Huang Xiaotao ended her call. "Any new findings?"
I shook my head. As she rallied officers for the abandoned building, my gaze locked on the man-made reservoir.
"Can we dredge this?" I asked.
Her brows knotted. "Evidence submerged?"
"The killer drugged Zhang Kai to stage the hanging—why not fake drowning? Because something here mustn't be found."
"Brilliant!" Huang's eyes lit up. "Your major?"
"Electronics," Wang Dali cut in. "But Yangzi masters Song Dynasty forensic techniques!"
I shot him a glare as Huang called HQ. En route, I asked her rank.
She flashed a badge: "First-Class Police Superintendent." Her ID showed age 24—either elite connections or record-breaking merit.
"Rocket-speed promotion for a rookie," I noted. "From Constable to Chief Commissioner, you skipped three tiers."
"Xiaotao-jie, you're amazing. First-Class Superintendent—that's a pretty high rank, right?" Wang Dali said, buttering her up.
"Not that high," she replied modestly.
Dali turned to me. "How high is that exactly?"
I gave him a quick lesson. "China's police ranks go: Constable, Inspector, Superintendent, Commissioner, and Chief Commissioner. First-Class Superintendent isn't top-tier, but for someone who just graduated from the academy? That's rocket-speed promotion."
We arrived at the teaching building, which was surrounded by thick locust trees. Their dense canopy cast claw-like shadows over the moldy walls, giving the structure an eerie, ominous feel. The main gate was chained shut.
"Get the school admin to unlock it," Huang ordered a nearby officer.
I stepped forward. "No need. Just lend me two steel hairpins."
"Don't tell me you know how to pick locks too?" she said, pulling two pins from her hair.
"Grandpa's dragon-lock technique—for examining coffin seals," I said.
I bent the pins and slid them into the lock. A few twists and clicks later, the padlock popped open.
"Damn! When did you learn Song family secrets?" Dali gasped.
"Three hours when I was twelve," I shrugged.
"Lock-picking requires police permits!" Huang snapped.
"It's forensic archaeology," I countered, returning the pins.
"Keep them. I don't reuse contaminated tools."
"Then I'll pay you back later."
She chuckled. "No girlfriend, huh? You don't know how to say sweet things like, 'I'll buy jade ones next time.'"
That hit me square in the chest. I really had no talent in the romance department. My face flushed red.
But to my surprise, Huang Xiaotao had a sense of humor. When we first met, I thought she was cold and distant—a textbook ice queen. Now my impression of her was beginning to change.
Trying to be charming, Wang Dali said, "Xiaotao-jie, I know a great accessories shop. Quality goods at good prices. I'll take you after the case."
"No." Huang froze him mid-sentence.
He shrank back and whispered to me, "Why does she talk to you but not to me? I mean, sure, I'm not Daniel Wu, but I could go toe-to-toe with Eddie Peng, right? Doesn't she like rugged guys?"
I looked at his bird's-nest hairstyle and replied, "Maybe you're just not familiar enough yet. Give it time."
"You think so?" he asked, half-hopeful.
We entered the third-floor music classroom corridor. For some reason, even in daylight, it felt dark and sinister—like something out of a horror film. Probably due to the poor lighting and the long abandonment. No human presence left things feeling cold. The hallway reeked of decaying sheet music.
"Ever hear this piano ghost legend?" I asked.
"Girls love such tales," Dali scoffed, koala-gripping my arm.
We reached a room labeled 314 MUSIC ROOM. A few officers forced the door open—and immediately screamed in shock.
We rushed in to find a headless corpse lying in a pool of black-crusted blood.
Dali's knuckles whitened. "The ghost took his head!"
"Seal the perimeter! Photograph everything!" Huang barked. She tossed me gloves. "Can you process this?"
"What forensic pathologists do—I do better."
"Proceed."
Dali trembled. "I'll wait outside—for tactical backup!"
Huang smirked. "Your friend's a live-action comedy."
I crouched down to examine the body. Judging from the clothing, the deceased was a male student around twenty. He had collapsed facing the door. His head had been cleanly severed at the T4 vertebra. But that didn't necessarily mean decapitation was the cause of death.
Huang gently moved the body's arm. "Fixed hypostasis + rigor in mandibular joints—10 hours postmortem."
"You read Forensic Pathology Illustrated?"
"Standard training for homicide superintendents."
I pressed a jade-tipped hammer to the spine—Osseous Resonance Technique humming.
"Qin would agree..."
"See?"
"Wrong. Algor mortis differential 5°C + corneal opacity Stage III—death occurred 48±2h ago."
"Impossible! The blood's barely coagulated!"
"Corpses decay unnaturally in staged deaths," I stripped my gloves. "The killer refrigerated this body."