"He… he moved!" Luo Weiwei gasped, covering her mouth as she stumbled backward in fear.
"Zombie rising! Zombie rising!"
"That's impossible! The head was completely gone."
The room erupted into a chorus of terrified screams. Some of the police officers panicked, waving their arms wildly and rushing toward the exit.
Wang Dali shouted for help loudly, knocking over a chair in his clumsy retreat, almost falling flat on the floor. Huang Xiaotao's apricot-shaped eyes widened like saucers, her mouth opening wide enough to fit a walnut inside. Even Wang Yuanchao, usually expressionless, showed a slight narrowing of his pupils.
At that moment, the corpse kneeling on the table slowly raised its right hand, as if gripping an invisible knife, repeatedly chopping at its own neck!
At first, the movements were small—only the wrist trembled. Then, aided by the elasticity of the ligaments, the entire arm began moving, hacking away at the neck again and again.
Human muscles can retain memory of actions—much like a seasoned cyclist who pedals instinctively without thinking. At the moment of death, the central nervous system collapses, and the body's magnetic field instantly crashes, yet a short fragment of muscle memory can be recorded, like a scratched record.
Of course, this muscle memory varies from person to person. Severely decomposed corpses or those with broken spines cannot be subjected to this so-called "corpse animation technique." However, this particular body was still stiff with rigor mortis, maintaining a subtle tension—making it nearly a perfect specimen for testing the technique!
…
…
Thinking this, I felt a tinge of pride, as if a craftsman had just completed a flawless work of art.
I know this sounds twisted, but every forensic examiner is a little different from ordinary people—otherwise, none of us could endure this line of work!
I was about to explain the principle to Luo Weiwei when I glanced back—she was gone. The door stood wide open, and many officers had fled in panic, shouting down the corridor.
I asked, "Has Luo Weiwei left?"
Wang Dali pointed to the floor. I looked—and nearly laughed out loud. Luo Weiwei had fainted, sprawled on the ground in a starfish pose, her eyes rolling back, all traces of her usual cold composure vanished.
"With that kind of nerve, she wants to be a forensic doctor?" I sneered.
"Exactly…" Huang Xiaotao looked pale but remained composed, unlike the others. "Song Yang, stop that corpse—this is way too creepy!"
"Hold on, I'm recording this, so she can't deny it later."
I filmed a short clip on my phone. If this got uploaded to some paranormal forum, it would surely terrify a lot of people.
Afterwards, I pulled out a magnetic needle from the corpse. The body immediately went limp, like the power had been cut—only one arm remained raised in midair.
"Oh my god, that's terrifying!" Wang Dali breathed a sigh of relief. "Song Yang, why didn't you warn me this was gonna be so intense?"
"I did warn you!"
"How was I supposed to know it'd be this extreme…" He sneezed loudly. We were all wearing jackets except him, so I told him, "Careful not to catch a cold. Go grab a jacket from the car."
"I'm fine—I've got a strong constitution," Wang Dali said, rubbing his shoulder.
I woke Luo Weiwei up. She was terrified and scrambled backward frantically, stammering, "Don't come near me! Don't come near me!"
"It's me," I reassured her.
Her mask slipped off sideways, and she glanced nervously at the corpse behind me, lips trembling. "D-Do you know some kind of sorcery?"
I chuckled and briefly explained the principle, ending with: "If you don't believe me, you handle corpses a lot. Try it next time."
"No, no!" She waved her hands desperately. "I believe you—I believe you."
"So, you admit the deceased chopped off their own head?" I asked.
She nodded, then narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "But it doesn't add up. The neck has so many nerves. He only used an ordinary kitchen knife—it's impossible to sever the neck with one stroke. He should have stopped halfway."
"You're right. That's exactly why this proves something," I said, scanning the room and speaking slowly and clearly, "The deceased's body was being controlled."
Huang Xiaotao gasped. "You mean hypnosis?"
"Not hypnosis. I think it's some kind of dark magic that manipulates the body, forcing the victim to act involuntarily." I pulled back the white sheet, revealing the expressions frozen on the victims' faces. "Look at their faces before death. Aren't they filled with pain?"
Luo Weiwei got up and came closer. "Indeed, the deceased looked extremely agonized."
Huang Xiaotao glanced toward the door. Many officers had fled after the scare, only four or five remained. "Should we check the evidence then?"
"Not yet. I still have one more thing to test." I asked Luo Weiwei, "Have you checked the fingerprints?"
She nodded. "The trace evidence department did. Only the deceased's and their own fingerprints were found—no outsiders'."
"Let's test again. Bring me an alcohol lamp." I instructed.
Luo Weiwei left to get it. Huang Xiaotao smiled, "Song Yang, your 'shake the mountain to scare the tiger' trick is impressive. She's got nothing left to argue."
"Well, she was so arrogant before. Maybe the scare will do her some good."
I pulled olive oil, wooden butterflies, and a pan from my bag, poured oil into the pan, and added the wooden butterflies. Wang Dali commented, "Song Yang, you're cooking wrong—the oil needs to be hot before you add the ingredients."
"Shut up and help me," I snapped.
"How can I help?" he asked.
"Hold the pan."
Luo Weiwei returned with the alcohol lamp. I placed it under the pan to heat. Soon the oil sizzled and smoked, coating the pan's walls.
After about five or six minutes, I saw Wang Dali's arms were numb and told him to stop, extinguishing the lamp.
I scraped the oil residue off the pan wall with a small knife—about 20 grams.
Huang Xiaotao said, "Song Yang, watching you work is a pleasure—every step is so interesting."
"It's only fun when you're standing around watching," I replied coolly.
"You're heartless. Didn't I help?"
"Did you?"
"Well, I handed you things."
"That counts?"
I couldn't help but laugh. Huang Xiaotao rolled her eyes at me.
I told Wang Yuanchao to carry the male corpse back to the morgue. Then I gently blew the oil residue onto the corpse's chest. Wang Dali asked, "What's that for?"
"Wooden butterflies and olive oil produce a very light residue—much lighter than the aluminum powder police usually use. It can detect subtle traces invisible to the naked eye," I explained.
Throughout the process, I barely breathed, afraid a single exhale might blow away the residue.
After covering the male corpse's chest, I gently blew off the residue—nothing unusual appeared.
Then I repeated the process on the female corpse's chest and abdomen. When I blew off the residue this time, a line of pawprints appeared—small footprints!
"This is…" Huang Xiaotao exclaimed, "Cat's pawprints?"