Chapter 534 - The Hearing
Someone had called Dugu Qiuhun from the Recreation Hall that night. Though Dugu couldn't be certain that this specific call was the one that fed him the "siege" narrative, Ji Xin considered it the smoking gun.
However, recovering forensic evidence was a fantasy. The phone’s plastic sleeve was coated in grime, and even if they lifted prints, it was a public device in a high-traffic area. Half the transmigrators would be suspects.
Still, the existence of this call clarified one thing: Dugu Qiuhun was a pawn, not a mastermind.
Ji Xin interviewed the attendant on duty that night. The logbook showed who had signed out equipment—consoles, controllers, chargers—but casual visitors who just sat on the sofas or used the phone didn't need to sign in. The attendant had no memory of anyone making a call; phone use was free and mundane, unworthy of notice.
Whoever did this was slick, Ji Xin thought. Pursuing the caller’s identity was a dead end. Even if identified, they could simply deny it. And realistically, calling Dugu to say "they're besieging the Executive Committee" wasn't technically illegal. It was hearsay, panic, or rumor-mongering—hard to prosecute.
Ji Xin’s final stop was the Police Reserve Company headquarters to meet Li Yayang.
Li Yayang was still spooked. The twelve-hour interrogation at Political Security had evidently rattled him. He initially refused to speak, relenting only when Ji Xin flashed his Arbitration Tribunal commission.
"Dugu really screwed me," Li Yayang complained. "I was grilled for a whole day. They nearly drove me crazy." He sighed, slumped in his chair. "My future is toast."
"You're wrong," Ji Xin said. "Right now, this is just procedural. You stood on principle and refused an illegal deployment order. Your career is going to skyrocket."
"I hope so," Li said, unconvinced. "What do you want to know? I've told Political Security everything except the color of my underwear."
"Pink, I assume," Ji Xin cracked. "Tell me about that night."
Li recounted the events. Ji Xin listened, mentally cross-referencing against the deposition. No discrepancies.
"Besides Political Security, have you told anyone else?"
"No," Li shook his head firmly. "You're the second. They warned me strictly: classified investigation. One word outside and I’m done."
Ji Xin nodded. Li Yayang hadn't talked. Dugu was in isolation. The files were sealed. Yet Li Yunxing—a Telecom engineer with zero connection to the case—knew the details and claimed it was "all over the Fortress."
Back in his office, Ji Xin wrote his report. Since he lacked a smoking gun, he avoided speculation. He simply listed the dry facts: the timeline, the phone logs, the source of the mysterious call, and the rumors spreading despite the blackout. He would let the facts speak for themselves.
He handed the file to Ma Jia.
"What's your plan?" Ma Jia asked after reading it.
"Circulate copies to all Executive Committee members," Ji Xin said. "And to the twenty-five Senators attending the hearing."
"Damn it! Running a newspaper like this—it's just a mouthpiece for the powerful!" Shan Liang slammed the Lingao Times Internal Edition onto the table.
Ding Ding had recently merged the Lingao Times with the old Internal Newsletter. The public edition was for the indigenous population; the internal edition—classified secret—was for transmigrators only.
What enraged Shan Liang was a serialized feature titled The Sugar War. It detailed the Leizhou Station’s heroic struggle against the Haiyi Hall in Xuwen. The author was anonymous, but the prose was gripping, filled with suspense and cliffhangers.
It was obviously a PR piece commissioned by the overseas stations.
"The newspaper is supposed to be a tool of public oversight!" Shan Liang fumed. "Now it's whitewashing vested-interest groups. I bet half of this is fabricated."
"Leizhou really had it tough. Tooting their own horn isn't a crime," Cheng Mo said soothingly. He had been cultivating a friendship with Shan Liang and was now a trusted confidant.
"But this swings public opinion toward Chang Shide! It justifies his corruption!"
"Errors are errors; achievements are achievements. We just need to separate them at the hearing," Cheng Mo advised. "Pin him down on the misappropriation of funds. Make him answer for the money."
"Right." Shan Liang nodded. He had won a seat on the Standing Committee—a small victory—but his "protest right" motion was the real prize. He knew he couldn't beat the ruling faction in a direct power struggle, but wielding the banner of "public opinion" gave him leverage.
"Chang Shide is just a symptom. If he's corrupt, the whole overseas system is rotten," Cheng Mo added, stoking the fire. "Use this to demand a comprehensive audit."
"Exactly! They can't treat collective assets as their personal piggy bank!" Shan Liang paused, a new suspicion forming. "Do you think... do you think they're bribing the Executive Committee? Buying votes?"
"Outright bribery is unlikely," Cheng Mo said. "Gold is useless here. Coupons are traced. Women? Too risky under scrutiny. But 'gifts' and 'souvenirs'? Almost certainly."
"Cultivating goodwill is just bribery by another name," Shan Liang scribbled furiously in his notebook. "I need to nip this in the bud."
Cheng Mo watched him, feeling a twinge of guilt. Shan Liang was diving into political activism with honest zeal, unwittingly serving as a pawn for Cheng Mo’s own faction. Well, Cheng Mo told himself, our goals align. For now.
The hearing convened a few days later.
The venue was the small screening room in the Recreation Hall. Tables were arranged in a horseshoe, with the witness chair in the center—the "hot seat," directly in the line of sight of every judge.
Twenty-five Senators had been selected by lot from the fifty-three Standing Senators to serve as the jury. Attendance was mandatory.
Guilt or innocence would be decided by their vote. Punishment, if valid, would be determined later by the Honor Court or the Executive Committee. Ma Jia had designed the rules with a bias toward caution: a guilty verdict required a supermajority of 19 votes; acquittal needed only 13. Convicting a Senator was a grave matter that could ruin a career, and Ma Jia wanted no ambiguity.
Presiding over the session was a three-person tribunal: Ma Jia (Arbitration Tribunal/Honor Court), Ji Xin (Investigator), and Mu Quan (Clerk). Xiao Zishan attended as the Executive Committee’s non-voting representative.
Ji Xin arrived early, hauling a massive rattan case stuffed with documents, sweat soaking his shirt.
"You could have asked a clerk to carry that," Ma Jia remarked.
"They're busy enough, and they're all skinny kids. I'd feel bad," Ji Xin grunted. He pulled a fresh set of camouflage fatigues from the case and changed.
"You're too kind."
"Hardly. Everyone has a mother. Exploitation has limits."
Ma Jia nodded approvingly. Ji Xin understood that appearance mattered. The court needed to project authority.
Chang Shide arrived flanked by Yan Maoda and a phalanx of Guangzhou/Leizhou staff. He was groomed to perfection, wearing improper but impeccably pressed casual clothes and a pair of black-framed glasses. He looked the picture of intellectual honesty and reliability.
Someone coached him, Ma Jia thought. He looks like a white-collar defendant in a high-profile American trial.
In stark contrast, Dugu Qiuhun looked wretched. His hair was a bird's nest, his uniform wrinkled and stained. Two Political Security officers escorted him to a back-row seat to await his turn.
(End of Chapter)