At this moment, a dangerous blue light flashed in her eyes.

Edward Sutton's features twisted, his face flushing red. Then he exhaled a long, turbid breath and decisively took a step back.

“Your subordinate wouldn’t dare! But I must state in advance, he may examine the body, but he must not cause any damage.”

Henry Thompson gratefully bowed to Grace Johnson: “Thank you, my lord!”

The silver-armored young woman looked at him with a half-smile for a while, then turned her head aside: “Aren’t you going to examine the body? Don’t let me down.”

Henry Thompson felt a slight chill in his heart, but he stepped up without hesitation to one side of the coffin and began inspecting Samuel Clark’s corpse.

He was fully confident in his skills as a coroner. Although his predecessor was a spoiled rich kid who only learned a smattering of forensic skills, before Henry Thompson transmigrated, he had already worked as a forensic doctor for two years and had rich experience in autopsies.

Moreover, after transmigrating, Henry Thompson’s mental strength and memory had, for some unknown reason, become exceptionally strong, allowing him to clearly recall everything that coroner had taught him.

Henry Thompson first examined Samuel Clark’s hair and scalp, carefully checking for a while, then looked at the mouth and nose: “There is no mud or white or pale red foam in the mouth and nose, which shows he was already dead before entering the water. There is a faint smell of alcohol at the nostrils, no obvious muscle contraction, and the corneas show patchy cloudiness.

Looking at the livor mortis, we can deduce the time of death was indeed around the Chou hour, probably between the second and fifth quarter.

There are two knife wounds on the back, almost in the same spot. The first stab was blocked by the ribs, the second went straight into the heart, which was fatal. It can be inferred that during these two stabs, the deceased offered no resistance or struggle. Judging from the angle of entry, the killer was most likely right-handed.

There is gooseflesh in the liver area of the back, with a pale red palm-shaped mark. This is a sign of contact with a cold object before or after death. This doesn’t seem right—”

Henry Thompson’s technique was extremely skilled and meticulous, missing no detail from the deceased’s hair to the fingernails.

As he spoke, Edward Sutton and several of his subordinates showed a hint of surprise on their faces.

Grace Johnson raised her willow brows slightly: “So what’s wrong?”

“This doesn’t match the characteristics of my family’s Cold Breath Fiery Palm.” Henry Thompson looked at the silver-armored young woman: “My family’s Cold Breath Fiery Palm causes deep red patches and even full-body frostbite two hours after death.”

The color of livor mortis depends on the color of hemoglobin, which is normally purplish-red. But in low temperatures, oxygenated hemoglobin is less likely to dissociate, so the livor mortis appears brighter red.

So frostbite livor mortis is usually bright and pale red, but the palm print on Samuel Clark’s back is purplish-black, more like normal postmortem livor mortis.

There’s only one possibility: the cold object the deceased contacted wasn’t cold enough, far less than the Cold Breath Fiery Palm.

“Your Li family’s Cold Breath Fiery Palm is indeed astonishingly cold.”

Edward Sutton interjected calmly, “But it depends on who uses it. Your father could freeze ten miles of river with one palm. As for you, with your half-baked skills, leaving such a mark is perfectly normal. Besides, you have to consider the temperature—it’s the height of summer, and even at night, the water is warm enough to neutralize the cold force of that palm.”

Henry Thompson couldn’t help but sneer, glancing at Edward Sutton’s arm, which still retained traces of cold: “If Chief Constable thinks my Cold Breath Fiery Palm is not worth mentioning and can be easily neutralized, then I have nothing more to say.”

His predecessor’s “Cold Breath Fiery Palm” was indeed mediocre. The key was that his own cultivation in the “Primordial Celestial Art” was too low; after seven or eight years, he’d only reached the second level.

But even the second level was no small feat, already enough to unleash the cold force of the “Cold Breath Fiery Palm.”

And since he took over, there had been a great improvement.

As for Edward Sutton’s comments about the temperature, Henry Thompson was even less convinced. No matter how high the temperature in the Qinhuai River, it shouldn’t cause such a change in the livor mortis.

This was related to the secret of the “Cold Breath Fiery Palm”—his cold-type true energy could remain in the body for a long time, continuing to take effect.

But since the other party said so, he couldn’t be bothered to argue further.

“But there’s one more thing I haven’t mentioned—”

Henry Thompson looked coldly at Edward Sutton: “Judging from this palm print, it was caused by compression, not contusion.”

Compression injuries usually show as bruising and swelling, cyanosis; contusions are characterized by subcutaneous bleeding.

He believed that a famous constable like Edward Sutton would not fail to notice the problem with this injury.

He was about to continue questioning based on the palm print when, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of something—a brothel keeper from Lanyue Tower carrying several bowls of iced sour plum soup to help guests sober up.

Henry Thompson’s mind stirred, and a flash of inspiration struck him.

Chapter Four: Let Me Test You With a Question

Henry Thompson turned to ask the nearby madam, “May I ask, who manages the saltpeter in your establishment? Has there been any unusual change in the inventory recently?”

It was already June, and most wealthy families’ ice cellars had run out of stored ice. Lanyue Tower was no exception. However, Lanyue Tower made a fortune every day, and the wealthy could afford to make ice daily with saltpeter for their guests.

“Saltpeter?”