I called Wang Dali over and said, "Dali, help me gather some things—towels, hot water, a bucket, rope, an iron plate, an electric stove, white vinegar, and ginger."
"Should I get some cumin and chili powder too?" he asked.
"What would I need that for?"
"Looks like you're setting up for a teppanyaki grill," Wang Dali said, puzzled.
I chuckled, "No, no, just hurry and get them."
"What about the money…" he hesitated.
Huang Xiaotao patted his shoulder. "Don't worry, I'll reimburse you. Just remember to get a receipt."
Suddenly, I remembered something. "Wait! Didn't our fourth roommate have some succulents? Grab one of those for me."
"Succulents? Getting flowers for a case? Sounds boring," Wang Dali was baffled.
"Don't ask, just go!" I waved him off.
"Alright!" he replied and dashed out.
I searched the victim's clothes and found an ID card, student card, some change, a bunch of keys, a phone, and half a pack of Yuxi cigarettes—all under the name Deng Chao. The phone was locked with a password. Huang Xiaotao asked nearby officers for some evidence bags and carefully packed everything.
Looking around, the music classroom was spacious. At the front was a podium, beside it stood an old wooden piano facing south windows, all wide open. The building was old, no air conditioning, just a few ceiling fans.
"Strange, where's the victim's head?" I muttered, staring at the headless body.
I walked to the piano, pressed a key—no sound. This old piano needed the pedal pressed to make sound. Huang Xiaotao blinked curiously, "You play piano?"
"Of course not."
I ran my fingers along the keys, noticing a few stuck. Alarmed, I said, "Open the lid! There's something inside!"
As the lid opened, all the officers gasped.
Inside, many strings were broken and tangled like a spiderweb, wrapped around a bloody, mangled head. Nearby lay a baseball cap.
I rolled up my sleeves and reached in, but the strings were tightly knotted. Pulling roughly might tear the skin.
Huang Xiaotao sent an officer to fetch bolt cutters. Soon, they returned, carefully snipping the strings, freeing the head.
I compared it with the body—wounds matched, likely the same person. But the head was oddly rotten; the skin greenish, flesh emitting a foul stench.
There was a gash on the back of the skull. Pressing lightly revealed a fractured skull beneath, with bruising and pus. Applying gentle pressure, white rotten pus oozed onto my wrist.
"Don't move!" Huang Xiaotao said, handing me a tissue. I thanked her.
"Any findings?" she asked.
"The head and body match. The head was cut off by a sharp weapon. It looks like some chemical was applied—plus the bacteria inside the piano sped up decay. The face is barely recognizable."
"So, can it be reconstructed?"
"Almost impossible." I said thoughtfully. Two girls claimed they saw a white-clad ghost playing piano last night, piano strings flying wildly like ghostly hair, cutting off Deng Chao's head. Of course, I didn't believe that.
The killer probably applied chemicals and hid the head inside the piano to blur identification.
In headless corpse cases, confirming identity is crucial. Missing or badly damaged heads often mean the killer is trying to mislead investigators. This trick isn't new; I've read similar cases in Chronicles of the Corpse Whisperer.
"Song Yang, do you think the head was cut off by the piano strings?" Huang Xiaotao asked.
"The wound edges are clean; it was cut by a sharp blade. But strings can be strong enough to slice flesh. I heard of a case over ten years ago: a victim riding a motorcycle home late at night hit a wire stretched across the road—his head was sliced off. The headless rider crashed into a barbecue stall, terrifying everyone. That case baffled experts for a long time," I explained.
"Ah! The 'Headless Rider' case! I heard police brought in a mysterious figure to solve it. That case was never public. Where'd you hear about it?" she said in shock.
"An old cop told me," I said casually. Actually, my grandfather solved that case.
Staring at the head wound, I noticed something off—the skin was cleanly cut, but the cervical vertebrae showed subtle friction marks.
Closing my eyes, I reopened and used my "Phantom Sight" to examine carefully. Tiny black particles—like metal fragments—were on the spine.
Conclusion: different tools cut the flesh and bone.
Just then Wang Dali burst in, carrying a big bag and a thermos. "Yangzi, got the stuff you asked for!"
I opened the bag, impressed. "Nice, quick work."
"The iron plate I borrowed from a barbecue place off campus. Gotta return it…" He suddenly stared fixedly at the severed head on the floor.
"Damn, where'd you get this bloody head? Scary as hell!" Wang Dali turned pale.
"If you can't take it, go for a walk. Bring back a magnet and a white sheet," I instructed.
"Why didn't you say so earlier? I gotta run again!" he grumbled.
"Think of it as exercise. Dinner's on me later," I teased and sent him off.
After he left, I poured hot water into the bucket and soaked a towel, pressing it on the victim's chest.
Curious cops gathered. Huang Xiaotao asked, "Why the hot towel?"
"To estimate time of death. Watch closely!"
After softening the chest muscles, I flipped the body and pressed the towel on its back. Repeated three times, confirming muscle relaxation. Then I repeatedly pressed and poked the back with a special technique.
Suddenly, the headless corpse half-sat up without warning. From its neck wound, a spray of bloody ice shards burst out.
All the officers stepped back, stunned and terrified!