In the Garrison Office courtyard, inside the morgue.
Feng Mengsong's body lay flat on a long table. His clothes had been stripped away, and the blood had been cleaned from his face.
His face was thin, his cheeks slightly sunken.
He looked as though he were merely asleep.
Li Muyuan and Li Zhiyuan could not help sighing at the sight.
Both had known Feng Mengsong fairly well.
Yet no one had imagined that a great scholar of Hanzhong, a master nearing the peak of the Xiantian realm, would meet such a bleak end.
It was enough to make anyone lament.
Chen Jing had no such thoughts.
Standing closer, he watched intently as an elderly coroner with graying hair examined Feng Mengsong's body inch by inch.
The coroner first checked the seven orifices for anything unusual, then felt over the internal organs.
Finally, he took out a cloth pouch and unfolded it. Inside were knives and scoops of every size and shape.
The old coroner drew a small knife.
After sterilizing it over a flame, he gently felt for the right spot on the abdomen, preparing to cut it open.
Just then, Zhao You's voice rang out.
"Lord Li!"
"Lord Fang, Lord Zhou, and the prefect are at the gate with more than a hundred constables, yamen runners, and city-defense soldiers!"
"We... we really can't hold them back!"
Zhao You had barely finished speaking.
Fang Yuanyi's furious roar was already rolling toward them. "Li Muyuan! Hand over Chen Jing and Mr. Guanshan's body!"
True qi carried his voice, making the candle flames leap violently.
The old coroner narrowed his eyes. Even the table bearing the body trembled faintly.
He rested one hand lightly on Feng Mengsong's abdomen.
"If I make the cut, no one can disturb me."
A figure slammed heavily