I had expected something like this to occur, because I’d secretly asked Dali to take pictures of the stitches on Dr. Kong’s patients. To his credit, Dali did manage to take a few, but one girl evidently thought he was a pervert, so she used the pepper spray on Dali.

“I’m really sorry, Dali,” I said. “I’ll make it up to you somehow. Let me see the pictures you took!”

He handed me his phone, and I asked a police officer to print out the pictures. I compared the pictures to the stitches on the victim’s body. 

“Look at this part,” I pointed at a picture. “It obviously looked like they were sewn by the same person.”

Stitches were just like handwriting. Every doctor had their own habits and their own unique ‘signature.’ Still, this wouldn’t be enough evidence to convict anyone in court.

“You’re right,” nodded Xiaotao. “There’s no doubt that Kong Hui is the murderer. We should...