You actually read books like this?

That person was none other than Yun Jin Su.

Liang Feiyue frowned as she stared at Yun Jin Su. She had seen Yun Jin Su online before, and indeed, her appearance was strikingly beautiful—her skin flawless even under high-definition cameras. Yet, seeing her in person now, Liang Feiyue found her even more enchanting; even the way she walked exuded an almost ethereal grace.

However, Liang Feiyue quickly suppressed her appreciation for this beauty, as a surge of astonishment and disbelief rose within her. Instinctively, she glanced at her watch—it was only 9:08, not even ten minutes past the hour.

“So early? Impossible. Wasn’t Yun Jin Su supposed to arrive last, making everyone wait?” she thought, deeply unsettled. For a moment, she nearly forgot to manage her expression.

Meanwhile, Yun Jin Su, approaching from the elevator, sensed Liang Feiyue’s gaze. But Yun Jin Su was not one for the internet; her phone, unless someone called her, might as well be a brick. So she did not recognize Liang Feiyue.

Seeing Liang Feiyue looking at her, Yun Jin Su looked back. The woman appeared to be around twenty-nine or thirty, with a slightly angular face and long, narrow eyes. Her slender frame suggested she weighed less than ninety pounds. Though thin, she did not look skeletal, but rather had the approachable air of the girl-next-door.

After a cursory glance, Yun Jin Su walked past and sat on the row of sofas outside the conference room, sipping her soy milk. She had risen at five, run for an hour, and completed her morning studies. Though she’d already had breakfast, the temptation of street food proved too strong on her way here, and she’d bought a cup of soy milk along with several snacks.

By now, her soy milk was nearly finished. Taking her seat, she drained the last mouthful, then opened her bag and rummaged through it, pulling out a packet of passion fruit-flavored lollipops. She unwrapped one, then looked up at Liang Feiyue and Maomao.

Extending her hand, she offered the bag to Maomao, who was sitting closest. “Want one?”

Maomao hadn’t expected Yun Jin Su to offer her snacks and was so flustered she shook her head immediately. “No, thank you, I don’t eat candy.”

“How about you?” Yun Jin Su offered one to Liang Feiyue.

Liang Feiyue also shook her head. “No, thank you.”

“These look tasty, but there’s a bit too much artificial flavoring. If they were made with real passion fruit and malt syrup, I think they’d taste much better.” Since both declined, Yun Jin Su didn’t mind; she simply grabbed one for herself, unwrapping it as she spoke.

The meeting was scheduled for ten; it was only a little after nine. Apart from the employees passing by, only the three of them sat idle outside the conference room. Sitting in silence was dull, so Yun Jin Su deliberately sought conversation, though she didn’t expect much of a response. As she spoke, her mind wandered, pondering what combination of foods might yield a “passion fruit flavor.”

In nature, any fruit’s taste could be replicated by the principle of “one plus one equals two”—like how mixing apple and cucumber produces a taste reminiscent of Hami melon. Surely passion fruit could be imitated as well, though at the moment, Yun Jin Su couldn’t recall which flavors combined to create it.

Oblivious to the glances exchanged between Liang Feiyue and Maomao, who were both stunned and bewildered, Yun Jin Su continued to snack and muse.

Their eyes met, and both saw the same question reflected in each other’s gaze.

Was this really Yun Jin Su? The Yun Jin Su rumored online to have powerful connections behind her? The one said to be arrogant and dismissive of others?

Why did she seem... almost adorable? She’d even offered them candy—how could that possibly match the scheming “white lotus” persona the rumors described?

Unconsciously, Liang Feiyue found her attention drawn to Yun Jin Su. People say men love beautiful women, but in truth, women appreciate beauty even more. Sitting there with her lollipop, Yun Jin Su’s face looked as smooth and delicate as a peeled egg—undeniably lovely and sweet. Her absentminded expression was especially enchanting.

Yet, as Liang Feiyue studied her, Yun Jin Su suddenly seemed to remember something. She opened her bag again and took out a book: “The Illustrated Guide to Postmortem Changes in the Human Body.”

The cover depicted a waxy, yellowed human leg, mottled with visible postmortem lividity.

In an instant, Liang Feiyue’s eyes widened, and Maomao, beside her, gaped in shock.

As Yun Jin Su flipped through the pages, they glimpsed vivid illustrations—bones gnawed by insects, cross-sections of giant skeletons—scenes that would require censorship on television but were presented here in all their detail.

But that wasn’t the most astonishing part; what truly stunned them was that Yun Jin Su read these images with relish, calmly eating her candy all the while.

“You eat while reading that?” the young Maomao couldn’t help but exclaim.

Yun Jin Su glanced up, and Maomao continued, “Doesn’t it make you feel sick?”

“Not really, I don’t feel much at all,” Yun Jin Su replied evenly, though inwardly she was amused. She had noticed earlier how young and adorable Maomao was, but now the girl’s features were so contorted with disgust she looked like a cartoon meme.

“Did you study medicine?” Liang Feiyue asked.

Yun Jin Su nodded. “Something like that.”

“No wonder,” Liang Feiyue smiled, as if a puzzle piece had fallen into place. “Most people couldn’t stomach that.”

“It’s not so hard, really. They’re just pictures. If you don’t become too immersed, they’re just knowledge,” Yun Jin Su replied quietly.

“But aren’t you afraid?” Liang Feiyue pressed.

“Afraid? Why? We’ll all face this one day. In fact, to be featured in a textbook is actually an honor; what’s truly frightening are those who never make it into illustrations. Sometimes, there’s not even a skeleton left. To appear in color plates is quite representative. Don’t be put off by the insects or the blood; in medicine, these are the dead accusing and identifying their killers. Without such evidence, many who died unnaturally would have no way to cry for justice. Isn’t that thought less frightening?”

Yun Jin Su was amused by Liang Feiyue’s question but couldn’t help offering a little explanation. Having studied medicine under her great-grandfather since childhood, she understood that while a healer must be compassionate, she must also possess a certain detachment—facing life and death with equanimity. Her Taoist upbringing had further deepened her acceptance of mortality. To her, the gore others shunned was simply reference material. If you can’t confront such realities directly, how can you hope to heal the living or speak for the dead? Compassion and courage must go hand in hand.