[Stage the scene]
Gu Yingzhou brought over the informant, Old Lu.
Standing at the entrance of the high-end apartment with his repair tools in hand, Old Lu and Gu Yingzhou stood there staring at each other.
“Officer Gu, you’re telling me you want me to pick a lock without a search warrant?”
Gu Yingzhou gave a slight nod.
A moment later, Lu Jin and Ah Hai arrived as well.
Lu Jin placed Wu Qima on the ground. Initially, the cat crouched low as before, appearing terrified. But as it neared the crack of the door, it crept forward, took a sniff, and suddenly recoiled, showing intense resistance.
Startled, Lu Jin used both hands and feet to intercept the cat, scooping it up and holding it tightly in his arms.
Old Lu was still hesitant, holding his wires and wrench in a state of dilemma. “Officer Gu, breaking into a private residence is illegal. If something goes wrong…”
Gu Yingzhou blocked his path of retreat with one long leg. “I’ll take responsibility.”
Only then did Old Lu sigh, stepping forward to insert the wire into the keyhole, pressing his ear close to listen for the subtle clicks within.
Jiangzhou Rongli was a complex only affordable for “gold-collar” citizens in Hong Kong; naturally, the security and basic housing measures were top-tier. Picking a lock here was no easy feat.
Fortunately, Old Lu had spent years drifting among the locksmith shops of Hong Kong, developing a masterful skill for opening locks. Forget a lock in Jiangzhou Rongli—he was even itching for a chance to try his hand at the safes in the police station.
In less than ten minutes, the cylinder clicked, and the door swung open.
Old Lu pulled the door halfway open, turning to Gu Yingzhou with a look that was half-report and half-boast. “Officer Gu, it’s open.”
The words had barely left his mouth when the expressions of everyone outside changed in unison.
“What is that smell!” Lu Jin pinched his nose, unable to endure it. “How many rotten salted fish did this family leave out? It’s disgusting.”
It smelled as if salted fish had been fermenting in a stagnant gutter for three days and nights; it was so foul he wished he could rip his own nose off.
Gu Yingzhou didn’t cover his nose. He calmly held his breath and turned to command Ah Hai: “Go notify Major Crimes Unit B and Forensic Examiner Li. Get them to the scene immediately.”
Ah Hai’s face went white, and he nodded frantically.
He had never been to a scene with Major Crimes before; his work in logistics at most involved looking at a few autopsy photos. Before arriving, he had been eager, feeling he was finally being put to good use and given a chance to show his talents to Gu Yingzhou. But now that a real crime scene was before him, the fear radiating from his soul made his legs go weak. More than that, it was a profound awe of life and death that made him realize he would never again be foolish enough to think “arriving at a scene” was a fun or heroic affair.
Ah Hai ran off at full speed toward the security booth downstairs to report the case.
Gu Yingzhou looked at the man beside him and said in a low voice, “You were right again.”
The “salted fish” smell Lu Jin perceived wasn’t fish at all—it was the odor of decay. It was a scent somewhere between dead fish and dead rats, indescribable yet highly specific and easy to identify once known. The odor of a corpse begins to form three to six hours after death; the longer the time, the heavier the scent. In fact, even if they hadn’t found the body today, the neighbors would have eventually been forced to report it due to the persistent stench of rot.
Lu Ting’an remained silent, offering no response.
…
Two people arrived from Major Crimes Unit B: Zeng Yixiang and a young officer named Zhang He. From the forensic team came Li Ming and her assistant, along with a crime scene investigator (CSI).
The group arrived very quickly. Twenty minutes later, Gu Yingzhou and Lu Ting’an put on the shoe covers brought by Li Ming and entered the apartment.
Seeing that Lu Ting’an intended to go in, Lu Jin’s face turned pale. He moved to stop him but failed. Helpless, he could only retreat to a corner of the hallway and crouch down, silently praying that with so many officers present, his young master’s “aura” wouldn’t be negatively affected by the dead.
Inside Room 413, the stench was much thicker than outside.
The owner of 413 was clearly a young person. The interior design leaned toward European minimalist style; the floors were marble tile and furniture was sparse. The sofa, coffee table, and dining table were mostly in cool tones—even the bookshelf at the edge of the living room was painted light gray.
Zeng Yixiang walked in the lead, hurriedly stating his findings before Gu Yingzhou could speak. “No body here. The living room is clean and tidy with no signs of a struggle. This is not the primary crime scene.”
“…”
Not a single person acknowledged him. Even his closest subordinate didn’t know how to respond. Wasn’t this a clue anyone with eyes could see? There was no need to waste breath saying it.
Whenever Zeng Yixiang encountered Gu Yingzhou, he exhibited an incredibly strong competitive streak; anyone who knew him even slightly was used to this.
Room 413 was over 140 square meters, a typical three-bedroom, one-living-room layout.
Gu Yingzhou and Zeng Yixiang opened the doors to the three rooms in turn: a master bedroom, a guest room, and a study. All were perfectly clean.
Finally, everyone’s gaze landed on the very back—the last door, which was slightly ajar: the bathroom. Under the influence of psychological suggestion, they felt as though the continuous stream of stench was pouring out of that tiny crack in the door.
Zhang He held his breath and swallowed hard. “…The body should be in there, right?”
Everyone had prepared themselves mentally, yet when the CSI carefully pushed the door open, they were still hit by the shock of the scene. Zhang He was even triggered into dry-heaving by the sight of the blood-red water and the overwhelming odor.
The bathroom was very large—almost as big as the living room of the house in Pingnanling. To the right of the entrance were the sink and toilet, modernly designed with a dry-wet separation. Most of the remaining space was occupied by a massive stone-tile bathtub.
At this moment, the bathtub was filled to the brim. Blood had stained the water a deep crimson, and a male corpse lay quietly within. Most of his body was submerged, his head lolling over the edge of the tub.
Lu Ting’an narrowed his eyes, instantly recognizing the young man with the Japanese-style features from his dream.
The difference was that in the dream, the man had likely just died; his features and body were still fresh. As he soaked in the water and his hair drifted with the current, there had been a touch of indescribable, tragic beauty. Now, however, his face was bloated, his protruding eyeballs pushed against his eyelids, and his lips were enlarged and everted, revealing the bloody fluid forced out from his oral cavity.
Li Ming walked over, frowning as she examined his limbs. “The chest and abdomen are distended, the abdominal wall is tight, and the limbs are swollen. The subcutaneous tissues and muscles are emphysematous. The skin on the hands and feet submerged in water has already begun to ‘glove’ [1] skin slippage jQuery('#footnote_plugin_tooltip_1650500_1_1').tooltip({ tip: '#footnote_plugin_tooltip_text_1650500_1_1', tipClass: 'footnote_tooltip', effect: 'fade', predelay: 0, fadeInSpeed: 200, delay: 400, fadeOutSpeed: 200, position: 'top center', relative: true, offset: [-7, 0], });. This is a common phenomenon of the ‘Giant Appearance’ [2] bloated jQuery('#footnote_plugin_tooltip_1650500_1_2').tooltip({ tip: '#footnote_plugin_tooltip_text_1650500_1_2', tipClass: 'footnote_tooltip', effect: 'fade', predelay: 0, fadeInSpeed: 200, delay: 400, fadeOutSpeed: 200, position: 'top center', relative: true, offset: [-7, 0], }); stage of decomposition. The high humidity in the bathroom accelerated the decay.”
As she spoke, Li Ming lifted the corpse’s left hand. There was a deep gash at the wrist. A large pool of dark red blood had flowed onto the floor, and the edge of the tub was coated in blood—a chaotic overlap of drip patterns, splashes, and smears.
“Preliminary estimate of the cause of death is excessive blood loss due to a slit wrist. Time of death is between three to seven days ago.”
More accurate and useful leads would require bringing the body back to the morgue for an autopsy. Li Ming stood up to instruct her assistant and the CSI on the logistics of transporting the body.
Two minutes later, Zhang He, who had been canvassing the rest of the apartment, returned. His complexion looked better than before; he had clearly composed himself quickly. “I’ve checked the balcony and the bedrooms with windows. There are no signs of climbing outside the balcony, and neither the door locks nor the window latches show signs of forced entry.”
In other words, no stranger had ever entered Room 413.
“It’s just a suicide, then.” Zeng Yixiang’s furrowed brows relaxed. He pointed at the corpse’s wrist and said, “There are no signs of outside entry, let alone a struggle. The victim is injured at the wrist; clearly, a young man couldn’t handle his troubles and took his own life in his own bathtub.”
Gu Yingzhou, however, felt things weren’t that simple.
A university student living in Jiangzhou Rongli—wealthy, young, and clearly good-looking before the swelling set in—someone like that lacked a motive for suicide. Yes, perhaps there were some hidden reasons that led him to end his life, but there were many ways to do so; why choose to do it while taking a bath?
On the shelf next to the toilet was a laundry basket containing a neatly folded bathrobe. Another basket held his discarded clothes. If he was preparing to meet his death, would he really need to prepare a fresh set of clothes to wear after a bath?
Every corner of this bathroom felt eerie.
“Forensic Examiner Li!” While helping to move the body, a CSI officer discovered something submerged at the bottom of the water. He fished it out: it was a fruit knife. “Is this the knife he used to slit his wrists?”
Li Ming walked over, compared the fruit knife to the wound, and nodded. “The blade matches the cut. This is definitely it.”
Zeng Yixiang’s expression became even more certain. “The weapon is at the scene. It’s an open-and-shut case.”
Gu Yingzhou shot him a displeased look. “Officer Zeng, the victim’s identity and social relationships haven’t even been clarified yet. Let’s not jump to conclusions.”
Zeng Yixiang was equal in rank to Gu Yingzhou and several years his senior. Usually, it was fine since they didn’t work together, but now that they were on the same case, he couldn’t stand Gu Yingzhou critiquing his judgment.
Just as he was about to argue, Li Ming, who was putting the body into a cadaver bag, discovered another crucial clue.
“Officer Gu, Officer Zeng, come look at this. There’s a blunt force impact wound on the back of the victim’s head with obvious swelling. I judge it to be an antemortem injury [3] sustained before death jQuery('#footnote_plugin_tooltip_1650500_1_3').tooltip({ tip: '#footnote_plugin_tooltip_text_1650500_1_3', tipClass: 'footnote_tooltip', effect: 'fade', predelay: 0, fadeInSpeed: 200, delay: 400, fadeOutSpeed: 200, position: 'top center', relative: true, offset: [-7, 0], });.”
Zhang He scratched his head, puzzled. “Could it really be murder?”
“Ahem!” Zeng Yixiang coughed loudly, glaring at Zhang He. “You believe whatever anyone tells you? Can’t you have your own judgment? The victim cut himself, his blood stained the tub, and halfway through he got scared and tried to get up to call for help. He must have slipped and hit his head on the rim of the tub. All these bloodstains around the outside of the tub are from his struggles and his eventual weakness. Isn’t that perfectly logical? Why do you all insist on making things so complicated?”
Having finished his rant, Zeng Yixiang turned to Li Ming for validation. “Forensic Examiner Li, does my theory fit the facts?”
The examiner nodded. “It certainly doesn’t exclude that possibility, but the injury to the back of the head still requires a formal trauma analysis.” With a layer of hair in the way, even she couldn’t determine the exact nature of the wound yet.
The body was bloated. To avoid damaging the skin tissue, Li Ming and her assistant were being extremely cautious. They had just managed to get him inside and were preparing to pull the zipper when Lu Ting’an—who had stepped out for a moment and just returned—leaned in.
“Forensic Examiner Li, could I take one more look at the victim’s wound?”
Li Ming hesitated for only a second before gently lifting the victim’s left hand out of the bag.
She had certainly held prejudices against Lu Ting’an before; his reputation in Hong Kong was abysmal, and his joining the force was seen as a “drop of rat poison in a vat of rice.” But after the Zhou Wanxi case, her bias had lessened significantly. Besides, he was the one who found this body; as long as the request wasn’t unreasonable, she would grant it.
The wound had been soaked in water and exposed to the air for days; the cut had begun to evert, the flesh turning white and showing a gruesome, rotting appearance.
Even the forensic assistant, who had experience with autopsies, couldn’t bear to look closely. Lu Ting’an, however, covered his nose and observed the area for a long time.
After a while, he spoke: “Forensic Examiner Li, was this wound made with a single stroke?”
Puzzled, Li Ming answered truthfully, “The edges are clean with no overlapping cuts. It was one stroke.”
Lu Ting’an asked further, “And is the wound shallower near the thumb side, getting deeper as it moves inward?”
The scar was no longer in its original state, but Li Ming examined it thoroughly for two minutes before finally nodding. “You’re right. It starts shallow near the thumb and deepens further in—specifically, the centimeter below the ring finger is deep enough to hit the bone.”
Hearing this, Lu Ting’an stood up and looked at Gu Yingzhou. “It’s not suicide. It’s murder.”
Gu Yingzhou nodded. “My thoughts exactly.”
Zeng Yixiang: “…”
‘So they’re just going to finish each other’s sentences and be all ‘soulmates’ while I’m left in the dark thinking it’s a suicide?’
By then, Li Ming had also realized the implication. She looked at Lu Ting’an with a mix of surprise and appreciation.
“Officer Lu is right. This injury is indeed different from typical self-harm. A person might not fear death, but they cannot help but fear pain. Almost no one can manage to slice their own skin and, instead of flinching or pulling back, actually apply more force as they go.”
Looking at it from another angle, the wound didn’t look self-inflicted; it looked as if someone had acted with deep-seated hatred, wanting more and more to cut his hand off toward the end of the stroke. Of course, that was an exaggeration—the cut wasn’t quite that deep.
Upon hearing this explanation, Zeng Yixiang’s resolve began to waver.
He pursed his lips and muttered a weak defense, “Maybe he was just a real tough guy…” But as he spoke, he lost his nerve, and his voice trailed off into an inaudible mumble.
“I just took a look around the victim’s bedroom and study. He was an art student; his brushes and palettes are all placed to the left of the easel, and his daily necessities in the bedroom are on the left nightstand. Even in the bathroom—”
Lu Ting’an pointed toward the sink counter. “His toiletries and hand soap are all placed on the left side.”
Gu Yingzhou finally understood. From the moment he first stepped into the bathroom, the sense of eeriness he had felt stemmed from exactly this.
He was right-handed, so he naturally placed everything on the right where it was easy to reach. In Room 413, however, most things were distributed on the left. It didn’t give off a glaring sense of abnormality at a glance, but upon closer inspection, it felt incredibly jarring.
“Chen Shiyou was left-handed.”
Gu Yingzhou looked at Zeng Yixiang and said, “Why would a left-handed person use their right hand to slit their left wrist?”
It didn’t fit his physical habits at all.
Now that things had been laid out so clearly, Zeng Yixiang finally had to admit that his earlier suicide theory didn’t hold water. Every clue was proving that Chen Shiyou’s death was far from simple.
He scratched his head and retreated from the bathroom in embarrassment. “I’ll go notify the victim’s family.”
Zeng Yixiang went into the living room and used his connections to contact Chen Shiyou’s parents. Ten minutes later, however, he returned with a grim expression.
“His parents aren’t in the country. They’re in the US.”
Gu Yingzhou asked, “When are they coming back?”
Zeng Yixiang gritted his teeth, suppressing his anger. “His mother is a lawyer, and she has a very important trial over the next few days. His father is an artist and is organizing a major exhibition. In short, neither of them can make it back anytime soon.”
Hearing this, everyone else wore looks of disbelief.
The person who died was their son!
A trial, an art exhibition… were these things really more important than their own son’s life?
References[+]