Chapter 362: Three Hours

Courtroom Four was half the size of Courtroom One. Two name cards sat at one end of the long table, printed and taped down with clear tape, one corner peeling up. The window faced west, the shade pulled halfway, a slant of light falling across the edge of a stack of papers on the table, turning it white.

March 31, 9:20 a.m. Shen Zhixia spread the materials out between the two cards: one evidence list, one comparison chart rushed out the night before—left column copying the defendant's five objections, right column listing the pages we'd be reading out.

Cai Qingru came in at 9:26, clutching a hard plastic binder. Inside were the copies she'd transcribed yesterday morning at the Zhengping Firm, page after page filled in by hand, with a faint pencil line under one sentence on the third page. She set the binder down first, then looked up to check which card marked her side.

"You're the plaintiff's legal representative," said Shen Zhixia.

"Principal." Cai Qingru nudged the binder to sit squarely in front of her. "Our paperwork says principal. Don't slip when you read it in court."

At 9:30, Judge Luo came in, checked his watch first, then the room. The clerk followed, flipped open a laptop, the screen light catching her knuckles.

"Second pretrial meeting." Judge Luo spoke. "No substantive review today. Two items only: exchange evidence, clarify the issues in dispute. Any documents that can't be submitted today must reach the clerk by end of work on the second. The court is closed from the third through the fifth."

Han Chongli sat at the other end of the long table, a single page in front of him, writing on both sides. Song Qiming was to his right, shirt collar buttoned to the top, pen cap twisted off, then twisted back on.

"Does the plaintiff have a written response?" Judge Luo asked.

"Yes." Lu Jibai handed over a bound document. "Written Response to the Defendant's Objections. Five objections, one answer each."

"Read it out."

Lu Jibai didn't consult his notes. He went through them one by one: on qualifications and registration scope, the appraisal institution's certificates and both appraisers' practice licenses were attached to the final pages of the report—they would call the appraisers to appear in person at trial to explain; on the B Group item, he wouldn't answer here—they'd lay out every handover in open court and question each link as it came up; on whether the isotope ratios matched, the appraiser would explain, and wherever the expert assistant probed, they'd have the appraiser answer; on the remediation plan's quantities and unit prices, they were in the schedules and engineering list—if the defendant claimed they were inflated, they should point out which item and how much; on how the interim loss was calculated and through what date, the formula was on the schedule.

"That's all." He slid the paper back.

"Defendant." Judge Luo looked across. "Do you apply for a re-appraisal of the expert opinion?"

Han Chongli didn't look up. "No application. We apply for the appraiser to appear in court."

"Plaintiff?"

"No application," said Lu Jibai.

Shen Zhixia wrote a line underneath: Neither side moves for re-appraisal. Once those words fell, the forty-two-page report would stand as it was in court. No one could take it apart, and no one could patch it.

Song Qiming twisted the pen cap off again. This time he didn't twist it back.

"I have a few questions for the plaintiff." He spoke. "Group A, the night of the twenty-fourth. From loading to the evidence room—three hours. During the day, how long does that route take?"

Lu Jibai answered: "About two and a half hours. The clerk left the city at five in the morning on the twenty-fifth and reached the village entrance at seven-thirty."

"Loaded at 18:40, in the evidence room at 21:40. Did the vehicle stop anywhere in between?"

"It didn't. Out of the village at seven, straight onto the highway, into the court compound and into the locker."

"Along the way, who was watching the boxes?"

"The boxes were in the vehicle, moving with the vehicle."

"How many people in the vehicle?"

"The clerk and a bailiff. The bailiff drove."

"Where were you?"

"At the village inn. That stretch isn't on any paper. What the paper shows is the two ends: two people signed at loading, two at entry."

Song Qiming wrote the answer down, then looked up. "Is this account in the file?"

Judge Luo flipped through the file in front of him. "It is. The plaintiff submitted a one-page written response on March first, with four pages attached: handover registrations, the notarial certificate, and the page from the evidence room duty log. Please have the clerk read the record out, and whatever is read will go into the transcript."

The clerk read deliberately, pausing after each sentence.

"February 24, 2027. Group A, fifteen items, sealed in two boxes. Loaded at 18:40, one loading and dispatch record, two signatures. Left for the city at 19:00 with the vehicle, accompanied by the clerk and a bailiff."

"21:40, evidence room handover registration, two signatures: deliverer and receiver. Locker number recorded in the right-hand column of the registration form."

"Temperature logger data and body-camera data, one copy each, with a separate burn explanation."

"That stretch on the road—where is it written?" Song Qiming asked.

"It isn't written on any page." Judge Luo said. "Today we'll enter one line in the transcript: two signed at loading, two at entry; the stretch in between is not on paper."

Shen Zhixia wrote the line down, pausing when she reached "not on paper." In that phone call on March 29, this clerk from the Intermediate Court had said, "I don't count pages—I only count sets." Today, the stretch missing from the paper was being entered into the transcript exactly as it was.

She drew a circle next to that line and made a mark—no one fought over this sentence today. It would stay in the record on its own.

Song Qiming turned over the page in his hand. "Second matter. The notarial certificate in the file—I want to see the attached pages one by one."

Judge Luo nodded. The clerk pulled the certificate from the file, separated the attachment pages, and laid them out across the table one at a time. Shen Zhixia spread her own copy beside them for comparison.

The photos ran in chronological order, each one with Hu Yongnian's handwriting at the bottom: time, place, photographer, who was present—all recorded before the photo was taken.

"This one." Song Qiming's finger landed on the lower left corner of the third photo, then lifted. "This side with the box opening: the seal tag has four sections, four people signed. The fourth section is mine."

"It is," said Shen Zhixia.

"I signed it during the day on February 24." He withdrew his hand. "The handwriting in this photo is mine. I acknowledge it."

Judge Luo paused over his pen. "Enter one line: the defendant's agent confirms that the signature in the fourth section of the seal tag on attachment page three of the notarial certificate is written by his own hand, signed during the day at the time of sealing."

In the brief silence, Cai Qingru leaned over and whispered, "Is he claiming it, or throwing it away?"

"Both at once," said Shen Zhixia.

Song Qiming asked nothing further. He folded the paper, twisted the pen cap back on, and leaned into his chair.

[Thud. Three hours. He asked about the one inch left blank on the paper.]

Judge Luo closed the file and pushed it half a step forward.

"Three issues in dispute." He said. "First, whether the plaintiff has standing to bring this environmental civil public interest litigation. Second, whether the defendant discharged lead-containing pollutants through the stormwater outlet and related facility infrastructure, and whether there is a causal link to the ecological damage in Qingshi Village. Third, whether the calculation of 3.12 million yuan in ecological restoration costs and 460,000 yuan in interim service function losses is reasonable."

"The B Group item is not listed separately." He glanced at both sides. "That's a matter of evidence admissibility, to be argued under the second issue. If anyone tries to make it a fourth issue, I won't record it."

Only then did Han Chongli raise his eyes.

"The first item isn't an issue in dispute—it's the gate." He said. "The objection I filed on February 2, I'm not adding a word to it today. I ask one thing: the plaintiff's charter says it conducts environmental protection public-interest work, and in 2023 it was itself ordered to rectify within a deadline. A body still amid its own correction, claiming to advocate for a whole village's environmental rights."

Judge Luo turned to the plaintiff's side. "Plaintiff, will you respond?"

Cai Qingru pressed both hands against her trousers, then stood.

"That was an order to correct, not a penalty." She said. "Our 2022 annual work report wasn't filed by the deadline. The Civil Affairs Bureau issued the notice in March 2023, and we submitted the overdue report within the allowed period. The notice and the return receipt were already entered into the file in February."

"How many matters does the Center handle in a year now?" Judge Luo asked.

"Six last year. So far this year, three."

"How many of those in court?"

"One. Just this one."

Han Chongli asked another: "From 2023 to now, has the Center had any funding relationship with any enterprise?"

Cai Qingru paused for two seconds.

"I won't answer that." She sat down, pulling the binder slightly toward her chest. "I can't answer it. If I can't answer, I say I can't answer."

Judge Luo had the clerk record her words verbatim, then looked up. "The standing issue will not be ruled on today. It is entered into the transcript and will be determined together with the judgment."

[Thud. Three issues. The first is the gate, the second is the ditch, the third is the money.]

"Three applications remain." Judge Luo said. "The defendant applies for the appraiser to appear in court—granted. The defendant applies for a person with specialized knowledge to appear and offer opinion—granted, on the condition that in court this person speaks only to specialized questions and does not argue on behalf of a party. The defendant applies for the witness Wu Zhiqiang to appear—granted. The witness will wait outside the courtroom on the day of trial and will not sit through the proceedings before testifying."

He pushed the last sheet of paper to the middle of the table.

"A seven-person collegial panel. I act as presiding judge, with two associate judges and four people's jurors. The roster is served on both parties today in writing, and the court will notify you three days before hearing. April 6, 9:00 a.m., Courtroom One, open hearing. Today you receive the summons."

Shen Zhixia signed the proof of service, wrote the time, wrote the date. Cai Qingru signed her own copy, then pressed the pen down beside the "Principal" column and checked it once before letting go.

The summons printed clearly: hearing time, location, cause of action, named party. She tucked her copy into the evidence list and looked at the window. The light through the gap in the shade had shifted, now falling at the other end of the table.

Prosecutor Qi put his own summons away and said two sentences: "The prosecutorial support opinion for litigation is already in the file and will be read out in court. Materials obtained by the procuratorate will be delivered to the clerk by the second. Nothing further."

"Good." Judge Luo acknowledged. "Twelve minutes to twelve. We're adjourned."

The corridor was colder than the courtroom. The clerk went first, hugging the file, her shoes striking the tiles in a steady rhythm.

Shen Zhixia stood by the door putting the materials back into her bag page by page. Beside her, Cai Qingru tied the binder shut, twice.

"You answered well." Shen Zhixia said quietly. "If you can't answer, say you can't answer."

"I was afraid that one answer might commit the Center to a promise we can't keep," said Cai Qingru.

Song Qiming came up from behind. He carried only one document envelope, and even that was thin. He stopped half a step short when he reached her—not because he was passing, but because he'd come to a stand.

"Attorney Shen."

She looked up.

"The B Group box's seal tag—the section that's mine wasn't signed by me." He said. "I'll say the same in court."

Then he walked on, all the way to the stairwell, without turning back.

The corridor light fell through the window, falling across his back, then back onto the floor. Cai Qingru made a small sound and turned to look at her. She hadn't moved, still pinching one corner of the evidence list.

"We don't pick that up," she said.

"We don't." Lu Jibai moved in from the aisle side on her left. "Let him say it to his own people."

[Thud. He wants to lift his own section off the page.]