Chapter 45: An Amateur Directs the Experts?

Chen Yu slipped on his gloves and shoe covers with practiced ease, as if he were entering his own home. He didn’t rush inside but instead addressed the young forensic doctor in a calm, even tone.

“The edge of the table by the door—there’s a good chance the killer subconsciously touched it while leaving, possibly leaving traces behind.”

“It’s best not to leave your forensic kit here, or the trace evidence team might overlook this crucial detail.”

His voice was steady, as if stating a simple fact.

The young forensic doctor paused, momentarily stunned. He looked up, adjusted his glasses, and when he recognized Chen Yu’s face, his gaze instantly turned disdainful.

“I know you. Aren’t you the so-called ‘Resurrected Corpse Guy’ from that variety show? The one who pretends to be a corpse for the cameras?”

His words weren’t loud, but just clear enough for the agents standing in the doorway and corridor to hear. Instantly, several looks of contempt and amusement were cast Chen Yu’s way.

“How forensics and trace evidence operate is none of your concern, outsider,” the young doctor sneered, superiority practically oozing from him. “And frankly, you’re not qualified to worry about it.”

The implication was obvious: a publicity-seeking internet celebrity had no business telling professionals what to do.

Just then, a cold, mechanical prompt resounded in Chen Yu’s mind.

“Ding! Case side mission detected, new side mission added!”

“Mission: Before the forensic doctor draws a conclusion, identify the true cause of death of the victim, ‘Fat Cat,’ without using the ‘Rewind’ skill.”

“Reward: 800 skill points!”

Chen Yu couldn’t help the smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

Heh, this was practically a freebie.

No ‘Rewind’? Please—even thinking about using it would be overkill.

Amateurs.

The young forensic doctor, seeing Chen Yu remain silent, assumed his words had hit a sore spot and looked even more smug, wearing the expression of a victor.

Both Yan Zheng and Su Qingzhu, noticing the exchange, frowned. Yan Zheng’s face was already stormy; now it seemed almost thunderous. But he didn’t intervene, instead fixing his gaze on Chen Yu, curious how this young man who’d repeatedly surprised him would respond.

Su Qingzhu looked ready to speak up for Chen Yu, but Yan Zheng stopped her with a glance.

Chen Yu ignored the forensic doctor’s taunts and strode deeper into the room.

Inside, the air was thick with the stench of blood and greasy fast food—a nauseating combination. The scene hadn’t yet been systematically combed; the trace team was still gathering information from the doors, windows, and floors.

Chen Yu’s gaze fell on the body slumped over the computer desk.

The deceased, Zhu Dahai—nicknamed “Fat Cat”—was as corpulent as his moniker suggested. He was sprawled across the keyboard, head twisted to one side, eyes wide open, blood seeping from every orifice—a truly horrifying sight.

Blood droplets speckled the keyboard and monitor. Beside them lay the typical “shut-in’s trinity”: burger, fries, and cola.

Everything suggested a sudden, violent medical episode—a death by acute illness, marked by bleeding from the orifices. Seemingly ordinary, yet something felt off at every turn.

Chen Yu approached the body, his eyes sweeping the scene inch by inch. His gaze finally settled on a patch of exposed skin at the victim’s waist, revealed by his rumpled T-shirt.

There, barely visible, were several coin-sized, purplish-red patches.

Livor mortis.

Chen Yu’s pupils contracted sharply—a thunderclap exploding in his mind.

He shouted, “No—something’s wrong!”

Everyone’s attention snapped to him.

The young forensic doctor, as if stung, darted over and reached out to push Chen Yu away, snapping, “Don’t touch the body! Do you think evidence is for you—some publicity-seeking actor—to tamper with?”

Chen Yu sidestepped his shove with ease, but kept his eyes fixed on the patch of skin.

“What is it?” Yan Zheng and Su Qingzhu hurried over.

Without turning, Chen Yu pointed at the skin on the victim’s waist, shock plain on his face.

“We just watched him die live, and it’s only been, at most, twenty minutes!”

“How could livor mortis have already set in?!”

A heavy silence fell.

Especially the young forensic doctor, whose face drained of all color, mouth agape and expression frozen.

He forgot his anger, stumbling forward to examine the body closely. Sure enough—though the patches were faint and small, they were unmistakably livor mortis.

Sweat beaded at his temples.

As a forensic doctor, he understood better than anyone what this meant.

Livor mortis usually appears two to four hours after death!

To see it after only twenty minutes—it defied all forensic science.

Su Qingzhu edged closer. Seeing the purplish skin, shock flashed across her beautiful features. She spun toward Chen Yu, blurting, “You… you know forensic science?”

Chen Yu finally straightened, meeting her stunned gaze coolly. “I know a bit.”

But inside, his mind was a roiling storm.

Livor mortis in twenty minutes—this broke the basic laws of nature. Under these circumstances…

There was only one possibility—the victim had died long before what they’d seen on the livestream.

How had the killer managed it?

That madman had hijacked the city’s signal, orchestrated a live murder show, and even controlled the time of death precisely!

Chen Yu’s gaze locked onto the half-finished glass of cola on the desk.

Without hesitation, he strode to the door, and right in front of the now-dazed forensic doctor, took a sterile sample tube from the man’s kit.

“You—” the doctor began, but a sharp look from Yan Zheng silenced him.

Under the scrutiny of everyone present—including Lin Bing’s camera crew—Chen Yu returned to the desk and carefully poured the remaining cola into the sample tube.

He went back to the door, fetched a small bottle of standard toxicology reagent from the same kit, and returned. The whole process was seamless, as if the kit belonged to him.

The young forensic doctor flushed red, then white, but dared not utter another word. He could only watch helplessly as his “professional domain” was overtaken by an “outsider.”

Test tube and reagent in hand, Chen Yu faced the group.

He unscrewed the reagent cap and carefully added a drop into the cola sample.

A miracle occurred.

The deep-brown cola instantly reacted with the reagent, turning a bizarre, deep purple that grew darker by the second.

Chen Yu’s expression sharpened. His voice was firm and unyielding:

“Bromadiolone.”

The word hit the silent room like a bomb.

The young forensic doctor was utterly dumbfounded. He half-shouted, as if seeing a ghost, “W-what?!”

“Rat poison, you idiot!” Chen Yu didn’t even look at him, his tone like he was talking to a deaf man. “Second-generation anticoagulant rodenticide. Lethal dose for adults is about five to ten milliliters!”

“You—” Su Qingzhu was so stunned she was almost numb. She stared at Chen Yu, feeling as if her understanding of him was being upended again and again. “You even know that?”

Chen Yu seized the moment to throw her a flirtatious wink.

“There’s a lot more I know.”

But as the words fell, his expression darkened, his thoughts plunging deeper.

Something didn’t add up.

The timeline made no sense.

If the killer, “Wind,” decided to challenge him in response to Chen Yu exposing Luo Xiangdong’s secret during the livestream, there was no way he’d have had time to poison Fat Cat’s cola in advance.

Unless…

A chilling thought surged through Chen Yu.

Had the killer been watching him from the very start?

Had he anticipated his every move?