Nominal: My senior brothers are all big shots

On the day the verdict was announced, the entrance to the Intermediate People's Court of a city in Jiangnan Province was packed with people.

There were even more people than on the day of the trial. There were reporters, relatives of the victims, miners who came from Pingjiang, and Zhou's daughter who came all the way from Lucheng.

She stood in the crowd, wearing a dark cotton-padded coat and a gray scarf, her face expressionless. Before coming, she had asked her father if he wanted to take a look.

Her father remained silent for a long time before saying, "I won't go. You go in my place." She nodded without asking any further questions.

The courtroom was packed, and the gallery was filled with people.

Zhao Tiejun sat in the front row, next to Lei Ming. Zhao Tiejun wore a faded dark blue cotton-padded jacket, his hair was neatly combed, and his beard was clean-shaven.

His hands rested on his knees, his knuckles thick and veins bulging, but he sat ramrod straight. Lin Feng hadn't come. He sat in his office, the revised draft of the "Pingjiang Rare Earth Industry Revitalization Plan" spread out on the table in front of him, but he couldn't concentrate on reading a single word. He was waiting.

The presiding judge struck the gavel. "The verdict is now announced. The defendant, Zhou Mingyuan, is guilty of organizing and leading a criminal organization, smuggling, bribery, intentional injury, illegal mining, and provoking trouble. He is sentenced to life imprisonment, deprived of his political rights for life, and all his personal property is confiscated."

There was a moment of silence in the gallery, then applause erupted. Some stood up, some wiped away tears, some clenched their fists tightly. Zhao Tiejun neither clapped, nor stood up, nor shed a tear.

He sat there, motionless, like an old tree that had been blown by the wind for many years.

He thought of his son, and of his son when he was little, riding on his shoulders and saying, "Dad, I want to go to the capital."

He remembered his son saying when he grew up, "Dad, I'm going to work hard in the mine and earn money to take you on a trip." He remembered the day his son had the accident, when he received the phone call and his hands trembled so much he could barely hold the phone. He remembered those years when he sat alone by his son's grave, from sunrise to sunset. Now, it's finally over.

Zhou Mingyuan stood in the dock, head bowed, wearing an orange vest, his hair shaved very short, his face ashen. When the verdict was announced, his shoulders trembled slightly, but he did not look up.

The presiding judge asked, "Defendant Zhou Mingyuan, do you have any objections to the verdict? Do you intend to appeal?"

Zhou Mingyuan remained silent for a long time. Everyone in the gallery stared at him, but no one spoke. After a long while, he raised his head, looked at the presiding judge, and said in a hoarse but clear voice, "No objections. No appeal."

A commotion arose again in the gallery. Some whispered among themselves, while others shook their heads and sighed.

Old Zhou sat in his room at the Lucheng Sanatorium, the television in front of him on, broadcasting the verdict live. He didn't look at the screen; his eyes were closed, his hands resting on the armrests of his wheelchair, his knuckles white.

Those around him, thinking he was asleep, softly called out, "Commander?" He opened his eyes, stared at the ceiling, and remained silent for a long time. "Life imprisonment...it's alright, as long as I'm alive."

His voice was very soft, as if squeezed from his chest. The secretary beside him remained silent.

He turned his head and looked out the window.

The sky over Lucheng was overcast, and the distant mountains were shrouded in fog, their outlines obscured. He remembered Zhou Mingyuan as a child, how he timidly called him "Uncle" when he first came to his house, how he jumped for joy when he got into university, and how he squatted at the door smoking one cigarette after another when his business failed.

He remembered the letters he had written to himself, each one saying, "Work hard, don't embarrass the family." He didn't work hard; he utterly disgraced his family. But he was still alive.

The phone on the table rang. The secretary went over, answered it, listened for a few moments, covered the receiver, and whispered, "Sir, it's Elder Su."

Old Zhou nodded and took the phone. "Old Su."

His voice was very soft, almost like a sigh. Old Su's voice came through the receiver, a little hoarse, but very clear. "Old Zhou, you did the right thing."

Old Zhou remained silent. Old Su continued, "You did the right thing regarding Mingyuan. If you hadn't helped him, he could still be alive. If you had helped him, he might not even have survived. You were right."

Tears streamed down Old Zhou's face, running down his wrinkles and dripping onto his clothes. He didn't wipe them away, letting them flow. "Old Su, I'm so sorry to his father. He only had this one son left, and I didn't take good care of him."

Old Su was silent for a moment. "Old Zhou, it's not that you didn't have a good eye for him, it's that you had too much faith in him. You spoiled him, pampered him, thinking that this was doing right by his father. But you forgot, spoiling a child is like killing him."

Old Zhou remained silent. Old Su continued, "However, it's no use saying all this now. The case is over, and the person is still alive—that's the best outcome. Take good care of yourself and don't think too much."

Old Zhou nodded, though Old Su couldn't see him. "Hmm."

The phone call ended. Old Zhou put down the receiver, leaned back in his wheelchair, and closed his eyes. Outside the window, it was getting dark. Night was falling again in Lucheng. But he knew the sun would rise again tomorrow.

When Zhao Tiejun came out of the courthouse, it was almost dark. He stood on the steps, looked at the gray sky, and took a deep breath.

The air was cold, but he felt it had never been so fresh.

He thought of his son, of his son as a child clinging to his back and saying, "Dad, you're so warm." He thought of his son as an adult saying, "Dad, you're getting old, your hair is all white." He thought of the day his son had the accident, how he held his son's body, refusing to let go.

Now, my son can rest in peace.

He walked down the steps, one step at a time, very slowly.

The streets were bustling with traffic and people hurrying by. No one recognized him, no one knew what he had just been through. He walked to the intersection, stopped, and gazed at the gray sky in the distance.

He remembered Lin Feng's words—"Master Zhao, I will definitely get justice for you." Justice was served. His eyes reddened, but he didn't shed a tear. He turned around and slowly walked away.

Lin Feng received the call in the evening. It was Lei Ming calling. "Secretary Lin, the verdict is in. Life imprisonment, no appeal."

Lin Feng held the phone, silent for a moment. "Okay. Thanks for your hard work."

After hanging up the phone, he stood by the window, gazing at the gray sky outside.

In the distance, the mines, those mountains that were once riddled with holes from mining, are gradually recovering.

He thought of Zhao Tiejun, and of what he said: "My son would be happy if he saw this forest."

He recalled the words in Zhou Lao's letter: "Rare earth is a strategic resource of the country. After the rectification, it should be used well." He also recalled what Secretary Liang said: "The people of Pingjiang don't just care how many corrupt officials you arrest, but also whether you can enable them to live a good life."

He took a deep breath, turned back to his desk, opened the "Pingjiang Rare Earth Industry Revitalization Plan," and continued revising it. Outside the window, it was getting dark. But tomorrow, the sun would rise again.