinet, gazing at the small puddle of water stains left at the cabinet bottom, murmuring softly:

"No wonder I've always felt science is the most terrifying Curse of the Evil Sacrifice!"

When the metal door hinge's dry, grating friction sound pierced the morgue's silence, Li Shang was using a cotton swab to wipe the last trace of residual water stain on the metal cabinet edge.

His movements didn't stop; his peripheral vision caught the figure pushing the door in.

"Worthy of the Patrol Bureau's renowned Divine Detective; your interpretation of evidence is indeed unmatched. Without the most important corpse, the autopsy report, whether real or fake, is just a sheet of waste paper."

Feng Ju's voice, wrapped in disinfectant smell, drifted in; his gaze swept over the empty morgue cabinet, finally landing on the cotton swab in Li Shang's hand.

As Li Shang turned, the cotton swab crushed to dust in his palm; he coldly stared at this same-rank captain who had rocketed up and "replaced" him serving the Special Commissioner, his gaze involuntarily drawn to the other's mechanical arm.

Li Shang's face was cold and solemn, tone flat:

"Hasn't Captain Feng been busy investigating 【Mask】 lately? Heard these past two days homicide cases have been frequent near No. 8 Middle School, all related to 【Mask】; how come Captain Feng has free time to return to the police station this morning?"

Feng Ju knew Li Shang was needling him with words; the truth of these homicide cases could be hidden from the general public, but not from this Divine Detective; after all, the "Death Lists" in their hands were all compiled by the other party.

The subtext of these words was — you do the Special Commissioner's bidding, I don't interfere; I handle things for big shots, you stay out of my way too; let's keep to our own lanes.

In the cold light reflected by the morgue cabinet, after pulling several all-nighters, Feng Ju's swollen face looked like a sinister wax figure; even a fake smile carried a sticky feeling:

"Captain Li, don't scrutinize me with the look you use on criminals; I come with no malice; I just came specially to give thanks."

Li Shang froze: "Thanks?"

Feng Ju half-closed his eyes, smiling:

"Right, Feng Mu caused such huge trouble; as a father I naturally have to come clean up his mess. Didn't expect though, Captain Li is actually a warm-hearted person, stepping in one step ahead of me to rescue Feng Mu."

Li Shang's pupils contracted slightly.

Feng Ju's smile deepened: "Hmm, could Captain Li not know..."

His voice suddenly lowered: "That Feng Mu is my good-for-nothing son?"

Feng Mu sat upright on the cold metal chair; the gray-white cement walls appeared even more gloomy under the bleak incandescent lamp.

He slightly narrowed his eyes; long, dense eyelashes cast two shadows on his eyelids; breathing steady and drawn out.

He looked exactly like he was comfortably napping at home.

The interrogation room's cramped space seemed to transform into a state of mind, isolating external disturbances, seemingly becoming an excellent place for Closed-Door Cultivation.

"Heard certain special venues, such as large corporations' cultivation laboratories, or inside some Hidden Gates, all provide bonuses to Cultivated Martial Arts; pity those venues I can't access for now. But the Patrol Bureau might also have bonuses?"

In the dark, there was a feeling; Feng Mu felt the Patrol Bureau's magnetic field was compatible with him; upgrading martial arts here might bring unexpected surprises?

Feng Mu had nothing else to do, so he decided to take this opportunity to engage in Closed-Door Cultivation at the Patrol Bureau and upgrade his martial arts.

He had recently accumulated a considerable amount of Skill Proficiency—a full sixty thousand points—and had not spent any of it. He wasn't greedy; he would first enter seclusion for a hundred years, then talk about it.

End of Chapter