He had inspected the corpse earlier. Thankfully, no parts were missing, which meant he could skip the step of pinching the flesh while sewing it up and save a good deal of time.
But just as Chen Hao picked up the corpse's hand and had sewn two stitches, a strange sensation suddenly caught his attention.
He pinched it twice, and his expression shifted. The hand was delicate, with small joints, yet the corpse lying before him was a burly, powerful man.
A sinking feeling gripped Chen Hao as he sensed something was wrong. He immediately put down the needle and thread, grabbed a candle to get a closer look, and examined the corpse's other hand.
The next moment, his heart sank. The other hand was covered in calluses, clearly belonging to someone who had labored for years. But the one he had just sewn on... belonged to someone who had lived in comfort.
This severed left hand did not belong to the corpse in front of him at all!
Damn it...
Cold sweat trickled down Chen Hao's forehead. Despite all his calculations, Yu Chengmu had still managed to trick him. The old bastard had somehow gotten hold of a severed hand and attached it to his corpse.
But he had already sewn a few stitches. If he removed them now and took the hand off, he would violate the taboo against unsewing after stitching. But if he just gritted his teeth and carried on, nothing might happen for now, yet once the incense burned out, the corpse would realize the severed hand wasn't its own—and probably wouldn't let him off.
It was called Soul-Soothing Incense. How could a corpse that needed Soul-Soothing Incense possibly be harmless?
One meant immediate danger; the other was no different from a slow suicide.
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