HLM -Chapter 1224 The Large Intestine’s Yours

Except for unlucky Wang Bo, who was called out by name, no one else was willing to step forward.

A dissection of a fresh corpse—this was way too heavy-duty.

Atulu snickered, comfortably standing at the farthest edge, furthest from the dissection table.

The instructor had no choice but to call names one by one: “The one at the very back wearing glasses, that’s you. Step forward.”

The one at the back with glasses was Sweet Guy, who had deliberately put on fake glasses to act cool.

Hearing the instructor, he calmly took off his glasses and continued pretending not to hear him.

The instructor, furious, ripped off his mask and threw it: “The one it hit—come here!”

Sweet Guy sulkily walked over and stood next to Wang Bo.

Wang Bo asked, “Instructor, there are female medical students here. Will we be in their way?”

“No problem,” the instructor said. “They don’t need to attend this dissection class—they’ve already done it.”

Once the students were in place, the instructor continued: “As I mentioned before, corpses from unnatural deaths must be sent to forensic pathologists under police supervision for autopsy and pathological examination.”

“The purpose is to conduct a clear, scientific investigation into the cause of death, to determine whether there are signs of murder or negligent homicide. But you also need to have a certain understanding of anatomy.”

As he spoke, he gestured to several medical students. Without being told, they brought over several large glass basins.

Instantly, Wang Bo could barely open his eyes—he realized for the first time that formalin really stung.

The instructor, holding a sharp surgical knife, began dissecting the corpse from the chest down to the lower abdomen.

This corpse was indeed very fresh; the blood hadn’t fully coagulated, and a glue-like blood seeped out.

Sweet Guy showed no reaction. “I’ve seen plenty of this on the battlefield.”

Wang Bo shrugged. “Me too.”

Hearing this, Sweet Guy’s face changed immediately. Wang Bo laughed: “Don’t overthink it—I’ve seen plenty… on the ranch. I have a big ranch where we slaughter cows and sheep every day.”

The others weren’t so lucky; Wang Bo could hear the sound of gagging.

The instructor skillfully cut through the chest skin and removed the internal organs, introducing them as he went.

The corpse had been quite fat in life. After peeling back the skin, a thick layer of yellow fat was visible beneath, which made Wang Bo a little nauseous—cows and sheep didn’t have this stuff.

After dissecting the organs, the instructor didn’t immediately put them in formalin; he first weighed them on a scale.

Weighing would have been enough, but he seemed to deliberately gross everyone out, flipping them around and examining them repeatedly—though this could also be part of teaching.

When he got to the liver, he held it up: “Look, this is a standard fatty liver. So, students who are overweight, pay attention—you need to lose weight, or your liver will end up like this. Scary, isn’t it?”

A French student groaned, “Damn it! I swear I’ll never eat foie gras again!”

The instructor immediately dragged him forward. The student nearly cried; the instructor’s gloves were covered in sticky blood, leaving a bloody handprint on the student’s white coat.

He handed the liver to the student: “Here, take a good look, weigh it, take a sample, and tell me your observations.”

The student had ten minutes to observe. Meanwhile, the instructor continued the dissection, tugging out intestines—large intestine, small intestine, duodenum, and so on—like a tug-of-war.

Wang Bo was unlucky enough to get a section of the large intestine. He had to dissect it to see what was inside and analyze what the deceased had eaten in the final stage of life.

What’s in the large intestine? Definitely… feces!

Seeing this, the student who had been given the liver felt psychologically more balanced.

Wang Bo also felt better afterward, because what the remaining students saw was even worse.

The abdominal cavity was already empty, so the instructor began on the throat. After cutting it open, he used the knife to stretch the area, even having students pull it.

Using steel clamps to hold the stretched skin, he exposed the throat in front of everyone.

Finally, someone couldn’t hold back and vomited.

The instructor pointed to the trash can: “You have two minutes to vomit. Go over, and for every minute you delay, you’ll stay ten extra minutes after class to make up for it.”

Once he said this, the two students vomiting sped up, while the others who felt queasy forced themselves to suppress it.

But it was useless—they later brought out a chainsaw and, wielding it like a maniac, attacked the corpse.

The chainsaw was for the bones, especially the skull.

Wang Bo grimaced: “Instructor, do we really need all this? Isn’t this a bit disrespectful to the corpse?”

The instructor wasn’t offended. Smiling, he said, “Actually, for this corpse, the skull dissection is the most important. Our biggest suspicion is that he died from severe head trauma.”

Someone asked, “But his head looks normal.”

The instructor had two students hold up the upper body to show the back of the head. “Look here. What do you feel? You can’t see it, right? Try touching.”

Everyone reached out. Wang Bo felt something soft—the back of the head was odd.

“This is the result of cranial bone fragmentation. My judgment: the back of the head has turned to mush. The deceased was found at a car accident scene; obviously, his head hit a hard object.”

“In this case, we must dissect the entire brain for detailed examination. Everyone, step back—careful not to get brain matter on you.”

At this, everyone turned pale and stepped far back.

The other forensic students laughed: “Can you still learn anything from so far away? Why not come closer and learn here?”

Embarrassed, the students moved back around the table.

The instructor was only scaring them—he wouldn’t actually spray brain matter. That would be real disrespect.

Wang Bo finally survived the entire night of forensic medicine class.

It wasn’t until midnight that they left. Before leaving, the instructor said, “You won’t need to stay this late in the future. The next class is the day after tomorrow, in the morning.”

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Atulu chuckled wryly: “I thought we’d have to study this subject at night every time.”

The instructor shook his head: “No. Tonight’s first class is a tradition—I had to give you a warning. Future classes won’t be this intense.”

The medical students laughed, while the police students exchanged glances: this instructor is too straightforward. But what kind of traditions does a police academy have? From the moment they entered, they’d been thoroughly tested.