Chapter 238

A gentle breeze blew.

The pine trees swayed lightly.

The ghosts danced on motorcycles.

The director's heartbeat irregular, eyes rolled white, body tilting backward as if weightless.

"Director! Director?!" His subordinate rushed to grab his waist.

Meng Deyuan, who had served as director of the Funeral Hall for years, gave a bitter smile. "I knew this day would come. Did you just see it? There were several white things moving fast."

"Director, those are the forensic technicians riding motorcycles," the subordinate said calmly, his eyes sharp—unlike Meng Deyuan, whose old eyes were dim and heart weak, always conjuring strange ideas.

Meng Deyuan said: "You're not even trying to lie anymore. I just saw several white ones. And why would forensic technicians ride motorcycles?"

The subordinate sighed: "Even ghosts don't ride weak motorcycles."

"Use proper honorifics."

"What?"

"Er… for souls not yet entered into reincarnation, we should address them thus." When Meng Deyuan first entered the Funeral Hall, he had studied this issue carefully, and after years as director, he'd finally found a chance to speak properly. The subordinate stared at the forensic technicians ahead, now riding with increasing delight, and sighed: "Maybe you should get new glasses."

"What else did you see?" Meng Deyuan's eyes had been damaged from years of writing reports—no new glasses could fix that.

"It's just… some un-reincarnated souls are playing with their phones," the subordinate said. "Wait, let me tell them—riding and texting is dangerous. If they crash, it's game over."

He was tired of arguing with the director. He walked forward and called out to the "riders."

Seeing this, Meng Deyuan stepped forward and recognized Forensic Officer Niu.

"Old Niu? What are you doing? Why are you riding a motorcycle?" Meng Deyuan found this utterly unreasonable.

A group of forensic technicians riding motorcycles inside the Funeral Hall? This was too bizarre.

Forensic Officer Niu looked at Meng Deyuan in confusion and politely said: "Director Meng, we're conducting an experiment today."

"What kind of experiment?"

"About motorcycles," Forensic Officer Niu smiled. "There's a homicide case involving this."

"Hmm… next time, warn us in advance," Meng Deyuan said, frowning at the flatbed truck. "How many motorcycles did you bring? Our Funeral Hall is a quiet place. Riding them one after another will disturb others."

"Alright, alright, we'll finish quickly," Forensic Officer Niu replied. If motorcycles disturbed residents, riding them at 3 a. . in a neighborhood might indeed wake people—but riding them in the Funeral Hall courtyard early in the morning? Would they shake the ashes?

"Fine, go ahead," Meng Deyuan said. He knew he couldn't stop Niu. Now that he confirmed it wasn't a problem, his heart eased. He gestured: "There's open ground behind the chapel—you can ride there."

"Got it," Forensic Officer Niu grinned and rode off on his motorcycle.

Compared to boiling corpses in the basement, riding motorcycles early in the morning was clearly more pleasant.

Meng Deyuan hesitated, then followed.

As director of the Funeral Hall, he cared deeply about everything inside—except the un-reincarnated souls.

The forensic technicians riding motorcycles didn't care if anyone watched.

Each rode according to their own ideas, studying exhaust pipe temperatures.

*p&%q*e+t Different motorcycles had different exhaust temperatures; if there was any insulation in between, the situation became even more complex.

Under these conditions, conducting a perfect, meticulous experiment was nearly impossible.

Fortunately, criminal science never demanded such precision.

The goal of criminal science was solving cases, so forensic technicians mostly just needed to propose one or more plausible scenarios.

That is, list a few possible conditions under which the evidence could have occurred—no need to list all possibilities, nor guarantee any.

Practicality mattered most.

Detectives would then use footwork and sweat to check each possibility one by one.

The flatbed truck had brought over thirty motorcycles: sleek sport bikes, rugged off-road bikes, heavy-duty scooters used by drivers for hire, and more.

Most motorcycles were old secondhand models; no one knew where Xu Taining had borrowed them from.

First, everyone rode randomly, then tested exhaust pipes with snake-skin bags matching the evidence material.

Eventually, they'd use the actual evidence—but for initial tests, similar materials were sufficient. The principle remained: criminal science didn't demand strictness; any conclusion would still need verification later.

Of the six forensic technicians, only female technician Wang Lan stayed behind in the autopsy room to continue boiling bones—she couldn't ride motorcycles and didn't want to. She came out only for air, then returned.

The other five were delighted, each pursuing their own ideas under the pretense of testing.

Seeing several people first test the sport bikes, it was clear: no one in Zifeng Town would buy such bikes, and even if they did, they couldn't ride them up the mountains. These track-style machines had no passenger seat, let alone space to carry a corpse. Their frames were too heavy—if they fell, the rider might not even be able to lift them back up. Game over.

Once Niu and the others finished testing, the sport bikes were all eliminated.

Everyone then tried other models. Some dared not try at all—for instance, Niu himself, who again rode the only Harley-style big-bore motorcycle in the lot. Like the sport bikes, this machine weighed hundreds of kilograms off paved roads and couldn't climb mountains.

Others began testing the most likely candidates: street bikes and off-road bikes. Some even tried scooters.

After several trials, not just Jiang Yuan, but several others gradually developed ideas.

"It has little to do with bike type—mainly speed," Jiang Yuan had been meticulously testing from the start.

He'd already had his fill of bike culture during his family's second demolition. His interest in motorcycles had long moved beyond superficial concerns like model type.

In simple tests, Jiang Yuan discovered that speed had the greatest impact on exhaust temperature, followed by duration.

Jiang Yuan quickly concluded: "Once speed reaches fifty kilometers per hour, a snake-skin bag near the exhaust pipe could be scorched through. Even at lower speeds—say, forty kilometers per hour—if ridden long enough, like ten minutes, the exhaust pipe becomes extremely hot."

After a few tests, Jiang Yuan no longer needed to use plastic bags—he simply measured temperature directly.

As for differences between models, it mainly came down to heat dissipation and insulation during motion.

In summary: the thermal effect of motorcycles.

By the time Jiang Yuan reached his conclusion, Niu had finally finished playing and repeated several tests.

"So the bag won't break unless speed reaches around thirty kilometers per hour?" Niu was surprised.

"Climbing hills might raise exhaust temperature further. Ultimately, exhaust temperature depends on engine conditions," said Forensic Officer Zhai, the oldest on-site but the most familiar with motorcycles. In his youth, he'd often ridden long distances on motorcycles for business trips. He'd had prior experience, and now, riding, he'd noticed something.

"Climbing hills raises temperature, and so does carrying weight," Niu extrapolated.

Forensic Officer Zhai nodded. "Thirty kilometers per hour is too slow for a motorcycle."

"Carrying a corpse makes balance difficult?" Jiang Yuan speculated.

Speculation was speculation, but the general direction was clear. Everyone's spirits lifted.

Jiang Yuan proposed another experiment.

Forensic Officer Niu was chosen first to ride.

Niu grumbled as he climbed onto the rear seat of a street bike, tense as if facing execution.

Jiang Yuan, also slightly nervous, mounted his bike and started it with wobbly control.

Director Meng Deyuan stood outside, watching.

Back in the autopsy room, he retrieved the evidence again and carefully studied the travel bag and the red-and-blue checkered bag. Everyone's judgment was confirmed.

"Then the killer likely owns a motorcycle. It's not a breakthrough yet, but it's a direction," Forensic Officer Hu said, visibly more relaxed.

Compared to the other junior technicians, his responsibilities were heavier.

Jiang Yuan also breathed a little easier, flipping again through the red-and-blue checkered bag, sinking into deep thought.

Knowing only the motorcycle's speed—or that the killer owned one—was still far from solving the case. With such rare evidence, Jiang Yuan wanted to dig deeper.

Knowing the vehicle and speed—what else was needed to find the killer?

Direction and time.

Zifeng Town had only one road running through it. The killer either lived in town or passed through it, then took the mountain road from this side to the coal mine.

Did he take the southern route or the northern one?

Jiang Yuan stopped overthinking. He flipped open the tear in the travel bag, reached inside, took a cotton swab, moistened it, and began carefully wiping.

"I remember you already collected evidence from here," Forensic Officer Wang Lan immediately noticed Jiang Yuan's action.

Jiang Yuan's evidence collection differed from everyone else's—not only was his technique proficient, but his steps were meticulous, marked by clear high standards and confidence.

Jiang Yuan hummed: "I just realized—we can use trace evidence inside the travel bag to determine the killer's direction. We did this before, but let's verify again."

Wang Lan didn't understand at first. "How?"

"The outer layer of the travel bag wasn't just heated—it also showed abrasion. Careful inspection reveals tiny holes. Since it was heated against the exhaust pipe, the distance to the ground must have been very close. Therefore, the ash on the inner side of the red-and-blue checkered bag likely came from the road surface," Jiang Yuan said, now fully in crime scene mode—clear, precise, and technically flawless.

Just watching his movements, everyone unconsciously trusted him.

Forensic Officer Zhai leaned in, asking seriously: "How will you use this ash?"

"Analyze its composition, compare trace evidence," Jiang Yuan said.

"And then? Compare it to whom?"

"The soil composition on the southern road and the northern road must differ," Jiang Yuan said, recalling his observations upon arrival. "Most of Zifeng Town's coal is shipped south. Though the main mines have shut down, small illegal kilns still operate—so southern soil has more coal residue. The north still has clay pits, fertilizer plants, and pesticide factories. I don't know the exact composition, but if we take samples from both sides and compare them in the lab, we'll find differences."

Forensic Officer Zhai slowly nodded. The logic, once explained, was clear.

Jiang Yuan added: "You need to push the trace evidence lab—they must prioritize these samples. Otherwise, normal processing will take too long."

Trace evidence analysis required the provincial lab, which had long queues and slow turnaround—someone had to help cut the line.

Forensic Officer Zhai understood immediately: "Let's go collect samples from both roads now. I'll arrange for someone to deliver them directly."

Jiang Yuan didn't delegate such tasks—he went himself.

Turning back, the group studied the abrasion on the outer travel bag, then decisively abandoned it. Forensic Officer Zhai stepped forward again to call for help.

"The plastic box abrasion is too complex to test quickly—but there are specialized labs for this kind of work."