Not long after I started practicing independently, in early 2002, right after the Spring Festival, I took on a case where a mother had hired me to defend her son. Her son, named Ma, had brutally murdered both his grandmother and his father.

Even today, this filicide case continues to evoke deep sorrow and reflection. Ma, a young man from Beijing, had always been an outstanding student with impeccable character—qualities that earned him constant praise from neighbors and community members as the "good kid." Upon graduating from a prestigious high school's science program, he initially planned to pursue chemistry, his favorite subject and area of expertise. However, his parents disagreed, arguing that chemistry lacked practical applications and urging him instead to enroll in medical studies, envisioning a future where he could become a doctor—someone who not only thrives professionally but also conveniently provides healthcare for his family. Always dutiful and respectful, Ma ultimately yielded to his parents' wishes, abandoning his passion for chemistry and opting instead for medicine. He was subsequently admitted without difficulty to a university in Tianjin.

After enrolling, Ma realized that this major was more like a humanities field—packed with material that required extensive rote memorization, far removed from his natural strengths in science. Struggling to keep up, he found the coursework increasingly frustrating, leading to steadily declining grades and an alarming number of failing courses. By the first semester of his junior year, barely managing to stay on track, he was called in for a meeting with his professor before winter break. The teacher bluntly pointed out that he had already failed four courses and clearly wasn’t on the right path anymore. With no other choice, the professor advised him to return home and discuss with his parents about voluntarily withdrawing from the program.

Ma, back home for the holidays, felt weighed down by an overwhelming sense of despair—he simply couldn’t muster the energy to look forward to celebrating the New Year. As always, he’d been the family’s pride, and his parents had placed countless hopes on him. Yet, unbeknownst to everyone, his academic performance at university had plummeted dramatically. The stark contrast between his past achievements and his current struggles made it nearly impossible for him to bring up the painful topic of being advised to withdraw—doing so would surely devastate and deeply disappoint his parents. As winter break neared its end, Ma found himself caught in an increasingly tangled web of emotions. He was lost, unsure of which path to take—or even if there even was a way out. In the end, he decided that suicide might be his only escape. But as the moment of decision arrived, he realized he couldn’t bear to abandon his family. His beloved grandmother, who had raised him from infancy and cherished him as much as his own parents did, was still very much a part of their close-knit household. Together, the four of them had enjoyed a life filled with warmth and joy. If he chose to take his own life now, he knew his grandmother and parents would be utterly heartbroken. And more than that, without siblings to rely on, who would step in to care for his aging grandmother—and eventually, his own parents, who would grow frail with time? After agonizing over these heartbreaking realities, Ma finally came up with what seemed like the ultimate solution: he would end not just his own life, but also those of his entire family. That way, at least he could rest easy, free from the guilt of leaving his loved ones behind to face an uncertain future alone.

The day before the new semester began, Ma's family prepared to send him back to school for the start of classes. But just after lunch on that fateful day, Ma first used a thermos flask and electrical wires—among other tools—to murder his own grandmother. He then turned his attention to his father, fatally striking him with an axe. Meanwhile, their mother was staying in the neighboring house across the hallway. When Ma burst into her home, intent on killing her next, he was momentarily frozen by her voice. Overwhelmed by her calm yet firm words, he suddenly snapped out of his violent trance, realizing what he was about to do. Calming down, he calmly instructed his mother to call emergency services by dialing 120 for an ambulance and 110 to report the crime.

After Ma was arrested, his mother, overwhelmed with grief yet still deeply determined to save her son, came to the DC office looking for a lawyer—and happened to be greeted by me. After a long conversation, I was profoundly moved by her strength, kindness, and unwavering maternal love. Her child, though innocent and even inherently good-hearted, ended up taking the life of a family member—not out of selfishness or hatred, but driven instead by an intense emotional response rooted in profound love for his family. Psychologically speaking, this reaction is far from the typical motives behind intentional murder, making it a case uniquely worthy of legal intervention. Moreover, the entire family of four has already been shattered beyond repair. If her son were sentenced to death and lost his life as well, the mother would find herself utterly devoid of purpose or reason to go on. With that in mind, I’ve decided to take on this case and fight alongside her every step of the way.

My general idea is that Ma has always behaved well and had no obvious motive for committing such a heinous act. The fact that things spiraled to this point can be traced back to issues with his family upbringing and guidance—specifically, the parents who overstepped their role by making critical decisions about his college application choices without considering his talents or aspirations. At the time, this kind of parental interference was both common and ultimately served as the root cause of the case. Additionally, the university Ma attended also bears some responsibility: when his academic performance began to decline, instead of offering emotional support or helping him navigate his challenges, the institution rigidly demanded that he withdraw—this blunt approach directly contributed to the tragic outcome. Taken together, society as a whole should share some accountability here, prompting us to reflect on the shortcomings of our education system rather than placing the entire blame solely on Ma. This perspective has already been endorsed by Ma’s mother.

I quickly got all aspects of the case moving forward. First, I needed to establish Ma’s exemplary daily conduct and character. To do this, I reached out to dozens of Ma’s neighbors, middle school teachers, and classmates—collectively producing testimony transcripts that stretched over several hundred thick pages. Remarkably, every single witness unanimously attested to Ma’s outstanding academic performance and moral integrity. Next, I made two trips to Tianjin by car to track down several of Ma’s former university classmates, who not only confirmed his exceptional character but also corroborated his struggles in medical foundational subjects. Despite his diligent efforts, these classmates noted that Ma consistently faced challenges in improving his grades. Finally, I asked the sole surviving victim’s family member—their mother—to personally vouch for the deep, enduring bonds between Ma and his loved ones, emphasizing that there were no underlying family conflicts or tensions whatsoever. In terms of mitigating legal factors, I argued that Ma had voluntarily abandoned his plan to continue the killings and even cooperated with his mother in calling 110, subsequently waiting at home for the police to arrive—a clear act of surrender. After multiple rounds of discussions and negotiations with investigators, the prosecution ultimately accepted my argument, recognizing Ma’s actions as constituting voluntary surrender. Additionally, I requested that the investigative authorities conduct a psychiatric evaluation of Ma to determine whether he suffered from any legally recognized mental disorders. However, the final assessment concluded that he retained full criminal responsibility.

Meanwhile, this rare case of filicide that occurred in the capital city quickly caught the attention of media outlets like television stations and newspapers, prompting reporters to scramble around in search of sources. After discussing with my client, we decided not to shy away from the details of the case but instead actively cooperate with media coverage. At the same time, we asked the media to remain truthful, highlighting Ma’s usual behavior as well as the university’s shortcomings in handling such situations—hoping this approach will spark broader societal reflection.

Despite all the work that had been done, the situation at the time remained grim. The power to review death sentences was still retained by provincial and municipal authorities, and the prevailing practice for capital punishment judgments was still essentially "life for a life." When I examined materials from the same period, I found a similar case in Shandong: a student who murdered his own father was sentenced to immediate execution. After repeatedly consulting and discussing the matter with prosecutors and judges—as someone new to this field—I grew even more pessimistic. They all agreed that, given the criminal justice policy, combined with the brutal methods used in this case and the devastating consequences of the crime—especially since it involved family members—even though the perpetrator had turned himself in, the likelihood of receiving the death penalty remained very high from a crime-prevention perspective. This realization only deepened our concerns.

After the court session began, everyone was fairly satisfied with the trial process and eagerly anticipating the outcome. Meanwhile, I kept calling the judge, urging the panel to pay close attention to the unique aspects of this case—particularly the motive behind the crime and the heartbreaking situation where the defendant is the sole remaining family member, with only their mother left at home. I emphasized that there’s no need to take the life of a young person whose intent wasn’t particularly malicious. However, the judge’s response consistently came down to the fact that such decisions must be made collectively by the entire panel.

Afterward, I carefully reflected on the strengths and weaknesses of this defense process. Although significant effort was invested upfront, and my approach was indeed well-conceived, the real turning point that ultimately saved Mr. Ma’s life wasn’t due to the lawyer’s expert legal arguments—but rather to a heartfelt, handwritten letter penned by his mother, which seemed entirely unrelated to the case itself. So, does meticulous preparation and professional advocacy still matter? And more broadly, how should lawyers effectively represent their clients in court—and, crucially, how can they truly sway judges and persuade them to see things our way? My reflection leads me to conclude that while the initial groundwork wasn’t wasted, it certainly laid the foundation for securing a lighter sentence later on. However, representing a client in court clearly can’t be limited to courtroom debates alone. Instead, lawyers must adopt a holistic approach tailored to each case, creatively leveraging every available tool at their disposal. This might involve deeply understanding and mobilizing the strengths, resources, and potential of both the client and the当事人 themselves.As for judges, after observing this case, I’ve come to realize that while some truly uphold the law with integrity, others tend to apply it mechanically—or even coldly—often lacking the human touch. These judges sometimes fail to consider broader contextual factors, both inside and outside the courtroom, or to weigh the unintended consequences of strictly adhering to the “correct application of the law.” As a result, lawyers often need to find innovative ways to connect with these decision-makers, whether by appealing to their innate sense of compassion as human beings, or by holding individuals accountable personally for their actions, rather than framing decisions as mere collective choices detached from personal responsibility. Take this particular case, for instance: it’s hard to say whether the outcome—that Mr. Ma avoided the death penalty—was driven primarily by empathy or by the fear of taking responsibility for yet another life lost. In any event, the prevailing judicial climate at the time already showed signs of judges factoring in extrajudicial pressures, such as public outcry or even dramatic displays like “crying, making a scene, or threatening suicide,” when delivering verdicts. In other words, non-legal considerations frequently influenced sentencing outcomes. This insight has profoundly shaped my practice moving forward. When negotiating or providing feedback on cases now, I no longer focus solely on placing blame on the investigative or prosecuting authorities—because ultimately, no one would take responsibility that way. Instead, I emphasize holding individual prosecutors and investigators accountable for their roles, pointing out instances where they may have shied away from their legal duties or even actively undermined the fairness of the process. More often than not, this approach proves far more effective in achieving meaningful change.

Shortly afterward, the verdict was announced: Ma was sentenced to death with a two-year reprieve. I heaved a huge sigh of relief, clutching the court document tightly in my hands as I paced back and forth in the courtroom, feeling both relieved and deeply moved. The presiding judge approached me and explained that the case had initially been unanimously approved for immediate execution—so much so that it had already been submitted to the Judicial Committee, awaiting their final approval. But then, unexpectedly, the judge revealed, they received a heartfelt "letter of tears" from Ma’s mother. This emotional plea prompted the panel to reconsider the decision. After careful deliberation, the judges concluded that imposing the death penalty on one person essentially meant sentencing two individuals to death—a decision that simply couldn’t align with humanitarian principles. Ultimately, they decided to withdraw the previously submitted recommendation, opting instead to propose the reprieve for review.

Later, Ma’s mother came to the law firm again, insisting on kneeling down to thank me—but I stopped her. What was once a close-knit family now consists only of the mother, who remains at home, waiting for her son’s release from prison. By then, she’ll have grown old, and her son will already be in his middle years. Such a tragic situation is heartbreaking, leaving even the lawyer far removed from any sense of triumph or satisfaction after winning the case.

Afterward, I carefully reflected on the strengths and weaknesses of this defense process. Although significant effort was invested upfront, and my approach was indeed well-conceived, the real turning point that ultimately saved Mr. Ma’s life wasn’t due to the lawyer’s expert legal arguments—but rather to a heartfelt, handwritten letter penned by his mother, which seemed entirely unrelated to the case itself. So, does the meticulous preparation and professional advocacy still matter? And more broadly, how should lawyers effectively represent their clients in court—and, crucially, how can they truly sway judges and persuade them to see things our way? My reflection leads me to conclude that while the initial groundwork wasn’t wasted, it certainly laid the foundation for securing a lighter sentence later on. However, representing a client in court clearly can’t be limited to courtroom debates alone. Instead, lawyers must adopt a holistic approach tailored to each case, creatively leveraging every available tool at their disposal. This might involve deeply understanding and mobilizing the strengths, resources, and potential of both the client and the当事人 themselves. As for judges, after observing this case, I’ve come to realize that while some truly uphold the law with integrity, others tend to apply it mechanically—or even coldly—often lacking the human touch. These judges sometimes fail to consider broader contextual factors, both inside and outside the courtroom, or to weigh the unintended consequences of strictly adhering to the “correct application of the law.” As a result, lawyers often need to find innovative ways to connect with these decision-makers, whether by appealing to their innate sense of compassion as human beings, or by holding individuals accountable personally for their actions, rather than framing decisions as mere collective choices detached from personal responsibility. Take this particular case, for instance: it’s hard to say whether the outcome—that Mr. Ma avoided the death penalty—was driven primarily by empathy or by the fear of taking responsibility for yet another life lost. In any event, the prevailing judicial climate at the time already showed signs of judges factoring in extrajudicial pressures, such as public outcry or even dramatic displays like “crying, making a scene, or threatening suicide,” when delivering verdicts. In other words, non-legal considerations frequently influenced sentencing outcomes. This insight has profoundly shaped my practice moving forward. When negotiating or providing feedback on cases now, I no longer focus solely on placing blame on the investigative or prosecuting authorities—because ultimately, no one would take responsibility that way. Instead, I emphasize holding individual prosecutors and investigators accountable for their roles, pointing out instances where they may have shied away from their legal duties or even actively undermined the fairness of the process. More often than not, this approach proves far more effective in achieving meaningful change.

This case marked the beginning of my gradual departure from the "jack-of-all-trades" approach I initially adopted at the start of my career, steering me toward a more specialized path in criminal defense. It was also the first time I deeply felt the importance of—and subsequently began publicly advocating—the concept of "Grand Defense."