Chapter 329: Three Tables Pushed Together

January 15, 9:50 a.m., north of the city. The old textile factory yard. The iron gate was only half open, and nailed to the gatepost was a white sign with blue lettering: Jiangzhou Qinghe Environmental Public Welfare Service Center, with a smaller line underneath giving the street number.

On the concrete between the gate and the building entrance, a row of dustpans were laid out to dry, filled with shredded paper and flattened bottles, each weighed down with four bricks. The building was three stories tall, the window frames still iron. A few panes had been replaced, their shades mismatched. No elevator. The stairs were concrete, worn smooth in the middle, the paint on the handrail chipped down to speckles.

At the end of the third-floor hallway, a sheet of A4 paper was taped to a door—a photocopied map, blue lines marking waterways, a few squares labeled with place names. The upper right corner had curled up. Li Huilan reached to press it flat, gave up, and pulled her hand back. "This is the one."

She pushed the door open. On the wall directly across hung a large map. Pencil underdrawing, blue marker for the lines: Jiangzhou's water came down from the western hills, split as it entered the city, and flowed out to the east. Red dots marked several spots, each with a small line of characters beside it recording a date.

Cai Qingru stood beneath the map. Short hair, the cuffs of her down jacket worn pale. She was jamming the plug of an electric heater into an outlet. The room wasn't large. Three tables had been pushed together—two old office desks facing each other, with a folding table butted against one end, the seams taped over twice with clear tape. On the tables sat three enamel mugs, a stack of flyers, an old printer.

"Sit." She carried over the thermos. "The mugs are clean."

She poured each cup to seventy percent full without spilling a drop. She sat down, wiped her hands on her pants, then reached out. "IDs."

Three ID cards were slid across. She held each up to the window light one by one—checking the face, the number, the issue date—then set them back in their original order. She examined the two practice certificates as well, pressing her thumb on the photo page and flipping through page by page.

"Certificates are for people to see. Paper is for the court to see." She said, "I need to see both."

Li Huilan slid her own certificate over too.

"The year before last, you were sitting across from me," Cai Qingru said. "I remember the person. I remember the certificate too."

"I'll spread the papers out." She pushed the documents back and got up, walking to the iron cabinet in the corner. "You look. I'll wait. We talk after you've looked."

When the cabinet opened, the smell of old paper came out. The first item was a dark-red-covered Social Service Organization Registration Certificate, plastic jacket, creased at the edges. She pulled out the original and set it in the middle of the table, holding one finger down on the red seal at the bottom, not moving until all three of them had finished looking, before turning it over.

"Registered 2018, Jiangzhou Municipal Civil Affairs Bureau." She said, "That year, eight organizations in this city were doing this kind of work. Four remain."

The second item was the charter, a stapled stack with two bold characters on the cover. She opened it to Article One and dragged a fingernail across the paper.

"Article One of the purpose: carry out environmental public interest activities. When this gets to court, that's the first thing they'll ask—what gives you the right to stand there, what gives you the right to speak for a ditch. I'll read this article to them."

The third item: she dragged a cardboard box out from under the table, the lid tape covered in multiple layers of old tears. Inside were five annual work reports, one per year, the year printed on each cover. The paper edges were yellowed, two covers' corners curled.

She lined all five up in a row, edges flush.

"One a year. Five years." She said, "One missing, and you don't get past case filing."

Shen Zhixia looked through them one by one. At the last volume, her fingertip tapped the cover. How many monitoring trips, how many outreach sessions, where the money came from, how much was spent—all written out line by line, in few words.

[Thud. Three thresholds, and this one is the most solid. Only what can be counted holds up.]

"The 2026 volume doesn't need to be filed until the end of March," Cai Qingru said. "The court wants five years. I have five years."

"There's one more thing," Lu Jibai said. "In the five years before filing suit, whether the center has received any administrative or criminal penalties for its business activities."

She picked up her mug, took a sip, and set it down.

"No penalties. But there's one thing you need to know first: for the 2022 annual report, we failed to submit it within the prescribed deadline. The Civil Affairs Bureau issued a Notice of Order to Correct Within a Deadline in March 2023, giving us ten days. Counting from the day we received it, we submitted the supplement on the eighth day. The receipt is in the cabinet, stored with that year's papers."

She looked at them both. "Whether that counts as a violation record—you know better than I do."

"An order to correct is not a penalty," Lu Jibai said. "When we submit materials, include that notice along with a one-line explanation. Verify against the original."

"Whatever day you need it, I'll open the cabinet. The key is with me, not with anyone else."

[Thud. The one piece that works against her, she put it on the table herself. This person: noted.]

At 10:30, Shen Zhixia went to stand beneath the map. On the western section, a ridge had been drawn in pencil with a circle labeled Baixi and the next labeled Qingshi, a blue line between them. Beside this line, not a single red dot.

"This section—nothing was ever done here."

"Never done." Cai Qingru walked over. "The map is traced from the 2019 water-system map. Red dots mark the places we've worked. The Baixi, Qingshi line—I've been out twice, both times standing on the highway."

"Couldn't get in?"

"The ditch at the village entrance runs up to the factory, and there are people at the factory. We asked around with our notebooks, and they said nothing was wrong. To take samples, you need someone in the village to show the way. Without a guide, nothing you take counts." She pressed a finger on that blue line. "This one—I owe it."

Shen Zhixia didn't respond. Her notebook was in her bag. She didn't take it out.

At 10:40, Cai Qingru set the thermos by her feet and placed both hands flat on the table, fingers interlaced. The heater hummed.

"Three things." She said, "After these three questions, I'll know where I stand. First: do the children's names go on the complaint?"

"They don't," Shen Zhixia said. "Not a single one."

"In the materials?"

"Only a surname survives in the materials. For the hospital records to enter the case file, the child's father has to sign a consent form agreeing to redact the name. On the copies submitted to the court, the name field gets covered. We hold the originals. If the judge wants to verify, it's done in court, in his presence."

"If it's covered, can the court still see that child?"

"They can," Lu Jibai said. "Blood lead level, reference range, the date the blood was drawn, the date the diagnosis was issued—not one character gets covered. Only the name is hidden."

Cai Qingru loosened her hands, then laced them again.

"Second: money. How much are you asking for, and whose pockets does the judgment money go into."

"The firm charges no agency fee. The contract states it's waived," Shen Zhixia said. "Court fees we'll apply to defer. The appraisal fee has to be advanced—we're working on that one."

"And after judgment?"

"Restoration costs: we'll request payment into a court-designated account, earmarked for that ditch and the land along it. The center never touches it, doesn't take a single fen. Interim losses, appraisal fees—written the same way." Lu Jibai said, "How much is awarded and how it gets spent will all be spelled out in the judgment and enforcement stages. Anyone can check."

"So not one fen ever lands in the center's account." Cai Qingru said, "If not one fen comes in, why should I sit in that seat?"

"Because you meet those three requirements."

"Not enough." She said, "Organizations that meet the three requirements—Jiangzhou has more than one. Why aren't they here? Sitting there brings no benefit, and you carry the burden. Lose the case, and the court fees, the appraisal fee, the defendant's lawyer fees—every one of them is a debt."

The heater hummed for a while.

"This firm of yours—how many people?"

"Three partners, one lawyer," Lu Jibai said.

"Four people." She tapped a knuckle on the table. "Where's the office?"

"Old Town District, above a noodle shop."

"Above a noodle shop." She repeated it without laughing, without any other expression, her eyes moving to Shen Zhixia. "How long have you been licensed?"

"Half a year."

"First time doing this kind of case?"

"First time."

She nudged her mug forward an inch, then back again. "Then let me say one more thing: the first three months of this kind of case are the most unbearable. Everything is waiting. Waiting for acceptance, waiting for a docket, waiting for appraisal, waiting for a date. Don't imagine you can push it forward."

"I know."

"Good. Third: what are you after?"

Shen Zhixia's hand went into her bag, touched the notebook, and came back out.

"I want a judgment," she said. "In the operative part, one sentence that says who has to repair that ditch, and in how many days."

"That's it?"

"That's it. If that sentence gets written, the villagers can take it and go ask."

Cai Qingru studied her for a moment, then turned to Li Huilan.

"Lawyer Li, the river matter in the west of the city the year before last—you sat across from me."

"The sand-washing plant case." Li Huilan said, "I represented the plant."

"The water samples you brought—I didn't accept a single one. The sample collector had no qualifications. The sampling wasn't videotaped. The report didn't even have page numbers."

"I still don't accept them."

"But when it broke up, you said something to me in the hallway."

"I said: what you tested, I don't accept. Whether it was real or fake—I didn't say."

Cai Qingru smiled slightly, the lines on her face loosening a little.

"I've remembered that line for two years." She said, "Plenty of lawyers sit across from me. After it's over, not many are willing to stand by what they said that day. Most of them drop their words on the floor the moment they walk out that door."

She pressed her palm flat on the table.

"Let me be clear about the next few points. In court, the one sitting at the plaintiff's bench is the center. That means it's me. You write the papers, I speak the words. Every sentence you write for me, I have to be able to read aloud in front of a judge. If I can't read it, I don't sign."

"Fine," Lu Jibai said.

"One more condition. If I say something wrong up there, stop me on the spot. Don't wait until it's over. Last time, I didn't realize I'd misspoken twice until after court adjourned. Didn't sleep all night."

At 11:30, the three of them went downstairs. The iron handrail was cold, the paint chipped to speckles. At the landing between the second and third floors there was a window with a view of the dustpans in the yard, the wind lifting a corner of the shredded paper on the bricks.

"The appraisal fee," Lu Jibai said, "I'll figure it out."

"How many tens of thousands?"

"Depends on how many sampling points. More points, higher cost. The firm's account can front it, but after that, this month will be tight."

Shen Zhixia said nothing. She'd run through the firm's books for this month in her head. This was the truth.

Down at the first floor, the glass door squeaked as it opened. Hinge needed oil. The three of them had just reached the entrance when someone came down the stairs.

Cai Qingru was still holding a mug. She got all the way to the doorway before remembering to put it down, setting it on the windowsill.

"The appraisal fee. Don't go looking for money outside."

"The center has money set aside for this?" Lu Jibai stopped.

"There's a fund. Membership fees bring in more than ten thousand a year, and a few old acquaintances donate a bit each year. It's built up over several years. Last year's river monitoring used half of it. What's left is enough to front one appraisal. Not two."

"Then the sampling points have to be right the first time," Shen Zhixia said.

"Right." Cai Qingru said, "When the time comes, I'm going along. I won't go inside the compound. I'll stand on the highway and watch."

She straightened the mug on the windowsill and turned back around.

"One more thing. Not one child's name on the complaint. You've agreed to that, so on the twenty-first I'll call the board together."

"Agreed."

"I put that condition out front for a reason." She looked out toward the road past the gate. "Back in 2018, when the center was just starting, we took on a water matter and put a family's name into a public document. The name showed up on the local forum. That autumn, the family's child was pointed at and shouted at at school."

"What happened then?"

"Transferred schools. Moved to town. People in town knew the name too." She wiped a hand across her down jacket. "After that, we set a rule: children's names go on no paper. Ever. Rather lose."

Wind blew in from the yard entrance, and the sign on the gatepost scraped against the wall.

"The twenty-first," Shen Zhixia said.

"Five board members, three present, two out of town on video." Cai Qingru said, "A resolution needs a majority."

She carried the mug upstairs. Footsteps climbed floor by floor, stopped at the third, a door opened once and closed again. At the end of the hallway, the upper right corner of that photocopied map had curled up again.