Justice System: I Litigate for the Whole City

Chapter 107 : The Judgment Arrived Before the Thirteenth

Three sheets of paper lay pressed beneath the glass desk pad. She slid them out and laid them one by one on the long table.

Cut with a paper cutter, the edges uneven. In the corner of each, a line of writing: "Next Shift," "The Thirteenth," "Fifteen Days." The morning of September 6th, the smell of scallion oil downstairs had just begun to drift up. Tang Guo's grid table still lay spread across the desk—one hundred and five rows, ninety-one circled in red pen, fourteen left blank, waiting on phone calls.

"What are you pulling those three sheets out from under the glass for?" He Xiufen came down from the stove, holding a tea mug.

"To work out an account."

She pushed the "Next Shift" sheet over beside the mug. "One thousand forty-two households. One household, twenty-four thousand a year. Altogether, around twenty-five million."

"We've already run that number."

"I'm working out the other half." She said, "Three companies, thirty-one yuan and forty-six cents in the accounts, five hundred thousand returned. The rest of the money isn't in the accounts, and it isn't in the houses. It's been broken down into little pieces, small stroke by small stroke, lined up waiting for the next shift."

"Broken down how small."

"Each stroke kept under three hundred sixty thousand." She said, "Kept under that, the 'Trade in Services' column on the form goes through. The bank looks at the form, not the person. Twenty-five million split under three hundred sixty thousand means at least seventy strokes."

"Seventy strokes." He Xiufen cracked the lid of her tea mug, steam puffing out.

"The money that went out comes off the inside total." She pulled the desk calendar toward her. "Every stroke on that table in the machine I verify, I deduct one. The rest haven't moved—they're also around seventy strokes."

"Out of seventy strokes, how many do you have in hand?"

"One." She said, "The five hundred thousand that came back. Not a single other stroke has gone out the door."

He Xiufen tapped a finger on the grid sheet. "Ninety-one rows on the table, one row per household, each signed for twenty-four thousand a year. Once the remaining fourteen rows are verified, the schedule comes to one hundred five rows. However many rows you verify, that's how many names sit at the back of the judgment."

"Miss one row, and that household's money stays stuck."

"You know it yourself." He Xiufen slung the rag over her shoulder and said nothing more. Wind came through the screen window, lifting a corner of the top sheet. She pressed it flat with her palm.

She flipped to the back of the receipt book. Seven and a half lines of shorthand sat at the top, one squeezed against the next, all copied over from the phone. Beneath the seventh line she left a blank space and wrote down three things:

Whose name the account was opened under.

What the stated purpose said.

Who signed the form.

"Those three together—only then can the seventy strokes be roped into the case." He Xiufen said, "Missing even one, it lies outside the case, where nobody's hand can reach."

[Thud. The split-up money doesn't have legs. It has an account.]

"How far along is the table?"

"Ninety-one rows." She said, "Fourteen left. I've called them all. Eight households said they'd go print in the right format. Six didn't pick up."

"Get it verified before the thirteenth." He Xiufen flipped the calendar over and pressed the pad of her finger on the circled thirteenth again. "He hands over the original, you hand over the table. Both ends pointed at the same day."

"What if he doesn't hand it over?"

"Then that counts too." He Xiufen said, "A question that's been asked goes into the record. Anyone can flip to it. It just depends which end arrives first."

September 7th, 3 p.m. Zhou Yu came upstairs. He had no case file with him. He draped his coat over the chair back and asked for a glass of water first.

"That table in the machine on the sixth floor—I've verified half of it." He said, "The first half is this year's outbound transfers. The payer column shows Hongkun, and also Minanli and Anyu."

"And the payee column?"

"Only one name. One name from start to finish." Zhou Yu said, "It's domestic—Jiangzhou Hongyi Translation Service Co., Ltd."

Her pen stopped on the paper.

"The one that issued the certifications." She said.

"It issued the certifications." Zhou Yu said, "The day the machine was taken away, I also copied the lease in that room. The lessee column reads Hongyi. Registered in Chengdong. The legal representative changed once, this June. The person put in place is twenty-eight."

"Same pattern as Zheng Hongbin."

"Similar pattern, but don't write it down as one and the same." Zhou Yu said, "Everything he's signed, it has to be looked at stroke by stroke."

"Does Hongyi have an account?"

"It does." Zhou Yu said, "At another bank in Chengdong. The account was opened last November. The seal card was changed once, on March 19th this year. The money that came in after August 26th—every single stroke under three hundred sixty thousand."

He Xiufen's tea mug stopped midair. Downstairs, an electric scooter beeped once, then cut out.

"March 19th." She said.

"What about that day?"

"The landlord's ledger—that's the day it stopped."

Zhou Yu set his glass down. "The dates line up. Note it for now. Before it goes into the papers, wait for one thing."

"What thing?"

"The name that signed."

He Xiufen set her mug on the desk corner and asked, "It issued the certifications, and it's the one collecting the money?"

"On the table inside that machine, the one charging the service fees is it, and the one issuing certifications is it too." Zhou Yu said, "Put those two together, and it stops being a translation company. But they both have to be tied to one person. Without the person, it's still just a company."

"That's the next shift." She said.

"Those are the first strokes of the seventy." Zhou Yu said, "It sits outside the three companies. The day the three accounts were frozen, this one wasn't among them."

"Can it still be frozen now?"

"I only submit materials and ask about procedure." Zhou Yu turned his glass half a circle. "The materials are still those three things: the account, the stated purpose, who signed the form. The first two exist as of today. The third doesn't. Without the third, this account is a clean account—it collects service fees, it issues certifications, and on the books there's not a single cent you can trace to a tenant."

Before she wrote the name "Hongyi" into the notebook, her pen tip hovered over the page.

"Which notebook are you writing in." He Xiufen asked.

"This one."

"This one is the housing case. The separate case notebook is in the metal cabinet, spine facing down." He Xiufen said, "Don't mix them."

"I won't."

"When the judgment comes down, which account to freeze at enforcement goes in the application." Zhou Yu said, "The account exists now—it'll be useful when the time comes. But the name column is still blank. Fill it in fast."

"Ten days until the thirteenth." He Xiufen said.

"The thirteenth is his deadline for the original." Zhou Yu said, "As for when the judgment comes—nobody's giving a date."

He drank two mouthfuls of water, stood, and put on his coat. "Two more things. Zheng Hongbin's ticket never got used. He's still in Jiangzhou, hasn't turned himself in. I'm keeping an eye on it. Border control alerts have a time limit—when one expires it needs renewal, and someone has to write the reason. Zhou Keming's inside. He won't say a thing."

"Okay."

"I'm skipping the noodles today. Materials tonight." At the door he turned back. "If a single stroke moves in that account, I'll be the first to call you."

On the evening of September 8th, Shi Lei came upstairs, hard hat tucked under his arm. He handed over his phone. On the screen, a courier waybill, the corners worn soft from handling.

"Jie, look at this address."

"Chengdong, Sanjiang Road, Jianghai Building, Floor 15."

"End of last month I delivered a box of paper there." He said, "Picked it up from the sixth floor at Wanshun, hauled it over there. A hundred fifty a trip. The recipient column said 'Hongyi.' I figured it was just a business name at the time." He wiped his hand on his pant leg. "The last couple days, a brother in the group took another order going to the same address."

She dialed the number on the waybill with her own phone. An extension number—the same string of digits she'd dialed back in August. Two short tones sounded in the earpiece, then a woman's voice: "The extension you dialed does not exist."

She hung up and dialed again. Same line.

"The number belonged to that room." Shi Lei said, "Room got sealed, number died."

"The place isn't dead."

"The place came alive." He said, "The Wanshun job's long gone to someone else. The sixth-floor room's locked, the seal strip untouched. Old Cao's still holding a spare key. Says the lease runs to March next year, rent paid quarterly. Last payment came in sometime in the twenties of last month."

"Whose account was the payment from?"

"Old Cao says he didn't look." Shi Lei said, "He only cares what day the money lands."

"Him not looking won't do." He Xiufen came over from the stove, rag over her shoulder. "The payee name's printed on the counter receipt. Tell him to dig out that month's receipt and send me a photo."

"He's scared of trouble."

"You tell him the receipt's just for the number—his name won't be written down anywhere." He Xiufen said, "In three months, he's counted money exactly once."

Shi Lei ran that line through his mouth once and nodded. He put on his hard hat, then took it off again. "Jie, what day does the judgment come down? People in the group ask every day. The money's frozen—they want to know if the judgment's really coming."

"Wait for the notice."

"I told them the table only takes numbers." He said, "Director He, is my twenty-four thousand in that one thousand forty-two households?"

"It is."

"Then I'll wait."

"A judgment is a judgment." He Xiufen said, "Money hitting the account is money hitting the account. Don't carry that line into the group either."

"I won't." Going down the stairs, the steps rang out in a quick burst.

On the back of the receipt book, beneath the seven and a half lines, she added three items today, plus one more line: Jiangzhou Hongyi, another bank in Chengdong, under three hundred sixty thousand. She closed the book when she'd finished. The three sheets under the glass she left untouched.

Her phone sat at her hand. She pressed the screen on, then off. None of those seven lines mentioned where he was, and she wasn't asking today.

Early on September 9th, the office landline rang. He Xiufen answered. Half a sentence in, she held the receiver toward her. "Civil Division."

"Is this Lawyer Shen?" The court clerk's voice was flat. "The judgment has been drafted. Please come to the court tomorrow at 9 a.m. to collect three copies. Bring the case number and ID when you pick them up. The defendant's copy will be sent by mail."

"Tomorrow, 9 a.m."

"9 a.m."

She set the receiver down. He Xiufen stood by the stove, not turning around. "Picking up the judgment."

"Picking up the judgment."

He Xiufen flipped the desk calendar to the September 10th square and drew a circle. The pen moved over and stopped beside the circle on the thirteenth—two circles, two days apart.

She cut a paper strip, wrote "Operative Part" on it, and tucked it under the glass. Now four sheets sat under the glass, in a row: Next Shift, The Thirteenth, Fifteen Days, Operative Part.

"No need to wait on the thirteenth anymore." He Xiufen said.

"We can wait." She said, "He either hands over the original, or he hands over a piece of paper saying clearly who signed. Both roads are still open on his side."

"And if he walks neither?"

She didn't answer. On the calendar, two circles sat two days apart. The first circle was the judgment. The second was the original. Tomorrow, the clock started on service of the judgment, and the fifteen-day appeal window would begin running from the same day.

The signature line on the complaint—that space was still blank.