Chapter 388: Filed

The number ticket that came out of the machine showed three people ahead of her.

The Litigation Service Center was off the west gate of the court; the glass doors smelled of disinfectant. Security had her put her bag in a plastic tray through the scanner. She clutched the old cloth document tote against her chest, a creased sheet of paper tucked under the bottom of it, one line in pencil on the back: April 30, 9 a.m., Chengxi District Court. Her own writing, pressed deep into the paper.

Five people sat in six chairs. Two of three windows were open. She sat against the wall and sorted through the tote on her knees, one item at a time: three copies of the complaint, the power of attorney, Ge Changlin's ID photocopy, the two pages from Ge Xiaoyu's household register, two blood lead report forms from December and January, the diagnosis certificate, the photocopy of the April 22 follow-up form, the photocopy of the Qingshi Village case judgment and its certificate of effectiveness, and a one-page evidence list.

Beside her sat a man around sixty, a stack of papers pressed on his knees, corners all curled. When his number came, he didn't take the seat at the window; he stood outside the counter and asked: the judgment came down two months ago and the other side hasn't paid a cent, what does he need to bring here. The window told him to file online first and wait for notification. He said he didn't know how. The window said, have your kid help you. He walked back cradling the stack of papers, and at the door he glanced back once at those two windows.

Her number was called. She put everything back in the tote and stood.

At the window was a young man, white shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms, a blue stain on the left side of his left index finger — ink-pad dye. He reached out. "Materials."

He flipped through them one by one. When he got to the complaint, he looked up. "The plaintiff is a child?"

"Ge Xiaoyu, eight years old. His father's in Guangdong. The power of attorney came back signed on April 23." She slid the power of attorney forward. "The lawsuit and the authorization — both signed by him in person."

He checked the signature against the name on the ID photocopy, then typed on the computer.

"For cause of action, we register this as an environmental pollution liability dispute." His hand paused. "You wrote health rights dispute on your complaint."

"Is there a difference?"

"Registration follows cause-of-action rules. This type belongs here." He turned the screen toward her a little, then back. "The claims are still the same; nothing's affected."

She thought for a moment. "Go with your registration."

He kept going, reached the judgment and certificate of effectiveness, and pressed his finger on the edge of the paper. "What's this in relation to your case?"

"The same water." She pushed the judgment half an inch toward him. "The child lives downstream of the factory on Baixi Village East Hill. The ditch runs past the school playground. This case is a private-interest suit. The facts found in the public-interest judgment don't need to be proven again in this one. The certificate of effectiveness was picked up at the Intermediate Court window on April 29. One copy is in this case; one went to Qinghe."

He tucked the two pages behind the complaint materials and filled in the registration form. In the defendant column he typed slowly: Jiangzhou Hengyue New Materials Co., Ltd., followed by a name copied from the public registry.

"The defendant's registered address is in the High-tech Zone."

"The manufacturing site is on Baixi Village East Hill. The place of injury is Chengxi — the ditch is in Chengxi, the child's blood was drawn in Chengxi, the school playground is in Chengxi."

"Fine." He wrote in the jurisdiction column, then turned the complaint around. "Read the claims back to me yourself."

She read, voice not loud: "Medical examination costs 1,320, transportation 480, nursing care 900, nutrition 3,000, mental distress compensation 10,000. Total 15,700."

"This line about future treatment costs — 'to be claimed separately once actually incurred' — that wording works." He drew a check mark in the margin with his pen. "Evidence list."

She handed in the evidence list and pulled out a duplicate copy. "Could you stamp this one with a receipt seal, please."

He pressed the seal into the ink pad twice, brought it down, then blew on it.

"Filed," he said, and the printer ran. "Notice of Case Acceptance. This one — Notice of Litigation Fee Payment. Pay within seven days, counting from the day after you receive the notice. There's a code in the bottom right corner; you can pay online." He pushed out another form, a Service Address Confirmation Form. "Address, phone — write clearly. Summonses and judgments will all be sent here."

She filled in Zhengping Firm's door number, second floor, landline, her own cell number. In the recipient line, she wrote her own name.

"Keep two copies of the complaint. One goes to the defendant by mail, one into the file. The remaining one you take with you."

The clock on the wall read 10:10. She had three sheets of paper in her hands: the Notice of Case Acceptance, the fee payment notice, and the evidence list with the receipt stamp. Stacked together, they were much thinner than the tote. She tucked them behind the evidence list, put them in her bag first, then picked up the tote.

On her way out, the security guard by the X-ray machine held the curtain open for her.

Two flights of steps outside the courthouse, a row of electric scooters at the bottom, the wind cooler than in the hall. She stood at the edge of the second step and dialed. The other end picked up on the fourth ring.

"Auntie Chai, it's filed."

There was first a clatter of pot lid against stove edge, then a voice: "Filed?"

"Filed. Chengxi District Court. The Notice of Case Acceptance is in my hand."

"The paper has Xiaoyu's name on it?"

"The first line is his name. Plaintiff Ge Xiaoyu, legal guardian Ge Changlin."

"His father's name is on it too?"

"It is. The power of attorney was signed by him, dated April 23. Xiaoyu had his follow-up on April 22 — 147."

"One-forty-seven." Chai Guizhi repeated it after her, the pot lid shifting again. "How much is the filing fee?"

"Not much. There's an amount on the slip, and on the code too. Due within seven days."

"I'll tell his dad. He'll pay." She paused. "If he asks, I'll say it's filed."

"Tell him straight. His name's on the paper; the court took it."

"Then what do I do?"

"Nothing. I've got the dates. I'll call you when there's news."

"Mm." Chai Guizhi said. "I'm not going to the field today."

She hung up, spread the two notices on the tote, and took a photo. She sent it, followed by a line: Seven days, pay online, send a photo after. As it sent, a line of text floated at the top of the screen:

[Thud. Ge Xiaoyu's case. Filed.]

She put the phone back in her bag. Two steps later, the screen lit again.

[Thud. Seven days. If the fee isn't paid by then, this case dismisses itself.]

Back at the firm at 11:30, she filed the photocopies into the Ge Xiaoyu file. Before locking it in the steel cabinet, she pulled out the Notice of Case Acceptance and checked the defendant column once more. At noon she went downstairs and sat at the table by the door. He Xiufen brought the noodles over and laid the chopsticks on the rim of the bowl.

"Filed?"

"Filed." She moved the vinegar bottle toward herself. "They registered the cause of action as environmental pollution liability dispute. My complaint said health rights dispute."

"Did you change it?"

"No. I said go with your registration."

"Good." He Xiufen wiped her hands on her apron. "Cause of action is the court's filing drawer. You hand in the right documents; whatever name goes on the drawer is their business. The window only takes cases in, doesn't decide them. Don't argue there."

"I know."

"His grandmother knows?"

"Called from outside the courthouse."

"Who's paying?"

"His dad. I sent the photo; paper goes in the mail too."

He Xiufen grunted, took two steps toward the stove, then turned back. "If someone's paying, they need to know where the money goes and what the slip looks like. Don't wait until after the holiday for them to call and ask and you can't explain."

"I'll mail a paper copy this afternoon."

"Good." He Xiufen turned the flame down. "The noodle shop is closed from tomorrow until after the holiday. I'm not making two bowls a day during the break; you'll have to find your own food."

"The firm's locking up too."

"Lock it. Paper doesn't walk away."

At 2:30, she went to the copy shop at the mouth of the alley and made two copies of each notice — one set into the file, one set into a fresh envelope. The postal agency was inside the general store. She addressed it to Dongguan, Guangdong, per the power of attorney, and tucked a sheet inside the registered letter with two lines: Master Ge, the case was filed at Chengxi District Court on April 30. The code on the slip can be used to pay online, within seven days. Shen Zhixia.

Back on the second floor at 3:20, Li Huilan was on the phone by the window, voice low, asking line by line about the timestamps of those entries on the bank statement. Shen Zhixia walked to her desk. A sticky note was pressed at the corner.

His handwriting, one line crammed after another:

April 30, 3 p.m. Intermediate Court mail cleared, nothing. Effectiveness unchanged. Lu.

She read it twice, folded it once, and tucked it into the Qingshi Village paper bag. The bag already held the judgment photocopy, the certificate-of-effectiveness photocopy, the April 26 sticky note. Once the new one went in, the opening wouldn't close properly; a bulge showed. She pressed it flat with her palm. Still bulged.

Li Huilan hung up and looked over. "The Intermediate Court got back to you?"

"Yeah."

"So there's nothing."

"Nothing."

"The box Director Cai filled in was the 24th. No notice of appeal, so we go by that box." Li Huilan lowered her head and went back to copying timestamps from the bank statement, pen moving fast across the page.

She put the Qingshi Village bag back in the steel cabinet, sat down, and logged the three sheets from that morning into the cover of the Ge Xiaoyu file: April 30, Chengxi District Court, case filed. Filing fee due in seven days. Photo sent, paper mailed. When she finished, she capped the pen, the cap clicking louder than usual.

At 5:50, Lu Jibai came up the stairs carrying a box, a corner braced against his waist, the side printed with paper branding. He set it on the floor by the copier, tore open one seam, pulled out a ream, and slid it into a drawer.

"No deliveries over the holiday. Stock one box ahead." He said.

"Yeah."

He gathered the neatly clipped folders from his desk into the drawer. On the third one, a few sheets of blank draft paper were pressed inside; he squared them and slid them to the bottom. At six, she went to close the windows, poured the remaining water from the electric kettle into the sink, unplugged it, and wound the cord.

From downstairs He Xiufen called: "I'll lock the door. You two go."

"Got it," she answered.

She locked the second-floor door with her key. On the second turn, he was already standing at the stair landing waiting, a document tote in one hand, the other empty. The two went down one after the other. At the turn he paused half a step.

"See you after the holiday."

"See you after the holiday."

The downstairs light was on. The cooktop had been wiped clean; the long bench was flipped up on its end against the wall. The wind was strong at the alley mouth. She shoved her hands in her coat pockets and felt the creased paper. The pencil writing on the back was still clear: April 30, 9 a.m., Chengxi District Court. She folded it back.

At the alley mouth he went west; she went east.

At the corner she glanced back at the second floor. The window was dark already. In the stack at home, Volume Seven was pressed at the very bottom. Five days off — enough to read it through from the beginning once more.