My Dear Forensic Scientist (GL) - Chapter 10

Four hours later, the autopsy was finally wrapped up.

Lin Yan set down the scalpel, her back already soaked through with sweat.
“Done. Have all the specimens been collected?”

One assistant pathologist nodded.
“Yes, they’ll be sent to the lab in a while.”

“The records?” She looked at Duan Cheng.
He patted his camera.
“No problem, everything’s here.”

She gave a slight lift of her chin to show she understood, then turned around, pulling off her gloves and tossing them into the medical waste bin. As she lowered her head, she suddenly froze for a second.

From his angle, Lin Yan’s profile looked unnaturally pale under the harsh white lights.

Seeing her motionless, Duan Cheng called out:
“Dr. Lin?”

Lin Yan turned back to continue her orders:
“Do a diatom test on the deceased’s lung, myocardium, liver tissue samples, as well as bone marrow fluid and teeth.”

Fang Xin looked troubled.
“For diatom testing, it’ll have to be sent to the provincial department.”

“How long until we get results?”

“About two days.”

“…,” Lin Yan took a deep breath, restraining her urge to curse.
“Just for a damn diatom test? I could do that back in my sophomore year of college, and you still need to send it to the provincial department? Why don’t you just send it to the central government while you’re at it?”

“To be honest, the forensic budget is limited, and manpower is short. Back when cases piled up, even autopsies were outsourced to third-party institutions. It’s not that we can’t do it, it’s just…”

Another forensic doctor picked up the explanation.

Lin Yan arched an eyebrow.
“So it all boils down to money, huh. Easy enough to solve. I’m going to bed. You guys clean this up.”

She jerked her chin at them, stretched lazily, and strutted off.

She stripped off her corpse-stained clothes and stepped into the shower. The water was cold, and when it poured over her head, Lin Yan shivered, one hand bracing against the wall as she adjusted her breathing.

Five minutes later, she came out towel-drying her hair. From her locker, she grabbed an expensive perfume and sprayed it liberally over herself, as if money were no object. Only when the faint scent of decomposition was completely masked did she finally exhale in relief. She pulled out a pack of gum from the locker.

Opening the cap, she shook two pieces into her palm—when a noise at the door startled her. She turned to see Song Yuhang standing silently in the dark, watching her.

The locker room was dim. Lin Yan smiled.
“Something you need?”

She closed the locker door, still rubbing her hair dry, and walked toward the exit, casually holding out the bottle.
“Gum. Refreshes you, keeps you awake. Want a couple?”

Song Yuhang stepped aside.
“No. I came to ask about the autopsy results.”

Lin Yan stopped, yawning.
“Sis, do me a favor and look at the time, will you? Since when can the police force make people work endless overtime?”

As she said this, she turned her face back—without makeup, her features looked clean and sharp, her skin too pale, and dark circles had formed under her eyes from the all-nighter.

Song Yuhang glanced at her watch.
“It’s 5:30 a.m. I’ll give you one hour to rest. At 6:30 sharp, we meet for the briefing.”

Lin Yan almost slipped, grinding her teeth.
“Excuse me, are you even human?”

Song Yuhang’s lips curled into a fake smile.
“No.”

Lin Yan nodded solemnly.
“Thought so. No wonder you’re still single in your thirties. Honestly, don’t drag my brother into this. Stay single, it’s better for everyone.”

“Being single or not—what’s the difference? Do two people together automatically equal happiness?” She shook her head lightly, seemingly disagreeing.

Lin Yan instinctively retorted:
“Of course… Two is better than one. At least… you’ll have someone to listen to you, even if it’s just meaningless chatter.”

That was who Lin Yan was. She feared loneliness, feared waking in the middle of the night to an empty room. She feared dreaming of Chu Nan—and feared even more not dreaming of her at all.

She needed someone to listen to her meaningless chatter.

Even if that person only loved her body, or her money—it didn’t matter. After all, apart from money, she had nothing else to give.

As for happiness—what was that?

Since her eighteenth birthday, she hadn’t laughed sincerely from the heart.

Nothing is more taboo in human interaction than speaking too deeply with someone you barely know. Realizing this, Lin Yan gave a self-deprecating laugh. Song Yuhang was hopelessly old-fashioned—why say any of this to her?

She turned to leave, but heard the woman behind her murmur softly:
“I don’t know about happiness. But one thing is certain—if it’s not out of passion, no one could persist at something for over ten years. And without genuine respect, you could never achieve excellence.”

“I may not be much. But at the very least, I’m a people’s police officer. Solving cases is my duty.”

Lin Yan gave a mocking smile and ignored her. Her thin figure melted into the long corridor.

Their exchange would sound cryptic to any outsider—but two clever people didn’t need to spell things out.

Song Yuhang’s gaze shifted toward the autopsy room, separated by a wall. She probably didn’t know that she had watched the autopsy recording, too.

That fleeting moment of Lin Yan bowing her head in silence—looked nothing like the “Lin Yan” she knew.

Back in her office, Lin Yan noticed the two pieces of gum had melted into her palm, their thin sugar coating sticky and unpleasant.

She shoved them in her mouth, gulped a large swig of mineral water, then leaned back in her chair. After a short rest, she pulled out her phone and made a call.

“Hello? This is Lin Yan. I want ten centrifuges… Mm-hm. Deliver them to the city police bureau after sunrise.”

“President Lin, that… that’s way too short notice…”

Lin Yan gave a cold laugh.
“Fail to deliver, and say goodbye to next quarter’s funding.”

“W-wait, President Lin, let’s talk this over…”

Lin Yan hung up with a snap, her eyes drifting back to the gum bottle.

After a moment’s thought, she slid it into the drawer.

An hour later, the clatter of a keyboard woke her. She sat up abruptly, her uniform jacket slipping off her shoulders.

She rubbed her hair, catching the jacket just in time. She couldn’t even remember if she’d covered herself with it last night. Her memory seemed to have blank spots.

Zheng Chengrui, noticing she was awake, hurried over with a grin, holding out warm buns, fried dough sticks, soy milk, and a freshly boiled egg.
“Dr. Lin, you’re up! Quick, eat. Once you’re done, Captain Song wants us in the meeting.”

Her stomach growled right on cue.

Impatiently, Lin Yan waved him off.
“Got it. Get lost. Can’t eat with you staring.”

“Right, right. Take your time.”

The pudgy man seemed used to being ordered around, and in front of Lin Yan his temper was especially meek.

“If it’s not enough, I’ve got more.”

Lin Yan opened the plastic bag, pinched up a bun with a tissue, and took a tiny bite—only to frown and spit it all out. She tossed the rest into the trash.

“This is food? More like pig slop.”

Zheng’s face flushed bright red.
“T-this is from the cafeteria…”

The whole room turned their heads. Lounging in her chair, Lin Yan’s lips curled in a scornful smile.

“Figures. Only you lot could stomach this.”

Some faces showed faint anger, but were tugged back by colleagues. One by one, people stood up.

“Let’s go. Meeting time.”

Once the room emptied, Lin Yan ordered delivery instead. While waiting, she washed up and rinsed her mouth.

By the time she returned, Cantonese dim sum had been set neatly on her desk.

Three kinds of dim sum, two steamed dishes, and two bowls of congee. Clearly not ordinary takeout—this was a carefully prepared breakfast by the Lin family’s chef.

Every meal she had was balanced, nutritious, and low-calorie. Rarely did she touch outside junk food—let alone street-stall buns.

Still, she couldn’t finish much. Like a cat, she nibbled a little of each and tossed the rest into the trash. After dabbing her lips with a tissue, she strolled leisurely toward the meeting room.

“Where’s Dr. Lin?” Song Yuhang’s gaze swept across the room, noticing the empty seat near the forensic team.

“Here.”

All eyes turned as the great Dr. Lin Yan sauntered in wearing slippers, her hair loose in curls. She was dressed in the vest she’d changed into after showering last night, paired with a tight black sports top that outlined her curves, and loose black shorts showing off her long legs and slim waist.

Beautiful, yes—but among the neatly buttoned uniforms in the room, she looked entirely out of place.

Fang Xin glanced at her, then at herself, lowering her head in shame.

Duan Cheng’s eyes had been glued to her since the moment she walked in—no one needed to guess what was going through his mind.

As for Zheng Chengrui, he wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth.

Song Yuhang pressed her lips into a straight line.

Just then, Zhang Jinhai spoke up to break the silence.
“Alright, everyone’s here. Let’s go over the case.”

“The deceased, Ding Xue, age thirty, an English teacher at Jiangcheng No. 1 High School. On the evening of May 14, 2008, she left home between 8 and 10 p.m. At 10:23 p.m., her husband Sun Xiangming received a text message from her. Content as follows—”

The message had been printed and enlarged on the PPT screen.

Song Yuhang sat across from Zhang Jinhai, twirling her pen.
“The victim’s personal belongings haven’t been found, so we can’t confirm whether that text was sent by her or the perpetrator. It’s highly possible she’d already been killed by then.”

She had barely finished when Lin Yan, resting her head on one hand, yawned sleepily.

“Impossible. Based on cadaveric phenomena, supervital reactions, body and liver temperature, and environmental climate, the time of death should be between 11 p.m. and 1 a.m. three days ago.”

Zhang Jinhai mulled it over.
“What about surveillance checks?”

Zheng Chengrui stood up, stammering.
“Still reviewing… So far, no suspicious individuals entering or leaving the park.”

“What if the killer was after money? Say, after she sent the text, he robbed her, then pushed her into the water?”

A detective suggested.

“In that case, the victim’s phone becomes the key. According to her husband, she left home with an iPhone worth over 4,000 yuan, along with cash and bank cards in her handbag.”

“We’ve flagged all her accounts. If anyone makes a withdrawal, the local precinct will move in immediately.”

Song Yuhang nodded.
“Also send people to all secondhand markets in Jiangcheng, especially used phone stalls. Bring in anyone suspicious.”

Lin Yan stretched lazily, yawning again as if their heated discussion had nothing to do with her.

“Tell me, have you considered that the lotus pond wasn’t the primary crime scene?”

“Of course we considered that—why else would we be combing surveillance?” a detective shot back.

Lin Yan stood, fished a USB from her pocket, and plugged it into the computer. With a few clicks, several images appeared on the big screen.

“During the autopsy, I found that the victim’s bl00d in the right ventricle was extremely diluted. Its viscosity, specific gravity, hemoglobin count, and red bl00d cell count were all lower than in the left ventricle.”

“In forensic science, that’s highly unusual—because a person who drowns in freshwater would never show this pattern.”

Zhang Jinhai, mid-sip of tea, spat it all out.
“W-what? You mean she drowned in seawater?”

Although Jiangcheng was the province’s closest coastal city, the nearest seaside park was still over 200 kilometers away.

If Sun Xiangming’s statement was true—Ding Xue left home around 8–9 p.m. and died between 11 p.m. and 1 a.m.—there simply wasn’t enough time to make a round trip. Even if the killer rushed her to the sea, drowned her, then sped back to dump the body, what if there was a highway inspection? Wouldn’t that be suicidal?

Everyone scratched their heads in silence, frustrated. After a sleepless night, they had nothing to show for it—only more complications.

“Send the diatom samples to the provincial department. If we can pinpoint the body of water, it’ll greatly help our investigation.”

Song Yuhang’s voice was, as always, calm and professional.

Lin Yan fidgeted in her chair, restless. Sitting next to Song Yuhang, she leaned over slightly—her faint fragrance drifting into the captain’s nose.

Instinctively, Song Yuhang pulled back. But she couldn’t avoid Lin Yan’s sparkling eyes, which now held a trace of smugness, as if seeking credit.

“No need for the provincial lab. I can do it myself.” Lin Yan glanced at her watch. “Mm, the equipment I ordered should be arriving soon.”

The implication was clear: Captain Song, when we crack this case, you’d better thank me properly.

Song Yuhang kept her face expressionless, turning away as if she hadn’t heard.
“Alright. For now—split into three teams. One to investigate secondhand markets, another to search the victim’s home. I’ll head to Jiangcheng No. 1 High School to look into her background.”

“Jiangcheng No. 1 High…”

Hearing the name, Lin Yan silently repeated it to herself. Then she raised her hand.

“I’m going too.”