Chapter 360: Three Approved

March 28, four in the afternoon. She was on the second floor, counting the pages of the Qingshi Village stack. Halfway through she lost count and started over from the first page, this time folding down the corner of each bundle as she went—fold one, count one.

Her phone buzzed against the edge of the paper pile.

"Attorney Shen, just letting you know." It was the officer handling the case.

She set her pen down. "Go ahead."

Paper rustled on the other end. "Approved. Three."

"All three approved?"

"All three. The chief procurator signed this morning. The paperwork came back to us this afternoon."

By the window, Lu Jibai was loading papers into a bag one-handed. He stopped when he heard that.

"Effective from which day?" she asked.

"The date on the decision. The 28th."

"Your side keeps investigating now?"

"Investigation continues. Approval to arrest is just the first step forward, not the end. There's a deadline on this phase; when it hits, it moves to prosecution. Wherever it goes, we'll give you a word."

"The families?"

"We'll notify the families." He paused. "Your side—no paperwork."

"We don't need paperwork. One word's enough." She said, "One more thing—that Qin person, was he approved?"

A pause on the other end. "In there."

"Among the three?"

"Among the three. Qin Lang. Three were brought in, three were approved."

"I won't ask a second time."

"Ask a second time and I can only give you that same sentence." The officer said, "One more item. The procuratorate asked whether you want to submit an opinion. If so, come up in the next couple days and say so. We'll forward it."

She did the math: submit, and the paper gets one more sentence of their words; don't, and it gets one less.

"We have nothing to submit right now."

"Then I'll put that down as such."

"Put it down."

After she hung up, Lu Jibai smoothed the flap of the bag flat. "Three approved."

"All three."

"Who asked about opinions?"

"The procuratorate asked whether we wanted to submit. I said we had nothing."

He lifted his pen off the bag's surface. "You answered faster than I would have."

"I did the math." She said. "If I write 'please impose the maximum sentence' right now, the other side's first question at Qingshi Village is: you people want someone locked up over a ditch."

"There's a second question too." He said. "The plaintiff's agent—how did she end up the victim in a separate case."

"So they stay separate."

"They were never in the same place." He turned the third paper bag to the side with writing, pen tip hovering over it. "Add a line on the bag. How do you want it worded?"

"March 28, 4:00 p.m., arrest approved for three." She thought for a moment. "Add after it: the driver's and the financier's names—not disclosed."

He wrote it. The period at the end pressed down harder than the ones before.

"The other two—he didn't say their names."

"What reaches us only reaches this far." He set the pen down. "The names are on other paper. That stack, we can't see."

"That stack of ours—they can't see it either." She said.

"They can see part of it." He folded the bag's opening once. "That March 19 Notice of Case Filing is the first piece of paper in our hands with their seal. If their side asks, they'll start with that one."

She opened her notebook and wrote on a fresh page: March 28, 4:00 p.m., arrest approved for three. Source: case officer by phone, taken personally. Below, leave a line blank, then add: all three approved; the one named Qin is among them; investigation continues, moves to prosecution on schedule, they'll give us a word at each step; the procuratorate asked about opinions, we submitted none.

The System dropped a line.

[Thud. Three. Those three lines in your notebook—they all have follow-ups now.]

She pressed her hand against the notebook and didn't move. All three lines were from that one week—one line per day, not a single name. Today, every line had a continuation behind it.

The two Letters of Forgiveness in the third paper bag were still there, both signature lines blank. The three days Chen Maolin had mentioned were long past. The phone hadn't rung again.

At 5:00 p.m., footsteps on the stairs, unhurried. He Xiufen carried two bowls up, set one by Lu Jibai's right hand and one in front of her—the thin steam on the rims hadn't yet dispersed.

"The one with the egg poached in it is his." He Xiufen said. "His left hand's no good, so I put it on his right."

"It's set." Shen Zhixia said.

"I can't carry a third bowl. Huilan, go down and ladle your own."

Li Huilan capped her pen. "I'll eat downstairs. You talk among yourselves."

"Bowl's on the stove."

Li Huilan reached the doorway and looked back. "Let me leave one thing right here. Don't let this business get into the Qingshi Village pile."

"It never was going in." Lu Jibai said. "The third bag gets its own slot, separated from that pile by a sheet of tin."

"I mean beyond the paper." Li Huilan shifted her bag to the other shoulder. "A case laid out in court—every extra thing is an extra opening. If the two of your names surface from that pile, the other side won't ask about any car. One question—'how does the plaintiff's agent become the victim in a separate case'—would be worth three days of questioning."

Shen Zhixia took her hand off the notebook. "I know."

"Good that you know." Li Huilan said. "I bring it up today because yesterday, in the court corridor, someone asked why the two from your firm haven't been around lately."

"Who asked?"

"Don't know him. Around forty, short hair, asked politely." Li Huilan went down one step. "I didn't answer. He didn't press."

"That legal aid assignment letter came through?" Lu Jibai asked.

"It did." Li Huilan said. "Next week I need to go to the detention center for a client visit. Tomorrow I'll call to book a slot; if nothing's open, it gets pushed to the week after."

Her footsteps descended. He Xiufen stood by the table, her eyes passing over the gauze on Lu Jibai's arm. She asked nothing.

"Enough gauze left?"

"Yes. The ER gave us a pack." Shen Zhixia said.

"Iodophor?"

"That too."

"Don't clean it with alcohol."

"I know."

The flecks of oil on the soup hadn't yet broken up. He Xiufen pushed the vinegar bottle a little closer to her and didn't sit down herself.

"The dried-fruit shop owner—yesterday he asked if that car from that night had been found. I said the police were on it and I didn't know anything else. He said 'oh,' and tried to give me half a jin of sunflower seeds. I didn't take them."

"The officers copied his doorway camera the next day."

"I know." He Xiufen picked up the empty tray. "I didn't tell him that." At the top of the stairs she asked, "That thing from tomorrow—is it coming?"

"Electronic copy in the morning, paper original at the Litigation Service Center at 2:00 p.m."

"Read it to me when you get back."

"I will."

"Kang Wenying called yesterday." He Xiufen said. "Asked whether that ruling needed another photocopy. I said no, you keep the one you have. She said she'd tuck it under the photo album then."

"That woman—everything needs its place." Shen Zhixia said.

"Only people with something in their hands talk like that." He Xiufen lifted the tray up. "Tonight I'll wait until you two leave."

The curtain swayed. She was gone.

At 7:00 p.m., the second-floor lights went off. The stove fire had long died; only the sheet of metal by the cooktop stayed faintly warm. He Xiufen stood at the noodle shop door, apron still on, a rag in her hand.

"You go back first."

"I'll watch you leave."

"It's just the one alley."

"Just the one alley."

The two of them walked into the lane. The two brake marks in the middle were still there—run over by wheels a dozen times since, half the length gone, black fading to gray. Lu Jibai walked on the outside, the side nearer the road.

"Walk on the inside."

"I can see both ends from here." He said.

She said nothing more. When they reached the dried-fruit shop, she spoke. "That day against the wall—how did you know the car would come at us again?"

"I didn't." He said. "I saw it, so I pulled."

"Saw what?"

"Its front wheels were straight."

The light over the dried-fruit shop was on. The owner was hauling empty crates inside; he glanced up at them, said nothing. The wind at the mouth of the alley was harsher than inside, rattling the power lines.

She turned at the alley's mouth. He Xiufen still stood at the noodle shop door, the blue curtain half-dropped behind her, lamplight leaking from beneath it to pool around her feet. Seeing her look back, He Xiufen lifted her chin and turned inside. The curtain fell.

The System dropped a line.

[Thud. What paper couldn't scare, the car couldn't scare either.]

At the base of their building, the sound-activated light in the stairwell flickered on in the wind.

"Change the gauze." She said.

"I can change it myself."

"Did you change it today?"

He didn't answer. He rolled his left sleeve up. The gauze's edges were lifting; the layer underneath was still stuck to the scab.

"The pack the ER gave us—I've had it in my bag the whole time." She set her bag on the step, took out the iodophor and a roll of gauze. "Hand."

He raised it. She peeled the old gauze off bit by bit, pausing at the last small patch, letting it loosen on its own. The wound was shorter than it had been that night; the scab had darkened, new skin grown in a ring around it, the center line still red.

"Say if it hurts."

"It doesn't."

The iodophor swept over it. The tendon in his arm twitched, but he didn't move. As she held his wrist to switch hands, her fingertip grazed the old scar on his knuckle—a hard little patch, long since healed flat. She didn't ask, and her hands never stopped. On December 18 he'd said it was from moving boxes nine years ago. Cardboard boxes.

She smoothed the fresh gauze down. When she tore the tape, the tear went crooked; he used his right hand to hold one end for her.

"Tomorrow's about something else." She pressed the tape firm.

"Two o'clock. I'll come get you."

"The electronic copy comes in the morning."

"Forward it to me when it does."

"You'll have your own."

"I'll read yours first." He rolled his sleeve down slowly, the cuff seam settling back into place.

As she packed up, she rolled the used gauze into a wad and tucked it into her own pocket—didn't leave it sitting on the step. He stood watching until she was done.

"Go up." He said.

"You first."

"I'll wait until you're inside."

She climbed two steps and looked back. "Don't raise the arm, don't carry anything, don't take the bandage off yourself tonight."

"Got it."

At the second-floor landing, the sound-activated light went out. She stamped her foot; it came back on. The door downstairs clicked, then footsteps, heading out of the alley.

Inside, she didn't turn on the main light. The door to Zhi'an's room was left ajar; lamplight leaked through in a thin line.

"Sis."

"Still awake?"

"Heard the door." He turned over. "Those people they caught—what happened after?"

"Three approved for arrest."

"So they can be held now?"

"It can keep moving forward." She hung her bag on the chair back. "Sleep."

The room went still. She pulled Zhi'an's door shut for him, opened her notebook to a fresh page, and wrote: the 29th, 2:00 p.m., pick up paper copy at the Litigation Service Center. When she'd finished, she tilted the desk lamp up one notch.

The streetlight outside was still on.