The courtroom was a different beast today. Gone was the stale air of bureaucratic indifference; in its place, a charged electricity hummed through the wooden benches. The gallery was packed—reporters from three provinces, law students from Hangzhou University, and a cluster of elderly villagers who had traveled overnight from Dongchi, their faces etched with the kind of hope that Haisheng had learned to distrust.
Judge Zhou Wenbin's seat was empty. In his place sat a woman in her early fifties, grey-haired and stern, with the bearing of someone who had spent decades in provincial appellate courts. Her nameplate read "Judge Fang Meiling." She was a known quantity in legal circles—a reformist who had presided over several high-profile corruption cases in the early 1980s. Her presence was a statement in itself: the provincial party committee had decided to let this trial run its course.
Haisheng sat at the complainant's table, the documents from Lin Su arranged before him in neat stacks. Captain Fu was beside him, her briefcase open, her pen poised. Across the aisle, Huang Deming's table was empty. His lawyers were present—the same silver-mustached man and a younger associate—but their client was conspicuously absent. He had not been found, and he had not surrendered.
"The court is now in session," Judge Fang announced, her voice clear and unhurried. "The matter before us is the preliminary hearing of Chen Haisheng versus the Dongchi County Government and affiliated parties. The prosecution has submitted additional evidence, including original county memos and witness testimony. The defense has requested a delay pending the location of their client, County Party Secretary Huang Deming. The court denies the request. Huang Deming is not a necessary party to the preliminary hearing; the hearing will proceed in his absence."
A murmur rippled through the gallery. Haisheng felt a flicker of hope. The judge was not accommodating Huang's delay tactics. She was moving forward.
The prosecutor rose—a different attorney than the one from the previous session, a man in his forties with keen eyes and a clipped delivery. He presented the new evidence methodically: the memos from the county filing room, the signed orders for weapons purchases, the transfer documents for "resettled" individuals. He called Mei Xiang to the stand again, and she repeated her testimony with the same calm precision.
Then came the moment Haisheng had been dreading. The defense lawyer rose and addressed Judge Fang.
"Your Honor, the defense wishes to challenge the authenticity of the so-called 'county memos' submitted by the complainant. These documents were not obtained through legal channels. According to our investigation, they were stolen from the county filing room by an individual with a personal vendetta against the Dongchi County government. As such, they are inadmissible as evidence under Article 96 of the Criminal Procedure Code."
Judge Fang's eyes narrowed. "Counsel, are you alleging that the complainant committed theft to obtain these documents?"
"I am alleging that the documents were procured through illegal means. The identity of the individual who took them has not been disclosed. Until the court can verify the chain of custody, these documents remain tainted."
Haisheng's stomach clenched. He had anticipated this argument. Lin Su had stolen the memos; that was undeniable. And in the eyes of the court, stolen evidence, no matter how damning, could be dismissed.
The prosecutor countered: "Your Honor, the documents speak for themselves. They bear official seals, signatures, and dates. Their authenticity can be verified through handwriting analysis and cross-referencing with county records. The chain of custody, while irregular, does not negate their evidentiary value."
Judge Fang nodded slowly. "The court will take the matter under advisement. For now, the documents will be accepted as provisional evidence, subject to further authentication. The trial will proceed."
The defense lawyer pressed on. He called witnesses of his own—county officials who testified that the "resettlement" program was legitimate, that the marsh had been marked for development for years, that the allegations of hunting were "fabricated by a disgruntled individual." He pointed to Haisheng's military record, highlighting the dishonorable discharge and the assault charge.
"Is this the man you want to believe?" the lawyer asked the gallery, his voice dripping with theatrical scorn. "A soldier who struck his commanding officer? A man with a grudge against authority? He is not a hero. He is a malcontent who has manipulated a handful of unstable witnesses into supporting his delusions."
Haisheng felt the heat rise to his face, but he forced himself to remain still. This was the playbook—character assassination, doubt, confusion. He had expected it.
Captain Fu leaned over and whispered: "He's baiting you. Don't react. The judge is watching."
He nodded, keeping his face neutral.
Then Judge Fang spoke again. "The court has received a supplementary submission from the complainant's counsel—a witness statement from an individual who claims direct knowledge of the first hunt. This witness is present today and has requested to testify. The court will now hear from Lin Su."
The gallery exploded into chaos. Reporters surged forward. The defense lawyer's face went white. Haisheng had known Lin Su might come, but he hadn't known she'd made it out of the mill alive.
The door at the back of the courtroom opened, and Lin Su walked in. She was bandaged across her left shoulder, her arm in a sling, her face pale but composed. She wore a simple blue dress, and her hair was pulled back. She walked to the witness box with the steadiness of someone who had nothing left to fear.
She raised her right hand and swore to tell the truth.
"I am Lin Su," she said, her voice carrying to every corner of the room. "I am the daughter of Colonel Su Weiguo. I am the alleged victim of the first hunt in 1984. And I am alive."
She told her story—the same one she had told Haisheng in the mill. The chase, the gunshot, the fall into the water, the swim to safety. She described the four years of hiding, the documents she had stolen, the fear and the loneliness. She described her father's confession, which she had learned about through a newspaper article.
"My father believed he killed me," she said. "He carried that guilt for years. He confessed to a crime he didn't commit because he wanted to punish himself. But I am here to tell the court: I was not killed. I am not a ghost. And I have the physical scars to prove it."
She pulled down the collar of her dress, revealing a puckered, circular scar on her left shoulder—a bullet wound, healed but unmistakable. The court photographer moved forward, but Judge Fang waved him back.
"The court will take judicial notice of the witness's appearance and testimony," Judge Fang said. "The defense may cross-examine."
The silver-mustached lawyer rose, his composure cracked. He stammered through a few questions—trying to suggest she had colluded with Haisheng, that she had fabricated her identity. But Lin Su's answers were measured, factual, unshakable. She had no motive to lie. She had nothing to gain from the truth except her father's freedom.
After forty-five minutes, the defense lawyer sat down, defeated. The gallery was silent, except for the scratching of pens and the occasional sob from the elderly villagers in the back row.
Judge Fang looked at the clock. "The court will adjourn for one hour. The prosecution and defense will prepare their closing arguments for the preliminary ruling. Court is recessed."
Haisheng stood and walked to Lin Su, who was being helped out of the witness box by Captain Fu. She was pale, trembling slightly, but her eyes were bright.
"You did it," he said. "You saved yourself."
"I saved my father," she corrected. "And I saved the truth. That's enough."
They walked together to the anteroom, where Shen Qiu was waiting. The clerk looked thinner, more tired, but she smiled when she saw them.
"The documents were verified," she said. "I've been on the phone with the county records office. They admitted the signatures are authentic. Huang's own staff confirmed it. The defense is going to lose this one."
Haisheng allowed himself a moment of relief. The preliminary hearing was almost over. The full trial would follow—a long, grueling process—but the first battle was won.
Then Captain Fu's phone rang. She answered, listened, and her face went pale.
"Judge Fang has just received a directive from the provincial party committee," she said, her voice low. "They're ordering her to dismiss the case on 'national security grounds.' They've cited the sensitive nature of the evidence and the potential for 'social instability.' The directive is signed by the deputy party secretary himself."
Haisheng felt the room tilt. "They can't do that. There's no legal basis."
"There's always a legal basis. They'll cite Article 112 of the Criminal Law—'undermining state authority.' It's a catch-all, but it's enough."
Shen Qiu's face hardened. "We can appeal. We can go to Beijing."
"We can try. But Judge Fang is a reformist, not a revolutionary. She'll follow orders. She has to, if she wants to keep her position."
Haisheng looked at Lin Su, then at Shen Qiu, then at Captain Fu. He had fought through the marsh, the tower, the club, the trial. He had brought witnesses, documents, and a living ghost. And still, the system was closing in.
"There's one more option," he said slowly. "The press. We release everything to the Zhejiang Daily before the ruling. We make it impossible for them to bury this."
Captain Fu shook her head. "The Daily has been warned. They've already been threatened with closure. They might not print it."
"Then we print it ourselves. Leaflets, posters, word of mouth. We make this trial so public that even the party can't ignore it."
Shen Qiu looked at him with a mixture of admiration and fear. "That's a revolutionary act, Haisheng. If you do that, you're not just a complainant anymore. You're an activist. And activists don't get trials. They get disappearances."
"I know." He met her eyes. "But I'm already disappeared. I'm already dead to the village, to the army, to everyone. The only thing I have left is the truth. And I'm not giving it up."
He pulled out the brass token he'd received from Lin's Ghost—the one marked 047, Zhang Guoliang's token. He placed it on the table.
"I'm going to walk out of this building," he said, "and I'm going to the Zhejiang Daily office. I'm going to give them copies of every document, every photograph, every testimony. And then I'm going to come back here and wait for Judge Fang's ruling. If she dismisses the case, I'll appeal. If they arrest me, I'll fight. If they kill me, I'll die knowing I did everything I could."
Shen Qiu reached out and took his hand. "Then I'm coming with you. I've been a clerk for too long. It's time to be something more."
Lin Su nodded. "And I'll testify again, if needed. To anyone, anywhere."
Captain Fu sighed, then pulled out her phone. "I'll call the Daily. But I'm warning you—once I make this call, I'm a co-conspirator. There's no going back for any of us."
"Then we go forward," Haisheng said.
She made the call. She spoke in low, urgent tones. When she hung up, she looked at him with a ghost of a smile.
"They'll print it. Tomorrow's edition. They're pulling the front page right now."
Haisheng stood up, the token in his hand. He walked to the door, the women following him.
He stepped out into the corridor, where the reporters were waiting. He didn't speak to them. He just walked past them, toward the exit, toward the street, toward the next battle.
Outside, the sun was setting over Hangzhou, painting the sky in shades of crimson and gold. He had one night—one night before the papers hit the streets, before the party could stop them, before the trial resumed.
He had one night to find Huang Deming.
Because Huang was still out there. And as long as he was free, the hunt could always restart.
Haisheng walked into the twilight, the token warm in his palm, the weight of the last week pressing on his shoulders.
He would find Huang. He would find the "friend" who had left the lotus note. And he would end this, one way or another.
But as he turned the corner, a black sedan pulled up beside him. The window rolled down, revealing a face he'd never seen—a woman in her sixties, with silver hair and calm, knowing eyes.
"Chen Haisheng," she said. "I've been waiting for you. I have information about Huang Deming. And about the 'friend' who's been watching you."
She opened the car door. "Get in."
He hesitated. A trap? Or the last piece of the puzzle?
He looked at the token, at the sky, at the setting sun. Then he got in.
The door closed. The car drove off into the night.
And behind him, the courthouse lights flickered, then went dark.
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