Chapter 81: Lingchi and the Living Donkey

The body was found in a storm drain, wrapped haphazardly in black plastic sheeting and secured with tangled knots of rope. It was the police who retrieved it and sent it to the morgue. By the time we arrived, the bag had already been cut open.

Knots like these can be crucial evidence, so standard protocol forbids untying them from the top—another rule every seasoned detective knows.

When Huang Xiaotao and I first laid eyes on the body, we both instinctively gasped. She even covered her mouth in horror.

The victim's body was entirely shaved, completely exposed except for a pair of torn undergarments. Massive portions of flesh had been stripped away—cheeks, chest, abdomen, arms, thighs... all the way down to the calves. The limbs had been carved so deeply they revealed bare bone, clean and white. Surprisingly, there wasn't much blood—only patches of thick, sticky tissue fluid.

My mind immediately jumped to one word: Lingchi—the ancient Chinese torture method known as death by a thousand cuts.

The corpse was so mutilated it was impossible to determine gender at first glance. According to the officer who found it, the body was so light he thought someone had stuffed a mannequin in the bag as a prank.

I pulled on a pair of gloves and began the examination—measuring foot length and overall height, checking the pelvis and teeth. When I moved up toward the head, I paused. The corpse wore a strange expression—almost... a smile.

Imagine that: a mutilated corpse, grinning.

It chilled me to the bone.

...

...

Once the preliminary exam was complete, I reported quickly, "Victim is female, between 25 to 30 years old. Medium build. No signs of chronic illness or physical deformity. Likely worked in a textile factory."

Xiaotao, still visibly shaken, blinked and asked, "Wait, how can you tell she worked in a textile factory?"

I turned the palm of the hand toward her. "See these horizontal calluses? And the fine, healing cuts? These are typical for someone who handles threads and needles daily. Also, her posture indicates slight kyphosis—likely from extended periods of bending over a workstation. All signs point to factory work."

The room fell silent, eyes turning toward me with a mix of awe and disbelief. Xiaotao nodded slowly, then turned to a nearby officer. "Has there been a missing persons report matching this profile in Nanshi over the past three months?"

"Officer Wang's been tracking that," he replied.

"Get him in here. Ask if any of the missing are women from textile factories."

"Yes, ma'am."

As I leaned closer to the corpse, I detected a faint scent coming from the nasal cavity—clinical, medicinal.

Turning to Officer Zhou, who had just entered, I said, "Run two tests: one on the rope fibers, and another on the mucus residue from her nasal passages."

Zhou caught on quickly. "You think she inhaled something?"

"There's a strong odor of medical alcohol in her nose," I explained. "Check for nitrous oxide. It's often used with ethanol in anesthetic procedures."

Zhou raised an eyebrow. "You're pretty sure it's that? I didn't expect a mortician to know about anesthetics." One look from Xiaotao shut him up. "Alright, alright! I'll get on it."

Zhou used an alcohol swab to take samples from the victim's nose, and then collected fibers from the rope for analysis.

I used scissors to cut away the remaining fabric and confirmed there were no signs of sexual assault—the victim was still a virgin. I also noted ligature marks on her upper thighs and shoulders.

I was so focused, I muttered, "Dali, get me a few things from the store."

Then it hit me—Wang Dali wasn't on shift tonight. Neither was Wang Yuanchao.

"I'll send someone," Xiaotao said. "What do you need?"

"Get me the best quality vinegar, a small funnel, some nori seaweed, and a few strips of kelp."

She dispatched an officer immediately.

While we waited, I placed my ear to a stethoscope-like wooden instrument and listened to the condition of the internal organs. The lungs, liver, and heart were intact. No signs of internal trauma. I estimated the time of death at about twenty days.

"Twenty days?" Xiaotao exclaimed. "Shouldn't the body have bloated by now?"

I chuckled. "Ah, so you know about postmortem bloating?"

"Of course! I've read plenty of autopsy reports. Rigor mortis, bloating, peat-body preservation—I know the terminology."

I asked, "Can you explain the bloating phase?"

"Um... it's when... the body... gets all puffy, right?"

I helped her out. "It's called Gigantism Phenomenon. After death, the immune system shuts down and gut bacteria start feeding on the body's tissues, producing gases. The body swells up like a balloon, with bulging eyes, thickened lips, and greenish fluid seeping from tissues. The smell is... unimaginable."

It wasn't just trivia—I needed her to understand the normal forensics so she'd grasp the abnormal condition we were seeing.

"Now," I continued, "three reasons why this body didn't bloat. One: most of the tissue and fat have been stripped off, so there's less for bacteria to consume. Two: the storm drain was cold, and the plastic bag created a semi-sealed environment. No oxygen, no moisture."

"And the third reason?" she asked.

"I'll show you in a moment. Take a look here." I pointed to the ligature marks.

"She was tied up?" Xiaotao asked.

"Not exactly. These bindings weren't meant to restrain. See how the ropes were tied just once around her thighs? It's more like they were used to cut off circulation..."

I paused. Just describing it made me feel sick.

"Why would anyone do that?" Xiaotao asked quietly.

"Ever heard of the dish called Living Donkey?"

She nodded, eyes widening slightly.

"It's a horrifying recipe. The animal is held down alive, boiling water poured over its back to cook the flesh. Then pieces are carved off while it's still alive, served with sauce. Unspeakably cruel."

I watched her face pale as she made the connection.

"The killer did the same to her. He cut off blood flow to her limbs—so the tissue stayed 'fresh' while he carved pieces away. She was killed the same way one would butcher a live animal for 'fresh meat.'"

I turned back to the corpse, disfigured beyond recognition.

She hadn't just been murdered.

She had been butchered.