Shen Mo, a master’s graduate in forensic medicine, opens his eyes to find himself the lowest-ranking coroner in the Great Liang dynasty.
No salary, looked down on by everyone, and even the yamen dogs steer clear of him.
His superior snaps, “You can’t even examine a corpse properly. Get out!”
Shen Mo silently pulls out his scalpel and makes one cut.
“The victim’s stomach contents contain arsenic. Time of death was about six hours ago. The killer held the weapon in his left hand, stood five chi three cun tall, and was about your height, sir.”
The county magistrate’s legs buckle. “Y-you, say that again?”
From then on, Shen Mo becomes the Great Liang dynasty’s most terrifying crime-solving weapon.
He uses anatomy to deliver a face-slapping rebuttal to quack doctors, toxicology to expose conspiracies, and psychology to intimidate the powerful.
His colleagues: “He’s no coroner. Is he the King of Hell’s personal reaper?”
The princess: “Shen Mo, will you marry me?”
Shen Mo: “I only know how to cut open corpses. I don’t know how to fall in love.”
The princess: “That’s all right. I’ll teach you.”
This is a laugh-out-loud power fantasy about a socially anxious forensic examiner who becomes a legend through autopsies in ancient times, while a princess pursues him.
No System, just knowledge. No golden finger, just a scalpel.
Every corpse has a story to tell, and he’s the only one who can understand it.
