Read Novel Full Chapter 277: Three Minutes and Forty-Five Seconds
Chapter 277: Three Minutes and Forty-Five Seconds
October 21, 8:50 AM, the east side gate of Chengdong District People's Court.
The iron gate slid open along the wall, just wide enough for a person. The security scanner's belt churned behind it, segment by segment. A water truck had just passed through the courtyard, leaving a damp streak on the asphalt, already fading white in the sun.
Shen Zhixia handed her practice certificate, ID card, and power of attorney through the small window. The bailiff checked them one by one. When he reached the name "He Lan," he looked up and glanced behind her.
"The applicant in person?"
"Yes."
He Lan walked through the security gate. It didn't beep. Gray hoodie, hair pulled back tight, the old mark at her temple exposed by the style, so faded now it was barely visible.
Shen Zhixia took back the cloth bag and pressed five photocopied pages flat in order: "They'll only ask you the day, the place, and where you were hurt. One answer per question."
"What if they ask why I—"
"Say: I won't answer that."
He Lan nodded—twice, but the second nod never quite finished falling.
At the far end of the second-floor corridor hung a wooden sign: "Interview Room 2." There was another room at the opposite end, its door shut, white light leaking from the crack beneath it. A water dispenser stood by the window, two bubbles rising slowly in the tank.
At 9:28, footsteps came from the far end of the corridor. In front walked a female judge, early forties, uniform sleeves rolled to the wrists, a blue hard-shell folder tucked under her arm. Behind her came a young clerk carrying a laptop, a piece of tape stuck to its casing.
"He Lan?"
"That's me."
"I'm the presiding judge on this case. Judge Qiao." She set the folder on the table. "Today I'll be asking a few things: what day, where, and where the injuries came from. Once I'm done with your side, there's someone in the other room I need to speak with as well—you'll be interviewed separately. You won't cross paths."
"I'm the applicant's agent—Shen Zhixia, Zhengping Firm." She slid the power of attorney forward half an inch. "We're on time. 9:30."
"The bailiff checked your credentials." Judge Qiao opened the folder. "Let's start with October 12."
He Lan placed her hands on her knees. "October 12."
"What time?"
"I don't remember exactly. The call to police was 23:26. The record shows it."
"Where?"
"At home. The living room."
"Where were you hurt?"
He Lan touched her right wrist, then let the hand drop. "Neck—he choked me. Arms. Legs. Back."
"I asked where you were hurt, not how." The judge's pen kept moving.
"Neck, left arm, right wrist, left leg, back. That's what the medical record says."
"August 3." The judge read down the page. "In the reporting-person column it says your daughter. How old is she?"
"Nine."
"Why didn't you report it that day?"
He Lan's lips moved twice. "I didn't have my hands free."
The judge looked up, pen tip resting on the paper. "What I asked was: when it happened, where was the child?"
"I don't know."
The pen moved across the paper, a short line. That sentence went into the record.
"September 17, 20:05. The reporting person is Feng Guoming." The judge turned the page slightly. "He reported it himself?"
"He did. He told the dispatcher there was crying and noise at home."
"Why did he report it?"
"...I don't know."
"I'll record that as 'unclear.'" The judge finished writing and looked at Shen Zhixia. "Anything to add, Agent?"
"After that incident, on October 14, Wenmiao Police Station issued a Domestic Violence Warning Notice against him—finding assault and choking. His own signature is on the service column. It's in Exhibit Group 3."
"Seen it."
"One more thing." Shen Zhixia said. "The child is nine. We request she not be brought to the court, and that she not be made to tell what happened that day again."
Judge Qiao dictated the sentence for the clerk to type: "Recorded. The court will decide according to law."
"That mark on her face." The judge returned to He Lan. "Who did it?"
"Him. Last month."
"What day?"
"I don't remember."
"If you don't remember, we write that. Don't add dates." The judge capped her pen. "Where are you staying now?"
"A temporary shelter arranged by the Women's Federation." Shen Zhixia said. "The address doesn't go on paper. Service address is our firm; the phone number is He Lan's. The Federation's registration form is in the file."
"Seen it." The judge stood. "Wait in the corridor. I have two items to verify, and a few things to cross-check with the other party."
At 10:20, Shen Zhixia went to the window to get water. The dispenser gurgled twice, hot water churning up through the cold. The door to Interview Room 1 opened.
The man who came out wore a gray jacket, hair combed flat, one lock sticking up at the front. He saw her and his pace slowed half a step. He put both hands in his pants pockets.
"So you're that lawyer. Shen, right?"
"I'm He Lan's agent."
"Let me ask you," he said, lifting his chin. "Where's she staying?"
"If you want to ask, ask in court."
"Court." He laughed—short. "A husband hits his wife a couple times and the court gets involved?"
Shen Zhixia held her cup still. Steam fogged the rim.
"Yeah, I hit her." He said. "I hit her. A little too hard one time and now it's 'assault'? Ten years—when did I ever let her go hungry? Who paid for the kid's school?"
"Say it in court."
"Court." He said the word like it was ridiculous. "Things between me and her, and now we need a hearing. Her sleeping in someone else's place with our kid—what kind of picture is that?"
The clerk stepped out and took a position behind him to the side: "Feng Guoming, this way."
He followed two steps, then turned back: "Tell her to think about whose name the kid carries."
2:00 PM, first-floor Litigation Service Center. The number machine called three numbers in a row. A woman on a plastic chair, baby in her arms, yawned. The intake window's glass had a sticker: "Form a line. No cutting."
Shen Zhixia spread three pages across her knees and passed over a pen: "Read it through. Sign on the last page."
He Lan read slowly, her index finger tracking each character. It stopped at the line: "the defendant struck and choked the plaintiff, causing multiple soft-tissue injuries to her neck and limbs." Then it moved on.
"It says 'multiple times' here." She looked up. "I thought you deleted the adjectives?"
"A complaint states facts. 'Multiple times' is followed by four dates."
She flipped to the last page and signed, dating it October 21. Then she squared the three pages and tapped them against the desk until the edges were perfectly flush.
The staff member behind the window was a woman in her thirties. She turned the pages one by one, studying the signature on the last page.
"Marriage certificate?"
"In a drawer at his place." He Lan said.
Shen Zhixia pulled a page from the folder: "Marriage Registration Record Certificate. Issued by the District Civil Affairs Bureau archives, with a query seal—pulled on the afternoon of the 19th. Registration date: March 14, 2016, Chengdong District Civil Affairs Bureau."
The clerk checked it and clipped the two pages together, then began typing.
"Let me read the claims." She read quickly. "One: the plaintiff and defendant are granted divorce. Two: the marital daughter, Feng Xiaotian, is to be directly raised by the plaintiff. Three: the defendant pays monthly child support of 1,500 yuan until the child turns eighteen. Four: the defendant bears court costs. Correct?"
"Yes." He Lan said.
"One copy of the complaint, ID photocopy, power of attorney, service address confirmation form." She pushed out a form. "Address here, phone here—fill it all in clearly."
The printer chattered and spat out a Notice of Case Acceptance.
"Filing fee: 150 yuan. Pay at Window 3, then bring the receipt back to attach to the file."
He Lan took money from the inner pocket of her cloth bag: a hundred, a fifty. She counted twice, all the corners pressed flat.
"What's the fifteen days?" she asked.
"From the day the complaint copy is served on him, he has fifteen days to respond." Shen Zhixia said. "A response is one thing; the hearing gets its own notice."
At 2:40 PM, He Xiufen called.
"Morning interview done?"
"Done. This afternoon's filing went through—accepted on the spot."
"Fifteen-day answer period—don't rush to count the hearing date." A range hood hummed in the background, then went quiet as she switched it off. "Keep the custody claim simple. Don't overstate in the complaint. Every word you leave out today is one less opening they have on hearing day."
"Noted."
Shen Zhixia folded the Notice of Acceptance twice and slid it into He Lan's file envelope. Inside already: the receipt, six items of notarized evidence, three pages of medical records, the Exhibit 7 index. Today added one more page: the Notice. Plus the fee receipt.
3:00 PM, Interview Room 2. Judge Qiao sat where she had before. The clerk rotated her laptop half a turn.
"I remember the two questions about the child from this morning." The judge opened the folder. "The court obtained the audio of the 23:26 emergency call placed on October 12 from Wenmiao Police Station. Three minutes and forty-five seconds."
"The child wasn't there with you." She looked at He Lan. "Can you listen to this now? If not, you may leave. Leaving is also noted in the record. Nothing will be held against you."
He Lan pressed her palms against her pants. "I can listen."
"Play it."
The dispatcher's voice was soft: "One-one-zero, go ahead."
Then a child's voice, far from the receiver: "My dad is hitting my mom."
"Your location?"
"Wenmiao Street, Liuhe Community, Building 7, Apartment 302."
"How old are you?"
"Nine."
"How is your mom right now?"
"In the living room... on the floor."
"Who else is home?"
The line went quiet for two seconds. The child was breathing hard—panting, like after a sprint.
"...I'm in the closet."
"Keep the door shut. Don't come out, and don't hang up." The dispatcher said. "Police are on their way. Stay quiet."
Then came the sound of pounding on a door, muffled through wood. Someone outside was calling a name, the voice thick and muffled. The child didn't answer. The panting stayed right at the receiver, running for thirty-plus seconds, broken once by the sound of fabric brushing wood.
"Unit's en route." The dispatcher said. "When you hear knocking, don't open up."
The recording cut. Three minutes and forty-five seconds.
The room went silent. The clerk slid the volume back to zero. The cursor blinked on the screen.
He Lan's hand rose from her knee to her mouth, then dropped. Tears fell onto the cloth bag, soaking through in blotches.
"She was in the closet." she said.
"I didn't know." She said it again, voice lower. "I asked her the next day. She said she didn't hear anything."
Shen Zhixia's pen stopped on the paper, pressing out a black dot. Several things rose to her tongue. In the end she said only one: "We don't have a copy of this recording."
"It's in the file." The judge said.
"What was she wearing that day?" He Lan asked suddenly. "You can't tell from the recording."
Judge Qiao didn't answer. She pushed the paper toward her, the pen laid at its edge: "This concludes today's interview. The record will be read aloud; after you've verified it, sign at the bottom of every page."
At 4:20 PM, halfway through reviewing page three, Shen Zhixia's phone buzzed in her pocket. She set down the pen and stepped into the corridor.
"Is this Lawyer Shen? Liuhe Primary School office." A female teacher, voice low. "Feng Xiaotian's father is at the school gate, claiming he's picking her up. Security stopped him—he hasn't been allowed in. He's just standing there, refusing to leave. We've called the police."
"Where's the child now?"
"In her classroom. We haven't let her out."
"Don't let him take her. Not one step. No matter who says what."
"But he says he's the child's father—"
"I know he is." Shen Zhixia said. "He can't take her today. I'll be there in twenty minutes. I accompanied her mother to pick her up before—the guard has my name."
She hung up and went back inside. The judge looked up.
"School called. The defendant is at Liuhe Primary School gates trying to take the child. Security stopped him. The school has reported it to the police."
Judge Qiao's pen moved down the page: "What time?"
"4:20."
"Recorded." She closed the folder. "That's all for today. The ruling will be issued by tomorrow afternoon. Original to your side, copies to him, the police station, and the neighborhood committee. The two of you—don't go anywhere alone in the next few days."
4:50 PM, Liuhe Primary School gate. The iron gate was shut. The security booth's radiator hummed. The logbook lay open; the last line read "16:22 police called."
The guard on duty clicked his pen twice: "He stood there for twenty-four minutes. We didn't open the gate. He didn't smash anything—just paced back and forth, and when he saw the kid come out from the hallway once, he shouted."
"What did he shout?"
"'Xiaotian, come home with Daddy.'" The guard paused. "The kid didn't answer. The teacher pulled her back inside."
"What did he say when he left?"
The guard flipped the logbook one page over, then back. "Said he'd be back tomorrow."
He Lan stood just inside the gate, hand pressed against the iron bars, knuckles whitening one by one. On the third floor, windows were open. A few small school uniforms hung drying, sleeves stirring with each gust of wind.
Shen Zhixia copied the time into her notebook: 16:22, school reported to police. Then a new line: Tomorrow, before afternoon.
[Thud. The three minutes and forty-five seconds are in the file. The paper you're waiting for arrives tomorrow afternoon.]