CORPSE WHISPERER

The words hung in the frigid air. For ten seconds, I was paralyzed. The shadow's distorted voice dripped with mockery. "What? Don't want me to see what your grandfather taught you?"

"He taught me nothing!" I insisted, the lie brittle.

"Then how," the voice sliced through my denial, unnervingly calm, "did you find this place?"

Sweat erupted across my skin, icy and profuse. Too clever. My deception was transparent.

"Hmph. Impressive skills for one so young." The cold edge of the blade traced a slow, menacing path across my lower back.

Grandfather's enemy? Why test me? Will he truly let me go if I pass?

My thoughts were a tangled skein of fear and confusion. Seventeen years offered no preparation for this. My mind felt shredded, my clothes plastered to my skin with cold sweat.

"Hurry. Patience wears thin," the shadow commanded.

I forced myself to move. Kneeling beside Grandfather's body, I pushed down the rising tide of grief. Examine. Discern. I placed a finger on his skin. Body temperature: approximately 10°C. I checked his knuckles: no defensive wounds, nails intact. Gently, I lifted an eyelid: no corneal clouding...

...

...

As the familiar rituals of examination took over, a strange calm settled upon me.

No visible wounds marred his skin. No signs of poisoning – his cheeks even held a faint, deceptive rosy tint. Were it not for the absolute absence of life signs, he might have been asleep.

Could the wound be hidden?

Forgive me, Grandfather. The thought was a silent prayer as I began to undress him, unbuttoning the tang suit, removing the layers. Emotion warred with clinical detachment. My fingers moved methodically, probing skin, pressing along bones.

No lacerations. No fractures. Nothing.

I pressed my ear to his chest, tapping the diaphragm area. No internal bleeding.

No petechiae. No ligature marks. No pathological indicators.

Impossible. How? A wave of crushing doubt washed over me. Had I learned nothing? Was I worthless?

Time crawled. The warehouse chill seeped into my bones, only to be replaced by fresh sweat.

I wiped my brow. The shadow chuckled behind me, the sound like dry bones scraping. "What's this? Song Zhaolin's grandson... baffled by a simple cause of death?"

"..."

"Speak. Name the cause. Or shall I demonstrate it on you?" The threat hung, sharp as the blade at my back.

My fists clenched. Trapped, cornered, a desperate courage flared. "I DON'T KNOW!" I shouted.

"That is your answer?" the shadow rasped.

I exploded upwards. If death is certain, fight! Maybe a chance to escape. Maybe just to see the face of the monster who killed him. To become a vengeful ghost with a target.

He stood barely half a meter away. I whirled, lashing out with a wild punch. My fist was caught instantly, engulfed by a leather-gloved hand.

I saw him clearly now. Tall, nearly 1.8 meters. Clad head-to-toe in a black trench coat, not an inch of skin exposed. His face was hidden behind a grotesque demon mask, its mouth leering open, revealing twin jade-green fangs.

Within the mask's eye sockets lay only void. No reflection. No human gleam. A chilling thought froze me: Was this even human?

The gloved hand twisted my wrist. Crack. White-hot pain shot up my arm. Tears sprang to my eyes.

"Courageous!" The shadow conceded, his tone almost approving. "But foolish. Killing you would dirty my blade. Live, little Song. Live until the day you can discern my methods. Then... I will return for your life. Remember: I am the eternal nightmare of the Song."

He made a swift, intricate gesture. A fingertip, impossibly cold, touched my forehead. Vertigo slammed into me. The world dissolved into darkness. I crumpled to the cold concrete.

The scream of sirens tore me from oblivion. A large hand slapped my cheek repeatedly. I blinked, groggy. Faces swam into view. Detective Sun crouched before me, his expression grim. Memory crashed back.

"Grandfather?" I croaked.

Sun Tihu sighed, the sound heavy with sorrow. "Song Yang... your grandfather, he..."

The confirmation struck like a physical blow. The horror wasn't a dream. My heart plummeted. Anger, shame, helpless rage – a poisonous cocktail churned inside me. I bit my lip hard, tasting copper blood.

Sun draped a heavy coat over my shoulders. Only then did I realize I'd lain on the warehouse floor all night. A chill had settled deep in my bones.

The bodies were gone. Sun said Aunt had searched frantically all night; knowing I was safe brought her some relief.

He took me to the city precinct. In the stark interview room, I recounted everything. Then, my voice raw, I demanded answers: "Who is The Phantom Blade of Jiangbei? How did Grandfather die? Who was the other man?"

Sun Tihu frowned, lighting a cigarette. "I know you want answers. But your grandfather warned you to stay away. Perhaps you should listen."

"How can I not care?" I slammed my fist on the table, my voice cracking. "He killed my grandfather! I will avenge him!"

Sun exhaled a plume of smoke, studying me. "Alright. I'll tell you what I know. But these words die here. Never repeat them." He took a deep drag.

Just then, an officer entered, holding a file. He hesitated, seeing me. "It's fine," Sun said curtly. "Report."

The officer glanced at me nervously. "Captain Sun... the autopsy report on Elder Song is ready."

Sun took the file. His eyes scanned the first page. His face hardened. "As expected. Him." He handed the report to me.

Though I'd never seen a modern autopsy report, the language shared roots with the coroner's art. I deciphered it quickly.

Victim 1 (Middle-aged male):

No external trauma. No toxins.

Eyes removed ante-mortem, causing optic nerve/muscle tears.

Heart absent from thoracic cavity. Suspected sharp instrument incision. Skin and ribs intact.

Heart found in plastic bag clutched in hand. DNA confirmed as victim's own.

A cold dread seized me. Removing a heart without breaching the chest? How?

Victim 2 (Song Zhaolin):

Cause of Death: Massive perforation of the heart valve. Suspected sharp instrument puncture. Direct cause: Cardiac arrest.

No external wounds. No signs of restraint or struggle. No toxins detected.

I stared, speechless. Shock rooted me to the spot. Sun retrieved the report. "Only one entity could do this. The Phantom Blade of Jiangbei. He vanished ten years ago. Now... he's returned for the Song family."

Sun Tihu stubbed out his cigarette. His eyes held the weight of a decade. "Let me tell you," he began, his voice low and haunted, "about the unsolved horror from ten years ago..."