Chapter 687: Message

Chapter 687: Chapter 687: Message

The autopsy results appeared highly anomalous.

The surface of the corpse bore no wounds or bruises, nor any tiny irregularities like fine needle marks.

From the mouth to the throat, all the way down to the stomach, no traces of poison could be found; the food remnants matched the supper described by the prison guards, with nothing out of the ordinary.

The internal organs also showed no bleeding or any kind of damage.

The cranial cavity appeared normal too—no sign of any fatal concern.

This was precisely why the two seasoned forensic doctors spent more than an hour on the scene before concluding the examination. In their words: the death was simply too strange.

"My lord, we are incompetent and found no cause of death. Please, punish us as you see fit!" The two forensic doctors dropped to one knee, their faces ashen. They understood how significant this case was, and it seemed they had been of absolutely no use; if they proved useless, they were guilty.

Xue Gui carefully read through the autopsy findings, closed the files, and put them away, speaking in a deep voice: "You are the Ministry of Justice’s most experienced and skilled forensic doctors. In this world, those superior to you are few indeed. So your confident assessments are our compass for solving the case. Let me ask you: do you stand by your autopsy conclusion?"

"We do, my lord! This autopsy result was confirmed repeatedly by Old Li and me. With our level of experience, we could not find any cause of death. It’s almost as if..."

"As if what?"

"As if it was the kind of peaceful death that comes with old age. But there’s a difference—Prince Qian’s organs showed no sign of aging. It’s very strange." The forensic doctor’s expression was twisted in confusion; this was truly the first time they’d seen something so inexplicable.

Xue Gui narrowed his eyes, then nodded, pointing at the corpse: "Set the body in order and, after it is prepared, place it in a separate room." He then turned to Li Qing and said, "Assign someone to guard the body closely. Without my written order, no one is to approach."

"Understood."

After giving his orders, Xue Gui remained in the cell, watching as the body was arranged and carried away. Only after pacing the cell for some time did he finally leave.

No discovery was made. The cell was furnished like any in the special section of the prison—bed, table, bedding and the like. The only things that could be called unusual were some of Prince Qian’s personal effects, such as a storybook and a half-finished flask of fruit wine.

Xue Gui sat at the bedside; reaching out, his hand easily touched both the book and the wine flask on the table. Presumably, just before his death Prince Qian had been sitting there, reading and drinking wine in this very way.

The book was not a scholarly text, but a storybook called "White River Evil Beast." Flipping through a few pages, Xue Gui noted its familiar plot: a fierce beast capable of cultivation appears in the Bai River, bringing disaster far and wide, until finally the protagonist locates and slays the monster. The tale’s twists and turns were actually fairly riveting.

But such books were all considered idle literature—most scholars looked down on them, deeming them useless. Only the literate and leisurely would purchase them to pass the time or for entertainment. Clearly, Prince Qian relied on these tale books to stave off boredom in prison.

Putting down the book, he lifted the flask and sniffed. It was a very common Hundred Fruit Wine. The forensic doctors had checked it before—no poison, and exactly the same wine as that found in the stomach remnants.

At least as things stood, Xue Gui’s conclusion matched that of the two forensic doctors: he too found nothing suspicious.

And yet, Xue Gui had his own speculation.

Prince Qian possessed some cultivation—if memory served, Qi Refining Realm, Initial Stage. Though weak, it was still significantly stronger than an ordinary person, so at the very least his body could not have harbored a sudden, deadly affliction. The forensic autopsy result also confirmed as much.

It wasn’t suicide, nor illness—what remained seemed impossible, yet it was the only explanation left: homicide.

Someone had, with a special technique, killed Prince Qian right under everyone’s noses. Perhaps not even Prince Qian himself knew he was dying; otherwise, the expression on his face after death would not have been so calm and unfazed.

The forensic doctors were not cultivators; while vastly experienced in dissections, their knowledge of a cultivator’s methods was very limited.

To ordinary eyes, killing a man rarely went beyond sharp blades, strangulation, blunt force, or poison. For cultivators, however, the means were myriad. Ordinary folk could not touch the soul; cultivators could—and destroying the soul could kill without leaving any trace in the conventional sense.

Leaving the cell, Xue Gui entered the Celestial Prison’s duty room. Eight men, all pale-faced, knelt on the floor; a stench of urine permeated the room, and by the looks of them, some had already lost control of their bladders in terror.

"Tonight, you eight were on shift. Each of you, account for yourself—from the moment you entered Celestial Prison, even if you pissed a few times, every detail must be reported. Begin."

Such minor tasks usually did not require Xue Gui’s personal attention, but given how unusual the case was and the complete lack of leads, he had no choice but to question these eight prison guards himself to ensure nothing would be missed.

All eight recounted their stories, one by one. Even when most of their accounts overlapped, Xue Gui made them recount in full, listening carefully to every detail.

According to their testimonies and Xue Gui’s grasp of the Ministry of Justice’s prison procedures, tonight’s guards besides the external array numbered only eight. Four were responsible for the prison’s regular sectors; the remaining four for the special section.

The special section held only Prince Jing and Prince Qian, and an array kept their cells isolated so that nothing could pass between them.

Furthermore, there were regulations for inspecting the cells: normally, each cell was checked every hour. As for meals, these were prepared in the prince’s own mansion; after delivery, they passed three rounds of inspection before being brought in, one of which was overseen by the prince’s inner guards.

So after all eight had given their accounts, there seemed to be nothing on which to fix suspicion or further scrutiny.

"Who delivered food to Prince Qian? Was it only food?"

"That would be Zhang Xiaoliu—head of Inner Guard in Prince Qian’s Mansion—cleared by the prison records. He presented his waist token and soul fluctuation as proof; verified by magical artifact, all was correct. Usually, besides delivering meals and drinks, he’d bring the prince storybooks or clean clothes, things like that." The prison director, rather composed compared to the others, swiftly responded to Xue Gui’s question.

"You know the rules—choose your own cell. I won’t make things more difficult for you. If this case is solved, you’ll keep your lives; if it isn’t, most of you will join Prince Qian in the grave."

"My lord, your subordinates fully understand. But we still beg you to spare no effort." The prison director knew their sole chance for survival lay in Xue Gui’s ability to get to the bottom of the case.

Of course, there were those too terrified to speak—now, they could only kneel before Xue Gui, kowtowing, words utterly failing them.