Justice System: I Litigate for the Whole City

Chapter 278: Orders Are Dead, People Are Alive

October 22, 4:05 p.m., second floor of Zhengping Firm.

The exhaust fan in the noodle shop downstairs was running, and the smell of scallion oil climbed up the stairs, mixing with the steam from the broth. Shen Zhixia spread the file envelope out on the desk. The line on the cover was written on the 18th: I need a piece of paper that can stop a man. The space below it was still empty, waiting for the court's seal.

Her phone rang. A local number.

"Attorney Shen? Chengdong District People's Court." A printer was feeding paper in the background. "He Lan's protection order — we issued it at 3:30 this afternoon. The ruling is two pages and will be delivered tomorrow morning. Will your office be open at 9:30 tomorrow? The original goes to the applicant, and you'll sign for it on her behalf."

"Yes." She pulled the cap off her pen. "Items one through three — can you read them out for me?"

"You'll see the paper tomorrow." The clerk paused. "I can say this much: it was granted."

Granted.

She hung up and looked at the clock: 4:07 p.m. Filed at 9:45 a.m. on the 20th, issued at 3:30 p.m. on the 22nd — not even fifty-four hours.

He Xiufen came upstairs with a bowl of noodles and saw her standing motionless. "Where's the paper?"

"It's been issued. Delivery is tomorrow."

"Then eat." He Xiufen set the bowl beside her hand. "Read the paper when it's in your hands. If you read it now, you'll just have to read it again tonight."

She didn't pick up her chopsticks. Instead she dialed the shelter's duty room. Someone went to fetch He Lan, and after three or four minutes, she came to the phone.

"Attorney Shen."

"The ruling is out. The court granted it." She read slowly. "We applied for three items: first, he's barred from hitting you or Xiaotian. Second, barred from harassment, stalking, or contact. Third, barred from entering or approaching your current residence, the supermarket where you work, or anywhere within 200 meters of Liuhe Primary School. Whatever the paper actually says, I'll read it to you when it arrives tomorrow. Orders like this run a maximum of six months."

On the other end, there was the sound of a stool leg scraping the floor. He Lan asked, "Six months — until what day?"

"Counted from today. The exact date, we'll see tomorrow." She made a note on her pad. "If he hits you again, or comes looking for you during that time, it stops being a domestic matter."

"Two hundred meters," He Lan's voice dropped. "What if he stands across the street? Does that count?"

"Yes. One step closer and someone can stop him."

He Lan said nothing for a moment. Then: "When will he know?"

"The paper gets served on him tomorrow." She pressed her pen tip into the paper. "Tomorrow, don't do anything. Don't call him to ask, don't reply to messages, don't tell your daughter I'm going to read it to her."

"I know." He Lan said. "Xiaotian is doing her homework. I won't tell her tonight."

"I'll come over tomorrow and read it to her." Shen Zhixia said. "Whether she listens is her business. Whether I read it is mine."

After hanging up, He Xiufen sat across from her eating noodles and looked up. "Which part did she ask about?"

"The two hundred meters."

"She asked the right question." He Xiufen rested her chopsticks on the rim of the bowl. "The farthest thing she can imagine is two hundred meters. What you need to think about is the other end: once that paper lands in that man's hands, what's he going to treat it as."

[Thud. Seventy-two hours, not even close. This paper can stop his feet, but it can't stop one sentence: "I didn't hit her."]

October 23, 9:40 a.m., second floor of Zhengping Firm.

Downstairs someone was peeling scallions, the back of a knife knocking against the cutting board — once, then again. Two people came from the court: a judicial assistant and a clerk, the zipper of their document bag hanging open. The judicial assistant laid a document flat on the desk and, with her other hand, pushed over a proof of service form.

"One original copy of the Civil Ruling, two pages." She said. "Sign the receipt. The applicant can't come in person — who signs for it?"

"Item two of the power of attorney: receipt of legal documents on her behalf." Shen Zhixia turned to that page and spread it out beside the proof of service. "I'll sign."

She didn't sign right away. First she read both pages. The header, the case type, the applicant He Lan, Feng Xiaotian (legal guardian He Lan), the respondent Feng Guoming. The lower half of page one held four articles: the first three matched the application, the fourth was the effective period. The top half of page two held one paragraph: If the respondent disagrees with this ruling, he may apply once for reconsideration to this court within five days of the ruling taking effect; enforcement of the ruling shall not be suspended during the reconsideration period. Below that, one line: This ruling takes effect from the date of issuance and is valid for six months. The date read October 22, and the judge's column bore Judge Qiao's printed name.

"Reconsideration is how many days?" she asked.

"Within five days, once only." The judicial assistant said. "It's on the paper. Enforcement does not stop during reconsideration — that's there too."

She aligned the two pages, pressed her thumb along the bottom edge, confirmed there were exactly two pages, and pushed the documents back half an inch. "May I take a photo of the proof of service?"

"Go ahead."

She wrote in the signature line: Shen Zhixia (on behalf). Date: October 23, time: 9:46 a.m. She capped the pen. That box was now filled.

"The respondent's copy will be served this morning." The judicial assistant tucked the documents into her bag. "Along with the divorce complaint copy, notice of response, and evidence submission notice. One copy each to Wenmiao Police Station and the Liuhe Community Residents' Committee. If you're free this afternoon, go to the police station and leave a contact person for assisted enforcement. Protection orders are enforced by the court, with the police and community committee assisting. If something happens, someone needs to answer the phone."

"I'll go."

Downstairs she made four copies of the two pages, one set into the file envelope, one into her bag. The copies came out hot and slightly curled at the edges, so she smoothed them flat one by one.

11:15 a.m., Wenmiao Police Station.

The radiator hummed. At the window, the register lay open with a pen weighing it down. She handed in the copies of the ruling, He Lan's authorization paperwork, and her own practice certificate, and left the station's landline number and her cell phone number.

The duty officer flipped to the last page and looked at the date. "His copy was served at 11:00 this morning."

"Served?"

"Court people came; one of ours went along." He laid his pen across the register. "He first asked what kind of paper it was. When they read him item one, he said, 'I hit her, just a little heavy-handed.' When they got to item two, harassment and stalking, he shut up. When they reached item three, the 200 meters, he asked 200 meters from where. The server told him: her current residence, her workplace, the kid's school. Then he laughed."

"Laughed at what?"

"He said, 'You won't even tell me where she lives, and you want me to keep 200 meters away.'" The officer turned the register toward her. "When they asked him to sign, he took the paper, glanced at it, and tore it up."

"Into how many pieces?"

"Four." He held up a hand to demonstrate. "Then he said one line: 'Orders are dead, people are alive.'"

"Was that line recorded?"

"Recorded." He pushed the register across to her and pointed line by line. "Time, who was present, exact words, how many pieces — it's all there. The server processed it as refusal, left a copy here at the station for him to pick up, and he said he didn't want it."

She copied the exact words into her notebook, then started a new line and wrote: October 23, 11:00, torn, four pieces.

[Thud. What he tore was only his own copy. Refusal to sign, destruction, and abandonment — all of it is under the server's pen.]

11:40 a.m., as she finished up and headed toward the stairs, someone rose from a bench at the end of the hallway.

"Attorney Shen."

Feng Guoming wore that gray jacket, one button fastened in the wrong hole. In his hand he clutched a plastic bag, and inside it was the torn paper from earlier — four pieces spread out flat.

"Can you read it?" she said.

"I can read." He took a step forward. "Six months."

She didn't step back.

"When it's up, I'm coming for my kid." He said. "Tell her to think this over. The kid's a Feng."

"Who the child goes with is for the court to decide." She said. "Not something your words settle."

He crushed the plastic bag in his fist, laughed once, and walked past her. The plastic strip curtain at the end of the hallway clattered for a while before it settled.

She stood inside the curtain and wrote that line into her notebook too, with the date, the time, and where it was said. Finished, she flipped the page and at the bottom wrote: November 7, answer period expires.

7:35 p.m., that old building in Chengdong.

A row of cotton slippers sat under the window in the duty room, and the sign-in register lay open on the table. She signed her name and the time, nothing else. The hallway lights came on one floor and went out on the next — sound-activated, one step lighting the way.

He Lan was in the third-floor room mending a school uniform sleeve, the stitches dense and close. Feng Xiaotian lay on the small desk doing her homework, a pen weighing down her textbook. On the desk, a plastic cup held half a glass of lukewarm sugar water.

"I'm here to read something." Shen Zhixia took out the two pages and sat on a low stool by the edge of the bed. "I'll read slowly. You two just listen."

She read item one: The respondent Feng Guoming is prohibited from committing domestic violence against the applicants He Lan and Feng Xiaotian.

The child's pen never stopped moving.

Item two: Prohibited from harassing, stalking, or contacting the applicants and their close relatives.

The pen stopped, the tip resting on the notebook.

Item three: Prohibited from entering or approaching the applicants' current residence, He Lan's workplace, or within 200 meters of Liuhe Primary School.

Feng Xiaotian looked up.

"How far is two hundred meters?" she asked.

"From your school gate, across the street to that row of trees, and back again." Shen Zhixia said.

The child thought for a moment, then asked, "What if he stands there?"

"If he stands there, you don't have to go. Go back into the school, find a teacher, find the security guard, tell any adult." She turned the paper half an inch toward the child. "If anyone asks, just say it's written on the paper."

"It's written on the paper," the child repeated after her.

He Lan's needle stopped over the sleeve and didn't move. Her lips worked for a moment, then she shook out the uniform. "Xiaotian, read item two to her."

The child read it. Very slowly, stumbling over "harassment" the first time, then laughed at herself and read the whole thing again from the beginning.

[Thud. The child asked about 200 meters, but what she'll remember is "must not come near."]

After all four items were read, she left the original with He Lan. "Keep this yourself. Not in the kitchen, not by the window. Take it out when you need to look at it, put it away afterward."

"What's reconsideration?" He Lan asked.

"If he doesn't accept this paper, he can apply once for reconsideration to the same court within five days. Once only." She aligned the two pages. "Enforcement doesn't stop during reconsideration."

"So he gets one more chance to make trouble."

"He does." Shen Zhixia said. "Every time he does, we record it. Everything recorded will be in court someday."

He Lan folded the paper in half, pressed the crease flat with her fingers, slipped it into an inner pocket, and pressed her hand over it from outside.

"Today," she finally asked, "did he come to the school?"

"Coming to the school was the day before yesterday." Shen Zhixia said. "Today he went to the police station."

She didn't mention the torn paper. The child was still sitting at the little desk, and she'd already picked up her pen, drawing a circle in her homework notebook.

8:20 p.m., the noodle shop.

The exhaust fan had finally stopped. The smell of scallion oil settled and clung to the tabletops. Lu Jibai sat at the innermost table, his noodles finished, a little broth left in the bowl.

She set the file envelope on the table. He glanced up. "He tore it up?"

"In front of the police. Four pieces."

"What he tore was his own copy." He pushed the bowl aside. "The court's copy is in He Lan's hands. One at the police station, one at the community committee. Four copies, one less."

"The paper says he can apply once for reconsideration within five days," she said, sitting down. "Enforcement doesn't stop during reconsideration."

"He'll try." Lu Jibai said. "He tore that paper today, but it wasn't for the court."

"Who was it for?"

"Himself." He lined up his chopsticks on the rim of the bowl, the two tips perfectly even.

She opened her notebook to the page for October 23 and wrote the last line: 7:40 p.m., reached item three, the child looked up. She capped the pen and drew a line under the sentence "When it's up, I'm coming for my kid."

"He said something else today," she said. "Six months. When it's up, he's coming for the child."

"November 7." Lu Jibai said.

"The answer period expires."

"Fifteen days." He picked up the bowl and drank the rest of the broth. "He's counting six months. Let's fill these fifteen days first."

Downstairs He Xiufen was turning off the lights. With the exhaust fan stopped, the noodle shop was quiet enough to hear someone climbing the stairs — one step, then another.

"Tomorrow morning," Shen Zhixia said, "I'll start laying out the child's days one by one. Which day, where, who saw it, who heard it."

"Don't ask the child while you're doing it." Lu Jibai said. "Ask the paper."

She pressed her hand down on the file envelope. Inside it: two pages, four photocopies, the photo of the proof of service saved on her phone, and the exact words from the officer's register copied in her notebook. The date, the time, the number of pieces — nothing missing.

Upstairs, a light flickered on.