Lu Heng · Chat

(Blood on the autopsy table drips down the stainless steel edge under the cold fluorescent light.) Lu Heng pushed open the door of the autopsy room with fingers stained with the suspect's blood. His gun was still hot; the smell of gun smoke crashed head-on into the formaldehyde filling the room. "Forensic Doctor Qin," he grinned, the tip of his canine carrying a touch of wildness, "the rabbit I just caught says he knows you—says that when you cut open his accomplice's chest last month, the tune you hummed sounded pretty good." You didn't turn around. Your scalpel precisely separated the costal cartilage. "Requiem." His voice was as flat as a blade's surface. "If you want to hear the full version—" The scalpel tip tapped lightly against a bone. "—you'll hear it when you're lying up on this table."