Chapter Two: The Headless Female Corpse

The county magistrate also caught sight of Fang Mu. After exchanging a few words with the tear-moled beauty, he finally approached. “You’re here. Come with me to inspect the room at once—Lord Qing has been waiting a long time.”

The tear-moled beauty frowned, unaccustomed to the way Fang Mu looked at her. His gaze carried little emotion; she could sense his eyes sweeping over her most important features, yet what she saw most in them was… regret.

Fang Mu was surprised. “So urgent?” He had never seen the magistrate so restless before; today, it was as if something was driving him.

The magistrate was about to reply when the tear-moled beauty spoke first, her voice melodious and clear, like a golden oriole singing among green willows. “You needn’t come, Magistrate Yu. Let the coroner and I go alone.” She pointed to Fang Mu. “The less you know, the better for you.”

The magistrate did not take offense at her words; instead, he nodded cooperatively. “This is Qing Ruowu, chief investigator from the Celestial Surveillance Bureau. You are to cooperate fully.”

Fang Mu nodded, though doubts stirred within him. The Celestial Surveillance Bureau—wasn’t it supposed to be an office that observed the stars? Why was it involved in a murder case?

Still, questions aside, Fang Mu followed behind Qing Ruowu toward the mortuary.

The mortuary at the county office was largely ornamental, for Jinglong County was known for its peace and honest folk. Throughout the southwest, Jinglong set the standard for law and order.

But lately, the mortuary had been anything but peaceful, with murders occurring one after another. As the county’s only coroner, Fang Mu had been kept busy.

“Wait.” Nearing the mortuary door, Fang Mu suddenly stopped, opened his wooden case, and took out two cloths, a small bottle, and some ginger and garlic.

Qing Ruowu turned to see what he was doing, frowning slightly. Few ever interacted with coroners—their profession was one people avoided as if warding off evil spirits.

He opened the small bottle; a sharp, sour scent wafted out.

“Vinegar?” Qing Ruowu asked, coming closer. “What’s that for?”

Fang Mu crushed the ginger and garlic, mixed in a few drops of aged vinegar, and spread the mixture evenly onto the two pieces of cloth. He covered his nose with one, then handed the other to Qing Ruowu.

Catching a whiff of the pungent blend, Qing Ruowu shook her head.

“Really don’t want it?” Fang Mu asked again.

Qing Ruowu said nothing and strode into the mortuary. One second later, she backed out, silently picked up the cloth, and put it over her nose as Fang Mu had done.

“In this heat, a corpse won’t last long,” Fang Mu said cheerfully. “Let me take the lead, my lady—every trade has its expert.”

The method for dealing with the stench of corpses was something he’d learned from “The Coroner’s Self-Cultivation.” A cloth infused with ginger, garlic, and vinegar not only masked the odor but warded off diseases carried by the dead.

Qing Ruowu said nothing more, stepping back two paces.

Fang Mu pushed open the mortuary door. When his gaze fell on the body lying atop the straw mat, he was momentarily taken aback.

A woman’s corpse, neatly dressed, lay on the mat. She appeared normal in every regard—except above her neck, there was nothing but emptiness.

“A headless woman?”

Including this one, that made five bodies in recent days—all women, and each missing a body part.

If there was some sort of organ-trafficking ring in this world, that would be one thing, but medicine hadn’t advanced anywhere near that far.

“Begin,” said Qing Ruowu from behind him.

Fang Mu snapped back to his senses and glanced over; Qing Ruowu’s expression was unchanged.

“The Celestial Surveillance Bureau is clearly more than it appears—not merely an agency for stargazing,” he thought. From how calmly Qing Ruowu faced the headless corpse, it was clear she was no stranger to such sights; she had grown entirely accustomed.

But that had little to do with him.

Fang Mu set his wooden case beside the straw mat and took out his array of unsettling tools—knives, awls, and more.

The body was marked with faint livor mortis, both hands laid by her sides, fingers relaxed and open.

“Her hands are loose, fingers spread. Judging by the color of the blotches, the time of death was at dawn.”

He lifted the woman’s clothes without hesitation and, after a thorough check, continued, “Most of the blotches are on her neck, back, and hips—she was lying face-up when she died.”

Qing Ruowu frowned, stepping closer to examine with him. “The previous four bodies—their time of death and condition were identical.”

All five women, same time, same state.

Fang Mu’s face remained calm as he placed his knife gently on the woman’s chest, preparing to cut. There was too little to be learned from the surface; he needed to look inside.

“Also, none of them were wearing undershirts when they died.”

Before beginning, he reminded Qing Ruowu, who fell into thought. In this world, women were exceedingly modest; no one would sleep so scantily clad.

Fang Mu muttered as he started the autopsy, “Too large, and too much fat—makes this troublesome.”

Qing Ruowu: “…”

At last, she understood the meaning behind Fang Mu’s earlier look—it was for this reason.

But seeing Fang Mu’s serious expression, she said nothing.

The knife was sharp, kept in perfect condition by Fang Mu; it sliced easily through skin and flesh.

Yet as he slowly drew the blade through the woman’s chest and abdomen, his hand trembled almost imperceptibly.

“What is it?” Qing Ruowu noticed, frowning. “Did you find something odd? Why did your hand shake?”

Fang Mu replied coolly, “It’s a special autopsy technique—it helps the blade cut more precisely.”

Qing Ruowu hesitated. She knew little of the coroner’s craft, so she said no more.

But inside, Fang Mu was anything but calm; his mind was in turmoil.

For at the instant he cut into the headless corpse, it felt as though a weight was lifted from his chest.

He knew well what was missing—not just anything, but his copy of “The Coroner’s Self-Cultivation.”

And at that moment, a voice sounded in his mind:

[You have examined the headless corpse and obtained: Blood-stained Undershirt x1. Can be placed on an enemy’s head to paralyze them for five seconds.]

[You have examined the headless corpse and obtained: Scented Sachet x1. Effect unknown.]

[You have dissected the headless corpse and obtained: Ghostly Iron Spike x1. Deals minor damage to mystics and supernatural beings.]

With these bizarre notifications, Fang Mu became aware of a new space in his mind—inside it, a blood-stained undershirt, an iron spike etched with sinister patterns, and a sachet.

“My corpse-examining skill has changed! I’m actually retrieving real items now!”

“Mustn’t make any sudden moves—it’s time to demonstrate the self-cultivation of a true actor…”