Justice System: I Litigate for the Whole City

Chapter 276: Delete the Adjectives

October 19, 8:40 p.m. The last batch of noodles sold out downstairs. The exhaust fan stopped, and the scallion-oil smell drifted up the stairwell.

Shen Zhixia laid two A4 sheets side by side. On her right was He Lan's document envelope. She pulled everything out and arranged it according to the six rows in her ledger, one row overlapping the next: four police dispatch records, one page of warning notice, three pages of outpatient medical records; nine photos and the screen recording were on her phone, and the Women's Federation registration form went at the very back.

At the top of the first page she wrote:

Applicant: He Lan, female, 34 years old.

Applicant: Feng Xiaotian, female, 9 years old, daughter of He Lan, with He Lan applying on her behalf as legal guardian.

She paused on the second line. Nine years old and still an applicant, her name written beneath her mother's. That line couldn't be left blank.

Three requested orders, one per line. First: prohibit the respondent from committing domestic violence against the applicants He Lan and Feng Xiaotian. Second: prohibit the respondent from harassing, stalking, or contacting the applicants and their close relatives. Third: prohibit the respondent from entering or approaching within 200 meters of the applicants' current residence, the supermarket where He Lan works, and Feng Xiaotian's school, Liuhe Primary School.

After the third line she set down her pen, shook out her wrist, and turned to Facts and Reasons.

Every entry on this page began with a date.

June 9, 8:40 p.m. Applicant He Lan called police. After officers responded, mediation was conducted on scene; both parties agreed to resolve the matter on their own.

August 3, 9:12 p.m. Applicant Feng Xiaotian called police. After officers responded, the respondent was criticized and educated.

On the third line, her pen pressed a dot of ink into the paper.

September 17, 8:05 p.m. The caller was Feng Guoming. Officers arriving on scene found no evidence of assault; disposition was counseling.

She'd already thought through how to leave this one out. All four records were at Wenmiao Police Station; He Lan had copies, and so did Feng Guoming himself. If she didn't write it, the other side could produce it anyway and ask, "Why was this one entry conveniently omitted?" She wrote it in and added half a sentence after: This incident was reported by the respondent himself. Next line: October 12, 11:26 p.m. Applicant Feng Xiaotian called police; on the 14th of the same month, Wenmiao Police Station issued a Domestic Violence Warning Notice against the respondent, finding that he had struck and choked the applicant He Lan. The service section bore the respondent's own signature.

Further down:

October 17. The applicant underwent injury examination at Chengdong District People's Hospital. The outpatient record documented neck compression marks, soft tissue contusions on the left forearm and left thigh, and scratch marks on the right wrist; nine injury photos, all with date stamps.

October 17. Screen recording captured seven WeChat text messages and four voice messages from the respondent. The sixth message, sent October 16 at 12:07 p.m., read: "If you dare go to the police station, I'll come get the kid tonight."

October 18. The applicant completed the Domestic Violence Help Registration Form at the Chengdong District Women's Federation, which arranged temporary housing. That same day around 3 p.m., a man came to the supermarket where the applicant works asking about the night shift schedule; at 6:20 p.m., the applicant's coworker called to inform her.

She left the opening line of Facts and Reasons untouched: The respondent has repeatedly committed acts of violence against the applicant.

At 8:55 p.m., He Xiufen came upstairs. Her apron was still on, her hands carrying the warmth of noodle broth. She bent over and read both sheets, slower than she read her own accounts.

"Read it aloud," she said.

Shen Zhixia read. When she reached "the applicant has long suffered severe domestic violence," He Xiufen pressed her hand down on the line.

"Whose words are these?"

"Mine."

"Delete it."

"Long" was deleted. "Severe" too. She kept reading: "cruel methods" — delete. "Brazenly" — delete. When she reached "the applicant has suffered tremendous physical and emotional harm," she hadn't even opened her mouth before He Xiufen's hand was already reaching over.

"Does she hurt? There are three pages of medical records that say so. Is she afraid? She has her own mouth to say it." He Xiufen wiped her hands on her apron. "Adjectives speak for people. Paper only speaks for dates."

Shen Zhixia struck through line after line until the back of the page wasn't enough, and she had to recopy. On the second page she copied down to the final paragraph: The applicant faces a real and present danger of domestic violence. She earnestly requests that the People's Court issue a Personal Safety Protection Order in accordance with law, prohibiting the respondent from committing domestic violence, harassing, stalking, or contacting the applicant, and prohibiting him from entering or approaching within 200 meters of the applicant's residence, workplace, and child's school.

"Keep that paragraph," He Xiufen said. "That paragraph is what you're asking for. It's not description."

On the lower half of the second page she laid out the evidence index in seven groups, one per line: identity and authorization documents, one group; four police dispatch records, one group; warning notice, one page, one group; three pages of outpatient medical records, one group; nine injury photos, one group; screen recording of seven WeChat texts and four voice messages, one group; Women's Federation registration form, one page, one group.

[Thud. Adjectives don't go in the file. Dates do.]

Lu Jibai walked over from the window. He didn't sit, didn't reach for anything.

He looked only at the first page, studying it for a while.

"'Repeatedly' is still in there," he said. "How many times?"

Shen Zhixia flipped the ledger over. "Four records."

"Then write four records. Numbers speak for themselves. 'Repeatedly' needs someone to speak for it."

She crossed out "repeatedly" and rewrote: The respondent, due to domestic violence, has been the subject of police dispatch responses on four separate occasions; followed by a parenthetical noting that four police dispatch records were in the file.

He closed the window until only a crack remained. Wind still came through that crack, lifting the corner of the paper; he reached out and nudged the document envelope half a foot toward the center of the desk.

"This is your case," he said. "I won't touch it. Once it's accepted, seventy-two hours, starting from the timestamp on your receipt."

* * *

October 20, 8:20 a.m. He Lan arrived at the firm. Gray hoodie, collar still pulled high, hair neater than the day before, ID card in her hand.

Shen Zhixia handed her the pen. "Sign it yourself. Read it once before you do."

He Lan read page by page against the edge of the desk, her index finger tracking each word. When she reached the word "prohibit" on the first page, she stopped.

"This prohibition — who does the prohibiting?"

"The court. Once the paper passes through his hands, if he acts again, the court can admonish him or fine him."

"How far is 200 meters?"

"From the supermarket entrance to the other side of the street and back."

He Lan nodded and kept reading. At the third entry under Facts and Reasons, she paused even longer.

"Can I write that he's been hitting me for ten years?"

"Ten years won't fit on this paper," Shen Zhixia said. "Write the days you remember. The days you can't remember clearly, don't write a single word. One groundless sentence, and when the other side asks 'which day exactly,' the whole page goes soft."

"So I just took ten years of beating for nothing?"

"Ten years wasn't for nothing. June, August, September, October — four police responses on paper, and two of those calls were made by Xiaotian. This page doesn't record ten years. It records what can stop him."

He Lan lowered her head and signed the final page: "Applicant: He Lan." She pressed her right thumb into the red ink pad, stamped it next to her name, lifted it to check, saw it was too faint, and pressed again.

At 9:15, the two of them went downstairs. He Xiufen was picking vegetables at the noodle shop entrance. She looked up just long enough to say, "If there's a line, wait in it. No rush. Paper doesn't run away."

* * *

The Litigation Service Center of Chengdong District People's Court sat behind the row of glass doors facing the street. The number machine spat out a thin slip; seven people ahead of them. The electronic screen above the machine flickered, and from one window came a voice: "Wrong page count. Go back and fix it."

At 9:41, their number flashed on the screen.

Behind the window was a woman in her forties, a stack of blank forms on her desk, her voice muffled through the glass.

Shen Zhixia stacked the materials one by one: two pages of application, seven evidence groups, one set of copies, each group clipped with a binder clip and labeled with its group number and page count.

"Is the applicant here in person?"

"Yes." He Lan stood and slid her ID card under the glass.

"Is the signature on page two her own?"

"Yes. The fingerprint too."

"What's her relationship to the child? Do you have proof?"

"Yes." Shen Zhixia pulled out the copies of the August 3 and October 12 dispatch records and turned to the caller field. Caller: Feng Xiaotian. Relationship: Daughter. Age: 9.

"The child called police herself. Twice. The household register is at home. She can't go back to that house, so we couldn't bring it today."

The woman behind the window studied the two pages for a long time, her fingertip tapping that field, saying nothing.

"The address field is blank."

"Service address is our firm. Phone is hers. Her current residence is registered with the Women's Federation. If the judge needs to verify it, they can verify with the Federation."

The woman got up and went to the back. When she returned, she was holding a stamp.

"Fine. The handling officer will verify the address with you later."

She counted through the pages, twice, stamped the lower right corner of page two with the receipt seal, then pulled out a two-part Materials Receipt List and filled it in row by row: Personal Safety Protection Order Application, two pages; evidence materials, seven groups, 23 pages total. The date field was printed October 20, 2026; the time field she wrote by hand: 9:45. She tore off one copy and pushed it through. That was the receipt.

"Accepted. Decision within 72 hours of acceptance, 24 hours if urgent. Yours we're processing on the 72-hour track. The handling officer may call you in for questioning. Keep your phones on."

"Will both sides be questioned?"

"Everyone who needs to be asked will be asked."

[Thud. The paper's been accepted. Seventy-two hours, counting from 9:45.]

Outside the hall, sunlight lay on the steps. He Lan clutched the receipt, crushing the corners.

"So it's really been submitted?"

"It has. 9:45."

"So he'll find out today?"

"I don't know." Shen Zhixia took the receipt from her hand, smoothed the creased corner, and gave it back. "But don't assume he won't."

* * *

Noon, the noodle shop downstairs. He Xiufen pushed a bowl of noodles in front of Shen Zhixia and asked only, "Everything submitted?"

Shen Zhixia placed the receipt on the edge of the stove. He Xiufen dried her hands on her apron and picked it up, studying the timestamp.

"9:45. Seventy-two hours takes us to 9:45 a.m. on the 23rd." She set the receipt back down, weighing it under an empty bowl. "These next two days are the hardest. If he doesn't come, that's luck. If he does, that's just how things go."

* * *

3:40 p.m. The landline on the table by the door rang.

Beside the phone sat a black box, installed the year they moved in. He Xiufen said too many shady calls had come through in the early years, so the thing had stayed. Shen Zhixia pressed the record button. The red light came on. Then she picked up the receiver.

"Lawyer Shen? Feng Guoming speaking."

"I'm He Lan's handling lawyer."

"You people really had the nerve to apply." There was wind on his end, like he was standing at a curb or below a building. "I looked into it. That kind of paper, three days. Three days, and she still has to hide outside."

Shen Zhixia turned her notebook to the page dated the 20th and pressed her pen down.

"Say what you want to say. You say a sentence, I write a sentence."

"What I say can't stand the light of day? Fine. Write it down." He paused. "I didn't hit her. A married couple living together, a heavy hand once in a while and that's assault? If she didn't make a scene, why would I even raise my hand?"

The pen moved across the paper: a heavy hand once in a while. She recorded his words verbatim, not changing a character.

"Xiaotian's school registration is at Liuhe. Transferring schools requires my signature. She can hide — for how many days? I know the place she works. I know the kid's school. I don't have to do anything. I can just stand at the gate and wait. Is that a crime?"

"I've written all of this down."

"Write it." He laughed, short. "I'm her father. A father asking where his child is — that's wrong?"

"The child's address isn't in your hands, and it isn't on my lips."

"Then whose hands is it in?"

"On the court's paper," she said. "Follow what the paper says, and no one will stop you."

Silence on the other end for two or three seconds. The wind picked up.

"Tell He Lan," he said, "home is still home."

The line went dead. Shen Zhixia checked the timer: 2 minutes, 56 seconds. She stopped the recording and exported two copies, one to a USB drive, one on her phone, file name: October 20, 3:40 p.m., Feng Guoming, landline.

He Xiufen came upstairs and stood by the desk, waiting for her to finish writing.

"He didn't curse once."

"Not once," Shen Zhixia said.

"People who curse are easy. One sentence goes straight onto paper." He Xiufen nudged the black box inward. "Those four words — 'I'm her father' — paper won't even take them. Everything he said today was questions. All reason. Reason is the hardest thing to refute, because he won't admit he hit anyone."

"He also knows that kind of paper lasts three days."

He Xiufen looked up at her.

"He knows about the three days." Shen Zhixia copied that line into the ledger, her pen pausing, then started a new line beneath it: Who told him, unknown.

* * *

4:35 p.m. The landline rang again. This time it was the court.

"Agent for He Lan? Come to the court tomorrow at 9:30 a.m. The presiding judge wants to question both parties. We need one agent and the applicant in person. We've notified the respondent's side as well."

"Questioned separately?"

"Separately."

Shen Zhixia noted the time and immediately dialed He Lan's phone. She picked up fast. A television murmured in the background, kept low.

"Tomorrow at 9:30, questioning at court. I'll be there. He'll come through the west gate. We arrive ten minutes early and use the east side door, not the main hall."

"What if he uses the side door too?"

"Then we're twenty minutes early."

Silence on the other end. The TV went quiet too, as if someone had pressed mute.

"Lawyer Shen, what should I say tomorrow?"

"Which day. Where. Where the injuries are. Answer each question once. Don't answer anything else. Especially don't answer whether he's a good father."

"Can Xiaotian come with me?"

"No," Shen Zhixia said. "She doesn't have to take a single step for this."

After hanging up, she folded the receipt twice and slipped it into He Lan's document envelope. On the cover she wrote: October 20, 9:45 — submitted. One blank line below, then: Tomorrow 9:30 a.m., questioning.

[Thud. Her paper walked through the door today. Tomorrow, he will.]