The Dead Resurrected?

Birth, aging, illness, and death are intrinsic to the human condition.

Yet, the processes of illness and death are far from simple.

Diseases manifest in myriad forms, and the paths to demise are equally diverse.

As a forensic pathologist, Fang Hou had encountered countless permutations of death—from those succumbing to illness, to victims of violence, to bodies bearing the marks of myriad possible causes.

He had seen an untold number of such cases, both in theory and in practice.

Fang Hou was a forensic pathologist with a meticulous mind and a bold disposition.

It was a necessity for his profession, one that required him to confront gruesome, often dismembered, remains almost every week.

Beyond meticulous and careful work, his delicate mind often led Fang Hou to immerse himself in the lives of the deceased.

He would ponder:

‘What wrongs had they committed? What suffering had they endured? What thoughts consumed them as they met their end?’

These reflections helped to alleviate his fear and preserve his humanity.

Beneath the surgical lamp, an intense light illuminated the pale face of an elderly man, prompting Fang Hou to think of stone statues in art museums, or perhaps…

The old man lay peacefully, showing no obvious external injuries.

Fang Hou meticulously examined every detail of the corpse.

The distribution of lividity was normal, indicating no post-mortem movement.

His complexion and limbs were without discoloration.

Wearing multiple layers of thin rubber gloves, Fang Hou gently lifted the eyelids and lips to check the pupils and teeth.

‘Excellent. Not a death by poisoning either.’

More detailed examination would require laboratory tests and an autopsy, but this much was sufficient.

His serene expression suggested no overt poisoning.

A preliminary assessment indicated the old man might have suffered from heart disease during his life, but the specific cause of death appeared to be a cerebral hemorrhage.

The elderly man had no known property disputes, grudges, or enemies; he was a well-liked individual.

Consequently, after only two days of not meeting his friends, his body was discovered.

The probability of murder, poisoning, or insurance fraud was very low.

This was nearly enough.

He was about to declare it a natural death, preparing to conclude his work and write the report, when Fang Hou suddenly heard a low sigh from behind him.

! ?

He immediately spun around.

The laboratory, bathed in the shadowless light, appeared perfectly normal.

As a professional forensic pathologist, Fang Hou always maintained his sharp focus; he couldn’t have misheard.

Yet, his profession also brought a tendency for his mind to wander, though he remained a staunch materialist.

Fang Hou’s gaze shifted to the only other potential source of a sigh in the lab besides himself.

The old man remained utterly still.

His first thought was that he had made a mistake.

Although the old man’s brain had ceased activity, his heart had stopped beating, his blood had congealed, and even lividity had appeared.

However, Fang Hou did not believe his skills would lead to a misjudgment.

‘Could it be a sound from gas escaping due to internal decomposition?’

That wasn’t right either.

According to the lividity, the time of death was no more than 12 hours ago.

Logically, rigor mortis wouldn’t have fully set in, nor would the body be bloated yet.

‘Was it a sound from something else?’

Fang Hou scanned every possible hiding spot in the lab.

Without a thorough search, nothing was visible.

No further sound emerged.

Fang Hou hesitated, standing rooted to the spot.

He wasn’t about to act like a reckless protagonist in a horror film.

After a moment’s thought, he opened the laboratory door.

“Xiao Li! Come here for a moment.”

Retreating to the doorway, he kept his eyes fixed on the interior of the room while calling out to his assistant.

Scientific dialectical thinking wasn’t about blindly denying the incomprehensible.

It was about using scientific reasoning to analyze all existing phenomena, believing that what exists is rational.

Therefore, rather than risking an unknown danger, he chose caution.

Soon, his younger assistant rushed over.

“Teacher? Do you need my help with something?”

Fang Hou opened his mouth, unsure how to explain to his student that he had heard a strange sound and was, perhaps, scared alone.

“Help me check the lab. I suspect we have rats.”

“Ah? This… alright.”

Students were just tools for their teachers, after all.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t done such tasks before.

The tool cabinet… everything normal.

The ventilation ducts… nothing else there.

Under the bed, nothing.

The archive cabinets, securely locked.

Under the guise of tidying up, Fang Hou secretly gripped a scalpel in his hand as he thoroughly searched the lab.

‘Could it really have been auditory hallucinations? Am I becoming overly cautious, even neurotic?’

He rubbed his temples.

‘I haven’t been tired these past few days… Am I not getting enough rest?’

His gaze once again fell upon the statue-like corpse beside him.

As if possessed, Fang Hou instructed his student, “Since you’re here, let’s test you. Perform an examination on this elderly gentleman.”

The assistant, also his student, nodded routinely.

Following his teacher was for learning, after all; it was just a small test.

Following the procedures his teacher had taught him and considering the deceased’s prior condition, the assistant performed the examination, just as Fang Hou had done moments earlier.

Just as the assistant prepared to lift the eyelid, Fang Hou’s heart gave a violent lurch.

Something was wrong!

The instant the eyelid was lifted, Fang Hou’s hairs stood on end.

The corpse’s diffused, unfocused pupils had actually contracted, now staring intently at the ceiling!

“Come here!!!” Fang Hou roared, losing his composure.

He slapped the tool from his assistant’s hand, yanked his student behind him, and retreated several steps himself.

“Wh-what’s wrong, Teacher?” The assistant, startled, asked in confusion.

Fang Hou stared intently at the corpse, slowly pulling his student backward.

“Just now, the corpse’s pupils… were they dilated?”

The assistant was bewildered.

‘Was this a test? But I was pulled away before I could even see clearly.’

“I’m sorry, Teacher, I didn’t see.”

“Don’t apologize. Just do exactly as I say from now on.”

With only two steps left to the door, Fang Hou quickly pulled his assistant out.

“Lock the door tightly,” Fang Hou instructed his assistant, while he began to recall experiences from years past.

When he was still a student, his old professor had once, after a rare night of heavy drinking, recounted stories that defied common sense.

Initially, he had dismissed them as drunken jokes.

But when he later questioned the sober professor, expecting to see his usually serious mentor reveal a mischievous grin.

Instead, his mentor’s face instantly turned grave, and the subsequent admonition became the root of Fang Hou’s current caution, bordering on neurosis.[Forget those stories. You only need to remember: trust your instincts. If, one day, you encounter something truly amiss, don’t doubt yourself. Run.]

“Teacher, the door is locked. The family waiting outside…?”

“……………….Tell them to wait a little longer. You should wait outside too. There’s no need to explain anything to them.”

Having sent his student away, he stood there for a moment, steadying himself.

The securely locked iron door provided a measure of security.

He quietly approached the door, pressing his ear against it, listening for sounds from within.

…

…………

Silence.

A very normal silence.

Hearing no unusual sounds, Fang Hou began to wonder if he was going insane.

(Thump… Thump…)

Two muffled thuds, as if answering his unspoken expectation, echoed from inside the door.

Fang Hou’s face remained impassive as his lips trembled, and he retreated two steps, decisively pulling out his phone.

“Hello? Is this 110? Forensic lab. Come quickly, and tell the Director to come too.”

A call from within their own ranks meant a swift response.

Before long, The Director arrived with his team, curious to see what kind of trouble his chief forensic pathologist was stirring up.

“What is it? Speak.”

The Director seemed to be in a bad mood.

“I’ll open the door. You protect me.”

Fang Hou offered no explanation, merely pulling out his keys to unlock the door.

‘A thief in the police station?’

The police officers exchanged bewildered glances.

“Click.”

The lock cylinder turned, and the tightly shut door creaked open a sliver.

Fang Hou stood to the side as the iron door swung open.

A corpse tumbled out onto the floor with a thud.

“What is the meaning of this?”

The Director was furious.

The surrounding officers, startled, recoiled a few steps, looking between the two men.

Fang Hou leaned in close to The Director’s ear.

Though angry, The Director hadn’t lost his mind and patiently listened to what he had to say.

“He walked over himself.”

The Director’s pupils contracted violently.

He gripped Fang Hou’s shoulder, confirming in a low voice.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

The Director no longer hesitated, waving his hand and shouting.

“Nobody get close!”

He pulled out his phone, finding a number in his contacts that he had only dialed a handful of times, tucked away in a corner.

Yun Juan, transformed into a cat, was frolicking outside, chasing small animals everywhere.

The phone strapped to her body suddenly vibrated.

“Meow?”

‘A new assignment?’