“Wait five more days, and everything will be settled.”
The words Chun’er repeated struck like a heavy hammer, shattering the last shred of hope in Wen Yan’s mind.
Prince Jing not only knew—he was the one holding the stopwatch.
Wen Yan’s pupils contracted slightly, the DNA of a forensic examiner awakening instantly within her. There was no anger, no hysteria—only the near-ruthless, absolute rationality she felt when facing a body about to be dissected.
Since the deadline was set, this was now an irreversible countdown mission.
She closed her eyes, her mind like a precise computer instantly generating a massive “Gantt chart.” A vivid red progress bar stretched across her consciousness, marked at its end with five startling words—
Death Countdown: Three Days.
(Note: Leaving two days as a buffer was her rigor as a forensic examiner.)
First, what she had to confront was not Li Yu, but that invisible opponent—the “Plot Correction Force.”
After sending Chun’er to rest, the room fell into dead silence. Wen Yan could feel it—as if an invisible eye in the air was scanning the room like antivirus software hunting for viruses, ready to erase any “unwanted” bugs at any moment.
She walked to the bed, pulled out the white silk recording the evidence from inside the pillow.
The candlelight flickered, the charred mark on the edge of the silk like an ugly mockery, reminding her just how shameless her opponent was.
Don’t put all your eggs in one basket.
Wen Yan quickly stood up and began a race against the “invisible referee,” transferring the evidence.
First piece of evidence: The medicinal dregs containing arsenic residue.
She didn’t choose any corner of the room. Instead, she went into the courtyard, to a secluded spot under a rockery in the garden, and dug a hole with a broken branch. She wrapped the dregs in oiled paper, placed them in a moisture-proof tin box, buried it deep, covered it with soil, and topped it with fallen leaves.
After finishing, she activated the “Truth-Seeking Eye” to scan.
No golden light spots.
Good—this was a “blind spot” in the plot.
Second piece of evidence: The fingerprint impression from Qiu Chan on the teacup.
This was solid proof, absolutely irreplaceable. She returned to the room, her gaze sweeping over the bookshelf. Ordinary books could be easily altered by the “Correction Force,” like documents forcibly overwritten by administrator privileges.
Finally, her eyes locked onto the highest shelf—a copy of the Diamond Sutra.
She brought over a stool, took down the sutra, and carefully placed the wax-sealed fingerprint impression inside the scripture like a bookmark.
After returning it to its place, she observed again with the “Truth-Seeking Eye.”
The sutra emitted a faint, soft golden glow, like an impenetrable firewall.
A slight smile touched Wen Yan’s lips.
She had bet right—this bizarre “plot force” was indeed afraid of the true Buddha.
Third piece of evidence: The hand-drawn timeline of the poisoning and dosage analysis chart.
This was her “investigation notes.” After a moment of thought, she decided to use the most primitive and hardcore method—physical backup.
She took needle and thread, folded the white silk into a thin strip, and meticulously stitched it into the inner lining of her undergarment.
The needle occasionally pricked her skin, the slight pain bringing her a sense of genuine reassurance.
She finished the last stitch and cut the thread.
Just then, extremely light footsteps sounded in the courtyard.
Qiu Chan.
Wen Yan reacted with lightning speed, stuffing the needle and thread along with her inner garment under the quilt. She then slid down to the footrest by the bed, putting on a performance of “tripping while thirsty in the middle of the night.”
“Young Miss?”
The door was pushed open, and Qiu Chan rushed in, her face filled with anxiety as she hurriedly helped Wen Yan up.
“What happened to you? Are you feeling unwell anywhere?”
Wen Yan leaned on her support to stand, her breath weak: “It’s nothing. I wanted a drink of water and lost my balance.”
Qiu Chan held her steady, the concern in her eyes seeming genuine. But under Wen Yan’s “Truth-Seeking Eye,” beneath that concern lay an unshakable layer of tension, as if she were monitoring a prisoner.
“Qiu Chan.” Wen Yan glanced out the window, her tone casual. “It’s almost dawn. Did you not sleep all night?”
Qiu Chan’s body visibly stiffened: “This servant… this servant was worried about you, Young Miss.”
“Worried that my illness won’t get better, or worried that I’ll recover too quickly?”
Wen Yan suddenly turned her head, her gaze sharp as a blade, piercing straight into the weakest defenses in Qiu Chan’s heart.
Qiu Chan’s face instantly turned deathly pale, and her hands gripping Wen Yan tightened abruptly.
“Young Miss… what are you saying? This servant doesn’t understand.”
Wen Yan didn’t press further, allowing Qiu Chan to help her back to the bedside. Only then did she let out a faint sigh, as if speaking to herself: “I know someone is forcing you. Qiu Chan, you’ve been with me for ten years. If something really happened to me, have you thought about what would become of you? Killing the donkey after it’s done grinding the grain is their specialty.”
These words struck Qiu Chan’s fatal weakness with precision.
Qiu Chan’s body trembled violently, tears rolling down like broken strings of pearls. She opened her mouth but couldn’t make a sound, as if an invisible hand were choking her throat.
Wen Yan grabbed her wrist and activated the “Truth-Seeking Eye.”
In her vision, the dim golden dot representing “self-awareness” within Qiu Chan was now flashing frantically, its light surging wildly, trying to break through the suppression!
“Young Miss… save…”
A broken syllable squeezed out of Qiu Chan’s throat.
Just then, a sudden change occurred!
The “nine-petal lotus” tattoo on Qiu Chan’s wrist burst out with a strange red light without warning.
Like a living thing, the red light instantly wrapped around the golden dot in Wen Yan’s vision.
The golden light struggled and twisted violently, like a trapped beast being choked. Finally, after a series of silent, intense fluctuations, it completely dimmed and extinguished.
As if someone… had pressed a forced shutdown button.
Qiu Chan shuddered all over, her tears evaporating instantly. The pain and struggle seemed to have been erased by an eraser. Her eyes became hollow and vacant, as if her soul had been drained away.
She slowly withdrew her hand, stood up straight, and spoke in a mechanical, flat voice:
“Young Miss, it’s late. Please rest early. Tomorrow at the hour of Shen, this servant will bring you your medicine as usual.”
After saying this, she performed a standard bow, turned, and withdrew.
Her movements were as precise as a pre-programmed NPC.
Wen Yan sat on the bed, looking at the closed door, her palms icy cold.
She had just witnessed a “personality murder.”
Qiu Chan’s remaining 23% self-awareness had almost escaped successfully. But in the end, it was ruthlessly formatted by that damned “Plot Correction Force.”
Now, Qiu Chan was no longer a person.
She had become a… program that only executed poisoning commands.
Wen Yan spread open her palm, looking at its empty surface.
This was the first time she felt truly stumped.
She could perform autopsies, analyze toxins, and deduce the truth behind cases. But how could she fight against a cheat that directly altered the data in a human brain?
The path of turning Qiu Chan into a whistleblower was completely severed.
Unless… she could find the antivirus code to crack this “virus.”
Wen Yan raised her head, a cold light reigniting in her eyes.
As a forensic pathologist who believed only in the scalpel, she never trusted in absolute dead ends. As long as something existed in the material world—whether it was poison, hypnosis, or this so-called “magic”—it must have its own operating logic.
And where there was logic, there was a way to exploit a bug.
She walked to the window, pushed it open, and faced the darkness before dawn.
The night wind lifted her long hair, revealing the only pair of clear eyes in this decaying inner courtyard.
In her heart, she made a new vow.
“Qiu Chan, wait.”
“Your case, I’ll take it too.”