Chapter Fifteen: The Mysterious Chrysanthemum Petal

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Indeed, Academician Zhang’s death could only be described as “bizarre.” If not for the absence of breath, no one would have believed that he was truly dead. He sat by the television, his eyes fixed intently on the screen, his eyeballs almost bulging out, bloodshot so that the whites were nearly consumed by red. The normally drooping bags under his eyes had turned a deep, bruised purple. His mouth hung wide open, revealing the unmistakable marks of his dentures. A strand of saliva had trickled from the corner of his lips.

What shocked us the most was that his silvery short hair now stood upright, as if electrified. From the middle of his neck, fresh blood streamed outwards, as though a blade of remarkable precision had sliced through his throat, yet his head remained firmly attached. This was the first time Miss Wang had witnessed such a scene; she was so frightened her face betrayed no emotion. Not only her—everyone present, from the evidence collectors to the photographers, and the three forensic doctors, all wore the same expressionless mask.

The case was astonishing, and even I found it unfathomable. Ren Tianxing watched impassively as the forensic team and his colleagues gathered evidence and took photographs throughout the room, even utilizing “PS light powder.” This powder was the most advanced forensic tool internationally: once scattered over a surface, any trace—be it fingerprint or footprint, even as minuscule as a mosquito—would be revealed when viewed through special glasses. It was one of the most practical tools in solving crimes, with a performance far superior to other powders, though its cost was accordingly much higher.

The strangeness of Academician Zhang’s death lay in the fact that it looked like murder, and yet no evidence of a killer could be found.

Like the other researchers, Zhang lived in a dormitory on the eastern side of the institute. Given their importance, high-precision cameras were installed around these quarters, and infrared heat sensors were set at the doors, all connected directly to the central system. Outside his door, guards handpicked by Ren Tianxing himself stood watch—every one an elite, seasoned police officer.

Now, with Academician Zhang dying so mysteriously inside his room, not a single disturbance had been noted. Had a maid not passed by and noticed the unlocked door, no one would have discovered the body—no wonder Ren Tianxing was so shaken by the bizarre circumstances.

A young man in a T-shirt hurried over, saluted Ren Tianxing, and nodded to me. I recognized him as Huang Feng, the one who had picked me up at the airport. Ren Tianxing nodded and asked, “Any leads?”

Huang Feng replied, “There are signs the room was searched, but nothing was taken, so it doesn’t look like a robbery. More like someone was searching for something. After applying the PS light powder, only two sets of fingerprints were found in the room: the deceased’s, and the maid’s.”

“So the evidence of the room being searched was likely the work of the deceased himself?” Ren Tianxing asked, uncertain.

Huang Feng continued, “If there had been a third person, there would definitely be traces—unless that person had no weight.”

At the mention of “weight,” both Ren Tianxing and I understood immediately: if someone could search a room without leaving any trace, it could only be because their feet never touched the ground. That meant their point of contact must be somewhere else in the room.

Ren Tianxing called out, “Everyone, check the walls and ceiling for any clues!”

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Ren Tianxing and I both hurried to the window. He sprinkled a layer of light powder across the surface and handed me a pair of glasses. Once I put them on, everything except where the powder had been applied appeared black, while the areas with powder glowed red. If someone had entered through the window and touched it, the powder there would dim or show an imprint, which could later be analyzed for fingerprints by computer.

As the powder settled over the window, we saw three black dots. Both of us exclaimed in surprise and examined the dots closely.

The first was incredibly fine, like a needle driven into the wall above the windowsill, wedged precisely between two slabs of marble. I couldn’t help but say, “Could this dot have been there before?”

But Ren Tianxing immediately dismissed this idea. “If it had always been there, the color inside and outside the dot would match, and the PS light powder wouldn’t react differently.”

The second dot was slightly larger, more like a nail than a needle. Around it, traces of fallen plaster suggested it had been pulled out recently.

The third was a dark blot the size of a thumbprint. I removed my glasses for a closer look: it turned out to be a yellow petal.

Our colleagues, seeing our discovery, quickly brought over their equipment and cameras to collect evidence. Though the findings were scant, it was better than nothing. Miss Wang managed to squeeze out a sentence, “If this was done by an assassin, I’d wager they’re among the world’s best.”

A bespectacled forensic doctor approached Ren Tianxing with a folder. “The deceased died about an hour ago. The blood from the neck wound has just clotted and hasn’t oxidized.”

“And the cause of death?” Ren Tianxing inquired.

The forensic doctor replied with a phrase that would become memorable: “Cause of death unknown.”

For a forensic expert to admit they couldn’t determine a cause of death made me question his professional competence. I couldn’t help but sneer, “Unknown cause?”

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My sneer made both Old Liu and Dr. Wang’s faces change. Huang Feng hastened to explain, “Let’s not rush—hear the forensic doctor’s explanation.”

The doctor nodded gratefully to Huang Feng, then, undisturbed by my attitude, even managed a faint smile and retorted, “What if I said the deceased was, in the same instant, killed by a slit throat, electrocution, and fright? Would you believe me?”

His statement left us all stunned. Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing; for a brief moment, time itself seemed frozen.

A competent forensic doctor cannot speak recklessly. They must be even more rigorous about evidence than researchers, who may sometimes hypothesize or speculate. A forensic pathologist, especially one with experience, must always stick to facts, evidence, and objective reasoning.

Dr. Wang murmured, “That’s the fourth one gone. Who’s next?”

This reminded us of the previous three researchers who had died. I had yet to review their case files in detail. I glanced at Ren Tianxing, who immediately turned and strode out, saying, “Let’s go to the scenes of the other three deaths.”

We all followed Ren Tianxing to the sites where the previous three had died. There was nothing odd at first glance, except that at every window, there were two black dots—only missing the petal.

The case, once utterly directionless, now had the faintest trace of a lead, though it was still woefully scant. But a thread is better than nothing.

Ren Tianxing fell silent for a moment, then instructed his subordinate in the T-shirt, “Call in the armored vehicle and move everyone still working at the institute to the base. Make sure they go home early tomorrow. Remember, no one is allowed to take any materials—violators will be dealt with under military discipline.” He then told one of his men to escort us back to our quarters. Old Du also took his leave.