Chapter 334: Notice of Case Acceptance

"Everything in this bag is mine," Cai Qingru said.

She stood at the bottom of the steps outside the Intermediate Court's Litigation Service Center, clutching a paper bag with both arms. The wind caught the bag's opening, flipping it inside out, and she pressed it back down with her hand.

"This one's for the child and that ditch," Shen Zhixia said. "Plus the complaint and three applications. Nine items total."

"If we're missing one—"

"Wasted trip." Lu Jibai gripped one bag in each hand. "Nine items. Counted three times."

The security scanner hummed. Phones and keys went into a plastic tray, the tray rode the conveyor belt, and they walked through the metal detector. The lobby was packed. The electronic board flashed numbers while the PA system called them out, voices overlapping into a muddle. They waited a quarter of an hour.

Two seats over, a woman hugged a plastic bag full of X-ray films against her lap, talking to the person beside her. "This is my third trip. First time they said I was one document short. Second time they said I had one too many."

"Too many gets rejected too?"

"Too many gets rejected too. They hold a ruler against the checklist."

Shen Zhixia pulled her paper bag a little higher on her knees.

A woman in her forties sat behind the window, short hair, blue sleeve protectors over her cuffs. She pulled her hands up from under the counter. "What kind of case?"

"Environmental civil public interest litigation." Shen Zhixia pushed the materials forward. "Plaintiff is the Jiangzhou Qinghe Environmental Public Welfare Service Center."

The woman raised her eyes. "Filed by a social organization. Let's go through it one by one."

First, the complaint. She counted the pages—six—flipped to the last page to check the signature and seal, then lifted the paper to the light for a look.

"Copies."

"Based on the number of defendants," Shen Zhixia said. "One defendant, one copy."

"This signature—legal representative?"

"Person in charge." Cai Qingru said. "For social service organizations, it's called the person in charge, not legal representative."

The woman behind the window made two notes on the registration form and turned the paper back around. "Registration certificate."

"We have it."

She held the certificate close to her eyes, examined the red seal, and handed it back. "You keep the original. Leave the photocopy."

"Articles of association—one copy." She flipped past it. "Annual work reports, five years, five copies."

She counted: one, two, three, four. Her finger stopped on the fourth. She looked up. "Missing one year."

Cai Qingru's hand went into the paper bag. She searched through it—nothing. She searched again and pulled a copy out from between the articles of association. A crease ran along its edge where it had been pinched. "It got stuck behind the articles of association."

The woman took it, held it up to the light to check the date, and placed it at the bottom of the stack. "Five copies."

"Got it," Cai Qingru said. "They get their own stack from now on."

"Missing a year, and the first thing they'll ask is where you've been for five years."

"This declaration." The woman pinched a page. "Has not received any administrative or criminal punishment for business activities in the past five years—who signed it."

"I did. The name is mine, and I had the seal affixed." Cai Qingru said. "Responsible person's signature, center's seal. Both present."

"That sentence carries liability."

Something rang in Shen Zhixia's ears. The long table on Qinghe's third floor flashed back to her: Yu Min flipping through the account books, mentioning that notice—the 2022 annual report had been filed late, and the Civil Affairs Bureau issued a Notice of Order to Rectify Within a Deadline. The original was still locked in Qinghe's cabinet. It wasn't in any of today's bags. She turned her head and glanced at Lu Jibai.

He said nothing, only smoothed the page in his hand flat.

The window had already turned to the next page.

"Preliminary evidence materials."

She went through them one by one: photocopies of two lab report forms with the name field covered to read "Ge, given name withheld"; a diagnosis certificate; a one-page consent form; a notarial certificate for webpage evidence collection; a notarization acceptance notice for on-site preservation; a map screenshot.

"Who is 'Ge'?"

"The child's surname." Shen Zhixia said. "Given name covered."

"Age."

"Eight."

The woman turned the report to the stamped side and looked. "Originals."

"In the bags. They'll be verified in court."

"Who signed the consent form?"

"The child's father, signed in Guangdong on January 21st. Original's with us."

"Notarization acceptance notice—where's the notarial certificate?"

"Issued on the 28th. We'll submit it once it's out."

She added a note to the checklist: "Supplement."

"Three more applications."

"Appraisal, evidence preservation." Shen Zhixia said. "And one for deferred court fees."

The woman spread the three applications out, reading them one at a time. When she reached the deferment request, she looked up. "Deferred isn't waived."

"I know." Shen Zhixia said. "The center's account balance, where the money came from this year, and where it went—one page attached at the back."

"This one doesn't get approved at this window." She pulled it out separately and clipped it into a different folder. "It goes upstairs. Whether it's approved is another matter."

After checking the last item, she pulled a receipt slip from the drawer, filled in the date, stamped it, and pushed it across. "Sign. This box."

Shen Zhixia picked up the pen and signed.

"Seven days." The woman tore the receipt into two copies and slid one over. "If it's filed, we call. If you need corrections, we call. No call means it's still in line. Don't guess."

They'd gone in at nine. They came out at ten-forty.

The wind was harsher on the steps. Cai Qingru stood on the bottom step and pressed a hand against her padded jacket.

"So that's it."

"What's left is waiting," Lu Jibai said.

"Seven days." Shen Zhixia folded the receipt in half, tucked it into her coat's inner pocket, and pressed it flat.

[Thud. It's been received. A receipt doesn't decide cases—it only records a date.]

January 27th, 3:00 p.m., second floor of Zhengping Firm. The fryer downstairs had been sizzling all morning, onion oil mingled with a smell of caramelized sugar drifting up the stairwell and spreading across the radiator. He Xiufen was frying foods for the New Year.

Li Huilan sat in the chair by the window with Lao Kan's case file spread across her lap, turning a page. "Submitted?"

"Submitted." Shen Zhixia said. "Nine items. Got the receipt."

On the 25th, she'd called Chai Guizhi and conveyed the gist without reading the words: they were suing the factory on the mountain, not anyone's child, and no child's name appeared on a single page. The old woman listened, then asked, "Then who looks after the child's illness?" Shen Zhixia said the family's own claim was a separate matter, waiting for Changlin to come back and sign. Chai Guizhi said, "Then I'll wait," and hung up.

The phone on the desk rang. Unfamiliar number.

"Jiangzhou Intermediate Court, filing division." The voice was unhurried. "Jiangzhou Qinghe Environmental Public Welfare Service Center v. Jiangzhou Hengyue New Materials Co., Ltd., environmental civil public interest litigation. It was filed this morning."

She stood up. The chair leg scraped against the floor. "It's filed?"

"Filed this morning. Come pick up the Notice of Case Acceptance. Bring your ID and power of attorney. The fee deferment was approved too—you'll get both together."

"Which division got the case?"

"Environmental Resources Division." The voice said. "Who's assigned to hear it—you'll be notified."

The call had barely ended when Cai Qingru's came through. "Filed?"

"Filed. I'll pick up the notice at four."

"Do you need me there?"

"No. The power of attorney's with me."

There was a pause on the other end. "Then I'll share the news with the five trustees."

"When you tell them, add one thing: filed doesn't mean a ruling is guaranteed."

"I'll add it."

Li Huilan closed the file and leaned back toward the window. "Let me borrow a little of this good luck."

"It's not good luck yet." Lu Jibai said. "Pickup's at four."

The afternoon wind was harder than yesterday's. At four o'clock, same window, same blue sleeve protectors. She handed over her ID and power of attorney. The woman pulled two pages from the drawer and pushed them across.

One was the Notice of Case Acceptance, headed with the center's name, followed by the acceptance language, stamped at the bottom with the filing division's seal. The other approved the deferment of court fees.

"Copy down the case number." The woman said. "When you call or submit materials from now on, give that number."

The case number was a long string of characters. She copied it onto the top of her notebook, stroke by stroke, then read it back aloud.

"This page is ours?"

"One for you, one for the file."

Back at the firm at four-twenty. He Xiufen's voice came up through the floorboards: "Noodles are in the pot. Come down and get them yourself." Not a single question about the case.

She laid the notice flat on the long table. First she wrote the date and time at the top, then below: filed at Intermediate Court, Environmental Resources Division. When she finished, she took a photo and sent it to Cai Qingru. The reply came back in half a minute: I see it.

Lu Jibai picked up the notice, read both sides, set it back down, and picked up a pen to write on the case file cover: January 27, filed; Environmental Resources Division. He capped the pen when he finished.

"Service within five days, notice within ten." He said. "The next call will be from the presiding judge."

[Thud. It's filed. The paper has left the house, and from here on, it's no longer up to the people who wrote it.]

Four-thirty. The phone rang. The number began with an area code.

"Lawyer Shen." A woman's voice, unhurried, stopping after each complete sentence. "I'm Judge Luo from the Intermediate Court's Environmental Resources Division. The Qinghe v. Hengyue New Materials case has been assigned to me."

"Judge Luo."

"You're both the representatives?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll say all of it at once. Write it down." Paper rustled on her end. "Three things go out by mail tomorrow: one copy of the complaint, a notice of response, and a notice for evidence submission. Sent to the defendant's registered address. Within five days."

"On the day of service, a public acceptance notice goes up on the announcement website, thirty days. During those thirty days, other authorities and organizations may apply to join the suit. After thirty days, they can't join—they'd have to file separately."

"Within ten days, we'll notify the Municipal Ecology and Environment Bureau in writing."

"Your appraisal application and evidence preservation application go to the pretrial meeting. We'll hear both sides and schedule them together."

Shen Zhixia's pen stopped. "Can preservation happen sooner? The stuff in that ditch—once spring thaw starts and the water moves, it'll all be impossible to explain."

"Put the reasoning in writing and present it at the pretrial meeting." Judge Luo said. "Telling me over the phone doesn't create a record, and the other side needs to hear it too."

"When is the pretrial meeting?"

"You'll be notified once it's set."

"Can the six claims still be amended?"

"Additions or changes need to be submitted in writing before the pretrial meeting. If you raise them on the day of trial, I may not allow it."

Shen Zhixia glanced up. Lu Jibai set down his pen. "In cases like this, the first thing the defendant submits usually isn't a defense."

The line went quiet for a moment.

"Keep those foundational documents of the plaintiff's safe." Judge Luo said. "Who represents the defendant—you'll know after service."

The call ended.

She wrote four items on paper: service within five days, thirty-day public notice, notify Ecology Bureau within ten days, appraisal and preservation at pretrial meeting. After writing, she read them back aloud.

"From today on," Lu Jibai said, "whatever we write on paper, the other side can read."

He slid the case file toward her, lining up the edge of the paper with the table's edge.

She didn't respond. She opened her notebook and added a line at the bottom: Who represents the defendant—we'll know after service.

She closed the book.