HLM -Chapter 1223 You Stand in Front

Putting on white coats and caps, Sweet Guy looked left and right and laughed: “Hey, we’re all Muslims here.”

The instructor warned him, “You can joke about Christians, you can joke about Buddhists, but don’t joke about Muslims—otherwise, your police career won’t last long.”

Sweet Guy nodded, “I know. I’ve seen how fierce they can be when I was in Afghanistan.”

They didn’t go to the morgue but headed straight for the autopsy room. The instructors watched them enter at the door. Wang Bo asked, “Instructors first, please.”

The instructors smiled, “No, we don’t need to. Enjoy yourselves in there. Blessings to you all.”

“Sh*t,” the students muttered quietly to each other.

The autopsy room was an underground hall. Once inside, the temperature dropped sharply. This time, Wang Bo was certain the breeze he felt was a cold draft, but Uncle Bing shook his head: “It’s not a ghost wind. Autopsy rooms are always colder than outside; otherwise, the corpses would decompose too fast.”

Braving the cold air, they walked down the corridor. Small rooms lined both sides, all with closed doors, so it was unclear what they were used for.

At the end of the corridor were thick plastic curtains. Pulling them aside, they entered the main autopsy hall.

Compared to the corridor, the room felt even colder. Wang Bo lifted the curtain and felt as if he had stepped into an ice chamber.

Atulu shivered slightly and said to Wang Bo, “Boss, this is even colder than the cold storage at the ranch.”

In the center of the hall were several movable stainless steel tables. Fixed tables lined the walls, some with tools on them, others holding corpses.

Wang Bo counted quietly, “Twenty corpses in total… where did so many come from?”

At that moment, the curtain shook. Five or six people in white coats and masks silently entered. Their presence, combined with the setting, made them terrifying.

“Those five must be the forensic examiners, right?” Uncle Bing whispered.

Atulu corrected him, “There are six.”

Wang Bo and the others looked surprised. “Six? There are clearly only five people. Look: one, two, three, four, five…”

Atulu panicked and pointed to a short figure at the edge in a white coat: “No, there’s one more. Can’t you see?”

Wang Bo and Uncle Bing looked, confused.

Now the tall Maori man nearly sank to his knees.

Uncle Bing nudged the two of them, “Alright, stop scaring Atulu. Let’s be serious.”

Atulu immediately turned angry. Uncle Bing shrugged and muttered, “Who knew he’d be such a coward!”

“I’m not a coward! I’m afraid of ghosts!” Atulu protested.

A forensic examiner stepped forward: “Everyone wait a moment. Let’s wait for the medical students. You can look around here first, familiarize yourselves with the environment, and see if any projects interest you.”

The students snickered, “Interested in this stuff? Forget it.”

Wang Bo had never seen a corpse in real life. Sunset Town had been relatively peaceful, with no murders or anything, so being in this environment made him shiver with fear.

Out of sight, out of mind. He huddled with Atulu and the others to chat.

About ten minutes later, another twenty to thirty people in white coats entered—these were the medical students.

Gerard encouraged, “Let’s count how many there are.”

Uncle Bing frowned, “Gerard, that’s enough. You’re making me angry!”

Gerard spread his hands helplessly and said nothing further.

A tall forensic examiner assigned them into groups: one student paired with one medical student, and two groups per corpse.

Some corpses were left over—they weren’t for class but for the examiners’ work. Among the six forensic examiners, the tallest one was the instructor, the rest were regular staff.

Wang Bo was unlucky. The corpse he was assigned to had died violently, with bloodstains on the head and chest. Its eyes were wide open, pupils dilated, making it look terrifying.

The forensic instructor said, “As everyone knows, in our country, any non-natural death requires the corpse to be transported to the forensic department under police supervision. Generally…”

“Ah! F*ck! Help!” A scream suddenly rang out. Near one of the stainless steel tables, chaos erupted, and students all stepped back, screaming.

The little courage Wang Bo had built up to face his corpse vanished in their screams.

“What happened?” the instructor barked.

A trembling student pointed at the corpse, “Its… its hand moved just now! We all saw it, right? You saw the hand move!”

Others nodded vigorously, “Really, teacher! The hand twitched twice, quite a bit!”

Atulu, being shorter, was probably kneeling to see.

The instructor went over, felt the corpse’s arms, fingers, and other body parts, and even cut the skin on the back of the hand with a scalpel, then said, “It’s fine.”

“Fine?” the students objected.

The instructor explained, “During decomposition, gases form inside the corpse, causing it to expand. This can make the arms and legs stretch slightly and the fingers swell, giving the impression that the corpse is moving.”

“How’s that possible? Corpses aren’t controlled by the brain. How could the limbs bend or straighten differently? The brain’s dead!” someone complained.

The instructor looked at him, “You’re from the police academy, right?”

The student replied, “Uh, yes. How did you know?”

Everyone wore the same attire—white coats, caps, and masks—making it hard to identify anyone.

The instructor said, “Because medical students wouldn’t say something so unscientific.”

Wang Bo thought about it. Reflexes don’t require the brain, so limbs can still move.

The instructor continued, “Perfect timing. Today, we’ll teach you about postmortem reactions. Let’s use this corpse as an example.”

“Postmortem reactions are the residual responses of tissues, organs, and cells after death to stimuli. For example, skeletal muscles may still contract, pupils may dilate or constrict, intestines may move, and sperm may remain active hours after death. This is crucial in forensic science to estimate time of death.”

Everyone pulled out notebooks and scribbled furiously.

The instructor waved them off: “Don’t rush to take notes. Writing it down is useless. Come here—I’ll dissect this fresh corpse and show you the hidden postmortem reactions.”

Atulu got lucky again. The instructor pointed at him, “You’re too tall and strong. Stand at the back of the group, or you’ll block everyone’s view. You… with your build, move to the front.”

Wang Bo wore a wretched expression: Me? Are you kidding? I’m strong too!