Chapter 130: Speaking for the Injured

The victim's husband also noticed that Wu Jun and Jiang Yuan seemed unconvinced, and explained softly: "I just blocked it once—it wasn't a serious wound. The man turned and ran off."

Blocking once leaves spatter marks; blocking several times should leave several marks, unless you weren't wounded at all.

Wu Jun and Jiang Yuan smiled even more strangely.

This shows the man in front of us understands absolutely nothing about bloodstain analysis.

As everyone knows, spatter marks are very easy to spot. To simulate them, just pour a cup of blood—if you don't have blood, urine works too—fill a large cup and splash it against a white wall; the resulting stains, whether red or yellow, are what spatter marks look like.

Of course, if you only want to see it briefly, water can substitute.

The man before us was clearly lying through his teeth. The spot he pointed to had blood, but it bore no resemblance to spatter marks—it was instantly exposed.

If you don't even understand bloodstain analysis, how dare you swing a blade?

Modern criminal investigation has long raised the threshold for violent crimes.

If you strike and run, the police might take time to identify the suspect. But returning to the scene as a witness, yet lacking even basic bloodstain knowledge—how could you possibly fabricate a credible story?

Wu Jun lifted his chin and signaled to the two other detectives behind him.

The detectives on scene were sharper than dogs; one wrinkled his nose, glanced sideways at his partner's position, then both stepped forward in unison and grabbed the man's arms.

"Don't move," the older officer said, while the younger one snapped the handcuffs on with a click-click.

The cold, slightly heavy handcuffs felt like being forced to grip a handle.

The victim's husband's face instantly turned dark purple.

"I really just… I only blocked one cut. Why are you arresting me?" The husband struggled weakly, wanting to shout for help but dared not.

In the rural areas of Beining Tai, including Jiang Village, people value unity—shout once in the village and someone will jump out to help.

But the man hesitated, still defending himself: "If you don't believe me, you can call the sketch artist—I'll describe the man's appearance."

Wu Jun naturally didn't follow his line of thought; he asked instead about the weapon: "You say this man ran off holding the chopping knife—or did he drop it and run?"

The man thought for a moment: "He ran off holding the chopping knife."

"What route did he take? From where to where? Point it out."

The man then casually drew a line in the courtyard.

Jiang Yuan stepped forward and saw at once—it didn't make sense. The path you ran didn't leave any blood trail from the weapon.

Of course, the killer could've wiped the blood off the blade. But what with? His own clothes would be too stupid; carrying a few tissues probably wouldn't be enough, and where would he dispose of the used tissues? Keeping them on him would be another hassle.

The most practical way to wipe blood off the blade would be using his own underwear—wipe it, then put it back on. It wouldn't hinder movement and wouldn't draw attention on the road.

But even then, he'd need a place to change clothes.

Wu Jun waved his hand: "Full of lies. Take him back."

"I didn't lie! I didn't lie!" The man shouted loudly now.

Villagers who had gathered nearby slowly moved closer.

The detectives holding the suspect wisely stopped, fearing a scuffle.

Wu Jun called out loudly: "Based on our preliminary investigation, we believe Liu Xiuying was injured by her husband. We've collected DNA evidence; once back at the station, we'll issue further conclusions based on the evidence."

The villagers were curious but stood still, wanting to say something but saying nothing, just watching the man and the detectives inside the circle.

Emboldened by the support, the suspect shouted again: "I didn't lie! You're arresting the wrong person!"

"Police can see a lot from bloodstains," Jiang Yuan turned and entered the courtyard, preparing to give the villagers a legal education.

He knew these villages and villagers of Beining Tai too well. Most have ancestral halls, tight social ties, and a tradition of clan fights—even facing authority, they won't easily bow.

On the other hand, villagers follow reason and don't follow reason—accurately speaking, they have their own internal logic, and won't treat new laws from outside as sacred scripture.

Jiang Yuan chose to appeal to their sense of reason. He stepped into the courtyard and stood before the spattered blood, saying: "This is where the incident began. Based on the blood's shape, we can determine the victim's arm was here, and the attacker held the blade in his right hand…"

Jiang Yuan explained the nature of spatter marks as if telling a story.

Then he walked to the pool of blood and spoke slowly: "After being wounded, the victim retreated to this spot. She was in great pain and terrified, and as she lost blood, her strength faded—perhaps she gave up, sat here, and rested her hand on the step. You can see how the blood flowed."

Jiang Yuan glanced at the man again: "At this point, the attacker still swung the weapon, leaving behind cast-off bloodstains here…"

He pointed to the wall, where tiny speckles like tadpoles were clearly visible.

Bloodstain tadpoles, under low speed or large angles, release multiple tails.

Under high speed and small angles, the tails merge into thick spindle shapes and slender spindle shapes.

In short, bloodstain analysis began in the 1950s and was quickly studied to exhaustion—give a room full of blood to someone skilled, and it's like watching countless slow-motion replays, yielding countless conclusions.

Jiang Yuan explained bloodstain analysis to the villagers, unconcerned with spending extra time.

This wasn't just legal education—it was also problem-solving.

Rather than letting both sides gather crowds, shout and curse for hours, then having riot police drag them away, Jiang Yuan preferred to spend time explaining the crime scene.

It was also an indirect way to demonstrate his bloodstain analysis skills to Wu Jun and his colleagues.

After all, it was a Level 5 skill—he'd surely need it again. Proving it now would help his future work.

For the villagers, Jiang Yuan's explanation was one thing; as time passed, their rigid attitudes naturally softened.

Since ancient times, common folk don't fight officials. Beining Tai's villages may be tough, but they're not fearless.

They still fear what they should fear.

If it were a strong confrontation, the gathered villagers might hold firm. But now, with this gentle explanation, they grew strangely calm.

In the end, under the villagers' watchful eyes, Jiang Yuan completed a simple reconstruction of the crime scene—unnecessary for case analysis, but he did it easily, leaving everyone feeling satisfied.

Except the victim's husband.

As he was led into the police car under the gaze of his fellow villagers, he nearly collapsed.

He now knew that though no camera had captured his act, it was as if one had.

The police had already concluded he was the attacker. The victim's husband couldn't think of any way to overturn it, so he could only rage and fear: "My wife forgave me! I'll treat her well from now on—why are you arresting me? Why?"

"Grievous bodily harm is a criminal offense. Whether your wife presses charges doesn't matter," the detective beside him sneered.

"My wife's arm is broken, and now I'm arrested—what about my child? Who'll raise him? Who'll take care of him?" The man struggled violently, his voice filled with fury.

The detective shoved him down hard and roared louder: "Your wife's arm was broken by you, wasn't it? You're going to jail because you cut off your wife's arm, aren't you?"

The man's courage had lasted only that one moment; now, shouted at by the police, he shrank into a trembling ball.

…

Jiang Yuan and Wu Jun each lit a cigarette, sitting in the non-air-conditioned car—the Zhonghua cigarettes didn't taste as good anymore.

The man's final words made no sense, but they were a real problem.

Oddly, absurdly, bizarrely so.

Jiang Yuan had learned something new.

Wu Jun, the veteran forensic pathologist, exhaled smoke and said: "We solved the case, but the victim with the severed arm might not thank us—she might curse us just like the man."

Jiang Yuan nodded helplessly—he'd already guessed from the victim's refusal to name the attacker.

"But what we do matters. As forensic pathologists, we don't need to worry about human relationships. Speak for the dead and the injured. Do our utmost, do our duty, reduce wrongful cases and unjust deaths—let the dead die with clarity, so the living may live with understanding."

Jiang Yuan listened to his master's words and nodded seriously: "On our first day of university, our professor said the best thing about being a forensic pathologist is learning to be detached—seeing life and death constantly, nothing is truly a problem. Living well matters more than anything."

Wu Jun choked on his own secondhand smoke, coughed a few times, then praised: "Your bloodstain analysis was excellent—solid, thorough. You clearly paid attention in class. Young people like you are rare now. Keep it up—you'll surpass me."

Jiang Yuan silently pulled out another pack of cigarettes and handed it to his master…

"Brother Shen!"

"Mm!"

Shen Changqing walked down the road and greeted acquaintances with nods or waves.

But whoever it was,

everyone's face showed no extra expression—as if indifferent to everything.

As for this,

Shen Changqing was used to it.

Because this was the Demon Suppression Bureau, an institution maintaining the stability of the Great Qin, whose main duty was slaying demons and monsters, though it had some side occupations.

One could say,

everyone in the Demon Suppression Bureau had blood on their hands.

When one grows accustomed to life and death, many things become indifferent.

At first, Shen Changqing had been uncomfortable in this world, but over time, he grew used to it.

The Demon Suppression Bureau was vast.

Those who remained were either powerful experts or those with the potential to become so.

Shen Changqing belonged to the latter.

Within the bureau, there were two roles: Demon Guardian and Demon Exterminator.

Anyone entering the bureau started as the lowest rank: Demon Exterminator.

Then, step by step, they could rise, eventually becoming a Demon Guardian.

Shen Changqing's predecessor had been a probationary Demon Exterminator—the lowest rank.

Possessing the predecessor's memories,

he was very familiar with the bureau's environment.

Without spending much time, Shen Changqing stopped before a pavilion.

Unlike other grim places in the Demon Suppression Bureau, this pavilion stood out like a crane among chickens—amid the blood-soaked bureau, it radiated an unusual calm.

At this moment, the pavilion's doors stood open, with occasional people entering and leaving.

Shen Changqing hesitated only briefly, then stepped inside.

Entering the pavilion,

the environment changed abruptly.

A wave of ink scent mixed with a faint smell of blood struck his face, causing his brows to furrow instinctively, then quickly relax.

The scent of blood on every member of the Town Demon Bureau was nearly impossible to wash away.