Chapter 461: Third Conference Room

The row of blue chairs in the litigation service center on the first floor of the Chengdong District Court was completely full. She sat in the one closest to the door, her file envelope flat on her knees, both hands pressing down on the opening.

The number machine called a number every so often. A man holding a cardboard box stood up and sat back down, the box corners wrapped with two loops of clear tape. Someone at the end of the hallway was dragging a chair, the metal legs scraping long against the floor. A security guard raised a megaphone and said something, dampening half the noise in the room. Nobody looked up.

At 8:50, He Xiufen came up the steps, carrying that old black bag with two pens tucked in the side pocket. She walked over, her eyes landing first on Shen Zhixia's lap.

"The Eighth Volume."

"It's in the bag."

"Take it out."

Shen Zhixia pulled the Eighth Volume from the very bottom of the bag. He Xiufen flipped to the page with the paper slip tucked in it. Her gaze didn't land on the writing; she just pressed her thumb flat along the paper's edge, closed it, and handed it back.

"Don't use that as a bookmark."

"I'll keep it in there."

"Even keeping it in there is wrong. Whatever way it came out on the day of the hearing, it goes back the same way." He Xiufen set the black bag on the floor by her feet and sat down, then took a folded piece of paper from the bag—the half page written on the table behind the noodle shop. She didn't unfold it, only pressed the folded edge flat between her fingers. "That line. Still remember it?"

"I remember."

"That's enough. Once you walk through that door, you're not his daughter; you're the petitioner. The daughter part—that's for the day of the hearing."

At 9:25 the door opened. The court clerk came out with a registration form to check people in, comparing ID cards one by one before letting anyone inside.

The Third Conference Room was small. A long table, covered with a dark green cloth whose loose threads stuck up at the edges. One window was cracked open; the air conditioner was still running, and the few pages pinned under a corner of the table stirred. At the head of the table sat Judge Liang's name placard. The clerk sat against the wall, notebook open, the screen's light falling across the back of her hand. Four disposable paper cups sat on the table, already filled with water. No one touched them.

On this side, two name placards. Hers said only "Petitioner." He Xiufen's said "Defender."

At 9:30, Judge Liang came in, set a stack of documents on the table, sat down, and first took off her watch and laid it flat.

"The Chengdong District People's Court of Jiangzhou City, in the case of the original defendant Shen Qian, charged with obstruction of testimony, is now conducting a retrial in accordance with the trial supervision procedure. Today the court has convened the prosecution and defense for a pretrial meeting." She pushed her glasses up. "First, verify attendance."

The clerk asked each person one by one: name, unit, role in the case. Prosecutor Ke gave his name and title; the prosecutor's assistant followed, then slid a page of paper over to him. He Xiufen gave her unit and role. When it came to her, she said, "Shen Zhixia." She paused. "Daughter of the original defendant, Shen Qian."

Judge Liang glanced up at her and nodded.

"The power of attorney is on file," the clerk said.

"Recusal." Judge Liang read out the composition of the collegial panel. She didn't commit the middle two names to memory. "Pursuant to law, the parties and counsel have the right to apply for recusal of panel members, the court clerk, and prosecutorial personnel. Counsel, any application?"

"No."

"Petitioner?"

"No."

"Prosecutor?"

"No."

"This case will be heard in open court pursuant to law. Once the hearing date is set, the cause of action, time, and location will be announced in advance as per regulations. Any disagreement?"

"No," He Xiufen said.

"No," Prosecutor Ke said.

"The original defendant, Shen Qian, is deceased. Pursuant to law, this case will proceed as a trial in absentia. On the day of the hearing, the defendant's seat will be empty." Judge Liang read this line with no change in her voice, then moved on. "Close relatives in attendance may state their views. Petitioner, do you understand?"

"I understand."

No one in the room spoke. The hum of the air conditioner suddenly became very audible. She drew her hands back from the table's edge and placed them on her knees, the plastic edge of the file envelope pressing a white crease into her palm.

"Next, hear the opinions on witnesses appearing in court. Counsel goes first." Judge Liang said, "What's being discussed is the application, not the testimony."

He Xiufen did not unfold the half page of paper. Her eyes looked toward the other side. "The defense applies to notify three witnesses to appear. Lu Jibai, who was interning at Hengzheng Law Firm that year. On March 21st, he was the one who carried that batch of samples from the village onto the truck and delivered them to Qingyuan. His signature is on the sample submission form. Pang Chunlai, the man who watched the pump house in Baixi Village. On the night of the 20th, he was in the village. Han Chongli, the person in charge of Hengzheng Firm that year. Hengzheng represented Hengyue Chemical, and the re-test was arranged and sent for testing by Hengzheng."

Prosecutor Ke flipped through the file under his hand and looked up.

"The first two, no objection. The third, we agree to notifying him. What gets asked, gets asked in court."

"Heard," Judge Liang said. "The court will decide after this meeting." She bent her head and jotted something down, then asked, "All three are currently reachable?"

"Reachable," He Xiufen said.

"Good." Judge Liang set down her pen. "As for Pang Chunlai—his age, the travel—you'll need to report on that before the hearing date."

"We'll report."

Shen Zhixia laid her pen on the file envelope. It rolled half a turn and was stopped by the envelope's folded edge.

"Illegal evidence exclusion. Does the defense have an application?"

"No," He Xiufen said.

"The defense does not claim that the original confession was illegally obtained?"

"We don't claim that." He Xiufen placed her hands on the table, all ten fingers spread, then drew them together. "He confessed. It was his own confession. We're not saying he was coerced. We're saying the thing he confessed to is not the truth."

"Record that verbatim," Judge Liang said.

The clerk read it back under her breath. When she reached "not the truth," He Xiufen nodded. "Correct."

"Does the prosecution have any opinion?"

"No."

"Enter it into the record." Judge Liang said, "This line will not be repeated in the hearing."

At 10:15, Judge Liang glanced at the watch lying flat on the table.

"Next, verify the seal."

The clerk stood and went out, then returned holding a kraft paper archive envelope in both hands, opening upward, and set it in the center of the long table. It landed with a dull thud.

"On July 20th, personnel from the Intermediate Court went to the Chengbei District People's Court Archives and borrowed this file, bagged it, sealed it. Two handling officers signed." Judge Liang said, "Both sides, come inspect the seal. Look, but do not touch."

He Xiufen and Prosecutor Ke both leaned in. She leaned forward a little as well, both hands still on her knees. She had not been present the day it was sealed.

A strip of white paper ran along the bag's opening, each end overhanging by about an inch and folded onto the bag's face. Two signatures straddled the seam, one above the other. The top one was Judge Zhuo's; the bottom one was Comrade Chu's. The paper's edges were unbroken, every stroke of the writing intact, the corners of the characters' angles still crisp.

She had seen the top signature more than once. The bottom one—she had seen it once on July 20th in the questioning room of the Intermediate Court, on that table; before that, on June 17th, in the register book at the Chengbei District Court Archives, where before "Received by Handler" there had been only a surname.

"The seal is intact," Judge Liang said. "The two names on the seal will be recorded by the clerk exactly as written: Judge Zhuo of the Intermediate Court Trial Supervision Division, Comrade Chu of the Chengbei District Court Archives. Unseal it."

The clerk took a small knife and cut along the folded seam of the bag's opening. The white paper strip came off whole, both signatures still on it. She pressed the strip under a piece of stiff cardboard, then lifted the bound volume from the bag and placed it in the center of the table.

The file was hardbound, dark blue, the corners worn pale. The clerk turned the pages forward one by one, reaching the plaintiff's evidence section, then the end of that section, and her hand stopped.

Five pages were bound there. The stitching was still exactly as it had been; the paper corners had long gone soft. She spread the five pages out one by one, each page weighted down over the lower corner of the one before it.

"Originals are in the file," Judge Liang said. "Both sides, take a look."

She looked at the smallest line of text at the bottom of the first page: This report comprises six pages in total (including one attachment page). Then the line at the end of the fifth page: Attachment: Sample Handover Form (photocopy).

The red seal was at the signature block, round, its edges sharp with no bleeding. Below the seal, the signature had been written slowly, stroke pressing into stroke. The paper wasn't translucent; the ink-paste pressed on top of it still looked fresh. She had seen the original of this document on June 17th in the reading room, at that table—had brought home seven pages of photocopies with a verification seal in the lower right corner. Now the same document lay on this table, and the raised point on the back of the paper was still there.

"The court should note one matter," He Xiufen said. "The end of the fifth page states one attachment page. In this volume, that page is not present."

"Enter that into the record."

"The prosecution has no objection on this point," Prosecutor Ke said.

"Defense counsel applies for an appraisal of the seal and signature on this report. Does the prosecution object?"

"No objection. As for comparison samples, we request the court procure them together."

"The samples will be procured by the court," He Xiufen said. "We will not be submitting paper from our side. Those receipt books in the Cen family's hands—when the court asks for them, only then will they be given."

"Entered into the record," Judge Liang said. "Decision after the meeting. The appraisal institution will be selected by random draw as per regulations." She closed the page under her hand. "The original is bound in the file. If it goes out, the whole volume goes out. No dismantling."

"We agree to sending the whole volume," He Xiufen said.

"Agreed," Prosecutor Ke said.

"One more matter." He Xiufen pushed the half page of paper a little toward the center of the table. "On September 13th, the defense applied to the court to procure from the Chengnan District People's Procuratorate the retained copy—appended after the test report in that year's prosecution file—of the one-page sample handover form. As of today, we have received no response."

Judge Liang looked over. Prosecutor Ke turned through the stack under his hand, pulled out a page, then pressed it back.

"This matter was brought today," he said. "We'll present it below."

She drew her hands back from the file envelope, her fingertip pressing once on the coiled-string clasp at the opening.

"Ten-minute recess." Judge Liang put her watch back on. "Resume at 10:40."

The clerk returned the five pages to their original order, aligning the corners, turned them one by one back into place, and closed the volume. She stood it upright and ran two fingers along the spine, smoothing down the raised thread.

Only then did Shen Zhixia get a clear look at that thread: it ran from one end of the spine to the other, the knots tied on the outside, a small piece of paper pressed over each knot. It was the same as what she had seen on June 17th in the Chengbei District Court Archives—that day, sitting at the table in the reading room looking at that volume, it had been the same kind of thread, the same little piece of paper pressed over the knots.

Someone in the hallway pushed a window open. Wind rushed in, turning over the pages at the corner of the table. She took her eyes off the thread and pressed both hands down on the file envelope.