That phrase found its mark, granting an extra update... hee hee... The white cloth was pulled back, revealing the corpse, riddled with wounds, its face contorted in a grimace.

The old man couldn't help but avert his gaze.

But the coffin boy, on the other hand, looked as if he were beholding a beloved object, a satisfied smile on his face as he extended his long fingers to stroke the body.

“Look, every inch of his skin is screaming about how much pain he endured. This blow shattered his spleen… this one made it so he couldn't breathe… this one did this to him…” As he spoke, he traced the wounds.

The old man coughed.

“It’s getting late; I need to hurry back,” he stated.

The coffin boy pouted.

“You people just don’t know quality. This is such fun; don't listen if you don't want to,” he said, straightening up and drawing the white cloth over the corpse's head. He held out a hand. “When you leave, remember to leave the money behind, so I don't have to delay the cremation; you don't want them clinging to you.”

This statement made the old man tremble. Seeing the young man grin at him, he realized he'd been toyed with and felt a flush of annoyance.

“When have I ever shortchanged you?” he said in a low voice, unfurling the cloth bundle he carried onto a small stool nearby.

If Qi Yue were present, she would surely be astonished; the bundle also contained surgical instruments. Of course, they couldn't compare to hers, but though roughly made, they were indeed implements for cutting and shearing.

The old man, with a trembling hand, took a deep breath and picked up a small knife, aiming it at the corpse and slicing down.

The coffin boy stood watching, shaking his head at this moment.

“Look at those hands shaking; if you cut in the wrong spot, the poor soul will feel it,” he remarked.

This comment caused the focused old man's hand to jerk again, and he glared at the boy with a hint of irritation.

The coffin boy smiled at him, stretched, yawned, and turned away.

“You carry on, you carry on. I’m going to catch some sleep. Remember to shut the door when you go, so stray dogs don't wander in to chew the meat,” he called out.

The old man watched him leave, feeling a slight easing of tension, but then suddenly remembered something.

“Coffin boy, has anyone else been here?” he inquired.

The coffin boy stopped, waved a hand without turning back, and replied,

“Money makes things happen. If you have the guts, you can come in.” He added, “There are quite a few doctors who study the viscera by buying bodies…”

The old man clearly knew this.

“I mean, has a woman ever been here?” he asked again.

This time, the coffin boy turned back, revealing a toothy grin.

“Oh, yes,” he confirmed.

The old man’s eyes brightened, his breathing quickening.

“Really?” he asked, raising his voice.

The coffin boy laughed and pointed toward the rows of bodies.

“Quite a few have come in lying down,” he said. “As for those who walked in standing up? Not yet.”

The old man let out a breath, no longer bothering to address him.

“Doctor Wang, why the sudden interest in women? Are you… interested in female corpses?” the coffin boy asked mockingly, his inherently chilling expression now laced with a degree of vulgarity, making him seem even more unsettling in this death-laden room.

The old man ignored the taunt.

“Someone mentioned a woman who can perform abdominal surgery to heal wounds…” he stated slowly.

The coffin boy paused for a moment, then burst into laughter.

“Before the rooster crows. Doctor Wang, hurry up with your work,” he said, not engaging with the old man’s topic, waving a hand and humming a little tune as he walked out, as if he hadn't even heard the remark.

The old man shook his head at the laughter.

“Women,” he muttered to himself. He smiled faintly. “It must have been Liu Pucheng. Afraid of being investigated for grave robbery, he latched onto someone influential, pushing the blame onto that woman. The Marquis’s young mistress… how dare he aspire that high… This young mistress is rumored to have an unknown background; perhaps she’s his… illegitimate daughter?”

A distant cockcrow broke the old man’s musings. He quickly steadied his mind and resumed his work.

The dim lamplight illuminated the busy figure, and his increasingly heavy breathing, making the night in the mortuary house even more eerily unsettling.

As dawn began to break, the coffin boy heard the sound of the door opening and closing, knowing Doctor Wang had left. He yawned and climbed off his sleeping plank.

“Time to work, time to work,” he said, reaching under the bed for a needlework frame. He flipped over a half-worn garment covering it to reveal a large bundle of thread and four or five needles of varying sizes.

In the hazy, lingering morning mist, one could see that the thread was different from common sewing thread.

The sleepily-eyed coffin boy carried the sewing frame over to the area where the bodies were kept.

The corpse on the table, still covered by the white cloth over its head, lay motionless, except that its abdomen had been opened, a chaotic mess resembling the ravages of a hungry dog.

The coffin boy hummed a little tune, set down the frame, picked up a needle, and threaded it.

“…Honestly… so clumsy… look how messy this is…” he muttered as he reached into the body's abdominal cavity, returning the scattered, unrecognizable organs one by one. “… These doctors are truly dense, lacking courage. They can’t even manage something this simple when distracted…”

Accompanying the swift movement of his needle and thread, the previously chaotic viscera gradually returned to their proper appearance. Skin was sutured layer after layer, his movements practiced, punctuated by intermittent yawns.

When the first ray of dawn illuminated the mortuary house, the coffin boy had finished his work. The blood and gore on the floor had been swept clean, and the body lying flat on the table appeared whole again, save for the line of stitches across its front.

The coffin boy somehow pulled an article of clothing from somewhere and swiftly dressed the deceased. He rolled the body into a tattered mat, carrying it like a sack of cloth over to a straw cushion nearby.

“There, rest now,” he said, clapping his hands as he looked at the corpse.

He stood up and walked out the door. Due to the unique nature of the mortuary house, sunlight seemed unable to penetrate; although the surroundings were bathed in morning light, the interior remained very dim.

The coffin boy retrieved a money pouch from beneath a stone by the door, weighed it in his hand, and smiled with satisfaction.

“Got paid. That Marquis's household is stingy; they only gave me one bag of money for silence, not even enough for one gamble. Now, after starving for days, I’m heading to Wang Po’s Tea Shop for a proper meal,” he tucked the pouch inside his robe, crossed his arms, and walked toward the city, facing the rising sun.

When the morning light streamed into the interior, Chang Yuncheng finally awoke. The instant he opened his eyes, his whole body tensed, and he shot upright, only then realizing he was still in his own room, though not on his familiar sleeping platform.

He relaxed, looking at the small chamber bathed in sunlight. On the table lay notebooks and a strange goose quill; everything was clean and neat.

Chang Yuncheng got up to dress, glanced at the adjoining bedroom, smiled faintly, and walked toward it while pulling on his clothes.

“Hey,” he called out.

No response came from the bedroom.

“Get up,” he called again.

Still no reply. Chang Yuncheng hesitated for a moment, then reached out and pushed the door open.

The bedding was piled haphazardly; the room was empty. Water sounds drifted from the washing room.

He paused for a beat, then made up his mind, reaching for the door to the washing room.

“Qi Yueliang,” he called.

As his hand touched the door, his heart hammered. He closed his eyes momentarily, but when he touched it, the door didn't open.

This woman…

Chang Yuncheng opened his eyes and shook the door forcefully.

Qi Yue’s laughter echoed from inside.

“Pervert, I’m not that foolish,” she laughed.

“Come out, I need it,” Chang Yuncheng said.

“I haven’t finished using it yet; wait a moment,” Qi Yue replied from within.

Chang Yuncheng snorted and turned back to sit down.

The sound of rushing water came from the washing room, accompanied by the woman’s soft humming.

“It sounds dreadful,” Chang Yuncheng remarked, tapping the tabletop with his hand.

Time slowly passed. At first, he could sit leisurely, but soon he grew restless.

“Hey, are you done yet?” He walked over and knocked on the door again.

“Not yet…” Qi Yue’s drawn-out tone was his reply.

“Know when to stop,” Chang Yuncheng said, banging hard on the door twice.

The sound of water inside rushed louder.

Chang Yuncheng had initially intended it as a joke, but now he truly needed relief. He tried to push the door forcefully, but the woman seemed to be bracing something against it. It wouldn't budge an inch despite the heavy impact.

Was he expected to run outside to relieve himself first thing in the morning? If this got out…

Hearing the thumping from inside, A'ru and Qiu Xiang, who had been eavesdropping outside the door, could no longer restrain themselves.

“Young Master, what are your orders?” A'ru pushed the door open and said, keeping her head bowed.

Qiu Xiang timidly followed behind A'ru, not daring to even breathe loudly.

Chang Yuncheng strode past them and headed out.

“Young Mistress?” A'ru called again.

There was the sound of a heavy object being shifted in the washing room, and then the door opened. Qi Yue emerged, her hair loosely tousled.

“Let’s prepare for the meal,” she said with a slight smile.

A’ru and Qiu Xiang quickly retreated; one went to call A’hao to prepare the Young Mistress’s hair, the other went to arrange for the food to be served.

“Sister A’ru,” Qiu Xiang said softly to A’ru after stepping out. “The Young Master and Young Mistress seem to have slept together…”

A’ru was startled. She turned back to look at the bedroom, spotting the familiar bright red brocade quilt she had prepared for the Young Mistress lying on the Young Master’s sleeping platform…

Impossible. She instinctively looked toward the other side; Qi Yue was already seated before the bronze mirror, and the bedding prepared by Ya Qing lay on the stand beside her.

“They just switched places,” she sighed in relief, yet felt a touch of disappointment, then pulled Qiu Xiang out of the room.

When Chang Yuncheng returned from the study, Qi Yue had already finished eating.

“Truly lacking in decorum,” he couldn’t help but scold.

Qi Yue was strolling under the veranda when she heard him, merely smiling.

Sitting alone in the dining hall without that annoying woman, Chang Yuncheng found his meal uninteresting. He ate a few bites and left.

The maids were tidying and sweeping the courtyard, making the place quiet yet lively.

Chang Yuncheng entered the house but could not see Qi Yue.

Qiu Xiang, accompanied by two maids, was laying out beds, folding quilts, and wiping down tables and chairs. Seeing him enter, they quickly bowed.

“Where is the Young Mistress?” Chang Yuncheng asked.

“The Young Mistress went out,” Qiu Xiang replied.

Chang Yuncheng immediately felt a suffocating wave of frustration.

This troublesome woman, what did she think this place was? Always running out, was staying in the room too difficult for her?

She went out without even telling him—what did she take him for?!

“Where did she go?” he demanded in a heavy voice. “Who allowed her to leave casually?”

Qiu Xiang flinched, trembling slightly.

“She said… she said she reported it to the Marquis and Madam…” she stammered out the reply.

That damned woman…

Chang Yuncheng flung his sleeve down and sat.

“Get out, all of you,” he said, finding everyone in the room irritating.

Qiu Xiang quickly led the servants out.

The room returned to silence, a quietness that was even more vexing…

Chang Yuncheng grabbed his cloak and strode out.