Chapter 467: The Night Before

He Xiufen was out early, wiping down stools downstairs.

October 25th. The noodle shop opened as usual. She dragged twenty-odd plastic stools out from under the tables and wiped them down one by one with a damp cloth—tops first, then flipped over for the legs—and stacked them against the wall in two neat piles when she was done.

Li Huilan came in from the alley and stopped at the door, eyeing the stacks.

"What are you wiping those for?"

"People are coming into the city tomorrow. The ones who can't fit in the courtroom—they'll still need a place to sit when they get back."

"It's a twenty-minute drive from here to the courthouse."

"Twenty minutes is still a ways. The ones walking back will have weak legs. A stool won't hurt."

"Who's walking back? The ones who can't get in will stand outside until court lets out, then follow the crowd."

"Then I wiped these two stacks for nothing," He Xiufen said.

"Not for nothing," Li Huilan said. "I'll come down for a bowl at noon tomorrow."

Li Huilan came upstairs with a sheet of manuscript paper in hand. A column of names ran vertically down the page, with a few more squeezed in at the bottom, and a question mark drawn at the end. She set it down on the desk.

"I made a round of calls yesterday afternoon," she said. "Everyone written down said they'd be there. The ones not written down said they'd see."

She looked down at the list. Ma Jianjun; then three delivery riders with "helmet left on bike" in parentheses. Next to Peng Weidong: "coming straight off night shift." Lin Qi. Kang Wenying. He Lan. Next to Shi Lei: "minibus, can bring two." Next to Cen Hong: "bringing Auntie Wang," with the word "heart" scribbled beside it in small characters. Tang Guo. Zhi'an.

"More people than seats," Li Huilan said.

"How many more?"

"I counted twice. About ten said they'd come, five said they'd see." Li Huilan tapped her finger on the names. "The clerk said the gallery in that room doesn't have many seats."

"What about the ones who can't get seats?"

"A few said standing is fine."

"Standing is not fine." He Xiufen pushed her glasses up. "A room full of people standing, and the presiding judge looks up to see a wall of people before court even starts—that sets the wrong tone from the outset."

He Xiufen pulled the list toward her, flipped it over, read the back, then pushed it back.

"Auntie Wang's line—tell Cen Hong to get there early. Seat her on the aisle, near the door, so she can step out if needed."

"Already wrote that."

"Where's Shi Lei parking?"

"He said the street west of the courthouse. Won't block the entrance."

"Tell him: no one unloads anything from the vehicle. Anyone thirsty brings their own water and finishes it before going in."

"No cups allowed inside either. Writing that down."

"Peng Weidong's coming straight off night shift—tell him to eat something first. Sitting all morning on an empty stomach, he'll be swaying."

Li Huilan jotted notes beside the names, then looked up. "One more thing. Have everyone hold their ID in hand before they go through the door. Don't be digging through bags at the window—that line moves fast, and one person fumbling backs up everyone behind."

"Write that on the last page and have Tang Guo send it in the group."

"Sending it now." Li Huilan folded the list in half, tucked it under the stack of files at the corner of her desk, sat down, and pulled the phone toward her, dialing one number after another.

"The ones who finish registering but can't get in—they should go back," she said. "Don't wait at the door. Don't cluster up outside talking. When court's out, I'll call them one by one."

"Numbers?"

"Tang Guo has them. Ask her if any are missing."

At 9:40 the phone buzzed. The screen read: Cen Hong.

"Lawyer Shen, I'm bringing my mother tomorrow," Cen Hong said. There was a barcode scanner beep on her end, and she stepped away from the counter. "She hasn't been sleeping well these past few nights. I'm worried she won't be able to sit still in there tomorrow."

"If she can't sit still, step outside for a bit. There'll be people at the door. Take it slow."

"What if she refuses to go out? She's like that—once she sits down, she won't budge."

"Then lean over and tell her: whoever she wants to talk to after court, you'll bring her."

"Who would she want to talk to?"

"If she wants to talk, I'll come see her when court's done."

"It'll be crowded after court. You won't be able to get through," Cen Hong said. "Her hearing's bad too."

"Then I'll call her. Slowly."

There was a pause, then another scanner beep. "She also asked—should she wear black tomorrow?"

"No. Just dress warm."

"Then the cotton jacket it is," Cen Hong said. "I aired it out for her last night."

Just past ten, He Xiufen came downstairs carrying a tin box tucked under one arm, her other hand on the railing, step by step.

"I'm going to read the statement through once," she said.

"Read it to who?" Li Huilan called from upstairs.

"Read it to the walls."

At noon, Li Huilan went down for noodles and came back with three bowls. The third she set on He Xiufen's desk, with an empty bowl inverted over it. Past two, the noodles had congealed. She took it down, made a fresh bowl, brought it up, and covered it again.

At three, He Xiufen came up and settled into the old wooden chair by the window. She took off her glasses, wiped them with a cloth, put them back on, and looked over.

"I read it through once."

"How far did you get?" Li Huilan asked.

"Page three." He Xiufen paused. "My tongue tripped. I stopped, drank some water, and started over from the top."

"Did it come out smooth?"

"It did."

"Are you going to read it?"

"I'll know when I'm up there tomorrow." He Xiufen closed the tin box; the clasp clicked. She turned to her. "Tomorrow, 8:10. You bring Zhi'an through the small west gate. I'll open it for you from inside. Don't squeeze in with the people queuing at the main entrance."

"Understood."

"And him?" He Xiufen tilted her chin toward the inner office. "Which gate for him?"

"The east one. The bailiffs will escort him."

"Then don't go near the east side tomorrow. If you pass him in the hallway, don't stop." He Xiufen said, "When you walk in through that door, you're the petitioner first. His daughter's matter—that comes after the doors open."

"I know."

"Good." He Xiufen pushed the tin box toward the center of her desk. "The second block, I read halfway through, got to your father's name, and it came out smooth. When I finished, I set the paper down and drank some water."

"Are you bringing the notebook tomorrow?" He Xiufen asked.

"Yes."

"Then write. What you write may not count for anything, but if you don't write it down, you'll forget."

At five, Li Huilan put her things into the drawer and locked it.

"Tomorrow I'll hold down the office," she said. "I'll watch the phone. Anyone who comes by, I'll pour the water. The door won't be locked, and the noodle shop will be open."

"Thank you."

"No need for thanks. I'd rather be sitting down there than in there." Li Huilan picked up her bag, reached the door, and turned back. "The list is on your desk. If any of the 'we'll see' people actually show up tomorrow, don't go standing by the door."

"Mm."

Her heels descended the stairs. At eight, He Xiufen left the stairwell light on for them, said, "Don't be late tomorrow," and left too.

At nine, the lamp on the outer desk was still on.

The inner office door stood half open, the light on inside. She capped her pen, went over, and knocked once on the doorframe.

"That volume of Lawyer Li's is on the cabinet in here."

"On top of the cabinet," he said, standing at the desk without looking up.

The hearing notice lay spread on his desk. It had been folded twice; he'd smoothed it out, but two crease lines remained. Beside it, his ID card lay face down.

She pulled the volume from between two stacks, a corner catching briefly, and held it under her arm, standing in the doorway.

"Tomorrow I'll be in the witness room, not in the courtroom," he said.

"I know."

"They'll call me when it's time."

"Director He mentioned it."

He refolded the notice along its original creases—one fold, two—pressed it against the desk edge, and slipped it into an inner pocket. The ID card went into a different pocket.

"You're not going to ask what I'll say tomorrow."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because if I ask, whatever you say won't be entirely your own."

He turned the desk lamp halfway, shifting the light to the stack of papers at the desk corner, then back again. The water in his cup had gone cold; a ring of water marks clung to the inside. He picked it up, took a sip, set it back.

"Where's Zhi'an sitting?" he asked.

"The gallery. Alone, toward the front."

"Have him sit on the far side, away from the aisle."

"Director He told him to sit toward the front," she said. "I've told him."

"When I speak tomorrow, don't look down."

"I won't look down."

"Same when Director He reads."

"I know."

The roll-up shutter downstairs had been down for a while. An electric scooter passed in the alley; a bell rang once, then faded.

"After I testify, if the presiding judge permits me to sit in, I'll take the back row," he said.

"Any seat's fine."

She shifted the volume to her other arm. On the outer desk, her bag had been packed three times over: ID, notebook, two pens, a pack of tissues.

"Turn off the light before you go," she said.

"All right."

She was halfway down the stairs when she heard the pull chain click in the inner office, then the outer. The stairwell light stayed on, glowing until she reached the last step, then snapped off above her head.

He came down behind her. At the door they fell in a half-step apart, out one after the other. The wooden sign by the entrance—He Xiufen had flipped it back when she closed up, face inward, the cord still looped over the nail. The wind at the alley mouth was colder than upstairs; she pulled her collar up.

She turned east toward the bus stop. He stood at the alley mouth for a moment, then headed the other way.

At 9:50, the apartment door creaked, and Zhi'an came out of the inner room to pour water.

"Jie."

"You're still up."

"I washed my uniform but it's not fully dry. I blow-dried it—the sleeves are still a little damp."

"Hang it up. We'll check in the morning."

"I set my alarm for 6:20."

"I set mine for 6:20 too."

"Then I'll turn mine off," Zhi'an said. "You can just call me."

He set his cup on the table but didn't go back to his room. He stood there.

"Jie—tomorrow, if I hear someone bad-mouthing Dad, what do I do?"

"You sit."

"Sit."

"Sit, and keep your eyes forward." She said, "The people speaking in that room aren't making small talk."

Zhi'an nodded once and went back to the inner room. The door didn't close all the way; a strip of yellow light showed beneath it.

She left the room light on and pulled the paper bag out from under the bed. The cardboard box sat further in; the bag was in front, its cord wrapped twice around and looped over the handle.

Six lines ran down the face of the bag. She read them top to bottom: Shen Qian; Petition for Review; Shen Zhixia (May 9, black ink); Delivered to Jiangzhou Intermediate Court (May 19); June 18, evidence collection application, submitted; August 5, Retrial Decision, Chengdong District Court.

She unwound the cord and opened the bag.

She knew exactly what sat in each compartment: the petition signed May 19, the household register, the certificate of release from prison, the death certificate, the retrial decision from August 5, and the seven-page verification copy from June 17.

The compartment for originals was empty. That space had once held three pages of interview records and a disc. Now it held the court's receipt, folded into a neat little square.

She pinched the receipt out, unfolded it, checked both sides.

The date. The two items received. Page and disc counts. And at the bottom, the receipt stamp—struck square and clean, not a single character touching its edge.

Tomorrow those three pages would be pulled from the court's file, laid out on the projector. The hands pulling them wouldn't be hers.

She refolded the receipt along its original creases, back into a neat little square, and returned it to its compartment. The bag closed; the cord wound around twice and hung back in place. She slid the bag under the bed, the bottom scraping once against the floor before settling beside the cardboard box.

Tomorrow morning. Seven-thirty.