Chapter v19c16

## Autopsy

– A Tedious Procedure

Dawn broke.

Sometimes, light revealed the ugly truths hidden in the darkness of night. The night protested, its consent violated, but its cries were always silenced by the waves of light.

Light didn’t judge good or evil. It simply revealed. It was up to humans to draw the line. And the line was drawn, creating a lot of work for some people.

Murmurs filled the air.

Martial artists in Cheonmu Academy uniforms cordoned off the area with yellow tape, preventing bystanders from approaching. They had just arrived at the scene after receiving a report that morning. Their task was to preserve the crime scene, and none of them were interested in testing how many footprints could fit in a square meter. Especially not at a murder scene where even a single strand of hair could be crucial evidence.

Nanchang was a large city, and the government’s influence was strong.

Normally, the authorities handled such incidents, investigating and processing the scene. But their attitude changed abruptly when the victim was identified as a martial artist. The responsibility and authority shifted to Cheonmu Academy. Or rather, to a specific unit within the academy. It was a result of a carefully negotiated agreement between the government and the martial arts world. After all, even the most renowned martial artist was still a civilian in the eyes of the law. And civilians weren’t authorized to handle official matters.

In such cases, the authorities would request the assistance of the “No Resentment Unit,” a specialized team under Cheonmu Academy. It was a temporary unit, hired on a case-by-case basis, but it was granted legal authority for the duration of its assignment. Through this complex and sophisticated political maneuvering, Cheonmu Academy had gained the legal right to intervene in cases involving martial artists within Nanchang.

The unit’s primary objective, as its name suggested, was to investigate the cause of death and apprehend the perpetrator. And their investigations were protected by the shield of legal authority.

The current leaders of the No Resentment Unit were Baek Moo-Young, the One-Stroke Wonder of the Hyeongsan Sect, and Cheong-Heun, the Three-Section Sword, both members of the Nine Dragons and pillars of the Nine Stars Society.

They were already entrusted with important tasks, despite their status as students. Cheonmu Academy handled most martial arts-related incidents in Nanchang, and the students were usually the ones who dealt with them. It was a way to promote their independence and provide them with real-world experience. The elders rarely intervened. Reality often differed from theory, and there were many things you could only learn through experience. Gaining experience at a young age was invaluable. Knowledge learned from books could be forgotten, but experiences etched into your body were hard to erase.

“Shall we begin?”

“I’m ready.”

Cheong-Heun nodded, answering Baek Moo-Young’s question.

“…But I’ll never get used to this.”

He frowned, looking at the body covered with a straw mat.

“Getting used to it is also our duty, my friend.”

Baek Moo-Young replied to his complaint.

“Duty…”

They weren’t doing this because they enjoyed it. This kind of work didn’t enrich their lives or elevate their spirits. It was emotionally draining, desensitizing. That was why everyone avoided it. They didn’t have a morbid fascination with mutilated corpses. But ironically, they had volunteered for this task precisely because everyone else avoided it.

“There’s no such thing as a free lunch.”

Being in a position of authority didn’t just mean having more rights. It also meant fulfilling the responsibilities that came with those rights. Only those who could balance both sides could earn the respect of their peers and the trust of their subordinates.

It wasn’t wise to expect your subordinates to work harder than you. They had to fulfill their duties as leaders. That was why they had chosen this task, even though it was unpleasant and unwanted. Of course, they could have forced someone else to do it. They had the power. But that would only erode their support.

No one liked a leader who only cared about power. Every organization had a small number of leaders and a large number of followers. Like a building, an organization needed a strong foundation of trust and support to remain stable. Trust was the glue that held it together. Without it, the system would inevitably collapse.

“They say a revolution is justified when the ruler is incompetent. What more can be said for ordinary people like us?”

“Who said that? It must be a famous quote, judging by your emphasis on ‘ancient times.'”

“A very famous person. Mencius.”

“Even an ignorant warrior like me has heard of him.”

Confucianism, adopted as a tool of governance after the Han dynasty, had become increasingly conservative, but at its core, it was a strict philosophy that didn’t tolerate complacency.

That was the essence of “rectification of names.”

Ruler, ruler; subject, subject; father, father; son, son.

What if the ruler wasn’t acting like a ruler? You couldn’t change the name, so you had to change the person bearing the name.

In other words, if you didn’t live up to your name, you didn’t deserve it. It was a philosophy based on the principle of equivalent exchange.

Sometimes, a name was worth more than its market value. But there was never a discount.

So Cheong-Heun and Baek Moo-Young had to pay the full price, whether they liked it or not. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be able to keep their names. It was like running a business. It required constant investment and management. If you neglected it, you would go bankrupt.

“Did the quote survive because he was famous, or did he become famous because the quote survived? What do you think?”

“Don’t ask me. I’m not a scholar. I’m a Daoist. You haven’t forgotten that I’m from the Wudang Sect, have you?”

“There are no boundaries in knowledge. A narrow perspective is like a limp. A philosophy that rejects diversity is bound to rot. Like this corpse.”

Baek Moo-Young tapped the straw mat covering the body.

“My sect, the Hyeongsan Sect, is also Daoist, but I find Confucianism interesting. Learning literature is as fascinating as learning martial arts.”

“You sound like the scholar of the Nine Stars Society. But I doubt most of the students at Cheonmu Academy would agree with you. They would say it’s boring and that they’d rather be swinging their swords and throwing punches.”

“That’s true. But it’s not bad to have someone like me around, is it?”

“Just don’t overdo it.”

“Alright. Let’s start with the scene description.”

An autopsy began with a description of the scene. It wasn’t just about cutting open the body.

It was a meticulous process, governed by strict rules and regulations.

He loved procedures, and he had no intention of deviating from them unless absolutely necessary. Especially in official matters involving human lives. Procedures were essential for consistency and efficient management.

“Are there any relatives?”

He asked, following protocol.

“According to witnesses, there are no relatives, but they saw someone who seemed to be a colleague. He’s not from around here, so the relatives must be far away.”

“Then we can’t have a relative as a witness.”

In such cases, they would note the absence of relatives and have several witnesses present during the examination. They couldn’t wait for the relatives to arrive, as the body could decompose. They also sometimes used neighbors or friends as witnesses.

Baek Moo-Young scanned the body. Judging by his attire, he was clearly an aspiring entrant for Cheonmu Academy. And it was rare for them to travel alone, especially if they were from a major sect.

“Do you know where his colleagues are?”

Cheong-Heun asked.

“Yes, according to witnesses, they’re staying at the Cheongwoon Inn.”

“Then take five men and bring them here.”

“Understood.”

Witnesses were required for an autopsy, and Cheonmu Academy followed the same procedures as the authorities. It minimized the chances of complications when they submitted their findings to the government.

“Let’s start with the complexion.”

Baek Moo-Young said, watching his subordinate run off.

Complexion was a crucial indicator of the cause of death.

Cutting open the body without examining the complexion was a foolish and unprofessional act.

Just like surgery was a last resort for a doctor, an incision was the final step in an autopsy. Dealing with the living and the dead was different, yet similar.

Baek Moo-Young and Cheong-Heun, not wanting to be incompetent, carefully examined the body’s complexion.

“It’s dark overall. Could it be blunt force trauma?”

Darkness was a key indicator of beatings or strangulation.

“Then we won’t need this silver hairpin.”

Cheong-Heun said, holding up a silver hairpin, its surface gleaming like a virgin’s purity.

It was a high-quality autopsy tool, provided by the government.

But it was useless unless the cause of death was poisoning.

“Let’s poke him anyway. You never know. We can’t ignore even the slightest possibility.”

Baek Moo-Young said casually.

“Just for fun?”

That was what it sounded like to Cheong-Heun.

“It’s always better to be safe than sorry. And… It’s an expensive tool. We have to use it often to get our money’s worth. It’s a waste to just leave it lying around. A tool’s value is only realized when it’s used. This hairpin isn’t for decoration, is it?”

Cheong-Heun frowned, imagining something unpleasant.

“I wouldn’t put a hairpin that’s been used on hundreds of corpses in my hair, even if it’s pure silver.”

And he tried to ignore another disturbing fact. In cases of poisoning, they were supposed to insert the silver hairpin deep into the throat, wait a while, then check for discoloration. If the silver turned black, it was considered poisoning.

The fact that they were inserting a precious silver hairpin into a corpse’s throat was bad enough, but some people misunderstood the location of the throat and inserted it into the nostril instead. Fortunately, post-mortem rigidity usually prevented snot from coming out, but there were often unidentifiable yellowish bits stuck to the hairpin. It wasn’t a pleasant experience.

Cheong-Heun shuddered at the thought of putting something that had been shoved up a corpse’s nose in his hair. It would ruin any woman’s beauty.

“It’s horrifying. It’s practically a murder weapon.”

It would definitely damage your mental health.

“I agree. Then there’s only one place to use this hairpin.”

Baek Moo-Young added,

“You never know. Maybe they poisoned him first, then attacked him while he was paralyzed.”

It was a plausible theory.

“If you say so…”

Cheong-Heun reluctantly agreed.

“Don’t stick it up his nose.”

Baek Moo-Young kindly pointed out the most common mistake made by autopsy examiners.

“I won’t confuse it with my own nose. Don’t worry.”

Cheong-Heun felt a dark temptation, but he resisted and inserted the silver hairpin deep into the corpse’s throat. He consoled himself with the thought that it was probably cleaner than the other orifices. And the fact that the corpse couldn’t complain was a comfort.

* * *

Cheong-Heun, holding the silver hairpin, examined it under the sunlight and called out to his friend,

“Hey, Moo-Young.”

“What is it?”

Baek Moo-Young, who was examining the body and filling out the autopsy report, replied without looking up.

“I have a question…”

“What is it?”

“There are specific punishments for making poison, raising poisonous insects, collecting poisonous plants, selling poison, and harming people with poison, right?”

“Yes.”

That was the law.

“Then how long would the Sichuan Tang Family have to be imprisoned?”

Baek Moo-Young finally realized his friend was joking.

“Hmm… We probably won’t live long enough to see them released.”

The Sichuan Tang Family was notorious for their obsession with poison. They experimented with and created new poisons almost every day. Their obsession was almost pathological.

What was their family motto? “A Poison a Day!”

It meant they had to experiment with and create a new poison every day.

“Maybe they created the Tang Family to keep them locked up. Their buildings might be officially classified as prisons.”

Baek Moo-Young offered a theory.

“Hmm… That makes sense.”

It might be pointless to imprison them, since their sentences would keep accumulating. It would be easier to just register their homes as prisons.

“Nothing unusual here.”

Fortunately, they didn’t have to suspect the Tang Family. But then Baek Moo-Young noticed something.

“There’s something unusual here!”

Cheong-Heun’s head turned slowly.

A network of thin, red lines, like spiderwebs. They were unusual wounds.

“They’re bright red.”

Cheong-Heun said, his brow furrowed.

“Stab wounds. A sword?”

“No. The wounds are too thin for a sword. Even the most precise swordsmanship can’t create such fine cuts.”

“Not a sword… Then what kind of weapon?”

Baek Moo-Young thought for a moment, then said,

“It looks like a silk sword.”

Cheong-Heun seemed skeptical.

“You mean that technique where they use silk threads to cut people? Can you really inflict fatal wounds with that?”

“A skilled expert can. This is good news for us.”

“Why?”

“Not many people use such unique weapons. And even fewer are skilled enough to kill with them. By identifying the murder weapon, we’ve narrowed down the suspects significantly.”

“That’s true. It was worth examining the body after all. But who could it be? I’ve never heard of any famous silk sword users in Nanchang.”

“That’s our job to find out.”

Baek Moo-Young said, his eyes fixed on the web of red wounds.

“And I think I’ve seen these wounds before.”

He thought of the young man with long hair who had been at the center of so many incidents in the past few years.

* * *

Four of the victim’s friends were summoned, replacing the absent relatives. They were all nervous, unsure why they had been brought here.

“Don’t worry. We just need to confirm a few things.”

Cheong-Heun reassured them.

“Yes…”

They replied weakly.

“Relax. We used to beat up suspects, guilty or not, but we don’t do that anymore. So you don’t have to be so tense.”

His attempt at reassurance backfired. They tensed up even more. Cheong-Heun sighed.

“Let’s start with identification.”

He led the four terrified young men past the yellow tape. Their faces paled as they saw the grim expressions of the guards and the crime scene. They could be suspects.

Cheong-Heun lifted the straw mat covering the body.

“Do you recognize him?”

“Gasp!”

They gasped in unison, their eyes widening in horror. It was their friend, the one they had been drinking and laughing with just yesterday.

“Aaaaah!”

One of them, particularly weak-willed, fainted. Cheong-Heun sighed. He understood the shock, but fainting was unacceptable. Especially for someone aspiring to enter Cheonmu Academy.

“Wake him up!”

After the faint-hearted friend regained consciousness, Cheong-Heun asked,

“Do you suspect anyone? Did he have any enemies?”

To his surprise, they all nodded.

“Yes, we do.”

Cheong-Heun’s eyes gleamed.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

They replied in barely audible voices.

“Someone get Chief Baek.”

“Yes, sir!”

Baek Moo-Young was the expert in interrogations.

“Hmm, this is an unexpected bonus.”

They had been struggling to find witnesses.

“Let’s separate them and get their statements.”

“Why? Wouldn’t it be easier to question them together?”

Cheong-Heun asked.

“It’s harder to tell if they’ve coordinated their stories. We need to get their individual accounts so we can compare them later.”

“Indeed! That’s a brilliant idea!”

Cheong-Heun clapped his hands in admiration.

“Brilliant? It’s just common sense. And it allows us to get four different perspectives, making the information more objective.”

“We’ll do that immediately.”

“And don’t forget to get two statements from each of them.”

“Why?”

“It’s customary. It makes it harder for them to lie.”

“That’s a hassle.”

“Bear with it! The authorities get three statements for murder cases! We’re lucky it’s only two!”

This procedure, called “triple verification,” was based on the principle of handling murder cases with utmost care.

* * *

“How did it go?”

Cheong-Heun asked after the interrogations were over.

“Their descriptions of the suspect match.”

Baek Moo-Young replied in a serious tone.

“Let’s hear it.”

His friend nodded and opened the document containing the statements.

“Male, around twenty years old, wearing a black uniform with long sleeves, and a golden armband on his right arm.”

“What?! A golden armband?”

“Yes, that’s what they said.”

“So the killer is one of the entrance exam judges? Who? Why?”

Every action had a cause and a reason. Murder was no exception.

“We haven’t figured that out yet. But we can make some assumptions.”

Baek Moo-Young considered the possibilities. Several hypotheses came to mind. None of them were pleasant. He carefully chose one.

“If you had to choose one?”

He didn’t like ambiguity.

“The most likely scenario is a crime of passion.”

“You mean he killed him in a fit of rage?”

“Basically. You know how on edge everyone is these days. If we weren’t in charge of this, we would have been given those golden armbands too, wouldn’t we?”

“I’m not sure I could have stayed calm in that situation.”

He was being honest. The recent surge in cases of indigestion and stomachaches was probably related.

“Any other distinguishing features?”

“Actually, there’s one more important feature.”

“Why didn’t you mention it earlier?”

“Because it requires caution.”

‘Caution?’

What could possibly make his cautious friend so nervous?

“This is the one feature they all agree on. The killer… had very long hair, long enough to cover his eyes.”

A single name flashed through their minds.