From a professional perspective, Shi Yingjie’s death could be categorized as a semi-enclosed locked-room murder. It is termed semi-enclosed because the killer could walk brazenly through the dormitory door to enter, but once inside, they were in a completely sealed environment.

Xiao Xuan and I were downstairs on the third floor when we heard the noise and immediately ascended to the fourth. In the mere two or three seconds that elapsed, the killer could not have escaped past us. The only exit available to him was the window of the dormitory room. To step out of a fourth-floor window is tantamount to slicing one's own throat with a knife; thus, the killer vanished before our eyes while remaining in a sealed state.

Unless he truly escaped through that fourth-floor window, in which case what I saw was not an illusion, but I no longer trusted my own eyes.

What was bizarre about this locked-room case was that another person remained in the room. The killer murdered the other person while this roommate was deeply asleep. The most unsettling detail is that the murderer could calmly dismember the victim into pieces without waking the person in the top bunk.

To my knowledge, the fastest knife-wielder in the world, and the most skilled at corpse dissection, was a man named Pao Ding, whose blade could effortlessly navigate between tendon, bone, and flesh, all without a sound. The killer I am now facing is undoubtedly superior to Pao Ding’s swordsmanship.

Firstly, he was able to induce a silent death with a single stroke. Perhaps Shi Yingjie was dreaming, but we know that when a person suffers a fatal attack, the intense pain and fear of death unleash enormous strength, causing them to awaken instantly even in sleep and react with the most violent reflex defense. In such a scenario, Shi Yingjie’s final struggle should have startled Wang Jie, her bunkmate.

But that was not the case. The killer afforded the victim no time to resist; in other words, he killed the victim in her sleep, without making a single sound.

Was this a form of mercy toward the deceased, or a fear of disturbing the other sleeping girl?

I entertained this thought because such a vicious fiend could have easily delivered another swift cut, severing the throat of the girl in the top bunk. I believe, given his skill, achieving this would have been simple for him. He chose not to, instead opting to kill the girl in the lower bunk quietly without waking the other.

Why would he do that? I truly couldn't fathom a reason. Was it genuine mercy, or merely supreme confidence in his own skill?

The moment I imagined the cold blade slicing through the girl’s flesh, goosebumps erupted all over my body. I absently picked up a ballpoint pen from the desk and began to twirl it, allowing the repetitive motion to scatter my focus. Yet, the inertia of my thoughts dragged me irresistibly deeper into the vortex:

The killer murdered Shi Yingjie in her sleep, without a sound, and the girl in the top bunk remained asleep. Thus, the killer boldly stripped the victim’s clothing and began the dissection.

Right, there was no significant amount of blood found at the scene. This meant the dissection was not performed in situ. He must have carried Shi Yingjie to the bathroom first, then meticulously cut her apart piece by piece, afterward flushing the bloodstains from the floor.

At this point, my interest in the killer’s knife skills was piqued once more. Based on these three dismemberment cases, I deduced that the killer possessed an intimate familiarity with the human body, much like Pao Ding with an ox. He must have slid the blade inside her clothing—which wasn't completely removed—and used his practiced technique to quickly reduce the girl’s body to pieces. Crucially, during this process, he kept the fragments from shifting their original location. Once everything was finished, he closed and buttoned her clothing back up, resulting in the peculiar sight we later observed: fragments wrapped within the victim's clothes.

I closed my eyes and carefully visualized the cutting process: the ice-cold tip of the blade gliding between flesh and blood, producing no sound whatsoever.

Perhaps the killer’s profession is that of a human anatomist!

The thought jolted me. An anatomist—that profession certainly exists. But in this world, the person who dissects the most human bodies is the forensic examiner. The killer may have held a related job, or if not a medical examiner, he certainly dealt with corpses frequently. Such proficiency in blade work could not be achieved without practicing on hundreds of bodies.

It seems I need to discuss this thoroughly with You Qiaolin; perhaps he can offer a better direction. With that thought, I stood up, left the office, and headed toward the Forensics Department.

When I reached You Qiaolin, he was bent over Shi Yingjie’s body—or rather, the body parts—in the autopsy room. He wore a white mask and a yellow plastic hood, with only his wire-rimmed glasses visible; this was my primary confirmation of his identity.

Stepping through the thick stench of blood, I approached the man behind the “wire-rimmed glasses.” His hands were constantly turning over the pieces of flesh, as if searching for something.

Shi Yingjie was no longer the beautiful, lovely female student; she was merely a pile of shattered fragments. The only complete part was the head, but the face was unrecognizable.

I sighed, turned away, unable to look any longer, and slowly walked out of the morgue.

It was more than ten minutes before You Qiaolin emerged. I hurried forward and asked, “Did you find anything?”

You Qiaolin removed his mask as he replied, “It's the same as the previous two dismemberment cases. It must be the work of the same killer.”

I looked at him and suddenly blurted out, “Can you dismember a body like that?”

You Qiaolin paused, then asked back, “What did you say?”

Only then did I realize my slip of the tongue. I chuckled, “A misunderstanding, a misunderstanding. I meant to ask, if one wanted to dismember a body to that extent, what level of knife skill would be required? You are the expert in this field, perhaps you could enlighten me?”

You Qiaolin habitually pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up, bringing the focal point into sharper relief. He glanced at me before speaking slowly, “Judging solely by the technique of the dissection, the killer could indeed be called a master. Even I am far behind. I examined the cross-sections of the fragments closely—they are very flat and clean, without any ragged edges. Especially where the muscle meets the bone, the dissection technique is incredibly practiced; there are almost no knife marks on the bone itself. In other words, the killer's familiarity with the human body is astonishingly deep. His blade never touched bone, yet it perfectly separated all the muscle. I can say without exaggeration that this person could clearly dissect the flesh and bone even in complete darkness.”

You Qiaolin’s words confirmed my earlier hypothesis: the killer was an anatomy master, a modern-day Pao Ding, except Pao Ding carved oxen, and this man carved people.

“In your opinion, how many bodies must one dissect to achieve this level of surgical precision?” I pressed the question deeper, bit by bit.

Hearing my question, You Qiaolin seemed surprised; perhaps he had never considered such a thing. Although his work involved corpses, from the perspective of a normal man and a conscientious police officer, he surely preferred the number to be as low as possible.

He pushed his glasses up again but offered no immediate answer. Perhaps the question was unanswerable—who would be bored enough to dissect corpses for practice and then estimate the number based on the quality of their blade work? At least You Qiaolin had never done so.

After thinking for a while, You Qiaolin shook his head. “That… I truly don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.”

“Just give me a rough estimate,” I insisted, still wanting an answer, knowing it might be inaccurate but better than nothing.

“How can you be casual about that? You can’t be casual; medical matters are not to be taken lightly,” You Qiaolin’s professional loyalty made his tone slightly agitated.

Faced with such an impassioned forensic examiner, I smiled helplessly. “Then, please, use your professional eye to scientifically assess this murderer based on his knife skills. How many dissection practices would it take for him to reach the level displayed on the victim at the crime scene?”

Finally, I managed to stretch one simple sentence into a lengthy passage of rambling words. While the central meaning remained unchanged, the effect was significantly altered, especially when applied to an ardent forensic examiner like You Qiaolin. His expression immediately grew solemn. He adjusted his glasses, thought seriously for a moment, then shook his head and replied, “I don’t know.”

At that moment, I wanted to smash my head against a wall—why did I encounter such a meticulous man? Was it so hard to be vague?

However, I recalled that You Qiaolin was indeed not a casual man. Whenever and wherever I saw him, he was always impeccably neat: his hair combed flawlessly, his beard shaved so clean one would doubt he had ever grown one, not even a visible follicle remained. And those wire-rimmed glasses were so bright they could be used as a mirror.

Yet, such a person, who embodied ultimate cleanliness, dealt daily with the filthiest and bloodiest of corpses. From this, I drew a peculiar inference: a person's outward appearance is inversely proportional to their work. A person engaged in the cleanest profession must have a very slovenly appearance. Take Einstein, for example; he did nothing but think with his brain—arguably the cleanest and purest profession—yet his appearance is known to billions of people worldwide, with a beard so ample that seven or eight small birds could nest in it.

You Qiaolin and Einstein were diametrically opposed extremes. Although You Qiaolin’s work didn't amount to even one-thousandth of Einstein’s, in terms of the inverse relationship between appearance and profession, he could certainly compete with Einstein.

Helpless against such a man, I resorted to the most direct approach: “How many bodies have you dissected so far?”

I thought this question should have a definite answer, and You Qiaolin did not disappoint me. He supported his glasses with his hand, pondered for a moment, and then slowly said, “Around forty or fifty, perhaps.”

Tch. The man used the word “perhaps.” This was hardly a rigorous attitude. To slightly retaliate for the previous exchange and play a small joke on this stern forensic examiner, I adopted a grim expression and said, “‘Perhaps’ won’t do. Criminal investigation requires absolute rigor. Give me a precise number.”

You Qiaolin actually didn't realize I was joking. He began counting on his fingers one by one, muttering related words under his breath. Seeing his demeanor, I had no choice but to count along with him. Finally, he finished counting: forty-seven in total.

You Qiaolin had been a forensic examiner for about four years, meaning he dissected roughly twelve bodies annually, about one per month. This implied a homicide occurred every single month. I couldn't imagine how one’s mindset would transform after watching mutilated corpses year after year, month after month. Perhaps his current pristine appearance was a psychological manifestation: feeling that the outside world was too dirty, he had to remain spotless as a sign of respect for the dead.

You Qiaolin, having dissected forty-seven bodies, was still far inferior to the killer in skill. So, how many bodies had the killer dissected?

I guessed at least over two hundred. You Qiaolin shook his head. “I don’t think so. Maybe more.”

If that was the case, the next problem arose—the source of the bodies. A few hundred corpses is not a small number. Where did the killer acquire these bodies?

New lives are born into this world every day, and simultaneously, lives depart.

According to incomplete statistics, approximately 4.3 people are born globally every second, amounting to 259 births per minute, 15,540 per hour, totaling around 370,000 new lives entering the world each day. All these new lives bring hope, waving their tiny fists and loudly announcing their arrival.

At the same time, death arrives on schedule. Death sweeps across the entire world silently, starting precisely at midnight, and by the end of the day, it collects the lives of about 160,000 people, returning to hell full-handed. This cycle repeats, day after day.

The daily death toll of 160,000 people is staggering, meaning the reserve of potential corpses is quite rich. However, extracting even a tiny fraction of this massive corpse pool for blade practice is no easy feat. The Earth is vast, and what seems like a huge number, once dispersed across different countries, regions, cities, counties, and villages, becomes pitifully small. Sometimes a village goes years without a death. Furthermore, Chinese tradition holds the deceased in high regard, and most bodies receive proper burial or cremation. Therefore, collecting several hundred corpses truly seems like an impossible task.

But the killer’s skill proves otherwise; he must have dissected hundreds, perhaps more. So, where was his source material?

Although this question doesn't directly relate to solving the case, a breakthrough here could have unpredictable, perhaps even direct, results in finding the real murderer. Collecting several hundred bodies is exceedingly difficult; anyone who accomplishes it must be rare, thereby narrowing the search range. If there were only one such person in Anyang City, I could immediately detain that person as a murder suspect.

After conversing with You Qiaolin for a while, I had to admit that discussing corpses with a forensic examiner is quite an interesting experience. Because they perform work that others cannot comprehend and often fear, they tend to be quiet individuals whose only companions are the bloody, mangled bodies swirling in their minds. If you show interest in talking about corpses, they will treat you as the best friend of their life, pouring out everything in their brains, causing you to spend sleepless nights in terror and dread, while they watch you with the same calm detachment as if you were a new piece of prey.

I could no longer bear the way You Qiaolin looked at me. I poured myself a cup of hot water, took a few sips, and felt the warmth return to my body, slowly dissipating the corpse-like sensation.

You Qiaolin sat very straight at his desk; I suspected the backrest had never been used. With his back ramrod straight, he looked at me through his mirror-bright glasses and stated, “Bodies are cremated now, so there are absolutely no physical corpses in Anyang City. Your idea is outlandish.”

He pronounced the word ‘corpse’ in a particularly strange way, making it sound less like two characters and more like a tangible object. I quickly took a few more gulps of hot water and avoided his gaze. “But people don’t instantly combust into ash the moment they die; otherwise, we wouldn't need crematoriums. There is a period between death and reaching the crematorium, and the killer likely obtained the bodies during that window.”

You Qiaolin adjusted his glasses, thought for a moment, and nodded seriously. “Well, what you say has merit. But how would the victim’s family allow him to succeed? To my knowledge, there haven't been any reported cases of grave robbing in Anyang City in recent years.”

Alas, a forensic examiner is just that—he fails to grasp that the outside world is far more complex than a pile of corpses. So, I explained further, “Besides those with families, there are unclaimed bodies, and I hear that some hospitals also hold large quantities of bodies—these are purchased for medical dissection experiments.”

Upon hearing this, You Qiaolin nodded. “That situation does exist. Most larger hospitals, especially medical schools, must purchase a certain number of bodies annually, but it never exceeds ten. It’s nowhere near the standard of several hundred.”

I trusted his authority in this area and didn't dispute his statement. So, where did the killer get the bodies? I pondered for a moment, then suggested, “Since medical schools can acquire bodies, the killer could also purchase them from the corpse collectors. As long as he has sufficient financial backing, couldn't he acquire as many as he wanted?”

You Qiaolin fell silent, pondering my suggestion, and then said, “That seems to be the only way.”

“Do you know how many corpse collectors there are in Anyang City?”