Chapter 484: 9:30

The line outside the courthouse stretched from the security checkpoint all the way down, hooked around, and the tail of it landed beneath the steps. At 8:50, wind came gusting in from the street, lifting the hems of a few people's coats and letting them fall again.

He Xiufen stood at the very front, one hand holding her bag, the other pinching her ID card between two fingers. Behind her was Zhi'an, blue jacket, the mended spot at the cuff not visible at all. Behind him—herself.

"IDs are all with me." He Xiufen turned slightly, voice low. "Once inside, no talking. Answer if asked, don't ask anything, keep quiet."

"Got it," Zhi'an said.

The scanner hummed. Plastic bins passed through one by one. The man in front of her set off the metal detector three times on his belt buckle. She placed her bag in the bin, watched it come out through the curtain, then stepped forward.

The locker area and the hearing registration desk sat side by side. Tang Guo was already there, ID flat on the counter, head down filling out the form; she glanced up at the sound of footsteps, didn't greet them, just raised her hand half an inch, then put it back down—no waving in here.

"How many from your family?" the woman at registration asked.

"One."

"Who are you here with?"

Tang Guo tilted her chin this way. "Close relative."

Form done, pen returned. When Tang Guo pushed the form across the counter, her hand pressed down on it, like she was pressing the paper flat.

Ma Jianjun was taking off his helmet in front of the lockers. His two buddies did the same—one cradled his helmet in his arms, the other held his by the strap. All three had changed into dark jackets, but their feet were still in work shoes, soles worn smooth.

"Helmets go in here." Ma Jianjun set the three helmets into a locker. "Need the slip to get them out?"

"Yes."

He took the slip, folded it twice, tucked it into an inner pocket, then reached back in to check it again.

Cen Hong arrived earlier than she'd expected. Dark jacket, a cloth bag looped over one arm. She checked the wall sign the moment she entered, looked it over carefully, then came this way. When she reached them, her lips moved: "Still queuing."

"Still queuing."

The light from the doorway pulled inward, and someone came in. Lu Jibai, black coat, no bag in hand, no one with him. He stood at the very end of the line, six or seven people back, glanced once toward the hearing registration desk, then lowered his head. No one spoke to him, and he looked at no one.

"Courtroom at 9:10," He Xiufen said, glancing at the clock in the lobby.

At 9:10, the door to Courtroom One was pulled open from inside. A bailiff held it with one hand, and light spilled out of the courtroom, white.

"The close-relative row is on the right, against the wall." He Xiufen spoke, then went in first, heading toward the defense bench.

The defense bench sat to the front left of the judges' dais—a table, a chair, a microphone and a glass of water on the table. The defendant's dock was empty, nothing on its surface. It had been empty on October 26th too. That day she'd sat at the extra table the court had set up beside the defense bench.

The gallery seats were connected wooden chairs, lacquer chipped in places, bare wood showing through. Tang Guo sat on the aisle side, second row. Cen Hong sat diagonally behind her. Ma Jianjun and his two companions took the row closest to the door, none of them taking off their jackets. She moved down the row, and Ma Jianjun shifted sideways to let her through.

The close-relative row had only two chairs. Last time, Zhi'an had sat in the first row, at the far end. This time he sat down next to her, sitting straight, both hands on his knees, fingers together.

"Sit a little closer," she whispered.

He shifted half a body's width toward her.

She set the notebook on her lap, flipped to that page, then closed it again. The heating in the courtroom wasn't on; the chair was cold. She pressed her palms against her knees for a while, then moved her hands down beneath the notebook.

The clerk's voice rose from the front: "Quiet, please. All rise."

Chairs clattered. The three-member panel entered through the side door, the presiding judge in front, gray suit, hair tucked behind her ears; one on each side—one in a dark jacket, the other a middle-aged woman with a People's Juror badge pinned to her chest. The three stood, then sat.

"Be seated."

To the right of the dais was the prosecutor's bench. Prosecutor Ke squared a stack of papers against the tabletop; his assistant straightened the pen. He Xiufen was already sitting upright at the defense bench, glasses on, both hands folded on the table.

"The Chengdong District People's Court of Jiangzhou City is now in session." The presiding judge opened the judgment in her hands and swept her eyes over the courtroom. "This case has been retried under the trial supervision procedure, and the public hearing has concluded. Judgment will be announced today on the scheduled date."

He Xiufen tilted her head slightly. Only now did she understand what "scheduled judgment announcement" on the phone had meant—read it, and leave. No questions asked.

The presiding judge's voice was unhurried, sentence by sentence.

"...This Court finds that the original judgment's determination that the original defendant Shen Qian provided a falsified water sample test report in civil litigation and obstructed witness testimony was based on the re-test report issued by Jiangzhou Qingyuan Testing Technology Co., Ltd. differing from the initial test."

"Upon retrial, it has been established: this batch of samples left the sealed storage location the night before submission for testing, and was opened and replaced. The sample handover form, the testimony of witness Pang Chunlai, and the testimony of witness Lu Jibai contained in the original case file, cross-referenced with the internship logs of the Hengzheng Law Firm from that year, corroborate each other—on the night of March 20th, two cardboard boxes stored at the Village Committee building were resealed on the morning of the 21st."

Her shoulders sank a little.

"The original re-test report stored in the separate case file of the Chengbei District People's Court was examined. Its seal is consistent with the seal specimen on file at the testing center for that year, and the signature was written by the center's former director himself. The original's conclusion is consistent with the test report the original defendant submitted that year."

Someone shifted behind her. She didn't turn around.

"The original defendant's confession regarding the alleged forgery of the test report is not corroborated by any other evidence."

"Witness Han Chongli's in-court testimony conflicts with the documentary evidence and the testimony of other witnesses on record. This Court does not accept it."

He Xiufen took her hands off the table and placed them in her lap.

"The original judgment erred in its factual findings, and the evidence relied upon for conviction was insufficient."

The clerk called out: "All rise."

Chairs clattered again. She stood, holding the notebook; Zhi'an stood too.

The presiding judge turned a page: "Pursuant to the relevant provisions of the Criminal Procedure Law of the People's Republic of China, the judgment is as follows."

"One: The criminal judgment of the Jiangzhou Chengnan District People's Court in the case against the original defendant Shen Qian for obstruction of witness testimony is revoked."

"Two: The original defendant Shen Qian is not guilty."

The notebook slipped in her hand. She caught it with her other hand and tucked it under her arm. Zhi'an's elbow brushed gently against her arm, then pulled back without a word.

"If dissatisfied with this judgment, an appeal may be filed with this Court or the Jiangzhou Intermediate People's Court within ten days of receiving the judgment. The People's Procuratorate may lodge a protest."

"Court is adjourned. The judgment will be served in open court."

The clerk came around from the dais with three copies of the judgment—first to the defense bench, placing one for He Xiufen; then over to her, handing her one while spreading a narrow return-receipt form across the railing in front of her.

"Close relative, sign here. Name and date."

The paper was new, still a little cold, edges perfectly aligned. She held the judgment in one hand and reached for the pen with the other. The clerk handed it to her; the barrel was warm. She wrote her name in the service-recipient box, the date beside it: November 30th. She checked it once, then returned the pen.

The clerk turned toward the prosecution bench. Prosecutor Ke took his copy, flipped through it twice, closed it, and set it on the corner of the table.

The judgment sank a little in her grip. She held it straight.

[Thud. The final page of the Unsettled Ledger—one more line.]

[Thud. Shen Qian: Not Guilty.]

[Thud. This page is full.]

She stood there, motionless. The paper in her hand was thin, but she was afraid of dropping it.

"The court is now adjourned." The presiding judge closed her copy of the judgment.

Chairs moved, footsteps sounded, the bailiff pulled the door open. He Xiufen came around from the defense bench and stood in the aisle. She adjusted the bag on her shoulder and looked down at her hands.

"It's been read," He Xiufen said.

"It's been read."

"Hold onto the paper." He Xiufen pressed one hand on her copy. "Don't read it on the way home."

Zhi'an was still standing where he'd been, head lowered, both hands never leaving his knees. She waited for him. After a while he lifted his head, eyes a little red, looking at the paper in her hand.

"Sis."

"Yeah."

"The words 'not guilty'—they were read from that."

"Yes."

He swallowed. "Then it's written down."

"It's written down."

"I won't say anything." He pushed his chair in. "I didn't say."

"If you want to speak, speak your own words."

He shook his head, wiping his hand on his pants. "Not now."

The hallway was crowded. Ma Jianjun went to retrieve the helmets first, came back holding one against his chest, his two buddies behind him, theirs held the same way. He stopped in front of her.

"Attorney Shen, I'm heading back to work."

"Got a midday run?"

"One job, out in Chengbei." He shifted the helmet up. "Late means a deduction."

"Go on, then."

The two buddies gave her a nod, then followed Ma Jianjun down the stairs. Their soles scraped against the concrete, the sound lasting until the stair landing.

Tang Guo came out of the gallery, walking slowly. When she reached her, she wiped her hand on her coat hem.

"I was in the back."

"I saw you."

"I'm not asking anything." Tang Guo said. "Whenever you want to talk, I'll listen."

"Okay."

"Go home and sleep." Tang Guo glanced at the judgment in her hand. "Don't fold that paper."

Cen Hong waited until everyone else had gone before approaching, switching her cloth bag to her other hand.

"Attorney Shen."

"Yeah."

"Is my father in any of the words on there?"

"Yes. In the appraisal opinion—his signature is what it says."

She nodded once, eyes drifting toward the window, then back. "I'll head back to the shop. Lots of deliveries this afternoon."

Two steps away, she stopped. "'His signature'—that phrase, I'll remember it."

The last person was at the far end of the hallway. Lu Jibai rose from the last row, walked to the door, didn't stop. The door closed behind him, and the air in the corridor stirred once. She stood where she was, watching the hem of his coat pass by the glass door, sinking downward, then gone.

She walked down the steps alone. The lobby doors were open, wind pouring in. She stopped on the side closest to the door and opened the judgment.

The last few pages were the reasoning, small print, tight lines. She didn't read them aloud—she turned the pages one by one, all the way to the final page. A round seal was stamped there, red pressed over the date at the bottom, one edge slightly blurred.

She touched the seal with one finger.

Then she flipped back. Past the reasoning, past the "upon retrial it has been established" section, to the first page.

The first page had lines arranged neatly: Original defendant Shen Qian, then sex, then date of birth, then address. The name was at the top, printed in the same black as everything else.

She stood there, looking at those characters.

Wind came through the door again, lifting a corner of the paper, and she pressed it down with her palm. Someone was sweeping at the bottom of the steps, the broom pushing back and forth, sand scraping over concrete.

She closed the judgment, aligned the edges, and pressed it flat.