Chapter 27: Is This a Professional Hazard?

Dissection has two meanings. The first is an in-depth analysis and study of affairs; the second refers to the act of slicing open the bodies of humans or animals with specialized instruments, a term reserved for medicine and biology. Li Can was not trained in medicine, so his title of “master dissector” was somewhat exaggerated. He much preferred to call himself “Butcher Ding,” a craftsman skilled in the art of cutting and partitioning meat ingredients.

At one point, Li Can went upstairs and rummaged through his bags, retrieving an unusual little knife. The blade was about twenty centimeters long, with the handle and blade each taking up half the length, giving it the impression of being top-heavy. The handle was wrapped in bandages stained with blood, the blade itself dull and lacking any sheen, but the edge was crescent-shaped, exuding a chilling brilliance.

Upon closer inspection, one would notice a finger-width blood groove running along both sides of the blade, designed to inhibit wound healing and facilitate bleeding. Though the knife appeared unremarkable, it radiated a palpable sense of danger, like a thorn pressing against one’s back.

This was a butcher’s knife.

Li Can admired it as one would a precious jade, turning it left and right in his hands, utterly enamored. He had commissioned this knife from a master craftsman in the countryside, specifically for breaking down large cuts.

He named the knife Old Three, because it was his third butcher’s knife. Before Old Three, there had been Old One and Old Two. Old One had been brought home by his father from a distant town when Li Can first entered the culinary path; it had slaughtered over six hundred chickens, three hundred ducks, twelve pigs, and two sheep before its edge dulled and it was honorably retired.

Old Two was a high-end knife Li Can purchased himself, but its service record was brief—only three cows before it was cast aside. Old Three was forged from the melted remains of Old One and had processed thirty cattle to date, remaining in perfect condition.

From the bloody histories of these three knives, it was evident that Li Can’s skills in breaking down meat improved rapidly with experience. For a layperson unfamiliar with bovine anatomy, a single cow would ruin their knife. The experienced, however, would work along the seams between flesh and bone, enabling a knife to process many animals. Beyond these, there was another kind of person—those who could navigate a cow’s anatomy blindfolded, never allowing blade and bone to clash. For them, the knife’s longevity was measured not in numbers, but in years. It was said that Ding, the protagonist in the story “Butcher Ding Dismembers the Ox,” possessed a knife that remained sharp after nineteen years.

Though Li Can’s knife was far from Ding’s, it had already lasted two years.

With his right hand holding the knife, Li Can gently stroked the monster’s chest cavity with his left. Aside from the coarse brown skin, he felt nothing else.

Pressing harder, he found the chest cavity uncollapsed, supported by bones whose arrangement was nothing like normal creatures—not crisscrossed, but swirling in a vortex. Following the subtle ridges, he traced several circles before pausing at the center of the chest.

“What a peculiar bone structure,” he mused, noting the monster’s upper body. “Not linear, but spiral, with gaps of about three centimeters. It seems there are only two complete bones, extending from each shoulder and meeting in the center.”

He explored the abdomen.

“Huh.” Li Can frowned in uncertainty. Was it a trick of the senses? He had distinctly felt a squirming movement inside the corpse. Yet upon further inspection, it was gone.

“Did I imagine it?” He wasn’t sure, but he grew cautious.

Continuing, he found the bones supporting the abdomen even stranger, with a pronounced tactile presence. Instead of a spiral, he discovered a circular framework, whose edges sprouted numerous ribs growing inward, one after another, some soft. The overall structure resembled the casing of an electric fan, providing excellent protection.

The forelimbs were similar to human arms, divided into humerus, radius, and ulna. The humerus connected shoulder to elbow; the radius was the outer bone between elbow and wrist; the ulna was the inner bone. The forepaw had four finger bones—three slender, the fourth attached to the ulna, exceedingly tough. In addition, the palm bore scattered white spikes, whose purpose—whether for grip or attack—was uncertain.

The hind limbs resembled the forelimbs, with the sole difference being the forelimbs bent forward, the hind limbs backward—much like the rear legs of cats and dogs.

Having analyzed the skeletal structure, Li Can turned his attention to the monster’s gender, but found nothing, as if it were sexless.

He exhaled a breath he’d been holding for some time. The corpse’s odor was sharply sour, and prolonged exposure made his brow ache.

Glancing at his phone, he saw the time: 02:04.

“I need to speed up, or I’ll be at this till dawn with no results.”

Breaking down the ingredient was only the first phase. Afterwards, he’d have to turn it into a delicious dish, which would take even longer.

Li Can truly suffered from compulsions. If a task was unfinished, his mind would be restless, unable to sleep.

He picked up the butcher’s knife, found the seam between chest and abdomen, sliced from left to right, then made another cut from top to bottom through the opening, splitting the brown skin into a cross.

Black fluid seeped out—not much, but enough. It trickled down the rough skin, pooling between the corpse and the table.

The liquid was extremely viscous, the main source of the sour stench.

Despite the unpleasant smell, Li Can dipped his finger and tasted it on his tongue.

This was not an act of perversity, but a demonstration of responsibility to his guests. In ancient times, the Divine Farmer tasted hundreds of herbs, risking poison for others; now, Li Can sampled monster secretions, putting his guests first.

It was the same principle.

“The flavor is overwhelming. If any remains inside, it will certainly affect the cooking.”

Li Can swallowed the fluid with a gulp, standing quietly.

The monster’s origins were mysterious. If he wanted to turn it into a delicacy, he had to test for side effects himself.

After about half a minute, his body felt nothing unusual, except his breath grew increasingly foul—so bad he nearly knocked himself out.

“I’ll try the raw meat later. If there’s still no reaction after the dish is finished, it should be safe.”

Li Can showed no fear. He’d done similar things many times while studying ingredients: pairing hot peppers with live insects, soaking cow’s eyes in red wine, licking fresh pig intestines for half a day, and so forth...

Was it perverse?

No.

It was simply an occupational hazard—nothing more.

Beneath the skin lay a layer of translucent membrane, resembling a fat layer but much thinner, akin to fascia.

He sliced the membrane, revealing a layer of milky white hardness.

Tap, tap.

Li Can knocked twice, like rapping on a door—the sound was crisp, suggesting some kind of cartilage.

Curious, he tried slicing it, only to find the so-called cartilage crumbled like tofu.

“How can this be?” Li Can was astonished. He knocked again—indeed, it was quite hard.

“Light touches feel soft, but hard knocks are tough. Could this be the culprit that thwarted my knife’s attack?”

He licked his lips.

“Even tougher than a bulletproof vest!”

(To be continued...)