Chapter 339: Guarding the Night

February 19, 10:20 a.m., the litigation service platform pinged twice. One was a Civil Ruling approving evidence preservation; the other was a Notice stating that on the 24th and 25th there would be on-site sampling and inspection of the plant's stormwater outlets, with the parties and their litigation agents required to attend.

She downloaded both and printed them. The paper came out of the machine still warm.

The ruling wasn't long. She read one passage aloud: "The court may carry out preservation by means of photography, video recording, duplication, and on-site inspection; the parties or their litigation agents shall be present." Lu Jibai reached over, took the paper, and read it from top to bottom, all the way to the date at the end, before setting it down. "That phrase 'shall be present' carries more weight than everything before it," he said.

At the end of the notice was one more line: sampling points would be proposed by the appraisal institution according to the appraisal matters, organized by the court, with local grassroots organizations in attendance.

She printed three copies: one in an envelope for Qinghe, one filed into the case file, one to take with her that afternoon. When she called Cai Qingru, Cai asked what to bring. She said two days, a water bottle, shoes that could handle mud, a hat. "That stretch along the ditch runs close to the slope. I nearly slipped last time." Cai Qingru said she'd bring a young person from the center along.

After hanging up, she called the village committee. Director Fu described the archive room for her on the other end: it had power, a lock, an iron door; one window in the back with a security grate; inside, an old desk, a steel cabinet, an old computer. "Nothing valuable in the village," he said.

"We'll bring the valuable things ourselves," she said.

[Thud. The more people present, the less a page fears being empty.]

Three o'clock that afternoon, Chengnan Notary Office. At the end of the corridor hung a process chart, its corners worn fuzzy from handling. Hu Yongnian's office held a desk and a steel cabinet. On the windowsill sat two sealed envelope samples, labels facing out.

He slid an application form toward her, pen resting on top.

"Fill in the purpose section yourself," he said. "I don't invent things for people."

Shen Zhixia wrote: Environmental civil public interest litigation on-site sampling, sealing, transfer, and next-morning unsealing.

Hu Yongnian took the form back, read it once forward, then scanned it again in reverse, his finger stopping on the paper. "Two days, how many points, how many items?"

"Two days. First day, nine points." She said, "Each point gets two parallel samples. Six of the points also get bottom sediment. Thirty items total."

"Who seals them?"

"One seal tag per item. The numbering comes from Ningchuan, pre-printed. Four signatures: the court clerk, Appraiser Rui, me, Song Qiming."

"Song Qiming is the defendant's man?"

"Yes."

Hu Yongnian nodded once, as if this detail put him at ease. "Good. A signature from the opposing side is worth more than ten photographs I could take."

Only then did Lu Jibai speak: "The sealed sets; one goes back to the city same day with the court's vehicle. The other stays overnight in the village committee archive room and leaves the next morning with the appraisal institution's cold-chain vehicle."

"And the night in between?" Hu Yongnian asked. "Who's watching?"

"A camera outside the archive room door," Lu Jibai said. "When the footage is extracted, you'll be present."

The office went quiet for a moment. Hu Yongnian clicked the pen cap shut, then pulled it open again: "I won't notarize the overnight stretch. I wasn't there. I can't write down what I didn't see."

"What we need is the extraction process," Lu Jibai said.

"I'll handle the extraction. You bring the machine over. I watch the card come out of its slot, into the evidence envelope. I write down the time, who handed it over, which seal strip number, who signed. As for what the footage shows of that night, I copy down the timestamps as printed on it. I don't vouch for it." He pulled the application form half an inch toward himself. "Get this clear. In court, if anyone tries to say my certificate proves nobody went in that night, they're using my paper as whatever witness they wish it to be."

Shen Zhixia answered, "Understood."

"One more thing." Hu Yongnian pulled another form from the drawer. "What time does it open the next morning?"

"Seven thirty."

"Who's present?"

"Judge Luo, the court clerk, a bailiff, the appraiser, Director Fu, Cai Qingru from Qinghe, the two of us, and the defendant's side."

"When that day comes, photograph the door before it's opened. The seal strip on that door; I want complete photos. Both sides of the tape, the perforation seam, the signature. One shot at a time." He spoke slowly. "A broken seal strip speaks loudest."

She wrote all of it in her notebook. Hu Yongnian signed the acceptance notice, two copies; one for her, one into his own file.

Leaving the notary office, wind poured in through the stairwell entrance. She slipped the acceptance notice into the very front of the case file, pulled it out again to check whether it had gone in crooked.

February 20, in the afternoon, Chai Guizhi called.

"Xiao Wu came again." The old woman's voice was low. "Didn't come in this time. Stood outside the courtyard wall. Said one thing through the wall."

"What did he say?"

"He said, 'The slip for your child; I know what it says.'"

She held the phone, turning the sentence over in her mind.

"He also said to think about how hard the child's father has it out there." Chai Guizhi paused. "Lawyer Shen, does that matter?"

"The slip is in the court's envelope. It says 'Ge, given name withheld,'" she said. "If anyone comes again, you give the same answer: the child's seeing a doctor, you don't understand anything else. If a man steps into your yard, shut the door. Don't argue with him."

Chai Guizhi answered that she'd say exactly that, and only then hung up.

She wrote in her notebook: February 20, Xiao Wu, outside the courtyard wall, two direct quotes. When she reached "I know what it says," the pen tip paused on the paper. She drew a line under that sentence. After drawing it, she stared at the line, thought about calling Ge Changlin, then set the phone down. He was at the factory; he couldn't take calls during the day. She'd call tonight.

February 22, 2:00 p.m., second floor of Zhengping Firm. Downstairs someone was clearing bowls, scallion-oil smell drifting up the stairs. Li Huilan sat in the chair under the window, another case's file spread across her knees, a pen resting along its edge.

The court clerk called first to confirm the matter of being at the village committee courtyard at 8:30 on the 24th. Then she dialed Ningchuan, speakerphone on.

Appraiser Rui on the other end: "We'll bring two cases. Each holds fifteen items. Inside the lid there's a temperature logger, recording the whole way. Temperature and open-door events are all in there. When it's exported, it's done in front of everyone present. Whoever's there watches it come out."

"How often does it record?" Shen Zhixia asked.

"Every five minutes."

"Thirty items, two groups of fifteen." She repeated this back, and the other end confirmed. They'd also bring the seal tags, pre-printed numbers, void once torn.

After the call, Lu Jibai spread his handwritten page on the table and read it through line by line.

"First, parallel samples at each point, divided into two groups on site, one item per container, no mixing."

"Second, one seal tag per item, numbered to match the sampling point. Four signature lines: clerk, appraiser, you, Song Qiming. All four signed before it counts as sealed."

"Third, two seal strips on the cold box; one across the lid, one across the latch. Both signed."

"Fourth, the temperature logger enters the village powered on. Confirm in front of everyone that it's recording."

"Fifth, one camera outside the archive room door, linked to two phones; one for Qinghe, one for me. Alarm volume maxed."

"Sixth, when we get there, first ask Director Fu where the power for the light outside the door comes from. Borrow his outlet. Have him sign a paper; Qinghe covers the electricity."

"Electricity too?" Li Huilan looked up.

"Yes," he said. "Ask on the spot, record on the spot. If it's not on paper, nobody admits to anything later."

After he finished reading, Shen Zhixia added two more items.

"The archive room has windows. Check them when we arrive on the 24th. Nail them shut if we can. If not, photograph each one into the notary record, one by one." She said, "Also, who photographs the seal strip on the door before unsealing, and how many shots, goes on paper too."

Lu Jibai added the two items, set down the pen, and said: "One more thing. When the last sample of the 24th is sealed, check those four names again. One missing, and it doesn't count as sealed."

"Will Song Qiming sign all four of his lines?" she asked.

"He will," Lu Jibai said. "Last time he signed the draw records. Read top to bottom, and when he finished he said, 'I signed this.'"

Li Huilan closed the file in her lap. "You're guarding against thieves."

"Guarding the night," he said.

The woman under the window laughed, not for long. "That sand-washing case of mine two years ago; not a single page missing, every line in order. What was missing was someone keeping watch." She gathered the file toward herself. "What are you using to keep watch this time? No one can squat in the archive room overnight."

"A machine keeps watch," Shen Zhixia said. "People sleep in town."

"And if the machine sleeps too?"

"If it sleeps, someone will know exactly when it fell asleep," Lu Jibai said.

Li Huilan asked no more. She hugged the file and headed down the corridor. At the stairwell she turned back to add: "When you get back, let me see that page. I've seen a lot of paper in my life. And missed plenty on it too."

Shen Zhixia copied the list onto two pages: one for things; names, quantities, who carries what. One for actions; what time, who does it, which box they sign when done. While she wrote, the bowl-clearing downstairs stopped, replaced by someone dragging tables. When she finished, at the bottom of the "things" page she counted once more: seal tags, seal strips, two rolls of wide tape, two flashlights, spare batteries, a printed set of blank record-grid paper, four pens, one clipboard.

[Thud. One night, given a name by this page.]

February 23, 8:00 p.m., the stairwell.

Downstairs, one of the last two lights clicked off. He Xiufen called up, "There's soup in the pot," her voice carrying up the stairs. She answered, and checked the page in her hand once more.

Lu Jibai came down from upstairs, coat in hand, and stopped in front of her.

"That question Lawyer Li asked yesterday hasn't been asked to the bottom yet," she said. "If the box gets opened, who knows first."

"The temperature logger," he said.

"And if the logger's been swapped too."

"Then it's not a night matter. It's a daytime matter." He switched the coat to his other hand. "Daytime has four signatures, a photograph, and an empty seal-strip end."

She nodded, folded the paper once, then unfolded it.

"We'll sleep in town tonight, two rooms," she said. "Town to village, about a dozen minutes by car."

"Second floor of the inn, the two rooms at the back," he said. "Sleep with the alarm on."

"Why are you so afraid of it spending the night," she asked.

The stairwell's sound-activated light went out. He didn't cough, didn't stomp. Just stood in the dark. A few seconds later the light came back on by itself, because he'd shifted his shoulders.

"A sample overnight; nobody can say where it was during the night," he said.

She waited one sentence's worth of time for him to go on. He didn't.

"The 24th, eight in the morning, at the village entrance." He draped the coat over his arm. "The things on that page; get them in order. Don't be digging around once you're there."

With that, he headed downstairs first. Left hand on the railing, step by step. The old scar on his knuckle showed as a pale line under the light.

She stood at the stairwell, not moving.

The downstairs door opened once. Wind came up, scallion oil mixing with the cold outside air. She remembered the word he'd used once before: cardboard box.

At the very bottom of her list, she added one line: The overnight stretch; who watches.

Finished writing, she clicked the pen cap shut. The downstairs light went out.