Chapter Seventy: The Old Jar of Sour Vinegar

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A note: Many thanks to “sky_Bichen” for the generous reward and pink ticket~╭(╯3╰)╮

A group of people arrived at the morgue of the Dali Temple. Unlike Zou Ming’s body, the corpse from the Tongfu Inn appeared far less bloody and terrifying.

“Remove the clothes from the body,” Wen Jing instructed Qingliu.

Qingliu’s eyes opened wide, as if she had heard something outrageous, but soon regained her composure. Anything her mistress asked of her, she would do without question.

With clenched teeth, Qingliu undressed the corpse, her face nearly bleeding with embarrassment. This was her first time “undressing” a man; she had always been a rough servant, only tasked with laundry and cleaning.

Wen Jing donned a fresh pair of gloves and began her examination, starting from the head and moving down to the feet. She found no wounds—could it truly be sudden illness?

Master Liang observed Wen Jing’s pause and shot a glance at Ji Changge. He had expected this young lady to be all show and no substance; after all, the idea of a female coroner was unheard of and utterly preposterous. Though he refrained from voicing his thoughts out of courtesy, his impatience was already visible.

Seeing Master Liang’s dissatisfaction, Ji Changge understood exactly what he was thinking, but kept his face expressionless. He was certain Wen Jing would not disappoint him.

“No injuries on the surface. Shall I proceed with the autopsy?” Wen Jing asked Ji Changge.

“Cut it open and see.”

“Scalpel.” Wen Jing extended her hand, and Qingliu hurriedly retrieved one from the box and placed it in her palm.

Wen Jing glanced at the forceps she was handed, returned them, and picked up the scalpel, showing it to Qingliu, who nodded vigorously.

Wen Jing expertly cut open the victim’s chest and abdomen; the inflated intestines spilled out at once.

Qingliu quickly covered her mouth and averted her eyes, struggling to suppress the urge to vomit.

Master Liang stared in shock as Wen Jing skillfully opened the chest cavity and used a spoon to ladle blood into a basin. How bold the Wen family’s young lady was! Her movements were not at all clumsy—indeed, even more proficient than the most experienced coroner at Dali Temple. She looked scarcely older than sixteen; had she begun learning autopsy at ten?

Master Liang startled himself with his own thoughts and quickly stopped imagining further.

It was not hard to understand. In ancient times, autopsies were rare; the old coroners might not have dissected as many bodies in their lifetime as Wen Jing had in a single year. Her expertise was naturally unmatched.

“No damage or pathology in the chest or abdomen,” Wen Jing reported.

Ji Changge pointed at the blackened heart and lungs. “These look awfully dark.”

“That’s livor mortis. After death, blood ceases to flow and settles at the lowest point, giving that blackened appearance,” Wen Jing explained.

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Ji Changge was enlightened. Still, if death was not caused by illness, what was the cause?

Wen Jing carefully examined the victim’s lower body. Confirming there was no foreign object inserted rectally and no abnormality in the body, she wondered, what was the fatal injury?

“Is there anything else you can find?” Master Liang asked, his dissatisfaction obvious. After all this, with the body dissected and no cause found, it felt like a pointless endeavor.

“Find me a saw. I need to open the victim’s skull,” Wen Jing said, turning to Ji Changge.

Master Liang and Ji Changge were both taken aback. Saw open the head?

“This absolutely will not do! We’ve already opened the body without permission from the deceased’s kin and found nothing. Now you want to saw open the head—if we still find nothing, their family will make a terrible scene, and I’ll have no peace,” Master Liang protested.

Wen Jing gave him a look. “Let them come to me, then. I’m seeking the cause of death, to vindicate the deceased, not sawing heads for idle amusement.”

Master Liang was left speechless, glaring furiously at Ji Changge. “I leave this to you; I have other matters to attend,” he declared, and strode off.

Ji Changge watched Master Liang leave, then turned back to Wen Jing. She truly dared to mock even Master Liang...

A guard soon brought an old-fashioned saw used for wood.

“Thank you,” Wen Jing said, placing the saw aside. She shaved the victim’s head clean, then took up the saw and began cutting through the skull. Modern times would use a power saw, quick and efficient, but this ancient saw was slow, laborious, and gruesome, especially the smell of bone dust.

The guards, accustomed to autopsies, had never seen a coroner saw open a skull, and certainly not a young lady. Watching Wen Jing seriously saw through bone, as though witnessing a dismemberment, their faces grew pale; this was no fish, no chicken, but a person.

Qingliu winced at the grating sound of sawing bone, thinking, Oh dear mother! How did the young mistress ever take a liking to such an occupation? If word gets out, who would dare marry her?

Ji Changge, however, watched Wen Jing’s movements intently. Previously, he barely paid attention to coroners at work, but Wen Jing’s deep, dark eyes seemed to possess a mysterious allure. Her solemn expression did not strike him as disrespectful to the dead, but rather a tribute. After all, they sought only to solve the case; if the cause of death remained unknown, the deceased would never rest. If death was from natural causes, they could not wrong any innocent soul.

After much effort, Wen Jing finally opened the victim’s skull. Qingliu could no longer bear it and ran outside to vomit. The guards, feeling uneasy, turned their heads away.

Wen Jing gently parted the brain tissue and her eyes brightened. Using tweezers, she extracted an iron nail from the brain.

Ji Changge hurried forward to examine the nail.

“This is the murder weapon. The iron nail was driven into the victim’s brain, causing immediate death,” Wen Jing declared, then picked up the skullcap, showing a small hole rimmed with black, singed marks.

“The murderer must have heated the nail red-hot before driving it into the brain.”

Another homicide. The victim, like Zou Ming from Koi Garden, was a candidate. What was the connection? Ji Changge pondered: could the same person be responsible for both cases?

“Wait, the killer is also left-handed. Look at the wound made by the nail—it’s slightly angled to the left,” Wen Jing demonstrated the motion of shooting with the left hand.

“Again, a left-handed killer. It can’t be Six Happiness; he was already restrained in Koi Garden that night,” Ji Changge mused.

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Mentioning Six Happiness, Wen Jing raised her brows but kept silent in the presence of guards, lest she be accused of impeding official investigations.

“Who is the victim?” Wen Jing asked.

“This is Fang Wenbin, a native of Luzhou, renowned as a local scholar...” Ji Changge began, but Master Liang entered, wearing a forced smile. “What’s the result?”

“Reporting, sir, the cause of death has been determined—the victim was killed by a red-hot iron nail driven into his brain,” Ji Changge announced loudly.

Master Liang’s smile froze; he had never heard of such a method of murder. He gazed at the iron nail in Ji Changge’s hand, his face warming in embarrassment. If not for Wen Jing’s insistence on opening the skull, the case would have been dismissed as natural death. It seemed Wen Seventh Lady truly had some skill.

“If the two masters have no further instructions, I shall take my leave,” Wen Jing said as she packed up her belongings. Qingliu, having finished vomiting, returned.

“I’ll see you out,” Ji Changge said.

Outside, Wen Jing glanced around to ensure they were alone, then raised her brows: “Lord Ji, you know Six Happiness didn’t commit murder. Why did you arrest him?”

Ji Changge regarded Wen Jing’s indignant expression with a hint of suspicion. Usually, Wen Jing was indifferent, aloof, yet today she seemed unusually “interested” in a mere bookboy. Perhaps it was not the boy she cared for, but his master.

“Why not answer? Surely Lord Ji isn’t so petty?” Wen Jing smiled.

“Petty? Are you suggesting I acted out of spite against Wang Jue?” Ji Changge’s eyes chilled, a sudden anger rising within him.

“Isn’t it true? Why else would you arrest an innocent man?” Wen Jing met Ji Changge’s gaze without flinching.

Ji Changge narrowed his eyes. The girl who once got tongue-tied in his presence now dared to “challenge” him?

Qingliu glanced at Wen Jing, then at Ji Changge, and wisely retreated several paces; she dared not meddle with either.

“I have my reasons, and need not explain them to you, Seventh Lady Wen,” Ji Changge nearly spat each word through gritted teeth. He could not fathom why he was so angry—he hadn’t lost control of his temper in ages. That girl, once only concerned with herself, now accused him for the sake of another man?

“Of course, Lord Ji holds great power; life and death are at your command. I spoke out of turn,” Wen Jing smiled lightly, gesturing to Qingliu that it was time to leave. She thought, This man is as cunning as ever; perhaps no one has ever truly mattered to him. His polite demeanor is just a mask for disinterest. Now, his true nature is revealed—this is the real Ji Changge.

Ji Changge watched Wen Jing’s graceful departure, his anger burning hotter. He shouldn’t be the one upset, yet somehow the roles were reversed. In the past, he calmly observed others laugh and cry; thinking back on Wen Jing’s words, he realized it was a deliberate provocation. But why had it infuriated him so?

“Mistress, Lord Ji seemed very angry just now,” Qingliu ventured cautiously.

“Let him be angry; it’s no concern of mine,” Wen Jing replied impassively. She rather hoped Ji Changge would be angry enough never to seek her again, so they could go their separate ways.