Volume 2 The Curse of the Ba People Chapter 92: Ancient Mark
"This..." Yin Hun was a little embarrassed for a moment. He didn't want to be misunderstood, especially by Tang Yan.
"Ah! By the way, I remember you. I seem to have seen you somewhere..." The sudden appearance of Conan Doyle made Tang Yan a little confused for a moment. After all, the other party was a rare foreigner, and a foreigner at that, and a high-ranking Chinese official.
Fortunately, time diluted the indifference between them. When Tang Yan looked at this foreign beauty again, she finally found something unusual.
"By the way, you...you are...that day, on the computer..." Tang Yan's voice stopped abruptly when she said this. She was a kind-hearted person, and in front of so many people, she would naturally not say some trendy words without restraint. What's more, it was Conan Doyle who helped her out just now, so she had to consider his face.
Conan Doyle made a sensual gesture and pursed his beautiful red lips: "Nice to meet you again, Miss Tang Yan." She naturally knew the relationship between Tang Yan and Yin Hun. Don't forget what she did. Just from Tang Yan's eyes, she knew what the other party wanted to say.
It must be the previous misunderstanding, right?
"How about this! Tang Yan, Feifei, you go back first. This police officer and I still have some official business to do." Yin Hun changed the subject in time.
Tang Yan snorted coldly from her nose: "Are you sure it's just business?"
"What else could it be?" Conan Doyle blinked slyly, his voice deliberately coquettish. "Nothing, nothing!" Yin Hui knew that if he let this foreign little devil get involved, the whole thing would really get worse, so he decided to make a quick decision: "OK, it's just official business."
"Oh! That's about right. Remember to come back early." Tang Yan looked at Conan Doyle provocatively, then nodded with relief.
After sending the two back to the apartment, Yin Hui waved his hand downstairs and walked to the SUV with frustration. In the car, Conan Doyle had already rolled down the window and looked at the trembling look of someone. He couldn't help but chuckled: "The vinegar smell in the car is so strong when I just got here!"
“And it’s sour.”
"You big-headed idiot, drive the car!" Yin Hui slammed the door, picked up the air freshener in the car, and threw it at Conan Doyle.
"Smell this and it won't be sour anymore!"
"Oh! No, Scalpel said that chemical fragrances can be very harmful to the lungs..." Conan Doyle shook his head repeatedly.
"Then why did you leave it in the car?" Yin Hun smiled unhappily.
"You're right." After that, Conan Doyle rolled down the window again and threw the air freshener out: "Now, everyone is healthy."
The half-hour drive was neither too close nor too far. After a few turns in the city, we arrived in front of a white building complex. The decorations were quite gorgeous. Many government officials were busy with documents, and the working atmosphere was very strong. But this was just the surface, because we had to pass through the glass door and walk two hundred steps to enter the core area of the building. After being inspected, we took the elevator down to the third floor below ground, where the real Public Security Bureau office was.
He raised the remote control in his hand and turned on the switch of the bulletproof glass: "Yin Hui, let me tell you this! Since you like it here, but don't want to be burdened by tedious official work, why don't you take a position, where you will be a state employee but don't have to join a group? How about it?" Conan Doyle's inducement arrived as promised.
"Forget it, I can't afford it..." Yin Hui was thinking about how much money he could get if he stole the glass...
"Hmph" Conan Doyle felt a little unhappy after being rejected: "Don't I know your character? You just have two beauties at home and you don't want to move away. Am I really inferior to them?" Conan Doyle suddenly moved close to Yin Hui's body. The unique body fragrance of European women was indeed a catalyst for desire.
Yin Hun did not make any extreme moves, but just looked at her with a smile.
"Okay! I admit defeat. You are the first man whom I cannot see through!" After a few minutes, Conan Doyle finally gave up his futile efforts and spread his hands with a helpless expression.
"But," she said, changing the subject: "I may not be able to attract you, but what happened today will definitely attract you!"
"Oh?" Yin Hui was startled after hearing her words: "Are you so confident?"
"Yes!" Conan Doyle nodded and smiled mysteriously: "The cause of your master's death has been revealed, because we have found another key clue."
"What clues?" Yin Hun was a little impatient.
"Come with me!" Conan Doyle snapped his fingers.
In the judicial office, Scalpel and Yellow Crane Tower were playing Chinese chess with great interest. Judging from the situation on the Chu River and Han River, Scalpel was obviously doomed. Seeing Conan Doyle coming, he pushed the chess pieces away as if he saw a savior: "No more, no more, the boss is here."
"You!" Huang Helou smiled and did not comment on this guy's cheating behavior .
"How did that matter go?" Conan Doyle asked Yin Hun to sit down, put on his felt hat and sunglasses, and looked at the two of them with a solemn expression.
"There is no progress for now. This symbol is really special and has never been recorded in either official or unofficial history," said Scalpel.
"What symbol?" Yin Hun vaguely felt that this symbol might have a lot to do with the death of his master.
"Come, friend, follow me to the inner room, and you'll know after you see it." Scalpel put on a white coat and led everyone into the morgue. He stopped in front of a drawer number and pulled hard, and Zhao Deshui's body slowly slid out.
"Master..." Yin Hun put his hands on the edge of the drawer, his expression unnatural.
"Look, here." Scalpel picked up a laser pen and focused the light on Zhao Deshui's chest. At that location, the epidermis had been completely turned inside out, revealing a hole.
Yin Hun looked up and saw that there was a brand inside the skin and mucous membrane at the position of Zhao Deshui's heart. The brand was extremely strange. There was a bluish-purple circular frame on the outside and the shape of an eye inside.
Yin Hui's heart skipped a beat and he fell to his knees. "Who on earth is so cruel as to burn something like this on my master's skin?"
When Yin Hun thought that Zhao Deshui still could not rest in peace, he felt a sudden pang of sadness in his heart.
"Yin Hui, my condolences, but please listen to me. This mark did not seem to be engraved after the old gentleman's death, but it has existed about forty years ago." Conan Doyle patted him on the shoulder.
"What? It was already marked with this symbol forty years ago?" Yin Hui's eyes widened in surprise. "Then how did you know?"
Cordonnan shrugged and pointed at the scalpel: "Ask him! He is an expert in human anatomy."
Scalpel coughed in a reserved manner and directed Yin Hui's gaze to his fingertips: "You should take a look at these photos first!"
After saying that, he walked to a microcomputer nearby, held the mouse tightly in his right hand, and opened a black folder on the computer desktop. Suddenly, a row of biological-like photos appeared in front of everyone: "This picture is a picture of dead meat secreted in human tissue. As early as 2003, American scientists have proved that if it grows together with human tissue and is not surrounded by stomach acid, then it will not be digested by humans no matter how long it takes, let alone rot. This also indirectly proves that this mark can parasitize the body for forty years."
"In addition, the dead flesh has signs of resurrection in the body, that is, it will produce some life characteristics, such as producing some fluids, just like our adrenal glands secrete adrenaline and the pancreas secretes insulin. We call the secretions produced by these dead flesh coffee liquid. Because there is enough evidence to show that the color of the secretions secreted by these dead flesh is similar to the color of coffee, based on the measurement of coffee liquid in Mr. Zhao's body, we guess that this foreign tissue has been parasitic in his body for at least forty years."
Scalpel tried hard to explain the professional terms to Yin Hui in a popular way, but the other party still felt confused and at a loss as to where to go.
"To be honest, I'm a layman, so I don't understand how much truth and how much falsehood there is in your explanation. I just want to get an answer, that is, has this mark really existed for forty years as you said?" After sorting out the clues for a long time and still getting nothing, Yin Hun decided to drop the topic and get straight to the point.
At least, he didn't want to continue to dwell on this boring academic issue.
"Yes! I'm sure of that!" Scalpel hesitated for a moment and gave a final answer: "Because this is the only explanation that can stand up at present." As if to prove his inference, he walked to Zhao Deshui's body in two steps, bowed to Yin Hui, and asked for mercy. Then he turned the scalpel in his palm and a bright light appeared. After the light dissipated, the tip of the scalpel had gently cut an artery at the wrist of the corpse: "Come and see for yourself! His blood has completely turned into brown."
Yin Hun looked up and saw that, sure enough, a lot of black and yellow liquid was slowly oozing out of the wound. It was very different from the color of ordinary blood, as if it had been dyed, or as if it had been poisoned by some unknown toxin.
"The air conditioner under the bed is at a temperature of minus degrees Celsius, so there is no need to bandage the wound. It will freeze automatically in a few minutes." Scalpel said, picked up a roll of sterilized towel, absorbed the blood on Zhao Deshui's hands, and then adjusted his posture, placing his hands straight and flat on his chest. Sure enough, after he finished all this, a thin layer of frost had already formed on the wound.
"Thank you for your respect!" Yin Hun nodded and smiled at him kindly.
"No need. My way of handling the deceased is not professional. I am sorry to embarrass myself in front of you." Scalpel put down the towel and leaned against the operating table.
"Based on my personal intuition, I think this strange mark, or totem, should be related to a certain race in ancient times."
"That makes sense!" Yin Hun nodded. He also felt that the mark on Old Zhao's body seemed to come from a lost civilization.
"Haha! Listen to me." Scalpel shook his head: "I have looked up relevant information and consulted many top domestic historians, but unfortunately , I have found nothing."
"Is there no similar symbol?" Yin Hun frowned.
"In my opinion, before we determine what this symbol represents, it is better not to waste time on these useless efforts. The murderer is likely to appear again." Huang Helou spoke at the right time.
After he finished speaking, he seemed to be afraid of something, and his face looked a little unhappy. In order to avoid embarrassment, he took out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket, put one in his mouth, and lit it.
