Even veterinarians are better than him.
Fan Jinci stood in the center of the abandoned slaughterhouse, which resembled a cold storage facility. He was barefoot, wearing plastic shoe covers hastily provided by the forensic team. Over his silk pajamas was an oversized police windbreaker, making him appear even thinner. His slender fingers unconsciously twirled the scalpel he never parted with, the blade tracing tiny silver arcs under the cool lighting.
"So," his voice was colder than the metal drawers of a morgue, "you dragged me out of bed in the middle of the night just for this kindergarten-level case?"
Several police officers at the scene gasped simultaneously. Zhang Ming, the head of the forensic team, blushed: "Dr. Ci, the methods used in this case are extremely professional. Our preliminary judgment is—"
"Professional?" Fan Jin suddenly laughed, a laugh that was both dazzlingly beautiful and chillingly cold. He crouched down, using the tip of his scalpel to pick up a neatly sliced piece of muscle tissue. "The incisions are jagged, the bone fracture shows at least three attempted slashing marks, and the internal organs were punctured in at least two places when they were removed." He stood up, the scalpel slamming into the wooden table beside him with a clang. "This level of skill deserves to be called a forensic pathologist? Even a veterinarian is better."
Yu Yan leaned against the door frame with his arms crossed, his gaze lingering for two seconds on Fan Jinci's eyes, which were slightly red from anger.
The legendary chief medical examiner was more grumpy in the morning than he had imagined.
"Forensic pathologist Fan," Yu Yan began slowly and deliberately, "if you could use your precious three minutes to enlighten us dull mortals, perhaps we could let you go back to sleep sooner."
Fan Jinci turned to look at him, his grey-blue eyes like a frozen lake under the harsh white light. He walked up to Yu Yan; the two were about the same height, but Fan Jinci's aura was incredibly low: "27 yuan?" he asked softly, with a dangerously sweet undertone, "How long did you count? Do you want me to lend you a few fingers to help?"
Yu Yan caught a faint scent of bitter orange emanating from the other person, mixed with a hint of blood. He took a deep breath, his expression impassive: "The surveillance footage shows the body was dumped here at 1:40 AM, but based on the degree of rigor mortis—"
"Rigorous death?" Fan Jinci suddenly raised his voice, turning to the room full of police officers and sneering, "You call this rigor mortis? Look at the range of motion in these joints!" He roughly grabbed a severed hand and waved it in front of everyone. "The murderer refrigerated the body, at least at minus twenty degrees Celsius for more than six hours. Time of death? Between four and six o'clock yesterday afternoon."
Cold sweat broke out on Zhang's forehead: "But the liver temperature test showed—"
"Because the killer thawed the liver separately at room temperature, you idiot." Fan Jinci threw the severed hand back onto the plastic sheet with a chilling thud. "Even a second-year medical student wouldn't be fooled by that trick."
The entire scene was deathly silent. Yu Yan noticed that Fan Jinci's right hand was trembling slightly as he spoke—not from fear, but from pure agitation. This brilliant forensic doctor had been dragged from his sleep to face a case that seemed utterly unchallenging to him, like being forced to slice cabbage with a laser scalpel.
"I need the time of death to be accurate to within half an hour," Yu Yan suddenly said.
Fan Jinci didn't even turn her head: "You think you're worthy?"
"Because between four and six o'clock, three suspects have alibis." Yu Yan stepped forward, bringing the two into that suffocatingly close proximity again. "But if you can tell me the exact time, I can know who's lying."
Fan Jinci's eyes narrowed. He turned and walked towards the dismembered body, his movements suddenly becoming precise and efficient: "Okay."
What followed was an eye-opening experience for everyone. Fan Jinci handled the gruesome body parts like works of art, measuring muscle contractions, examining stomach contents, and even smelling the cut surfaces of broken bones. The entire process was uttered without a single wasted word, save for the occasional cold laugh.
"The deceased had seafood pasta for his last meal, paired with a 1998 Chateau Montrose," he said suddenly, plucking an almost unrecognizable crumb from a pile of half-digested food scraps. "A wine with such high tannins paired with seafood? Yet another piece of evidence of taste-based murder."
Yu Yan couldn't help but ask, "How can you be sure it's from 1998?"
Fan Jinci didn't even look up: "Tannin crystal form. I haven't made this kind of mistake since I was twenty." He brushed his blood-stained hair back, leaving a shocking red mark on his forehead. "Time of death: between 5:15 PM and 5:45 PM yesterday. Cause of death: severed carotid artery, but the real cause of death was this—"
He held up a section of trachea, pointing to several minor burns on the inside: "The killer first used a stun gun to silence the victim. He preferred a quiet working environment."
The officers at the scene exchanged bewildered glances. Suddenly, Yu Yan's phone vibrated. He glanced at the screen, a smirk playing on his lips: "At 5:30, our prime suspect told his colleagues he was going to buy coffee and disappeared for twenty-five minutes."
Fan Jinci had already taken off his blood-stained gloves and was wiping his fingers one by one with disinfectant wipes. "Congratulations, you solved the case by drawing lots?" He glanced at his watch. "Can I go back to sleep now?"
Yu Yan stopped him: "We need you to provide a formal appraisal report."
"Dream on." Fan Jinci sneered. "My reports are only written for those who can understand them." He glanced meaningfully at the forensic doctor Zhang, "not for those who can't even distinguish between rigor mortis and cryogenics—"
"I'll go get it myself," Yu Yan interrupted him, his voice low and firm. "Tomorrow afternoon at three o'clock, in your office."
Fan Jinci seemed taken aback by this directness. He stared at Yu Yan for a few seconds, then suddenly laughed: "You can try, see if you can get in." He turned and walked towards the door, then stopped and added, "By the way, tell that so-called forensic doctor—" He pointed to the pile of mangled body parts on the table, "If he destroys evidence like this again, I'll make a bow with his intestines."
At 4:15 AM, Fan Jinci left the scene, sweeping through like a storm and then vanishing just as quickly. Yu Yan watched the thin figure in the ill-fitting coat disappear into the morning mist, when a message just arrived on his phone:
"I found out. Fan Jinci suffers from severe insomnia and usually can't fall asleep until three or four in the morning. When I called you yesterday, he had just fallen asleep for less than an hour."
Yu Yan stroked the edge of his phone, suddenly feeling a sense of anticipation for tomorrow's meeting.
There are only two kinds of butterflies in this world—those that fly forward and those that live backward.
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