Read Novel Full Chapter 216: Twenty-One Seconds
Chapter 216: Twenty-One Seconds
On the morning of July 4th, the fire below the noodle shop hadn't started yet.
Shen Zhixia spread the doxing evidence binder open beside the old computer, flipping through page by page: a photocopy of the broadband relocation request form, a printout of the for-sale sheet, the police report receipt, the case acceptance receipt, the notarization acceptance slip, the platform's Disposal Statement, and three printouts from the enterprise public disclosure registry. She'd trimmed all the page corners even, each edge flush against the next.
At the last page, she added a date in the bottom-right corner: As of July 3rd.
Footsteps on the stairs. He Xiufen came in carrying a tea mug, her apron strings half-loose. One hand looped them around her waist and tied them.
"Everything's in?"
"Everything's in."
"Close it." He Xiufen tilted her chin toward the corner of the room. "Second shelf, with the medicine case stack. Don't touch that bottom drawer—it's locked."
She pulled open the second shelf. The medicine case stack was still there, edges worn soft. She stood the binder upright, stepped back half a pace to look, then reached out and straightened it.
"Director He, that package—has anyone paid for it yet?"
"No."
"The officer said the amount still pending—still nothing as of yesterday, nothing today either."
"Nothing is better." He Xiufen took a sip of tea. "If he'd paid up today, that video never would've surfaced. The man doing the paying hasn't taken his seat yet—he's short on cash, and short on people too."
[Thud. The binder closed. The bill is still unpaid.]
"How long before this case gets a judgment?"
"From filing to judgment, four months would be fast." He Xiufen said, "You need to get used to accounts staying open. What the paper pins down is pinned down. If the money hasn't landed, that slot stays empty."
[Thud. Justice Points: Unsettled.]
She pulled up a chair and sat down, arranging several receipts by date.
"Two things today." He Xiufen sat down across from her. "First, the complaint. Those two lines we set last time stay as they are: one line with the platform's full name, one line with that string of eleven digits."
"Just two lines."
"Just two lines." He Xiufen said, "The Xingyao line—once you've nailed down the data chain, file a separate application to add it. Right now you've got six of its accounts with its institutional verification hanging on them, and that recruitment post promising 'pay per post, matrix distribution.' The moment it sits at the defendant's bench, it has to explain where those six accounts came from. And the moment it opens its mouth to explain, someone will claim that settlement sheet from the year before last."
"That girl is still waiting."
"She's waiting. We're waiting too." He Xiufen turned her tea mug half a circle on the table corner. "That paper from the year before last is an old account. If no one claims an old account, it's just paper."
"What's the second thing?"
"Second, consolidate all the receipts into one list." She pointed at the stack in the innermost part of the binder. "Notary fee sixteen hundred, three courier slips, two print shop receipts. What day each was paid, who it went to—write it line by line. This case won't recover much money; the accounting can't leak."
Halfway through the list, her pen stopped.
"Those three accounts—their badges came down yesterday."
"Badges come down, they swap in something else." He Xiufen pushed her glasses up. "Wait and see what he posts today."
* * *
At 11:40, her phone rang. Three characters on the screen: Ma Jianjun.
Wind filled the background, along with the sound of cars brushing past his ear.
"Zhixia, you busy?"
"What's wrong?"
"In our group chat, someone posted a video around noon." He paused. "The person in it is taking a red envelope. The face is yours."
She set her pen down.
"That's not me."
"I know it's not you." Ma Jianjun said, "Eight years in this line of work—I can spot a fake at a glance. That gray jacket of yours, when you wear it you roll the cuffs twice. In the video, they're not rolled."
She heard a bicycle bell pass on his end.
"How many people in the group reposted it?"
"I counted eleven. Two of them are still commenting underneath, saying lawyers are all like that."
"Don't argue with them."
"I won't." Another gust of wind came through. "I said three sentences about how you went to Chengnan for us last winter. No one responded."
"First, screenshot the accounts that reposted and send them to me."
"Already done." Ma Jianjun said, "Zhixia, there's one thing I want to say—don't call me a nag."
"Go ahead."
"Every mao, every fen of that thirty-six thousand four hundred you got back for us—I remember it all." He said, "The people in that group, if they can't remember, let them forget. I'm hanging up now. Gotta get back out on orders."
After hanging up, she called Tang Guo. Line busy. Two minutes later, Tang Guo called back.
"Zhixia." Her voice was low. "My backend's had nineteen notifications since this morning. All the same thing."
"How long?"
"Twenty-one seconds." Tang Guo said, "Posted by 'Jiangzhou Kuaikan'—one of those three accounts that had their verification stripped yesterday afternoon. Caption underneath: 'This is the person fighting for your justice.'"
"Anyone ask you about it?"
"One old follower who's been with me half a year asked, 'Guo-jie, is this real?'" Tang Guo said, "I didn't reply."
"Not replying is right." She opened her notebook. "Did you save it?"
"I saved it. Sending it to you now."
The file arrived. She pulled up yesterday's nine-second screen recording and displayed both side by side, enlarged: nine seconds on the left, twenty-one on the right. The first nine seconds matched—white wall, square clock, white porcelain cup, gray jacket, taking the red envelope, wrist turning outward. The extra twelve seconds after: the person looked up and said one line: "This case—enough money, and it's settled."
The voice was hers.
She cranked the volume to max and played it again. The delivery, the ending pitch—all matched.
"Director He."
"I heard." He Xiufen set down her pen and walked over to stand behind her chair. "The voice doesn't need to be fabricated. You've been on Tang Guo's camera. You've spoken in your own voice."
"But that line—"
"Don't look at the line." He Xiufen said, "Look at why he chose today. Badge stripped yesterday afternoon, video posted this morning. He's telling you those six accounts found a new use."
[Thud. He shows it to you first, then to everyone.]
Her phone vibrated on the table. An unsaved number.
—Don't rush to say it's not yours. First, have the platform preserve the original file.
She read the two lines twice, then looked up at He Xiufen.
"He wants the file that was uploaded."
"He said the same thing on June 25th." He Xiufen lifted her tea mug and set it back down. "What he wants was never what's in our hands—it's what's in someone else's. Last time it was the badge being taken down; this time it's the file being uploaded."
"How should I write the letter?"
"Don't write grievance." He Xiufen said, "You write 'it's not me,' and the paper becomes a mouth. You write what you want it to preserve, and the paper becomes a hand."
She opened the computer and typed out the letter. Three points:
1. Please preserve the original uploaded file, upload time, and posting account information for the video in question.
2. Please preserve the posting and operation records of the relevant accounts since June 17th.
3. During the investigation and litigation period, do not delete or overwrite the above records.
"Don't add 'please have your company investigate thoroughly.'" He Xiufen added from behind her.
"I didn't."
Sent, printed, trimmed, with the date July 4th written at the page head.
She also printed out Ma Jianjun's list of eleven accounts: repost times from 11:27 to 11:39. She arranged them chronologically into a vertical line, leaving one blank row at the end.
"What's the blank row for?"
"Counting backward—who was the first to post?"
"'Jiangzhou Kuaikan,' 10:51." He Xiufen set her tea mug down. "Write that row in. Include the name."
"Don't stuff this into the old binder." He Xiufen pulled an empty hard-shell folder from the drawer. "Start a new one. Take it home with you—write the page head tonight."
She slipped the new folder into her bag and zipped it.
"How many people will see the letter once it's sent?"
"Don't worry about how many see it for now." He Xiufen took off her glasses and wiped them. "They picked today because they picked a day before you have a name. That certificate of yours—the assessment committee hasn't convened yet."
* * *
Home a little past eight. Zhi'an's test papers were spread across the dining table. Tang Guo sat cross-legged on the floor, one earbud in.
"Go do the dishes," she said. "I already scrubbed the wok."
Tang Guo didn't move. She held out the other earbud to her.
"I've been listening all afternoon." She said, "First, what you can hear. He dubbed audio over those twelve seconds, and it's sloppy—listen after the word 'case': there's half a beat of dead air, and the wind underneath cuts off with it."
Shen Zhixia listened once, then again.
"Also." Tang Guo dragged the video back and pointed at the screen. "Audio and picture are off by half a beat. The word 'money' comes out before the mouth opens. When he synced the voice, he nudged it forward one frame."
"You caught that yourself?"
"I've been editing for two years." Tang Guo said, "I can spot a seam at a glance."
[Thud. Order accepted. This one—the injustice is on you.]
"One more thing." Tang Guo dragged the progress bar back to the start. "The words 'this case' are from my May video. I edited it myself, subtitled it myself."
"How many views on that one?"
"Three hundred thousand." Tang Guo said, "'Jiangzhou Kuaikan' reposted eight of my videos three months ago—that one was among them. They didn't need to steal the footage. I left it sitting online."
"So whoever made this had your footage."
"They did." Tang Guo placed her phone face-down on the coffee table. "Last time, they clipped what I said. This time, they took footage I shot and put your face on it."
She dialed He Xiufen and read out those two points. Silence on the other end for a beat.
"Write them on sticky notes and file them." He Xiufen said, "Don't put those two lines in the letter. The moment you write them down, it becomes you defending yourself."
"Then does it count as evidence?"
"Whether it counts—let the forensic appraiser say later. For now, just remember it."
After hanging up, Tang Guo stood up and pulled the livestream light out of the cardboard box, setting it on the coffee table. The cord was coiled on top, unplugged.
"Turn it on?"
"Just leave it there."
"Leave it there." Shen Zhixia said.
Zhi'an came out of his room for water, exercise book still in his hand. He stood by the dining table and flipped the book to the back page.
"Jie, someone in our class group reposted it too."
"Did you reply?"
"No." He pushed the book over. Written on the back page were three screen names. "I wrote down who reposted. Do you want it?"
She glanced at the three names. The handwriting was crooked, each stroke pressed down hard.
"Yes. Give it to me tomorrow morning. Copy it clearly."
At 10:40, her phone lit up on the coffee table. The nameless number, two lines.
—Twenty-one seconds, for the people in the group chat.
—The next clip goes to the Bar Association's inbox.
Tang Guo leaned over for a glance, then pushed the phone back. "That certificate of yours—"
"The assessment committee hasn't convened yet."
She got up and took the new folder, tore off a sticky note, and pressed it onto the inside page. She wrote: July 4th, deepfake video, one clip, twenty-one seconds. When she finished, she smoothed the note flat.
[Thud. One item added to the checklist: whose face—who made this one.]