Chapter 335: Han Chongli Comes Upstairs

At noon on January 29, Judge Luo's number called again. One matter only: the complaint copy, notice of response, and notice of evidence submission had all been served to the defendant's registered address. The signatory was a company administrative employee. The same day, the acceptance notice went up on the public announcement website; the Municipal Ecology and Environment Bureau received written notification.

The day before, the notarial certificate for Hu Yongnian's on-site evidence preservation had been issued. Cai Qingru picked it up that same day. This morning it was submitted through the litigation service platform, and the "supplementary" notation on the window's checklist from the filing day now had a follow-up.

"All three done. This stage of the process is complete." Shen Zhixia set her phone back on the desk.

"Complete. Which means it's time for people to step in." Lu Jibai said.

On January 30, at 8:40, Cai Qingru called. "They're coming upstairs."

"Who's 'they'?"

"A call came to me, saying he represents the defendant and wants to see the plaintiff. Surname Han." She paused. "I said we have two lawyers on our side. He said fine, come together. Ten o'clock."

Shen Zhixia glanced at Lu Jibai. He capped his pen, got up to pour water, and set the cup beside her hand.

"Ten o'clock," he said.

At 9:55, downstairs at Qinghe. The office was a converted factory building. No elevator. Three flights of concrete stairs, the handrail an iron pipe bolted on after the fact. Cai Qingru stood waiting at the foot of the stairs, the cuffs of her down coat worn pale, a stainless-steel thermos in her hand.

"Only one kettle in this building," she said. "People come, they deserve a drink of water."

At exactly ten o'clock, two men entered the courtyard.

The one in front was around sixty, in a navy suit, a scarf draped over his forearm, a thin booklet in hand. He climbed slowly, one step at a time, his right hand resting on the iron pipe the whole way. At the third floor he paused for a moment before pushing open the door.

The one behind looked about forty, short hair, shirt collar buttoned to the top, both hands carrying a briefcase. He entered first holding the door, letting it close slowly behind them.

"Director Cai." The front man extended his hand. "Han Chongli. Sorry to keep you waiting."

"Lawyer Han." Cai Qingru shook his hand. She didn't offer a seat, just set the thermos on the table and poured three cups of water. "This table's cobbled together from scraps. It's uneven. Slip a piece of paper under your cup."

"I like a table that's been assembled." He draped the scarf over the back of the chair but didn't sit. Instead he turned to face the wall.

On the wall hung a hand-drawn map of Jiangzhou's waterways, over a meter wide. Pencil base, blue ink lines, red dots marking several water collection points. He stood before it, hands clasped behind his back, studying it for a long time. Shen Zhixia stood at the far end of the table and watched. His shoulders never moved.

Eventually his finger rose, tracing down from a hilltop on the map, sliding until it stopped at a bend in the ditch. He withdrew his hand.

"This map is finely drawn," he said. "Who made it?"

"The Center did," Cai Qingru said. "Took three weeks."

"Which stretch is this ditch?"

"The part your finger just touched."

He nodded, then turned and sat at the table, laying the thin booklet on his knee without opening it.

Song Qiming pulled a power of attorney from his briefcase and placed it on the table, perfectly parallel to the edge, and slid it over.

Shen Zhixia picked it up: the principal listed was Jiangzhou Hengyue New Materials Co., Ltd. The entrusted parties listed Han Chongli first, Song Qiming second.

"The defendant's agents," she said, setting the paper down.

"Both of us," Song Qiming said. "Anything received or submitted from now on goes under those two names. Phone, email, address—it's on the attached page."

"Noted," she said.

Only then did Han Chongli turn to her. "Lawyer Shen. We've met."

"We have."

"I knew your father."

Shen Zhixia lowered her hands beneath the table and pressed them against her knees. He said only that, nothing more, and didn't wait for a response. He turned back to the table.

"Director Cai, I haven't come to submit documents today. The statement of defense is still being drafted. It'll go through proper service when it's done. Today I want to discuss one matter."

"Go ahead." Cai Qingru sat down.

Han Chongli didn't speak right away. He first nudged the cup toward the center of the table. "How did this case land in the Center's hands?"

"Someone was willing to talk," Cai Qingru said.

"In a village, not one person will come forward."

"There was one."

He watched her for a moment, then pulled the thread back. "The Baixi plant site. We're planning to put up money." The words came out slowly, sentence by sentence. "We'll bring in a third-party hospital from the city to examine every child in the village. No exceptions, even families with signed agreements. Whatever turns up gets treated. Hospitalization, medication, follow-ups—the factory pays the hospital directly. No money passes through parents' hands, or through the village."

Cai Qingru said nothing.

"Over three hundred workers at the plant. Half are from Baixi Village and Qingshi Village." He added, "Winter's slow. Once word spreads, people leave faster than we can hire."

"Second item." He went on. "The Center does environmental education—takes people to see the river, the aquatic plants, what grows in the fields. All of that costs money. We'll donate to the Center. Five hundred thousand. The money goes into the Center's account. How it's used is your call; just make sure it's clearly reported in the annual statement."

"The third item is the condition attached to the first two." He pinched the corner of the thin booklet. "Withdraw the lawsuit. Or, if you won't, write the first two items into the mediation agreement."

Shen Zhixia looked at the untouched cup of water on the table. Beside her, Song Qiming was taking notes silently, finishing and then looking up.

"Lawyer Han," Cai Qingru said. "I'll answer you one item at a time."

"Please."

"The children's medical care should be done anyway. The kids live beside a ditch that's been discharging lead. The factory paying for village-wide screening and treatment—I won't say you're wrong. But this shouldn't be traded for anything. Do it, and I won't thank you for it, and I won't count it against anything."

"Second item: the five hundred thousand. The Center won't take it. Let me give you the reason." She placed her hands on the table. "The board passed a rule: in this case, the Center cannot take a single cent. Restoration fees awarded by the court aren't ours, and donated money won't enter our account either. You give us five hundred thousand today, and tomorrow people will ask: whose side is this Center really on?"

"Third item." Her eyes didn't waver. "Mediation has to go through the court and public notice. Thirty days of public notice. Anyone can see what we traded and what we got. The restoration clause cannot be cut—the material in that ditch gets dredged out, the soil in the fields gets replaced. Those two things can't be bought off with money."

"Director Cai, money can buy quite a lot," Han Chongli said.

"What can be bought off, I haven't said can't be," she said. "But the ditch can't."

Song Qiming paused his pen over the paper. "Director Cai, may I take down those last few sentences verbatim?"

"Go ahead," she said. "Write down these points: the children's care should be done; the donation is refused; mediation must go through the court and public notice; the restoration clause cannot be cut."

Shen Zhixia had been silent throughout. Now she pushed her notebook forward half an inch.

"The restoration clause isn't in your three items."

Han Chongli looked at her. He had still never picked up that cup.

"Say that again, please," Song Qiming said.

"The restoration clause isn't in your three items," she repeated. "Nothing in those three items returns that ditch to what it was. The children can be treated. The money can be repaid. But what's in that ditch may not be fully cleaned out in ten years."

"Have you calculated what restoration would cost?" Han Chongli asked.

"The figure is in the appraisal," she said. "Whatever the court awards, that's what it is. I won't bid it up for you."

Song Qiming wrote it down verbatim, read it back, waited for her nod, then set the pen back on his notebook.

[Thud. He folded a ditch into two sums of money, folded it neatly. On this side of the table, what he wanted wasn't for sale.]

Han Chongli didn't take offense. He shifted the thin booklet to his other hand. "Director Cai, what year was the Center registered?"

"2018."

"Do you have the charter?"

"Yes. A copy was filed with the court. The original is in the cabinet."

"Mhm." He acknowledged, not pressing further. Song Qiming added a light line to the paper.

[Thud. He asked about the charter. He asked the registration year. Those two questions weighed more than five hundred thousand.]

At 11:10, Han Chongli stood, tucked the thin booklet back into the inner pocket of his suit, and draped the scarf over his arm.

"I've read all six claims," he said. "The third one is more substantive than the first two. The first two sound impressive, but enforcement after judgment won't be easy."

"The impressive ones still have to be written," Shen Zhixia said.

"So write them." He pushed his chair back. "I've practiced law over thirty years. I've seen plenty of things people refused to sell." He didn't finish the sentence.

Cai Qingru stood to see them out. Shen Zhixia followed downstairs, Lu Jibai bringing up the rear. Three cups remained on the table. Han Chongli's was still full, a speck of dust floating on the surface.

At 11:20, on the landing halfway down, Han Chongli stopped. The iron pipe was cold under his hand. Qinghe's minibus sat in the courtyard against the wall.

"Lawyer Shen," he said. "Your father was the same way."

"Same how?"

"A table, a kettle of water, sitting with the villagers. All afternoon." He switched the thin booklet to the other hand. "He took careful notes. Whose well, whose field, what year things started going wrong—line by line."

Her throat tightened. "You sat with him."

"I did." Just that.

Then he turned to Lu Jibai.

"Jibai," he said. "You're still doing errands?"

Lu Jibai stood one step above, a head taller. "This trip is my own."

"Mhm." Han Chongli nodded and continued down, steadying himself on the iron pipe. He said nothing further.

The wind in the courtyard was harsh. Song Qiming lagged half a step, turning back to Shen Zhixia. "The statement of defense. Filed before the holiday." Then he followed into the car.

The door closed. The car backed out of the courtyard and headed east.

Shen Zhixia stood at the entrance, pulling her collar tight around her neck. Beside her, Cai Qingru finally said, "Five hundred thousand. He opened with five hundred thousand."

"That's not what he opened with," Lu Jibai said.

"Then what?"

"An appointment to climb the stairs." He closed the folder in his hand. "What he wanted to see was how the few of us talk to each other inside this room."

Shen Zhixia looked at him, suddenly remembering that remark on the landing.

"What did he mean by 'doing errands'?"

Lu Jibai didn't answer right away. The wind rustled the notice taped to the courtyard wall.

"He's known me for many years," he said.

She waited. He said nothing more, and didn't look away.

She pulled the scarf up higher and didn't ask again.