Chapter 12 – The Poor Little Coroner

The sky had already surrendered to the dark by the time Pei Yu saw Liao Ming again.

“Did they consent to the autopsy?”

This was currently his most pressing concern. Liao Ming, however, gave a weary shake of his head, his brow knit in a slight frown.

“I haven’t brought it up yet. The family is emotionally unstable. Higher-ups suggested putting them up in a hotel for now and addressing it later. We need to prevent them from getting too agitated and causing another scene.”

His voice was raspy, likely worn thin by a day of exhausting persuasion.

Pei Yu’s gaze darkened slightly, but he offered a curt nod. He then placed several sheets of paper on the long table. “The results of the footprint comparison.”

“New findings?” Liao Ming flipped through the various impressions, noting the varying depths of the marks.

Pei Yu pointed his fingertip to one specific sheet. “A total of three sets of prints were found in the victim’s home. Excluding the victim’s own and Zou Sheng’s, there is a third, unknown set. Some are fresh, some are older. Their range of movement was limited to the living room, specifically around the body.”

Liao Ming raised his eyes. “Can you determine if they’re related to the death?”

Pei Yu shook his head, his lashes casting small shadows over his eyes.

“What kind of person are we looking at?” Liao Ming pressed.

“Judging by the prints and the stride length, it’s a young male, likely between twenty-five and twenty-eight years old. Height between 172 and 175 centimeters, average build,” Pei Yu detailed. “The tread pattern suggests a pair of sneakers. The prints are shallow at the front and deeper at the back, but the difference is marginal. He likely works in a field involving manual labor.”

Liao Ming’s gaze shifted as he processed this. “Can you determine when they were made?”

Pei Yu pursed his lips. “I can’t give a specific time; the prints on the tile aren’t clear enough. I can only say they were made sometime between a few days before her death and the moment she was discovered. Furthermore, if they were made after she died, then this person possesses a remarkably steady composure.”

“How so?” Liao Ming arched an eyebrow.

“There was a corpse right beside him, yet his gait showed not a hint of panic,” Pei Yu said chillingly. “If it were someone with a heart like Douhua’s, no matter how much they tried to hide it, some abnormality would have surfaced.”

Liao Ming nodded. “Fine. We’ll hold on to this lead for now.” He gathered the blurred images. “You’ve worked hard. It’s late; go home.”

“Captain Liao.” Pei Yu didn’t budge. “I suspect Zou Sheng is involved in this.”

Seeing that Liao Ming didn’t object, he continued. “There are a significant number of Zou Sheng’s prints near the dresser in the bedroom. The drawers were rummaged through, yet no valuables were taken. Combined with the fact that the small trash bin in the corner is empty, I suspect he was looking for something. Once he found it, he threw it in the bin, but then, perhaps feeling uneasy, he took the entire bag and threw it out.”

As he spoke, he saw Liao Ming sink into a brief contemplation. He knew the Captain was, like him, replaying Zou Sheng’s slightly unnatural behavior on the night of the investigation—the text message on his phone, and the fact that despite having a key, he waited until ten-fifteen to enter and “discover” the body.

He suspected Zou Sheng was using that time gap to search for and discard anything that might bring him trouble, scrubbing himself clean before daring to call the police.

Seeing Liao Ming remain silent, he added, “I want to search the trash bins near the victim’s home. I want to see exactly what he’s so afraid of.”

Liao Ming glanced at his watch. “I have an online seminar in fifteen minutes.” He tapped his knuckles against the table. “I’ll have Douhua help you.”

“No need.” Pei Yu looked out at the darkening sky, his expression flat as he pulled his gaze back. “It’s not exactly a pleasant job. There’s no reason to drag him into it.”

——

Searching through trash bins was indeed not a pleasant job. Pei Yu waited until the dead of night, when the streets were deserted, to don his gloves and mask. Starting from beneath Du Xue’s building, he followed the route Zou Sheng likely took, searching every bin along the way.

It wasn’t just searching; he had to restore everything to its original state—putting things back exactly as he had found them.

The filth was one thing, but the stench was truly overpowering. Cigarette boxes, scrap paper, banana peels, leftover soup, and rotting canned food—all manner of domestic and kitchen waste mingled together, emitting a nauseating funk. At the same time, he had to be wary of broken wine bottles, shards of glass, and sharp bones that might roll out and cut him. He was gaining a firsthand appreciation for the hardships of sanitation workers.

After ten bins turned up nothing, he straightened his back, stretching his stiff muscles before heading toward the next one to resume his toil.

In truth, his autopsy room at the bureau was always permeated by an unusual scent—the lingering evidence of years spent soaked in the smell of bone, flesh, and blood. It was a scent that never quite dissipated, even with the windows wide open: the desperate, eternal embrace of formalin and decay.

The scent of death.

He harbored a nearly morbid fascination with that sensation—as if he were at the foot of the throne of the Underworld, where a great fire on a golden dais turned a thousand flowers and leaves to ash. Cold winds shrieked, flesh withered, and only the white bones remained, arrogant and eternal.

In comparison, the mingled scents of the living before him were so vulgar, so utterly boring and mediocre.

As he mused, a light, humming song—bright with amusement—rang out behind him.

“The poor little coroner, digging through trash at midnight… praying to the heavens for no rain, lest he be covered in mud…”

It was the tune of a nursery rhyme, “The Little Mushroom Picking Girl”—brisk and ethereal. In the silence of the night, it hit the ears with a quality that was half-cheerful and half-unsettling.

Pei Yu spun around. Sure enough, a dusty grey Passat was parked just a few paces behind him.

The man leaning against the car door in a rakishly casual posture, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he offered a shimmering smile, was none other than Shen Xingchen.

He had been so absorbed in the trash that he hadn’t even noticed the car pull up. Pei Yu stood up slowly, staring at the man as if he were looking at a lunatic.

“Don’t look at me like that, Brother Pei,” Shen Xingchen laughed, his joy blossoming like a field of flowers. “With such a deeply affectionate gaze, I might mistake it for you falling in love with me.”

Pei Yu raised his head slightly, his gaze one of pure disdain. This man was not only elusive; he was delusional. The look in Pei Yu’s eyes was the speechless reaction one has upon seeing an idiot.

“What are you doing here?” Pei Yu’s tone was flat. “I don’t have time to look at the case file right now.”

“But I have time to look at you.” Shen Xingchen smiled again. He walked closer, slowly exhaling a plume of white smoke toward him.

The smoke curled upward. Through the haze, Pei Yu saw those beautiful dark eyes—one blink full of cunning, the second full of sincerity. They were like ripples on the surface of the River Styx: mysterious and captivating.

The waters of the Styx—dangerous, drawing one in to sink and drown without even realizing it.

“It’s been so long since we met. Didn’t you miss me, Brother Pei? Hmm?”

Shen Xingchen drew closer. His voice, caught in the smoke, was slightly husky. The rising lilt at the end of his words drifted into the night like a shepherd’s requiem beneath a maple tree—languid and dreamlike.

Truly, the man was a lunatic, and a brainless one at that, considering they had just seen each other the night before.

With a soft snort of contempt, Pei Yu couldn’t be bothered to respond. He turned back, intending to continue his search. But before he could take a step, Shen Xingchen reached out and caught his arm.

“Stop digging. You’re wasting your energy.”