Grandpa pounded his fist on his back and said, "Sigh, this place is way too eerie. My arthritis is acting up again. Let's head home and talk more slowly."
An hour later, the two of us returned home. Grandpa brewed a pot of ginger tea to ward off the chill, sipping it as he spoke, "Yang'er, you must be wondering — our Song family has been in the forensic autopsy business for generations, so why do we forbid descendants from following this path? There's a reason behind it."
Back in the Southern Song Dynasty, there was an extraordinary magistrate named Song Ci. His skill in solving cases was almost supernatural — truly a marvel of his time.
During his tenure as the Chief Criminal Investigator, he spent only eight months solving every wrongful conviction and unsolved mystery in the region, catching over two hundred criminals. Not a single one cried injustice afterward, stunning officials and citizens alike.
Though impressive, Song Ci felt powerless alone. Many officials and coroners then never personally examined cases but relied on forced confessions, often torturing innocents. As the saying goes, "A drop of ink in a case causes a thousand drops of blood among the people."
So Song Ci compiled his entire forensic knowledge into a book called Collected Cases of Washing Away Wrongs (Xi Yuan Ji Lu). This work pioneered forensic science, centuries ahead of similar Western practices, earning Song Ci the title of the world's father of forensic medicine.
Since then, the Song family descendants served in the Ministry of Justice and the Imperial Court, solving countless cases and continuously expanding Collected Cases into a masterful art named Chronicles of Judgement.
But greatness breeds trouble. The Song family's expertise made them targets — feared by criminals and exploited by power players. In the Ming Dynasty, for example, the family was ordered to investigate a bizarre nine-tailed fox case, only to be dragged into a deadly royal succession dispute, nearly wiped out as scapegoats.
Later, a Song ancestor skilled in fate and fortune-telling discovered something chilling: mastering this knowledge was like glimpsing divine secrets, provoking envy from spirits and demons. Hence, anyone from the Song family working as an official, constable, or coroner was doomed to a tragic fate. To survive, the family set a strict ancestral rule: "No official posts, no government service — wisdom lies in staying clear."
...
After hearing this, I felt both disappointed and incredulous. "But Grandpa, aren't you helping the police solve cases yourself?"
He sighed deeply. "When I was young, I was eager and just like you, passionate about solving mysteries. Before Liberation, I made a name for myself cracking several major cases that shocked the nation. But misfortune came fast — someone slandered my forensic methods as superstitions, and I was locked in a stable for three years, taking care of horses. Those were terrifying times. If it weren't for early rehabilitation, I might have ended it all."
He drank deeply of his ginger tea. "Rigidity breaks easily, but flexibility endures. Just showing a little skill brought me this disaster. Now I finally understand our ancestors' wisdom. I hid away in the countryside afterward, but my reputation was known, and every few years, someone came calling me back. I didn't want to, but had no choice. So I cooperate in this way. I thought by your generation, we'd finally find peace — but after you showed your skill before Sun Laohu today, I realize it's fate's joke, our family's curse and mission."
His words left me confused — was he encouraging me to follow this path, or warning me away?
He continued, "Yang'er, since you passed the test, from now on, I will teach you everything I know, all my life's learning. Do you want to learn?"
My heart leapt. "Grandpa, of course I want to!"
"Don't get ahead of yourself," he said sternly. "I want to teach you because you've been fumbling through the two books, showing off like a toddler playing with a razor-sharp sword. That's dangerous. You haven't learned even a tenth of the true Song family secrets. I don't want you to die young, but I'm old and can't protect you forever. All I can do is teach you the sword's moves and let you walk your own path."
"Besides, forensic investigation is a treasure left by our ancestors. If it dies with me, that's my sin. Even in the afterlife, I wouldn't face our forebears with honor. But if the Song family legacy continues, then I can rest peacefully."
I couldn't tell if it was just me, but when Grandpa spoke of 'resting peacefully' in death, a cold foreboding washed over me, as if he were leaving a final message.
Shaking off the thought, I nodded.
From then on, whenever I had time, I followed Grandpa to learn autopsy techniques and crime scene investigation — mysteries too deep to explain in a few words. Of course, I struggled and endured setbacks, but like a sponge, I greedily absorbed every bit of precious knowledge.
Three years flew by. My college entrance exam results were disappointing. I wanted to attend the provincial university of science and technology but was over a hundred points short. Grandpa told me to apply anyway, promising he could get me in.
Trusting Grandpa's incredible connections, I boldly listed the tech school as my top choice.
My aunt hoped I'd study economics to help her with business, but honestly, I'm a diehard detective at heart. Business doesn't interest me at all — maybe I inherited Grandpa's genes skipping a generation.
After careful thought, I chose Applied Electronics — a steady major with good prospects. When I arrived, I found only three girls in my class, which made me regret my choice. But the ship had sailed.
The long summer after the exam passed uneventfully. I surfed the net, watched movies, played chess with Grandpa — life was comfortable.
One evening, I went to a classmate's party. We polished off two cases of beer. We'd been friends since childhood. Thinking about soon scattering across the country to chase our dreams made us both proud and wistful.
After dinner, we went singing and partied late into the night.
Around eleven o'clock, I saw the Song family mansion lit up brightly from afar — my heart skipped a beat. This town usually sleeps early, and such late lights only come when a family faces disaster, like a death.
Suddenly sober, I hurried home and called out, but the house was empty.
I went to Grandpa's study and saw a plain envelope on the desk — no stamp, but a blood-red curved dagger crudely drawn on the lower right corner.
Something seemed to be inside.
Curious, I tipped the envelope into my hand — a sticky object fell into my palm. It was... an eyeball.