Chapter 3

Funeral parlor.

The hearse dropped off the corpse and sped away, leaving a heavy body on the gurney.

“To be a forensic pathologist, you start by moving corpses,” Wu Jun said, hands behind his back, unable to hide his smile. “Your build is perfect for it.”

His classmates in big cities had enjoyed the freedom of moving corpses for twenty years already; Ningtai County was a place no one stayed in. New forensic pathologists came and left, left and came back—year after year, he rarely got to see anyone move a corpse. The worst luck was when a new pathologist arrived and there were no corpses, then corpses showed up right after they left.

Jiang Yuan pushed the gurney and asked curiously, “Does the county bureau not have an autopsy room? The kind with bright white lighting…”

“Like in TV dramas?” Wu Jun shook his head. “Only wealthy cities can afford that. We’re a small county—we don’t even dream of it. Doing autopsies isn’t just about having a room; we need refrigerated caskets to store bodies, ventilation systems, showers—all of which require maintenance. It’s simpler to rent space from the funeral parlor. The county bureau just needs to spend a few hundred thousand to fix up the autopsy room properly.”

“Won’t that make evidence collection inconvenient?”

“Usually it’s just drawing blood and collecting gastric contents. In a town this small, how far could the suspect run? Good parking matters more.” Wu Jun chuckled. “Besides, corpses don’t care.”

Jiang Yuan glanced at his Seventeenth Uncle and thought: when his uncle came home for the New Year, he’d seemed rather picky. Of course, now he probably had no interest in being fussy.

“Next time you come, remember to keep a pack of cigarettes in your pocket, buy some pastries now and then—build relationships,” Wu Jun said as he pressed the elevator button, lowering his voice to Jiang Yuan. “The funeral parlor is also a workplace.”

Jiang Yuan smiled. “Got it.”

The Ningtai County Funeral Parlor had set up the autopsy room in the basement.

Fortunately, there was an elevator, making access convenient—though the flickering red fire lights along the dark corridor were unsettling.

Inside, the lighting was ample: large ceramic tiles on the floor, small ones on the walls. In the center stood a stainless-steel autopsy table; to the left of the entrance was a sink and a long row of stainless-steel cabinets. Without close inspection, one might mistake it for a regular home kitchen.

At this point, Wu Jun stepped forward to help, rolling the gurney beside the autopsy table, using his foot to raise its surface until it matched the table’s height, then gently sliding the corpse onto the table. “Go check if the family has arrived. If they have, call them in—we’ll begin the autopsy.”

Jiang Yuan replied, his eyes fixed on his Seventeenth Uncle.

His once robust Seventeenth Uncle now lay supine on the stainless-steel table, his belly swollen and pale, glowing under the lights—fine hairs stood erect, making Jiang Yuan feel a chill, and more than that, a deep unease.

"The phone is by the door," Wu Jun said casually, offering no more words.

Jiang Yuan averted his gaze, walked to the door, picked up the landline, and dialed.

In China, autopsies require notification and signature from close relatives. In practice, those who show up are often in-laws—brother-in-law, uncle by marriage, or son-in-law—rarely direct blood relatives, who usually require an extra trash bin.

Soon, someone was led in, looking bewildered and fearful at everything around him.

“Uncle-in-law,” Jiang Yuan recognized him. He was his Seventeenth Uncle’s younger brother-in-law, husband to his Nineteenth Aunt—they’d likely met during the ancestral shrine ceremony two years ago.

“Jiang Yuan!” The uncle-in-law, seeing Jiang Yuan, became unusually warm, his eyes filled with emotion as he looked past his brother-in-law’s corpse toward Jiang Yuan: “Your Seventeenth Uncle passed so suddenly. Thank goodness you’re the forensic officer—do him justice…”

“We’re starting,” Wu Jun cut in, handing Jiang Yuan a full-body surgical gown to wear over his clothes, then yanking off the white sheet covering the corpse. “Confirm: this is Jiang Jiancheng himself?”

The uncle-in-law gagged. “I think so.”

“Sign here. Write down the ID number too.” Wu Jun watched the family sign, collected the documents, then turned to Jiang Yuan. “Not everyone can perform an autopsy on someone they know. If you’re not up for it, that’s normal.”

“I can do it.” Jiang Yuan had mentally prepared himself before entering. Now, though his heart was tangled with emotion, he didn’t want to simply back out.

Wu Jun confirmed once more, then nodded. “You start.”

He wanted to see Jiang Yuan’s ability. If Jiang Yuan faltered or made a mistake, Wu Jun could give him a lesson. He’d taught every new forensic pathologist this way.

Jiang Yuan’s expression was serious, tense, hesitant.

Jiang Yuan had little actual autopsy experience, but during the few practical sessions at school, his performance had earned praise from his professor, who called him “exceptionally gifted.”

If this weren’t his Seventeenth Uncle’s body, he might have been calmer.

“First, examine the external body,” Jiang Yuan took a deep, heavy breath, his frown fleeting, then he settled into focus. He placed a notebook beside him, examining the corpse as he spoke: “Deceased, Jiang Jiancheng, 50 years old, male, height 169 cm, weight 188 kg… a crescent-shaped birthmark on the left buttock, about five centimeters long…”

“Then record general condition. Rectal temperature is…” Jiang Yuan worked silently, noting scalp condition, balding, then pupils, conjunctiva, nasal passages, teeth…

Most external examination was done on-site; Jiang Yuan recited the earlier parts mechanically, then re-examined carefully the conjunctiva, teeth, and other details.

This approach pleased Wu Jun. He nodded. “Good… ever done an internal autopsy?”

Jiang Yuan said, “A few times at school.”

“That’s good. Many schools now only let students do one.”

“I assisted in several autopsies while working on my professor’s project.”

“Oh, ever opened the three cavities?” Wu Jun meant the cranial, thoracic, and abdominal cavities—these enclose vital organs, vessels, and nerves, key to determining cause of death in forensic pathology.

Jiang Yuan replied, “Yes. I’ve opened them twice.”

“Then you do it,” Wu Jun handed Jiang Yuan the scalpel. “You probably know, but I’ll remind you: be careful not to cut your own hand. The autopsy room is too cold, the blade is sharp—you won’t feel the first cut. The only sign is bleeding. Corpses don’t bleed. So if blood flows, it’s yours.”

Jiang Yuan nodded, studied the corpse, adjusted his stance, picked up the scalpel, lowered the blade, pressed it against the neck, and drew a straight line down to just above the pubic symphysis…

His Seventeenth Uncle’s body was heavy; the incision had to go deep, revealing thick layers of yellow and white fat.

The long, straight incision was enormous—far more brutal than anything shown in films. This was a common technique among Chinese forensic pathologists, slightly different from the Y-shaped incision used in the U.S.

Next, Jiang Yuan began separating the chest muscles, then followed the cartilage boundary where ribs met the sternum.

The autopsy had barely begun when the nervous uncle-in-law took a deep breath, then turned and vomited.