Read Novel Full Chapter 269: The Seventh Item
Chapter 269: The Seventh Item
Seven items lay spread across the long table, covering half its surface from left to right.
The kraft paper envelope had been torn open and pressed flat at the corner of the table, a rough edge where the tape had ripped. October 9th, second floor of Zhengping Firm. The exhaust fan downstairs hummed, scallion-oil smell drifting up through the staircase cracks, mixing with the warm scent of freshly printed paper.
Lu Jibai pushed a clear bag to the far left: "One item per bag. Write the number on the corner."
Shen Zhixia was sharpening a pencil. The lead snapped on the cross-stroke of the "4." She switched to a fresh one and rewrote one through seven.
"Write deeper," he said.
"Too deep and they'll cross it out."
"They cross it out, they have to say so."
Lu Jibai set last night's draft page beside him and started a fresh one, copying as he spoke: "Number on the left, item name in the middle, source on the right. Source goes down to whose hands it passed through — who gave it, what day, where the original is. If you can't write it, leave it blank. No guessing."
She counted off the bags and reported: "Item one: one disc. Source: recorded by Xu Qing?"
"Recorded by her. She gave it to Zhi'an on August 31st. The original file has been in Zhi'an's phone the whole time. On October 1st, exported in front of me and burned to disc." He paused. "This item can't just say 'one disc.' Anyone can burn a disc. It needs to spell out who said those words in the recording — and who recorded it."
"But that recording has nothing to do with September 19th."
"That's the root of everything." He pushed the second bag over. "Without this item, everything after it just becomes 'some friction between classmates.'"
The second bag held printed photos. She held it up to the window for a look: "The originals are with the homeroom teacher. We're submitting printouts."
"Write it exactly: originals with the homeroom teacher, photographed September 1st, homeroom teacher signed 'Received and Reviewed' on the originals." Lu Jibai said. "Where the originals are — always write it clearly, never leave it vague. One vague line and they'll have something to talk about later."
Item four was medical records, two photocopied pages, the last page bearing a stamp and signature. She read it over: "This has the doctor writing 'patient self-report' and 'history provided by the patient.' The other side will say this page is him telling his own story."
"Then write it exactly as it is. Who wrote it, what day, what it says — not one character changed." He put the pen down. "Nothing added, so there's nothing to pick at."
"Should we add a line to the list saying 'this medical record was issued by the hospital'?"
"Don't add it. The stamp is on the paper. The name is on the paper."
The seventh bag held a small plastic pouch with a memory card inside, plus one photocopied page of an Explanatory Statement. She wrote the "7" on the corner, twice before it looked right.
"How do we record item seven," she asked.
"The three lines we agreed on that day: where the original is, what device, which file." Lu Jibai said. "The original is in Wei Changlin's own phone. His Explanatory Statement only lists the device, the date, and who copied it; the machine model and file name, I wrote into this box from what I saw on his phone. On October 3rd, Director He and I, with his explicit consent, copied it out. Read-only. The original file untouched. The phone returned to him the same day."
"What about that line — 'did he tamper with it himself.'"
"He didn't say, so we don't write it."
"Director He pointed that out."
"Pointing it out means we go ask. It doesn't mean we think for him." He set the pen down. "Better one line short than one line too many."
At nine-thirty, He Xiufen came upstairs, her apron strings still looped over her elbow, flour on her hands. She took the checklist and went down it line by line, slowly, tapping each number with her finger.
"Item seven. After 'copied out,' add three words: with consent granted."
Lu Jibai added them.
"The collection request?"
"Done." He handed over the second page.
He Xiufen glanced at it: "Three requests crammed into one paragraph? One request per line. One line asks one thing. Written as one paragraph, he can just write 'received.' Written as three lines, he has to answer line by line."
"Changed."
"One more thing." She squared the two sheets and slid them into the envelope. "When you hand it in, what you want isn't for them to read it on the spot. You want them to sign on the spot. They sign, the paper goes in the file. It's in the file, then it's someone else's turn to recognize it."
[Thud. One page asks one thing. Ask two, and the second one disappears.]
Before leaving, Zhi'an was putting on his shoes at the top of the stairs, backpack on, and asked: "What are you submitting today."
"Seven pieces of paper," Lu Jibai said.
"Oh." He stamped his heel into the shoe and left.
Nine fifty-five, arrival at Chengdong Police Station. The duty office had a long counter, a few forms pressed under the glass. The man behind it was hunched over, filling out paperwork, his pen tapping box by box. He looked up at the footsteps.
"What's the matter."
"Shen Zhi'an, suspected intentional injury case. The defense is here to submit evidence." Lu Jibai placed the checklists on the counter, two copies. "One page, seven items. Please sign for receipt."
The officer didn't reach for it. He looked at the people first: "Who are you to him."
"Defense counsel, Jiangzhou Zhengping Law Firm." Practice certificate, firm letter, and power of attorney laid out to the left of the paper.
He flipped through the three, then took the list: "Seven items. Where are they."
The seven bags went onto the glass counter, left to right. The counter was narrow; by the sixth bag they were already overlapping the form, and the seventh had to lean against the one before it.
"I'll read them one by one. You check as I go."
"Read."
"Item one: one disc. Contents: a recording made by another student at the school of that person's abusive language, given to Shen Zhi'an on August 31st; the same month, they also cornered her and demanded she record an apology. The original file remains on Shen Zhi'an's phone, undeleted. On October 1st, exported in person and burned to one disc."
"Item two: one printed copy of an Explanatory Statement. Written by Shen Zhi'an, given to the homeroom teacher the night of August 31st. The homeroom teacher signed 'Received and Reviewed' on the original and took a photo; the original is in the homeroom teacher's possession. What is submitted is a printout of that photo."
"The original isn't with you." The officer said.
"It isn't. Which is why we're submitting a separate request for you to ask her."
The officer glanced up at him and noted that line on the margin of the checklist.
"Item three: one photo of the east stairwell landing on the third floor of the school, with the class placard and time sign in frame. Original file on Shen Zhi'an's phone."
"Item four: two pages of photocopied outpatient records from Jiangzhou No. 1 People's Hospital, September 20th, afternoon: abdominal contusions, three scratches on the back of the right hand."
At that, the officer's hand paused: "Why wait until September 20th to see a doctor."
"That morning he'd just walked out of here." Lu Jibai said. "That part isn't on this page."
The officer turned the fourth bag over and looked at the stamp on the back page, said nothing.
"Item five: four photos of the torn school uniform, taken September 20th. Left sleeve ripped from shoulder to elbow."
"Item six: Wei Changlin's Investigation Record, three pages." The officer's finger stopped at the edge of the paper. "Who is this person."
"The owner of the fried skewer stall diagonally opposite the school's back gate. Fifty-three years old. On October 3rd, in the morning, two lawyers, with his consent, took an investigation record. He read every page, signed it himself, and left three fingerprints."
"Does he know you're submitting this here."
"He does. First thing he asked was 'if I talk, will there be trouble.' We said someone would come ask him. He said then he'd tell it like it is."
The officer flipped through the three pages back to front, glancing at the three fingerprints on the last page.
"Item seven." Lu Jibai pushed the last bag forward. "A copy of one segment of surveillance footage from the skewer stall's own camera: twelve seconds. The original is in Wei Changlin's phone. Device model and file name are written in this box on the checklist. On October 3rd, copied out with his consent, read-only, original file untouched, phone returned to him the same day."
The officer picked the bag up and looked at the card through the plastic: "Twelve seconds."
"Twelve seconds."
"Whether this footage is usable isn't for you to say."
"Not for us to say."
The officer smoothed the checklist flat and wrote in the blank space at the bottom: Received seven items, October 9th. He signed, pushed the copy back. The register flipped to a page, one line added: Evidence, one page, seven items, attached to file.
"One more page." Lu Jibai handed over the application. "Defense counsel applies for three items of collection and inquiry."
"Three items."
"Item one: on the morning of September 1st, Shen Zhi'an called the police station from his own phone, reporting that someone was cornering students in the school hallway filming videos. Please retrieve the call record from that occasion: who took the call, and whether anyone was sent to look."
The officer's pen hovered over the paper: "I'll have to go downstairs and dig for that one."
"Whether you find it or not, one sentence in return."
"If I find it I write 'found.' If I don't, I write 'no record.' You don't write it for me." He noted that down. "Item two: question the homeroom teacher?"
"About the August 31st matter and the Explanatory Statement she signed for."
"We can find the teacher," the officer said. "What she says is up to her."
"Item three: the two school security personnel who pinned Shen Zhi'an down in the alley on the night of September 19th."
"The school has to be contacted first." He marked one-two-three on the corner of the page. "Whether these three items get handled, and how — that's not for you to decide."
"I'm only asking that the receipt and the answers all be put down on paper."
The officer squared the two checklists and pressed them into the wire basket behind the counter: "We'll take what you've submitted. Whether it gets looked at, whether it gets used — that's not in your hands."
"I know." Lu Jibai said. "I want it in the file."
A row of plastic chairs along the hallway wall. Shen Zhixia sat in the third one, gripping the pencil that had snapped three times. The duty office door was open. She could see him standing at the counter, laying out the seven items one by one, explaining each one. At item four, the officer's hand paused. At item six, the officer flipped the three pages back to front. At item seven, there was no room left on the counter.
She counted along, reached seven, and set the pencil on her knee.
[Thud. Signing for receipt is not adoption. It only means — from today, it's in this file.]
Ten-twenty. He came out carrying only an empty paper bag and a signed checklist.
The wind was strong on the steps, sycamore leaves skimming along the ground. He folded the checklist twice and tucked it into the blue-covered notebook.
"He signed in two places," she said.
"One for receipt, one in the register."
"He paused at item four."
"The pause was at the words 'patient self-report.'"
"Will he accept it?"
"Accepting it or not isn't up to him alone. This page was issued by the hospital. The stamp and the name are on the paper."
As they reached the car, she said suddenly: "My dad used to say evidence speaks for itself."
Lu Jibai turned the key over in his hand, didn't rush to unlock the door.
"It doesn't," he said. "It needs someone to line it up, number it, and read it aloud to a person."
"Read it to who."
"Today I read it to a man filling out forms. When I finished, he still had to sign. And when he signed, someone else still had to pass it along."
She stood outside the door, the wind rattling her jacket zipper: "That saying of my dad's — today's the first time I've felt it wasn't quite right."
"He was alone back then." Lu Jibai waited for her to get in before opening his own door.
She didn't answer. Outside the window the sycamore leaves flipped over; their undersides were whiter than their fronts.
Seven in the evening. The noodle shop downstairs was packed. He Xiufen worked the stove, chatting as she pulled noodles, steam pouring toward the doorway and fogging half the glass. Shen Zhixia carried two bowls upstairs. Lu Jibai's phone rang on the long table.
He glanced at the number, answered, and walked to the staircase. She sat at the table, not moving, listening to the half of it.
"Lawyer Lu." The voice said. "I heard you submitted seven items today."
"Who told you."
"This street isn't long." Chen Maolin's tone stayed polite. "People submitting things want witnesses, and the people watching don't charge anything."
"The seven items are in the file."
"Mr. Qin's side only wants to know one thing." He paused. "The seventh item. That twelve-second piece. Where did you get it."
"The file states where it came from."
"Good that it's written down." Chen Maolin said. "Written down, each side can see what they see."
"He's the skewer stall owner who happened to be there."
"I don't care about that." The voice said. "I asked one question today."
The call ended cleanly.
Lu Jibai put the phone back on the table and repeated the three sentences from the other end, word for word, not one more, not one less.
He Xiufen came up with a bowl of soup, stood at the top of the stairs listening to the end, and said one word: "Record it."
Shen Zhixia opened her notebook and wrote: October 9th, 7 p.m. The seventh item.
"He said 'good that it's written down.'"
"Record his words." He Xiufen said. "Don't make them heavier than they were. Don't make them lighter."
"Seven pieces of paper, and someone was asking within a day." Shen Zhixia said.
"They weren't asking about seven." Lu Jibai placed the phone face-down on the table. "They were asking about the seventh."
He Xiufen set the soup down and wiped her hands on her apron: "Tomorrow, if anyone else comes asking, give them one answer — the file has it."
She finished the last line, the pen tip resting on the paper. Half a line still sat empty at the bottom. She left it.