Three o'clock in the morning.
The lights in the forensic autopsy center were pale, like a layer of frost that would never melt away.
The air smelled of formalin. Mixed with the smell of blood. Pungent.
Su Xingci was wearing a tight white coat, latex gloves and a mask, leaving only a pair of quiet eyes exposed. Her eyes focused on the male corpse on the stainless steel autopsy table.
The chest and abdomen of the deceased had been cut open with precision by her scalpel, and the edges of the wound were as neat as a work of art. The scalpel in her hand was sharp and shiny, and every stroke carried a peculiar rhythm without any unnecessary trembling.
The metal handle of the knife pressed against her glove, sending a chill through her.
This is her battlefield. After five years, she has long been accustomed to the silence that accompanies death. Here, she is the goddess in charge of the truth, nicknamed "Goddess Su". Calm, professional, and sharp-tongued. He is an existence that is respected and feared by his peers.
"Su... Sister Su."
A young voice sounded at the door, cautiously tentative.
Su Xingci did not raise her head, all her mind was immersed in the internal organs of the corpse. The smell of the deceased's stomach contents, the touch of decaying tissue, every piece of data was rapidly building a model of the time of death in her mind.
