Chapter 400: Seven Items

The newspaper was brought upstairs by Cai Qingru. On the way up she'd rolled it into a tube and tapped it against the stair railing, knocking the dust off the outside.

May 20th, eleven o'clock. Shen Zhixia had just pulled the main page of the Qinghe remediation supervision form out of its folder when Cai Qingru spread the newspaper across the middle of the desk, her palm holding down the lower half of page two.

"It's in."

Lu Jibai reached for it first. He turned the paper around, read from top to bottom, and halfway through his finger stopped on the page. "The thirtieth item—it's done."

"Still one section of pipe missing." Cai Qingru said, "I went to look yesterday afternoon. That rain-sewage separation stretch east of Pond No. 3 still has one piece unconnected. The worksite says it'll be finished before the twenty-second."

"The apology came in first." He pushed the paper back to the middle of the desk.

That apology block was smaller than half a business card, tucked under the advertising column—medicine ads on the left, help-wanted on the right. She read line by line: Baixi Village plant area, sedimentation tank overflow, failure to separate rain and sewage, caused damage, sincere apology, renovation underway, remediation per the plan confirmed by the effective judgment. The signature was the company's full name, with a line of date beneath it.

"Small." Li Huilan glanced up from her own desk, then looked back down.

"Small, but it's there." Cai Qingru said, "Only a few households in town buy the paper. I called around this morning—one household in the village bought it, said they'd send it to the village committee after reading it."

"Send it to the village committee—who's going to read it?" Li Huilan asked.

"Auntie Chai will go look at it." Shen Zhixia said.

She looked for scissors. The firm's pair had cut through stiff cardboard before; there was a notch in the blade. She cut that block out, left white margins on all four sides, pasted it onto a clean sheet, and wrote the date and paper name beneath it. When she finished she looked up: "Which page?"

"Page two." Lu Jibai said, "Write the date under the masthead, not at the bottom. If you write it at the bottom and someone photographs the whole sheet to send out, they're left with half a page and the date's gone."

She crossed out the line she'd just written and moved it to the top edge of the pasted clipping, writing stroke by stroke: May 20th, page two, Jiangzhou Daily. When it was done she pressed the whole sheet flat and slipped it into the Qingshi Village volume.

At four in the afternoon, the phone rang. Chai Guizhi's voice always arrived at the receiver before the person did.

"Little Shen. Someone in the village says it's in the paper."

"It's in."

"I can't read." she said, "Read it to me."

Shen Zhixia picked up the pasted sheet and walked to the window. Downstairs He Xiufen was clearing the lunch bowls, the exhaust fan humming. She read sentence by sentence, and when she reached "sincere apology" she paused, afraid she was reading too fast.

There was no sound from the receiver.

"Read it again." Chai Guizhi said, "Slower."

She read it again, slower than the first time. When she reached "remediation per the plan confirmed by the effective judgment," Chai Guizhi repeated it after her, pronouncing "remediation" wrong.

"Remediation." Chai Guizhi said, "That means putting the ditch back the way it was, right."

"That's what it means—putting the ditch back."

A cough came from the other end. "Tonight I'll have Xiaoyu read it to me. He knows a few characters."

"Auntie Chai," she said, "the twenty-fourth—don't forget."

"I won't forget. I look at that circle on the rice jar every day." Chai Guizhi said, "Little Shen, did the paper write our names?"

"No."

"Not in the judgment either?"

"The judgment says Qingshi Village. No names were put on paper."

Chai Guizhi was quiet for a moment. "Without names, does it still count as them admitting it?"

"It counts as them admitting it. This item they published themselves; we didn't make them publish it."

"That's all right, then." she said, "Once it's in the paper, is the matter finished?"

"This item is finished." Shen Zhixia said, "It's finished when the ditch is repaired, the money arrives, and someone signs off on the inspection."

"That's still a long way off."

"Still a long way off."

After hanging up, she rubbed her fingertips twice against the seam of her pants, wiping off a layer of paper dust.

At five fifty, she finished filling in the Qinghe form, locked it in the cabinet, and on her way out passed Lu Jibai's desk. He was turning the Qinghe form to the next page without looking up. She put the scissors back in the drawer; the drawer slid shut with a click, and he still didn't look up.

At ten past six she went downstairs for noodles. He Xiufen set the bowl down, one hand bracing against the table edge, and didn't leave.

"The date's set?"

"It's set."

"Which day?"

"The twenty-fifth."

"Morning or afternoon?"

"Morning."

He Xiufen scattered the scallions evenly. "Morning's good." She picked up the empty bowls she'd collected and walked off, turning back after two steps. "You're writing the list yourself? One item per line—mark clearly which ones have originals to bring and which are copies to submit."

"I'll write it on the twenty-third."

"Count them exactly." He Xiufen said, "The window clerk counts them one by one. If you're short one, he won't ask—you'll only know you're short when you get home."

The stool by the stove was empty. The light on the second floor was on upstairs, the window open, and the sound of turning pages drifted down in waves.

On May 21st at nine forty, she opened the bottom drawer of the metal cabinet and put Sealed Envelope No. 3, the notarial certificate, the discs, and the five printed pages into a transparent bag, then locked the drawer again. She walked to the stairway and told He Xiufen she'd be out for a while in the morning. He Xiufen was sweeping cigarette butts off the steps and only grunted, leaning the dustpan against the wall.

Ten o'clock, Chengnan Notary Office. The air conditioner in the lobby was mounted high, its air blowing down but doing nothing to drown out the number-calling speaker. She took a number; four people were ahead of her: an old woman asking about wills, two middle-aged people accompanying a man who said nothing. She sat on the innermost plastic chair, the transparent bag resting on her knees.

The old woman, one seat away, asked her: "Girl, can I write a will by myself?"

"Someone has to witness it—two people." she said, "Ask the window; they'll give you a form."

"I can read." the old woman said, "I'm just afraid of writing it wrong."

Ning Ping came out from the inner room, called her name, and led her to the desk. The file was spread open, a pen resting on top of it.

"I said last time that I don't fill in the purpose until you tell me." Ning Ping said, "Today?"

"Today." She took out the notarial certificate. "This one, I'm using it in a criminal petition for review to the Jiangzhou Intermediate Court."

Ning Ping looked up at her but didn't ask whose case it was. She wrote: Criminal petition for review (Jiangzhou Intermediate Court), the characters small and neat; beside it she added the date: May 21st.

"The notarial certificate itself stays untouched." she said, "What changes is the file. This application form is in the file. Whoever comes to look will see the purpose you stated today, and they'll see which day you came to state it."

"I'd been meaning to come since late April." Shen Zhixia said, "That column left blank—if someone asks, I'd have to explain it myself. Written down, the file speaks for me."

Ning Ping capped the pen. "The blank column draws a lot of questions." she said, "Once it's written, I answer to that line exactly. Not one extra word."

"Where do I sign?"

"Under the supplementary entry." She passed the pen over; the barrel still carried the warmth of her hand.

Shen Zhixia signed her name and wrote the date. The ink pad box sat at the corner of the desk, red, its lid not quite closed. Ning Ping glanced at her signature, closed the file, and wrapped it twice with string.

"Don't touch the copy in your own hands." she said, "They take photocopies for filing."

"I know."

"Whatever you hand over," Ning Ping said, walking her to the door, "people look first at where it came from."

Noon, outside the notary office. The sun was high; there was a small patch of shade by the steps. She spread her notebook on her knees and wrote: May 25th, morning, Jiangzhou Intermediate Court Litigation Service Center. When she reached "morning," the pen paused, and the box after it stayed empty.

On the afternoon of May 22nd, she read the petition from first page to last at home, checking the page numbers against the stack one by one. A date cited on page three—she flipped back to the original page in the volume to compare; it matched. She changed one instance of "my father" on the page to "the original defendant." Papers submitted to a court follow the paper's voice, not the person's.

On May 23rd at nine in the evening, a blank sheet of paper on the desk, turned sideways, a vertical line down the middle. Left side: "originals." Right side: "photocopies."

First item: the petition, five pages. One original, plus two extra copies, with "Petitioner: Shen Zhixia" dated May 19th at the bottom of the last page.

Second item: the household register. Original to bring to the window for verification, then bring back; one photocopy, with her father's name on the first page diagonally stamped by a square seal that came out in the copy as a smudge.

Third item: the certificate of release from prison. Original to bring; one photocopy.

Fourth item: the death certificate. Original to bring; one photocopy.

Fifth item: the judgment, trial transcript, and defense counsel's opinion. One set of photocopies, every page stamped "Verified Against Original."

Sixth item: the file index and archive inspection form. Photocopies, with the page number column for the attachment left blank and a pencil-written "missing."

Seventh item: the judicial appraisal opinion and notarial certificate, one photocopy each; two discs containing scans of the re-test report's five pages, with the printouts brought along as well.

When she finished writing, she counted through from start to end. The last half-sentence under the seventh item she'd written one size smaller; it looked wrong, so she wrote it back at the original size.

There was one more line under the seventh item that she didn't write. Her pen tip touched the paper, lifted, leaving a dot of ink at the edge that she wiped away with her finger. Those two pages from March in Volume Seven, the name on the sample submission form—she didn't add a single word of it. That was something she needed to ask about herself, not something this paper was meant to hand over today.

She took the kraft envelope from beside the stack of volumes and laid it flat, front side up: Shen Qian, petition for review, Shen Zhixia—the top three lines; the bottom line, added on May 19th, read: submit to Jiangzhou Intermediate Court. The seven items were arranged in a row on the table in the order of the list. She checked them one by one—looked at one, put it down. The originals went at the bottom, their weight steadying the pile.

The inner room door opened a crack. Zhi'an came out to pour water, saw the row of papers on the table, and didn't come closer. He only asked: "Working tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

"Then I'll soak the rice in the morning." He carried the water back to his room, stopping at the doorway. "On the twenty-fifth I'll take half a day off and go with you."

"You have class."

"Half a day."

"No need." she said, "I'll go alone. You stay home and watch the door."

Zhi'an stood there a moment, pulled the door shut, but didn't close it all the way.

She put the list into the envelope, tucked it on top of the petition, and folded the mouth over twice. She pulled the lamp's pull-chain; the light clicked on to its lowest setting.

A voice came from the inner room: "Sis, what time are you leaving on the twenty-fifth?"

"Eight twenty."

The light in the inner room went dark.