Editor’s Note

Lawyer Zheng Ling from Guoyao Qindao Law Firm responded to the Ministry of Justice’s "1+1" legal aid initiative by traveling to Wangmo County in Guizhou Province to provide nine months of legal services as a volunteer lawyer. The locations where "1+1" legal aid lawyers are stationed are mostly counties without lawyers, where conditions are tough, and there is an urgent need for legal services. As an outstanding lawyer from Guoyao Qindao, Zheng Ling has responded to the public welfare call for the second time, rooting herself in impoverished counties and providing legal aid services to local governments and the people. This site will continue to serialize stories of Lawyer Zheng Ling's legal aid work in Wangmo County.

One of the defining characteristics of being a lawyer is that cases peel away the facade of life, revealing its raw, often conflicting aspects, especially in criminal law. The small town began to show me its typical, recurring scenarios from the moment I took over Ms. Ma’s case and read her indictment through a woman’s perspective.

My first client was a woman named Ma, born in 1969, of the Bouyei ethnic group. Though the indictment recorded that she had only primary education, she could barely recognize a few words. It was only after being detained that she gradually learned to piece together her name in written form. She was accused, along with her son, Xiong Guang (a pseudonym), of causing the death of her husband, Xiong. When I met Ma, she had already been held in the women's detention center for eight months.

In the meeting room, this woman, barely 1.52 meters tall and almost my age, recounted her life story, which reflected the most common fate of many women here: poverty-stricken childhoods, beginning work as soon as they could remember, and marrying as teenagers. Though she disliked the man who displayed violent tendencies when he first came to propose, she swallowed her rejection out of fear. At sixteen, she married into a family where her husband had a bad temper and was lazy (as stated in her mother-in-law’s testimony). Later, physical abuse became routine. She endured it all, feeling that her two sons, especially her youngest, Xiong Guang, who was born in 1991, were her life’s hope. Xiong Guang went to high school, married, and worked in Guangzhou—a source of pride in their village.

However, her relationship with her husband, Xiong, never eased with age or their children’s maturity. Xiong’s violence persisted, compounded by his infidelity. As always, she endured what she couldn’t control. The turning point came on February 7, 2020.

That evening should have been a festive one, with five or six relatives and friends, Xiong, and their youngest son, Xiong Guang, who had returned home for the holiday, drinking together in the first-floor kitchen. By chance, she overheard Xiong sneaking upstairs to make a phone call—it was that woman. This time, she couldn’t hold back and said, “You’re already old; can’t you act properly?” This sparked an argument, leading to what would be Xiong’s last act of violence: he grabbed a wooden stool and began beating Ma, leaving bruises on her body. She fled to the first floor, and perhaps feeling that the stool was unwieldy, he discarded it, picked up pliers, and chased her again downstairs. She fled to the kitchen, where the guests managed to take the pliers from him, but he then grabbed a hammer and continued his assault, which was stopped again. At that moment, Ma ran out the kitchen door to her eldest son’s neighboring house, but Xiong pursued her with a steel pipe. The onlookers managed to take it from him and calm him down, finally sending him back to the kitchen. A few minutes later, Ma, thinking the situation had settled, returned to the kitchen. However, before she could sit down, Xiong reached for a stone mortar (used to grind chili peppers) from the cabinet, intending to continue the beating. At that moment, their youngest son, Xiong Guang, snapped. He struck Xiong twice on the head with a wooden stick by the stove, then hit him again with fireplace tongs. Xiong collapsed, and Ma kicked his head.

This was his last act of violence toward her, and that kick was her only act of resistance that evening.

The next day, Xiong was taken to the hospital, but he did not survive. Ma and her beloved younger son were detained on suspicion of intentional harm. She initially confessed, hoping to take all the blame and secure her son’s freedom. When this hope faded, perhaps the experience in detention taught her her first lesson in self-preservation, and she withdrew her confession, simply recounting the events of that night, the chase, and her single kick, repeating, “I didn’t hit him.”

After hearing her recount the events, I looked at Ma, who appeared much older than her actual age and particularly frail in her prison uniform. I didn’t ask her why she hadn’t left her husband, nor did I explain much about the concept of special defense. Instead, I asked if there was anything she needed that I could convey to her family.

She said, “No one cares about me. I haven’t been in contact with my family for years.” Then she added, “Please tell my eldest son to take the plowing machine I left outside. I don’t want it to be stolen.”

At that moment, an uncontrollable wave of sorrow welled up within me—for the hardship of her life and the profound loneliness that enveloped her existence.

After leaving the detention center, I deposited three hundred yuan for her. I hoped that before she used up the money, she would regain her freedom.

On the day of the trial, she and her son, Xiong Guang, stood trial together. Naturally, I argued for her innocence.

I couldn’t determine her fate, but I hoped that my encounter with her and my defense, just like her son’s defiant stand, might help her believe that while life can be bitter, there is still warmth, and a different, more hopeful future worth waiting for.

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