There was a heavy rain, and the bluestone road where the fallen maples gathered had been washed into an inky black by the rain.
The wind blew the raindrops and slapped against the mottled door panel of the dilapidated medical center, making a dull sound, like the sigh of the deceased.
The candlelight flickered in the hall, and a corpse was laid out on the wooden table. The swollen and purple face was facing the sky, and black blood was congealed at the corner of the mouth.
The son of a wealthy businessman who died suddenly three days ago now exudes a faint rancid odor.
The onlookers held their breath and shrank their necks, no one dared to take a step closer.
The government offered a reward of a hundred taels of silver for an autopsy, but no doctor dared to operate—until the figure wearing a black cloak and veil covering his face stepped onto the threshold.
The "jade-faced ghost doctor" is here.
The crowd automatically separated into a lane.
Ling Shuang walked in slowly, the soles of her boots stepping on the puddles without making a splash.
She took off her hood, revealing a face that was handsome and almost cold in men's clothing. Her features were picturesque, but her eyes were as cold as ice.
