CORPSE WHISPERER

The words barely left my lips before strong hands clamped onto my shoulders. The policewoman's voice cut through the murmuring crowd, cold as steel. "Who authorized your entry?"

"No one," I replied, meeting her sharp gaze. "I saw a mistake. I had to speak."

"A mistake?" The old forensic examiner, Qin, barked a harsh laugh. "I'm the senior forensic examiner for the Criminal Investigation Division! Kid, I've seen your type before—read a few Sherlock Holmes stories and think you're a genius. Fine, Xiao Tao, let him talk. Let's hear what pearls of wisdom drop from this pup's mouth."

"Doctor Qin, we have procedures," the policewoman, evidently Xiao Tao, interjected, her brow furrowed. "We don't have time for games."

"It's no trouble," Qin waved dismissively, his eyes fixed venomously on me. "Alright, boy. Enlighten us. How was this man murdered? Think carefully. Obstructing justice carries penalties. Apologize now for your insolence, and I might let it slide!"

My insolence? I almost laughed. The apology would be his. "And if I'm right?" I challenged.

"Impossible!" Qin scoffed, his confidence absolute.

"Humour me. What if, by some cosmic fluke, I am right?" I pressed, taking a half-step back.

...

...

"Then," Qin declared, puffing out his chest, "I'll hand the case over to you! Sound good?" Snickers rippled through the surrounding officers. They were settling in for a show – my humiliation.

"Doctor Qin!" Xiao Tao hissed, her voice low with warning.

He silenced her with a curt gesture. His seniority clearly outweighed her authority. "Well, boy? Impress us."

"Gladly." I walked to the old locust tree. Stones were stacked beneath the branch where the belt had hung – a makeshift platform for the noose. But my gaze locked onto a subtle depression in the grass beside them. "See this pressure trace? Someone stood here, stacking stones, likely steadying the victim as he was lifted up. Since when does suicide require an assistant? That makes it murder."

Qin burst into laughter. "That's your grand revelation? Kid, you've fallen flat on your face! The campus cleaner found him this morning. She cut him down. That mark? Her footprint. Game over."

I shook my head. "It's not a footprint."

Qin's laughter died abruptly. Xiao Tao shot him a questioning glance. "Ah," he blustered, snapping his fingers. "My toolbox! I set it down there while moving the body. Meaningless! You're clutching at straws."

Xiao Tao's brief flicker of doubt vanished. The Senior Examiner's word was gospel. To them, the grass trace was trivial.

But to my eyes, trained by Grandfather, it screamed volumes. He'd subjected me to a brutal regimen: forty-nine bitter days drinking a concoction called 'Bright Pupil Powder'. Then, sudden blindness. "Fear not," Grandfather had said, "Your eyes are being remade."

Three days later, sight returned – transformed. A sesame seed loomed large as a millstone. I traced blood flow beneath skin by minute shifts. A bee's wing became a slow-motion blur. Light was agony; I lived in shadows, needles stabbing my eyes at the strike of a match.

Only later did I understand: Grandfather had forged my vision. It took immense discipline to master this terrifying acuity – to see the unseen, then choose to look away. He called it the 'Vision of the Unseen', the Song lineage's gift, a key to unlocking death's secrets.

To these eyes, the grass told a story. The pattern of crushed blades, the precise angle of breakage, the subtle withering already setting in… This pressure trace was 8 to 10 hours old. And judging by the lividity, rigor mortis, and pupil dilation Qin himself had noted (though he'd fudged the time of death by hours – a detail I'd let slide), the victim died exactly then.

But explaining how I saw it? Impossible. Xiao Tao sighed, exasperated. "Enough. This is a waste of time. Remove him."

"Wait!" I countered, my voice sharp. "There's more. The killer left handprints on the body. You missed those too."

Xiao Tao paused, a flicker of surprise returning. She gestured for the officers to hold back. Qin sneered. "Handprints? Nonsense! I scanned the body with a UV light. No fingerprints!"

"Not fingerprints," I clarified, locking eyes with him. "Pressure traces. Any object, subjected to force, retains an impression. A table. A stone. A corpse. Once life ceases, circulation stops. The body… respectfully… becomes an object. Force leaves its signature."

"Are you sleepwalking? Spouting metaphysical drivel?" Qin mocked, his contempt palpable. "My thousand-dollar instruments detected nothing. Your naked eyes see pressure traces? Pure fantasy!"

"And if I make them visible?" I asked, a thread of confidence weaving through my voice.

"Impossible!" Qin spat. "Imported equipment found nothing!"

"You worship machines too much. Tools vary. Sometimes paper reveals what machines miss." I held his gaze.

Xiao Tao studied me, a spark of genuine curiosity replacing annoyance. "Kid, what's your major?"

"Irrelevant." I pointed deliberately at Qin. "I may not be a forensic examiner, but right now, I'm better than him."

The barb struck true. Qin's face flushed crimson. "Xiao Tao! Let him try!" he roared. "Let the pipsqueak perform his circus act! I've been dissecting bodies longer than he's been alive! If he pulls evidence out of thin air where I found none, I'll resign on the spot!"

"Doctor Qin, that's… extreme?" Xiao Tao protested weakly.

"Let him learn the cost of arrogance!" Qin declared, plopping down onto the grass like a petulant child. "Brandishing an axe before Lu Ban? Hah!" (Note: Lu Ban = legendary Chinese craftsman, idiom for showing off before a master)

"You'll keep your word?" I pressed.

"Absolutely!" Qin snapped. "But fail, and what then?"

"Arrest me." I shrugged.

Xiao Tao sighed, a sound of weary finality. "Listen, student. You've wasted significant police time. This isn't a game. Fail to produce evidence, and I will charge you with obstructing justice. You look like a junior or senior. An arrest record? Expulsion might be the least of your worries. Kiss any future career goodbye. Understood?"

"Perfectly." My voice was calm. This wasn't arrogance. The logic was crystalline: unless the victim levitated, hands had lifted him. Where force was applied, traces must remain. Deduction. Certainty.

Xiao Tao threw up her hands. "Fine. Do your… thing. What tools do you need?"

"None of yours." My gaze found Wang Dali, pale and wide-eyed beyond the tape. "Dali! Over here!"

He ducked under, flashing nervous smiles at the officers. "Yangzi, man, you've lost it!" he hissed, tugging my sleeve. "Seriously? Challenging the cops? And you haven't even asked the goddess her name? Or if she's single? Priorities!"

I ignored the babble. "Go to my dorm. Bottom of my wardrobe. Bring the red oiled-paper umbrella."

"The umbrella? Why?"

"Just get it. Fast. And Dali?" I fixed him with a serious look. "Don't touch anything else in that wardrobe."

"Okay, okay! Back in a flash!" He took off running.

Qin lit a cigarette, blowing smoke rings with exaggerated nonchalance. "I'll just relax then. Awaiting the grand performance!"

"Oh," I said, meeting his smirk with a level stare. "It will be a performance you won't forget."