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Chapter 19.2 - Formality (2)
Cong Rong couldn’t be bothered to respond to Tan Size and walked straight in—only to be startled by the courtroom scene.
The public gallery was packed with young men and women sitting upright like model students. She was taken aback.
Tan Size, who followed her in, clearly hadn’t expected it either. He stepped back and glanced at the sign on the door, muttering, “Did we go into the wrong room?”
Veteran lawyer Wu was already inside. Seeing someone enter, he clapped his hands and pointed to Cong Rong to begin introductions. “Students, this is your senior alumna.”
A chorus of greetings echoed in the courtroom. “Hello, Senior!”
Cong Rong felt a headache coming on and greeted Wu dryly, “Hello, Professor Wu,” before silently taking her seat.
Wu then pointed toward the judge’s seat. “The one sitting there soon is also one of my former students—your senior. When you choose the path of law, you must get used to seeing your former teachers, classmates, seniors, juniors, all in court. It’s very normal.”
Just as he finished speaking, the presiding judge walked in. He greeted Wu politely as he sat down—only to hear a loud, synchronized chant from the gallery: “Hello, Senior!”
The judge was startled and turned to look at Cong Rong, who shrugged with a blank expression.
Fortunately, the trial began quickly. As Tan Size had said, it was mostly a formality—but Cong Rong hadn’t expected this “formality” to be so torturous.
Just a few minutes into her opening statement, Lawyer Wu interrupted her and turned to ask the students, “Where is the legal citation for the statute the defense just mentioned?”
Cong Rong rubbed her forehead as the gallery fell into confused silence. No one answered.
Wu frowned and turned to the judge. “You tell them. Which chapter and article of the Criminal Law?”
The judge looked helpless. “Professor Wu… I graduated.”
“What does that have to do with anything? You don’t know either?” Wu glared at him and then turned to Cong Rong. “You tell them.”
Cong Rong exchanged a pained look with the judge. He gave a small cough and said, “Prosecutor, please stay focused—this is a trial, not a classroom.”
After that, Wu restrained himself—somewhat. Still, he paused every few minutes for “explanations” or “playbacks,” making comments as if giving a lecture. What should’ve been an hour-long trial dragged on for an entire morning.
Cong Rong had mentally prepared to be “crushed,” but she didn’t expect it would be this kind of crushing.
As it ended, Lawyer Wu reminded his students, “Exit quietly and orderly. Clean up your own trash.”
Cong Rong was speechless, exhausted as she packed her things. The presiding judge approached, clearly sympathetic. “If you ever find out the opposing lawyer is Wu, don’t take the case.”
Cong Rong nodded earnestly. “No matter how much they pay me—I’m never taking it. Not even if it kills me.”
While Cong Rong was being crushed by her teacher, her cousin Zhong Zhen was enduring the same fate at the hospital.
That morning, Wen Shaoqing led a group of interns and students on rounds. While looking over a patient's chart, he suddenly asked Zhong Zhen, “Tell us the clinical manifestations of acute epidural hematoma.”
“Uh…” Zhong Zhen was startled. After a pause, he stammered, “Acute epidural hematomas are usually associated with fractures of the temporal or occipital bones, impaired consciousness, increased intracranial pressure, which leads to worsening headaches, vomiting, restlessness, and characteristic four-phase clinical progression. And, and…”
As Zhong Zhen stuttered through his answer, everyone else grew increasingly tense. Why was Professor Wen suddenly asking questions? Who’s next?
With a loud snap, Wen Shaoqing shut the chart and said casually, “You can’t even remember something this basic? Write it out by hand. 100 times.”
Zhong Zhen looked horrified. “A hundred?! That’s too much. I have a student ID. Can I get a student discount—50 times?”
Wen Shaoqing gave a cold smile. “Disabled people get a full exemption. Want me to break your legs?”
Zhong Zhen immediately caved. “No need, no need. I’ll start copying as soon as rounds are over.”
For the rest of rounds, he remained on edge, hyper-alert. Just as they finished and he thought he could escape, Wen Shaoqing called him back.
“Did you ask your cousin how she got hurt?”
Zhong Zhen looked confused. Don’t you know more than I do? Why are you asking me?
Still baffled, he saw Wen Shaoqing glance at him again—and instantly replied, “Oh, she said she accidentally hit her head on a fire hydrant.”
Wen Shaoqing hesitated. “Was it serious?”
Zhong Zhen was even more confused now. You saw the CT yourself. Why ask me?
But under another sharp look from Wen, he answered quickly, “She said she got checked out. Doctor said she’s fine.”
Wen Shaoqing nodded, then added, “Patient privacy and confidentiality are critical parts of clinical medical ethics. How could you casually reveal a patient’s condition?”
Zhong Zhen was stunned. “But… you asked me?”
Wen Shaoqing gave him a calm look. “Just because I ask, doesn’t mean you should answer. Go copy Medical Ethics by hand. Turn it in by the end of the week.”
Zhong Zhen was nearly in tears as he watched Wen Shaoqing’s leisurely back fade away. Did I offend him somehow without realizing it? Why is he targeting me today?!
He turned and grabbed one of the bystanders. “Do you guys think I did something to piss off the boss?”
A soft-hearted female student tried to comfort him, “Of course not. If you really offended him, he’d probably kick you out of the team.”
But a more senior trainee offered a cryptic smile. “You’re still young. Haven’t been with the boss long—you don’t understand him yet. If someone offends him, he won’t kick them out. He’ll think that’s too easy. He prefers to keep them… and slowly torture them. That’s more fun for him.”
“Wuuuuhhhh…” Zhong Zhen whimpered, thinking back to the words “slowly torture”—wasn’t that exactly what was happening to him?!
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