COURTROOM MORNING | 10:05AM
When poet Zhou Ming walked toward the witness stand, a peculiar silence settled over the courtroom. The man seemed entirely unlike a victim's family member—dressed in worn linen, prematurely gray hair, a weathered notebook in hand as though he were about to recite verse rather than give evidence. His shoes were scuffed at the toes, Stella noticed, as if he’d walked a long way to get here.
"Mr. Zhou," Sir James began, adjusting his glasses—a gesture Stella had come to recognize meant he was about to ask a delicate question—"please describe your relationship with the defendant."
Zhou did not look at Lin Yawen. He looked at the jury, his gaze moving across each face as if searching for the proper place for words to land. His eyes lingered on the grandmother, the
