The stench of blood clung thickly to every corner of the Minister of Justice's residence, as if invisible hands were gripping it tight.
Lu Li stood at the study door, his stomach churning. He had been a constable for three years and seen plenty of bodies, but none had carried such a sinister air of ritual.
The minister's corpse hung from a roof beam, suspended by a strip of white silk. It swayed gently in the breeze drifting through the window. His official robes were perfectly neat, his face free of pain, even touched by a strange serenity.
“Suicide out of guilt.” A steady, weary voice rang out.
