My Dear Forensic Scientist (GL) - Chapter 9

Jiang City Funeral Home.

It was already past midnight. Two groups of people were still quarreling endlessly in the lobby.
The moment Song Yuhang stepped inside, she heard a shrill woman’s voice shouting obscenities, mixed with the sound of shoes scraping against the floor and clothes being torn.

Her heart tightened—afraid that Lin Yan had gotten into conflict with the family because of the autopsy—so she rushed in at a half-run.

But contrary to her fears, Lin Yan was standing perfectly fine against the wall, even covering her ears with her hands.

Fang Xin and Duan Cheng were in the middle of trying to mediate. At last, the two groups of women stopped clawing at each other.

One of them, a slightly older woman, shouted:
“I’m the child’s grandmother. The kid should be raised by me, don’t you agree, young lady?!”

Fang Xin: “…Huh?”

“What nonsense! My daughter’s body isn’t even cold yet, and who knows how she died—maybe it was your family who harmed her! Yaya is my granddaughter, she has to stay with me!”

“What do you mean we harmed her? Ever since she married in, did she ever lack food or clothing from us? She said she didn’t want to live with the old folks, so we moved out right away. She didn’t want a second child, fine, we agreed. Have some conscience! How do you know she didn’t fool around outside and provoke some thug who killed her? Don’t go pinning this on us!”

Don’t let her age fool you—this older woman’s combat strength was impressive. She jabbed her finger right at the other’s nose, cursing loudly.

Behind her stood a crowd of aunts and cousins, charging forward in a chorus of shouting and insults. They went back and forth like a battlefield, pulling hair and shoving, escalating into another round of physical fighting.

Even Duan Cheng got scratched on the face twice, forced to retreat.

At the very center of the storm sat a man on a bench, head down, eyes red, saying nothing.

In his arms was a little girl, three or four years old, wide-eyed and bewildered at the chaos around her.

Lin Yan smirked sarcastically at the whole scene, making no move to intervene.

“Hey, after all this noise, son-in-law, why don’t you say something? How did my daughter die?” The middle-aged woman finally broke free, eyes red and streaming with tears, her grief raw and overwhelming.

“I raised my daughter for over twenty years—I can’t let her just die without reason! Your family has to give me an explanation!”

“Explanation? What explanation? It’s not like we killed her. Right, officer?”

Fang Xin stammered, “Uh, yes, yes,” trying not to say anything that might earn him a slap.

“I don’t care! Give me back my daughter! My Ding family only had this one girl—we’re cut off now, completely cut off! Old Ding, I’ve let you down in the afterlife! Daughter, oh daughter, you died so unjustly!”

The woman wailed again, pouncing at her dazed son-in-law, clawing at him.

The man’s mother, seeing her son being attacked, jumped in. Soon it was legs kicking, hair pulling, a torrent of filthy curses flying.

“Don’t you drag our family into your bad luck! Your whole family’s cursed! Your husband died early—I didn’t even want this marriage to begin with! My son must have been blind to like her! Married for years and she couldn’t even give us a son—barren hen! Dead, and good riddance!”

“You f***ing—” More vulgarities exploded, fists flying.

Lin Yan was amused by the spectacle.

Song Yuhang shook her head, preparing to step in.

Suddenly, the man shot up from the bench, fists clenched, and roared:
“Enough!!”

For a moment, the room went silent. Then the dead woman’s family burst into even louder sobs and accusations, throwing themselves at him again:
“You dare yell at me?! Dare yell at me?! Pay with your life for my daughter! Murderer!”

In the chaos, the little girl slipped from the bench onto the floor. Nobody noticed her. She stared in confusion as her grandmother shoved her other grandmother, and that grandmother slapped her father.

Finally, she couldn’t hold it in—she wailed.

“Daddy, daddy, I want mommy! I want to go home!” She staggered up, reaching for her father’s leg.

But he was shoved and stumbled forward, nearly stepping on her hand. Song Yuhang darted forward, scooping the child into her arms.

“Enough! If you want to keep fighting, then you can fight at the police station! One more move from anyone and I’ll throw every single one of you into detention!”

The dead woman’s mother wanted to argue, but when her eyes fell on the two stripes on Song Yuhang’s uniform shoulder and the sobbing child in her arms, she forced herself to swallow her words. Tears just streamed silently down her face.

Procedures followed after that.

The family members entered one by one to see the deceased for the last time. When they came out, the mother nearly collapsed, supported by several officers.

Considering the age and health of the elders, after gathering preliminary details, Song Yuhang arranged for them to be sent home, leaving only the husband for questioning.

“According to Article 131 of the Criminal Procedure Law, we’ve decided to conduct a judicial autopsy on your wife’s body. Please sign here.”

A Body Autopsy Notice was slid across the desk.

Lin Yan sat opposite the short, quiet man, spine straight.

“You want the truth, don’t you? You don’t want your wife to die in vain, do you? Then sign. The sooner the autopsy, the closer we get to the truth.”

Time erased crucial signs on a corpse—that’s why she was so eager.

The man’s child had cried nonstop, so he had brought her to the station too. Song Yuhang had just coaxed her to sleep in the next room and returned in time to hear Lin Yan’s blunt words. She shot her a disapproving look.

Lin Yan mouthed silently: What? Am I wrong?

Song Yuhang: You could be more tactful.

Duan Cheng nudged Zheng Chengrui: “Hey, what are they saying?”

The IT guy looked up from his computer: “Who? Nobody said anything.”

Duan Cheng: “…”

Right, nobody spoke—just eye language.

Song Yuhang cleared her throat. “Here’s the situation: the entire autopsy will be recorded. By regulation, you may attend if you wish…”

What?

Lin Yan shot her a daggered look. She never allowed unrelated people to watch her autopsies.

The man rasped hoarsely, face full of despair:
“No… no need…”

Then his eyes reddened again. “Officers, I’m entrusting her to you.”

He pulled the paper closer, opened his pen, and wrote his name stroke by stroke while wiping his tears.

Lin Yan stretched lazily, took the paper, and went to change into autopsy gear.

The forensic autopsy room was brightly lit, ventilation humming.

Dressed head to toe in white protective gear, Lin Yan’s expression was unreadable as she picked up a scalpel from the tray.

Duan Cheng, rarely allowed near the table, was itching to try. He grabbed a scalpel: “I’ll help you, Dr. Lin. Skin cutting, bone cutting, leave the small stuff to me.”

“What are you doing?” Just as he was about to cut, Lin Yan seized his hand, voice cold.

“Nobody touches my table. Go handle the camera.”

“…Oh.” Duan Cheng reluctantly put the scalpel down and took the video recorder.

“Lin—” he started, but stopped when he saw her lower her head slightly, scalpel upright before her chest. A brief moment of silence, like a prayer.

“Deceased: Ding Xue. First autopsy, May 17, 2008, 00:45 hours. Begin.”

It was the first time anyone saw something close to reverence on her face.

Unlike surgery, autopsies were bloody and direct.

From throat to abdomen, she drew one clean line. Her hand was steady. She dabbed bl00d away with gauze, then, without looking, picked up curved scissors, separating muscle along the ribs, swift and precise.

The assisting forensic doctors looked at her with newfound respect.

“Bone shears.”

Someone rushed to hand it over.

Snapping through the ribs took force. Lin Yan rose slightly on tiptoe. Crack-crack-crack—the sound was sharp.

She set the bloodied tool aside on sterile cloth.

“Help me. Remove the bones.”

One by one, ribs were taken out and weighed.

Flash after flash from the camera, data recorded on the whiteboard.

The opened chest cavity revealed swollen lungs. Lin Yan pressed lightly—indentation remained. She carefully separated them with scissors.

The bloated lungs, nearly twice normal weight, were removed.

Even with AC blasting, sweat poured inside the heavy protective suit. The stench intensified as the organs came out—a nauseating blend of rotten eggs, spoiled tofu, and latrine stench.

It wasn’t just nauseating—it burned the eyes.

When the fumes stung his eyes, Duan Cheng rubbed them red with his sleeve. Combined with being so close for photos, the sight and smell overwhelmed him. He retched.

Without looking up, Lin Yan said flatly:
“Go vomit outside. Don’t contaminate the room.”

She cut into the lung tissue. Bloody, foamy fluid poured out.

Duan Cheng bolted, gagging.

Expression steady, Lin Yan stated:
“Pulmonary edema.”

The recorder wrote it on the board.

That meant drowning while alive, not postmortem disposal.

So the theory of her suffocating herself with a plastic bag? Lin Yan shook her head. Impossible.

Meanwhile, Song Yuhang was halfway through the husband’s statement.

His name: Sun Xiangming, 32, bank clerk. Married to Ding Xue for 7 years, one daughter.

The deceased, Ding Xue, 30, high school teacher. Sun showed a photo of her in a plain checkered sweater, mild and intellectual in demeanor.

“Nearly ten years married, we rarely argued. She never raised her voice to anyone. No grudges. I just don’t understand… who would hurt her…”

Song Yuhang steered away. “Tell me about the day she went missing.”

He recalled: “Nothing unusual. Morning, she made breakfast. I took Yaya to kindergarten, she went to work.”

“Who usually takes the child?”

“Me. Always me. She teaches graduating seniors—busy schedule.”

She signaled the officer to note that.

“What was breakfast?”

He frowned, thinking. “Millet porridge… steamed buns… something like that.”

“When did you realize she was missing?”

“Evening. After dinner…” His voice shook.

“Be specific.”

“After dinner, I washed the dishes. She said she had to go out.”

“Time?”

“Don’t remember. Eight or nine, maybe.”

“So late? For what?”

“She said some students fought at school, she had to deal with it.”

“And never came back?”

“Yes.” He choked, lowering his head.

“I waited till after ten. She hadn’t returned. I called her.”

“Did she pick up?”

“No.”

Her brows lifted.

“But after, she sent me a text—told me not to worry, to sleep with Yaya first.”

“Show us.”

He handed over the phone.

Xiangming, I might be late. Don’t wait, sleep first.

So ordinary. Maybe her last words.

“Sorry. We need to confiscate your phone for examination.”

He gave a bitter smile, worn down by blow after blow. “I know. I’m a suspect too, right?”

Song Yuhang didn’t answer, but yes—relatives were prime suspects.

“You didn’t call again?”

His face twisted with guilt. “No… it’s my fault. If I’d called again, gone looking… maybe she’d still…”

“What were you doing then?”

“I… I worked all day… had to take care of Yaya… then the boss gave me urgent work. I was at home working overtime…”

The officer calmed him: “It’s done. Please accept it—we’ll catch the killer.”

Sun steadied himself. “Next morning, the school called—she hadn’t shown up. That’s when I panicked and reported her missing…”

DNA was collected. Three days later, her body surfaced in Lianchi Park.

“She’s gone. How am I supposed to live with my child…” He covered his face, holding back sobs.

Song Yuhang handed him tissues. “My condolences.”

“Thank you. Please… catch the murderer. Get justice for my wife.”

She nodded, produced an evidence bag. “Do you recognize this?”

The mud-caked ring she’d found.

His eyes lit up instantly. “Yes… that’s hers… our wedding ring… she never took it off…”

He reached, but Song withdrew it. “Sorry. It’s still evidence. When the case closes, her belongings will be returned.”

She emphasized belongings. He only nodded numbly.

She had seen many people lose loved ones overnight. His reaction was normal—for now.

Dawn approached. Officers who’d pulled all-night surveillance nodded off, snoring at desks.

Song Yuhang opened instant noodles, facing the whiteboard covered in her scribbles:

At the center—Ding Xue. Arrows branching outward:

• Crime of passion – Husband normal so far, but still suspect. Needs more investigation.
• Crime for profit – Strongest lead. Stolen goods likely sold in secondhand markets. Requires follow-up.
• Revenge killing – Usually brutal. Ding Xue’s case had none of that—no assault, no signs of violence. Doubtful, but her social relations must be checked.

And the autopsy—Lin Yan might have more clues.

She slurped her noodles quickly and headed for the tech team.