Chapter 417: A New Circle on the Rice Jar

"Attorney Shen? This is the Trial Supervision Division of the Jiangzhou Intermediate Court."

June 21, 10 a.m., second floor of Zhengping Firm. Ge Xiaoyu's evidence list lay spread across her desk; she was counting through it item by item, pen held between her fingers.

"Go ahead."

"Your application for evidence collection, filed June 18, plus the seven pages of copies attached at the back—it's been transferred to our division." The woman's voice was unhurried, pausing after each sentence.

"Has a handling judge been assigned?"

"Not yet. The Trial Supervision Division has a queue. Once it's assigned, we'll call first, then send written notice."

"The verification seal on those seven pages—you've seen it?"

"I have. The handling officer signed a surname and noted the date." Papers rustled on the other end. "We're looking at that."

She pressed the notebook flat with her pen barrel and wrote down the date and this line: June 21, application transferred to Trial Supervision Division.

[Thud. The papers went up. Someone took them.]

After writing, she pushed the notebook to the corner of the desk and went back to counting. It took three passes before everything lined up. Then she took a fresh sheet and wrote out, in order, what she'd need tomorrow: one complaint, one evidence list, original power of attorney, consent form, one claims breakdown, blank hearing record paper.

She recopied the claims breakdown: medical exam fees, travel expenses, nursing fees, nutrition fees—four items totaling 5,700; mental distress compensation of 10,000; future treatment costs to be claimed separately. She marked a dot above the "10,000." That was the one item to negotiate tomorrow.

Li Huilan came out from the inner office, keys in hand. She noticed the paper. "Mediation tomorrow?"

"Nine-thirty, Chengxi."

"I still have to go out this afternoon. I saw Xing Shuqin yesterday; I'll need to go back again the day after." Li Huilan slung her case bag over her shoulder. "Her son's passbook—I asked her about it again. Same answer."

"Which is?"

"'It's with him. I can't remember the password.'" Li Huilan repeated it flatly. "I wrote it into the record word for word."

"When she signed, did you read it back to her?"

"I did. She pressed her own thumbprint." Li Huilan was halfway down the stairs; her voice floated up from the steps. "It's not much money. But to that family, it's money. Don't treat it as too little."

"I won't."

In the afternoon she went downstairs for water. He Xiufen was scraping ginger by the stove; the peels dropped in thin strips onto the rim of the basin.

"The child's father is in Guangdong?"

"They video call."

"On video, words come slower than on paper." He Xiufen knocked the scraped ginger against the cutting board. "He says a line, you write a line for the old woman. She sits in the back row, too scared to speak—you ask for her. But ask what's asked; don't answer for her."

"I read the words to her. She presses her own thumbprint."

"That's right." The water in the pot began to simmer. He Xiufen didn't look up again.

At 5:40 p.m. she packed up her case bag and headed home. She pulled the kraft paper envelope from under the bed just to look at it—didn't open it, just laid it face-up, the top line reading her father's name, Petition, her own name. She pressed her hand flat against it for a moment, then slid it back under the bed.

June 22, 9:15 a.m., in front of the Chengxi District Court.

Chai Guizhi was already standing by the iron railing below the steps, a cloth bag looped over one arm—blue fabric washed pale, the opening folded down twice. When she spotted her, Chai Guizhi switched the bag to the other hand first.

"Auntie Chai, have you been waiting long?"

"No. The early bus is at six-forty. I figure better early than late." Chai Guizhi glanced past her. "Director He didn't come?"

"She's minding the office."

"Xiaoyu went off to school. Last night he packed his schoolbag before bed, then asked me: when Auntie goes to court tomorrow, can she bring his paperwork with her." Chai Guizhi folded the bag opening down one more turn. "I said it's all here."

"And his father?"

"Called last night to ask the time. He swapped shifts with his crew boss. Waiting in the dormitory."

"Go inside. I'll go over the terms with him first, then you come sit in."

The security scanner beeped at the entrance. The cloth bag came through on the other side; Chai Guizhi reached for it first, pulled it to her chest, and followed her up to the second floor. At the end of the corridor a door stood half open. Inside, long tables had been arranged in a circle: case files, a box of tissues, an ink pad. A window was cracked open.

Judge Teng was already seated, hair cropped short. Her voice carried little volume. "Plaintiff's authorized agent, Shen Zhixia?"

"Present."

"Defendant's authorized agent, Song Qiming?"

Song Qiming came up from the far end of the corridor, shirt buttoned to the top collar, a document envelope in hand. He gave her a small nod—an acknowledgment, nothing more.

At 9:30, the court clerk connected the video call. The screen jolted past a row of metal bunk beds, several stacked plastic basins, then Ge Changlin's face crowded into the frame. His hair was damp, gray-blue work uniform on, a blue cloth curtain over the window behind him.

"Hello—can you hear me?"

Judge Teng: "We can hear you. Are you Ge Changlin himself?"

"That's me. I swapped with the crew boss for the morning. I've got to be back at the shop floor by noon."

"Your power of attorney—you signed it yourself?"

"I signed it. Mailed it back in April."

Shen Zhixia pushed a sheet to the center of the table. "The principal's written consent to mediation was mailed back to our firm June 15. May the court verify the signature and date."

Judge Teng examined it and had the clerk enter it into the file, then asked her: "In the plaintiff's power of attorney, is there a clause stating that mediation and settlement require the principal's written consent?"

"There is. This page, signed by the principal himself."

"Today is mediation, not trial. If both sides are willing to mediate, we mediate. The moment anyone's not willing, we stop." Judge Teng turned the paper in her hands. "If mediation succeeds, the court issues a mediation order. On receipt it takes effect. No appeal. Plaintiff's side, listen to the defendant's proposal."

Song Qiming's pace was steady, item by item: "Medical exam fees, travel expenses, nursing fees, nutrition fees—per the claim, not a cent discounted. Mental distress compensation: 8,300. Within ten days of the mediation order taking effect, paid to the plaintiff's designated account. Future treatment costs to be claimed separately when actually incurred. Filing fee halved, borne by the defendant."

The clerk's fingers tapped at the keyboard. Shen Zhixia ran the numbers in her head: the claimed items at 5,700, plus 8,300—14,000. Her claim had been 15,700. Seventeen hundred less, in exchange for ten days. The child's receipts were still piling up one by one. This deal was worth it.

Chai Guizhi had loosened half of the cloth bag on her lap. Inside: a medical record, a stack of paperwork, all bound with rubber bands. She rested her hand on the stack but didn't push it forward.

Judge Teng turned. "Plaintiff's side?"

Shen Zhixia looked at the screen first. "Ge Shifu, did you hear clearly? Total amount, 14,000 yuan, wired to the account you gave within ten days. Sign today, it takes effect today. Don't sign, and we go to trial—and I can't tell you how fast that moves."

The face on the screen dipped slightly.

"I won't say it for you." She spread the breakdown out. "You say it yourself. Agree or not."

"I'll do what the lawyer says." Ge Changlin's voice was muffled.

"Then I'll answer for him." She turned to face the judge. "Agreed."

"My grandson will still need follow-ups." A voice came from the back row. Chai Guizhi's hand pressed down on the stack. "If I sign this now, and later something shows up—can we still ask for money then?"

Judge Teng looked at her and answered plainly: "This settlement covers only what has already occurred. If future checkups reveal problems, with receipts in hand, you may claim separately. It won't affect anything."

Chai Guizhi didn't fully grasp "claim separately." Shen Zhixia turned and explained it in the plainest words: today's account is settled today; every future checkup gets counted separately, whenever it happens, however it happens.

"Then who writes the receipts for the checkups?" Chai Guizhi asked.

"The township, the city—either works. As long as the receipt has a stamp and a date, it counts." She answered. "Keep the originals. Don't lose them."

Judge Teng asked the screen: "When is the child's next follow-up?"

"The one in April—the doctor said to come back in half a year."

"October." Shen Zhixia added, "When those receipts come in, we'll talk again."

"I'll be here in October." Ge Changlin's voice dropped. "Home again at New Year."

Chai Guizhi made a small sound of assent from the back row but said nothing.

Song Qiming added, toward the screen: "If your signal cuts out, just call out. This matter ends here. From now on, no one from the company will come looking for you over this."

Half a second of silence on the screen. "Okay."

The mediation order was printed on the spot. The two pages came out of the machine still warm; the clerk filled in each blank field, then read it through: amounts, account, deadline, dates. Reading to "within ten days," Song Qiming looked up: "Pay to his own card. The same number from last year—we've pulled the statements. It goes through."

"That number. My factory wages all go there." Ge Changlin said.

"Do you need to come back for this?" Judge Teng asked.

"No need. Round trip costs fare."

Song Qiming signed first. He set the pen down flat, tip facing himself. She signed for the plaintiff, writing her name in the column marked "authorized agent." When she finished, she read the closing paragraph to the screen and had him follow along.

"I've seen it clearly." Ge Changlin said.

"Then that's that."

At 11:30, both parties signed for receipt. The clerk stamped the cover sheet—one copy to Song Qiming, one to her. The effective date was today.

[Thud. Ge Xiaoyu's case: mediation effective. Half of this ticket recorded.]

[Thud. The other half: wait for the money to arrive.]

At 11:40, the people in the corridor dispersed. Song Qiming tucked the envelope into his bag, took two steps, stopped.

"Money within ten days. I'll keep an eye on it."

She nodded.

"Keep the child's future follow-up receipts. Don't throw away the tickets either." He finished and walked off, leather shoes striking the terrazzo in even beats toward the stairwell.

Noon, in front of the courthouse.

The sun was directly overhead; the steps bleached white. Chai Guizhi stood beside her, clutching the cloth bag, watching people come and go for a while.

"Is it done, then?"

"It's done when the money arrives."

"When it arrives, call me." Shen Zhixia pulled out her phone and showed Chai Guizhi the number on the screen. "This is what's saved."

"I don't know how to dial." Chai Guizhi pointed at her own senior phone. "If I press wrong, it costs credit. I'll have Xiaoyu press it for me."

"Then let him. After he presses, don't hang up. Hear me out."

Chai Guizhi murmured assent, then lowered her head to untie the bag. She fished out a paper parcel and opened it: two boiled eggs. She pressed them into Shen Zhixia's hands. "For the road. Eat."

She didn't refuse. The eggs were still warm.

"They've started work beyond the ditch." Chai Guizhi pinched the empty wrapper. "I went up to the ditch two days ago for a look. The dug-up earth is all piled on the embankment. The playground's fenced off, flags stuck along the edge. When will they finish?"

"Within one hundred eighty days. Until October 21."

"I drew three circles on the rice jar." Chai Guizhi said. "One per thirty days. Three for one hundred eighty."

"Those three circles are for the ditch."

"This one's for the money." Chai Guizhi slung the bag over her shoulder and looked up at the glass doors. "Then when I get home, I'll draw another circle on the rice jar."