My Dear Forensic Scientist (GL) - Chapter 6

Another dull day of office work within the system ended without any major cases. Lin Yan stepped out of her office, lit a cigarette, her high heels clicking as she walked, uniform jacket draped casually over her arm.

Before she even finished that cigarette, a flashy Rolls-Royce stopped in front of the municipal bureau.

The great forensic doctor Lin flicked away her cigarette and walked forward. The car door opened, and out came a slick young man in a sharp suit with greasy hair and a powdered face.

The two of them embraced and flirted openly.

Meanwhile, Song Yuhang was busy tinkering with her busted little electric scooter. She wore a simple army-green T-shirt, a plain white towel draped around her neck, and her hands were smeared with grease.

Just as she finally got the scooter fixed, she heard faint gasps of surprise around her. Looking up, she saw the two at the bureau entrance, now utterly lost in a passionate kiss.

She wasn’t far, and from her angle she could clearly see Lin Yan’s slender waist encircled by the man’s arm. Lin Yan was tall, her head tilted slightly toward him, face showing an expression of faint involvement.

A flashbulb went off. Likely tomorrow’s entertainment headlines were already secured.

Song Yuhang gave a small shake of her head, peeled off her dirty gloves, tossed them into the trunk, started her scooter, and slowly rode out the bureau gate.

Behind her, the couple and the Rolls-Royce shrank into a small dot and disappeared.

A moment later, while waiting at a red light, that car pulled up right beside her. The window rolled down slowly.

Her calm gaze drifted over.

From inside extended a slender hand—giving her the middle finger.

Clearly, someone still held a grudge over this morning’s incident.

Officer Song chose to ignore it. The second the light turned green, she turned and rode off. In the rearview mirror, the Rolls-Royce went straight, growing more and more distant.

For Lin Yan, rare days off meant gathering friends, indulging in decadence, drinking and carousing with no thought of home.

For Song Yuhang, days off meant working out and sparring—she preferred spending her time that way.

Leaving the gym, she bought two kilos of apples from a street vendor. By the time she returned home, the lights inside were already on.

She had lived there for as long as she could remember. Though the bureau had built new residential complexes for families over the years, she and her mother had never moved.

The old neighborhood walls were peeling. Naughty children had left pen marks all over, while higher up the walls were covered in ivy, lush and green in midsummer.

The buildings were only six stories high, so no elevators.

She parked her scooter, locked it, picked up the fruit, and walked up the narrow stairwell.

Lights flicked off behind her as she ascended—the motion sensor bulbs she herself had replaced just a few days ago.

At the door of 603, she pulled out her key and opened it.

“Mom, I’m back.”

From the kitchen came a woman in an apron, around fifty, strands of white in her hair. Seeing her daughter, her face lit with a natural smile.

“You’re back. Go shower—you’re drenched in sweat. Dinner’s almost ready.”

Only before her mother did Song Yuhang’s lips curve into that rare, faint smile.

“I bought apples, your favorite. We’ll wash them and eat them after dinner.”

She carried her toiletries into the bathroom. Outside, she heard her mother grumble, “Child, the watermelon we bought yesterday isn’t even finished…”

Raising her voice, she replied, “Summer fruit spoils fast. If it doesn’t get eaten, just throw it out.”

“How can you waste like that? Money doesn’t grow on trees. Eat less rice and finish the fruit!”

Turning on the shower, Song Yuhang’s lips quirked upward. The hot water washed away the day’s fatigue.

Their apartment wasn’t large: two bedrooms and a living room. The dining table dominated most of the space.

Across from it sat an old TV, above which was a small altar. Two black-and-white portraits rested there—one younger, one older.

After her shower, she lit incense for them before sitting down.

Dinner was simple home cooking, light dishes in modest portions. All the meat went straight into her bowl.

Shoveling rice into her mouth, she said, “Mom, just say it.”

Her mother paused, clearly embarrassed. “Well… I went ahead and made arrangements. After work tomorrow, you’ll have dinner with that Mr. Lin we met last time…”

“Cough—cough—” Rice lodged in her throat, and she had to gulp tea to wash it down.

“Mom—”

“I know, you don’t want to. But all these years, you’ve never liked anyone, and you’re always busy. People hear you’re a criminal police officer and don’t even want to set you up. This one doesn’t mind, so give it a try. Feelings come with time, don’t they?”

Song Yuhang knew too well that love—whether at first sight or over time—was just dopamine and adrenaline. She could produce a thousand scientific rebuttals.

But she couldn’t speak them aloud, not in front of her father’s and brother’s portraits.

“I understand, Mom. After dinner, I’ll contact him.”

Her mother’s spirits instantly lifted. She placed more braised pork into her bowl.

“Good. Tomorrow, dress up nicely. Stay out a bit longer, don’t rush back. I’ll be out dancing with Aunt Wang anyway.”

Mr. Lin was Aunt Wang’s recommendation. He had treated her dental issues, looked presentable, was witty and humorous.

Most importantly, he was a single, never-married returnee from overseas.

Song Yuhang had met him once or twice—no strong impression, except that he lacked the usual bad habits of men. At least he didn’t smoke in front of women. He was polite, refined, attentive.

Funny how they both had the surname Lin, yet the difference between people could be so vast.

Thinking of the arrogant, domineering forensic doctor Lin, her brows furrowed slightly. She quickly finished her rice. “Mom, I’ll wash the dishes.”

The next day, Lin Yan didn’t stir from bed until the sun was high. She shoved the man’s arm off her body, sat up, grabbed a cigarette from the nightstand, and took a drag to ease her hangover.

“Stay a bit longer…” the man mumbled, reaching for her shoulder.

Lin Yan, cigarette between her fingers, raised a silencing hand and leaned against the headboard, unlocking her phone. Countless missed calls filled the screen.

Duan Cheng: “Sis?! Are you coming to work today?”
Zheng Chengrui: “Dr. Lin, I bought you breakfast. Left it on your desk.”
—with a photo of soy milk, fried dough sticks, and buns.

Lin Yan grimaced.

Finally, a message from Fang Xin, with a trembling emoji: “Lin-jie, Captain Song’s been looking for you all morning…”

Her head hurt even worse.

The man clung on, “Why work at all? I’ll support you.”

She nearly burned his face with her cigarette. He yelped and jumped back.

“What the hell, going crazy so early?!”

She tossed off the covers, last night’s traces still on her body, but today she had no qualms about flipping the script. Who used whom, really?

“Little brother, you’ve got skill, but thinking you can keep me? You’re not even close. Farewell—don’t cross paths again.”

Calmly dressing in front of the mirror, her figure was flawless: full where it should be, slim where it should be, not an ounce of excess. Pale skin, bare feet against the floor.

Barefaced, long brown curls tumbling down, her profile sharp under the morning light, giving her a fleeting air of girlish freshness.

But that body—nothing girlish about it.

The man gawked, swallowing hard, crawling back up.

Lin Yan, sketching her brows, caught him in the mirror. Her lips curled coldly.

She feigned ignorance until he lunged, then sidestepped at the last second, hair brushing his cheek with a whiff of perfume.

Before he could savor it, she drove a knee into his groin. He howled, doubled over.

She followed with a kick to his stomach. He collapsed, sweating, unable to even cry out.

“If you weren’t handsome and halfway skilled, would I have even played with you? Think you’re man enough to support me? You’re not even fit to shine my shoes.”

She pressed a razor to his face, tracing lightly—not cutting, but enough to terrify.

He nearly wept. “Sis, I was wrong—please—don’t cut me, I live off this face!”

“Look at you. Without your parents’ leftovers, you’re trash. Support me? You?!”

Bored now, she patted his cheek with the razor, then expertly tied him to a chair with his own tie.

Before leaving, she threw a wad of bills in his face. “Payment for services. Show up again, I’ll beat you again. A gigolo should know his place.”

This so-called rich second-generation, used to bedding countless women, had never been humiliated like this. Tears stung his eyes as he spat out his gag.

“Lin Yan, you’ll regret this!!!”

Her answer: the slam of the door.

After putting the fool in his place, Lin Yan waltzed into the bureau with coffee in hand. Tossing her jacket onto the rack, she lounged back in her chair.

Duan Cheng brought her a file. “Sis, sign here.”

“Yesterday’s injury appraisal?”

She skimmed two pages, saw no issue, and scrawled her signature.

But Duan Cheng hesitated. “Maybe… you should give this directly to Captain Song.”

Fang Xin whispered, “She came by this morning for it, but you weren’t here, and Duan didn’t hand it over…”

“Oh, that’s all? Just a file? Fine, I’ll take it to her, then archive it.”

She tucked the paper into a folder and stood. Fang Xin asked, “Do you know where she is? Want me to go with you?”

“No need. If I don’t know, I’ll ask.” Lin Yan waved him off, striding out in seven-centimeter heels.

She noted every CCTV camera in the hall.

One, two, three…

Upstairs—bureau chief’s office, deputy chief’s, command center, political department…

Higher still, cameras were denser. At the fourth one—archives.

She knocked, showed her ID, explained her errand. The staff reached to take the file, but she leaned on the counter, smiling.

“Hey, I just got here yesterday. Mind letting me inside for a look? You know, forensic doctors are curious about strange cases. Do me a favor?”

When she smiled, her eyes seemed to bloom with peach blossoms. Her soft, teasing tone, paired with her uniform straining at the chest, made the young officer blush scarlet.

“Well… okay… but leave your phone here. You can read files, but no photos.”

“No problem.” She handed over her phone and fluttered her lashes, making him blush deeper.

Inside, the archive was library-like, files neatly organized by type, year, location. The deeper in, the older the cases.

Her heels made no sound. Passing others retrieving files, she walked calm and casual, file tucked under her arm.

Though she was up to no good, her face betrayed nothing.

Her fingers skimmed box labels—2008, 2007, 2006… down to 1994.

Her heart pounded uncontrollably.

Not the right time—better to come at night with equipment. But seeing that year, she couldn’t help herself, reaching instinctively.

Then—her hairs stood on end.

She reacted without thought: an elbow strike backward.

Song Yuhang reacted just as instinctively. In a flash, the two exchanged silent blows. Using her height advantage, Song pinned Lin Yan against the shelves.

Far from the entrance, in dim light, their eyes met. The always-composed captain frowned.

“What are you doing here?”

They still held each other—Song’s arm pressed against her throat, Lin Yan gripping her tie, br3asts pressing against Song’s arm. Realizing the compromising position, Song tried to release her.

But Lin Yan tugged her tie tighter, clinging like a leech.

“I went to your office, you weren’t there, so I came here. Now you’re pulling me around, making a scene?”

Her voice rose just enough for outsiders to overhear without clarity.

Song could already hear approaching footsteps. She inhaled, her voice dropping, cold.

“I said. Let. Go.”

Each word sharp, lips tight with authority.

Lin Yan could feel her anger but, shameless as ever, she thrived on it.

She loved cracking that stoic face.

She leaned closer, arms sliding up as if to embrace her neck, breath hot at her ear.

“Captain Song, why so angry?” Her perfume mingled with a coy tone.

Song’s jaw tightened, eyes closing briefly.

Lin Yan smiled seductively. “I won’t let go. What will you do?”

Footsteps neared.

Before she could savor it, her world went white with pain—Song slammed the back of her head into the metal shelf. Stars burst before her eyes.

The officer from earlier rushed over, hand on his gun. “What happened?!”

Song plucked the file from Lin Yan’s grasp, signed it with her own pen, her tone calm.

“Nothing. Dr. Lin slipped. Go back to work.”

“Oh…” The officer holstered his weapon, but glanced worriedly at Lin Yan. “Careful, Dr. Lin, the floor’s slippery.”

“I—” Lin Yan clutched her throbbing head, eyes misting. She hadn’t felt real physical pain in years, and the shock left her reeling.

Song cut her off smoothly. “Here’s the file. Put it away properly.”

The officer obeyed, though something felt off. If she really had fallen, why hadn’t Captain Song helped her up?

He couldn’t know that the “slip” had in fact been Captain Song herself shoving the forensic doctor.

Clicking her pen shut, tucking it into her pocket, Song walked out without a glance back.

“From now on, don’t let just anyone into the archives. Follow procedures strictly. Files require approval from division-level cadres or higher. Clear?”

The young officer snapped a salute. “Yes, Captain Song!”

Division-level cadre? Wasn’t she herself at the top of that list?!

They say that noon, Dr. Lin’s furious curses echoed down the entire corridor.