Justice System: I Litigate for the Whole City

Chapter 127 : A Pencil Question Mark

"The glass desk pad. The things pressed underneath it—should we take them out or not?"

Shen Zhixia set three glasses onto the tray. The white porcelain one went beside He Xiufen's hand; the two with lids sat in the middle of the table, mouths facing inward.

He Xiufen came over from the stove, apron still on, a dry rag clutched in her hand.

"If I take them out, where do they go."

"In the drawer."

"He can open the drawer too." He Xiufen draped the rag over the back of a chair and circled the table, nudging the three chairs square against its edge. "Under the glass is your notebook. If I move it, it looks like we're hiding something."

Three things lay pressed beneath the glass. A newspaper clipping from nine years ago, its corners aligned to the table's center line. Half a strip of cut paper with a line of writing on it. Two finger-widths below that, a narrow slip of paper with five small characters.

After seven, He Xiufen went through the ledgers. Three in total: a legal aid case register, a case file index, and a one-page annual case-handling report.

"Three cases are filed under legal aid." She pushed the register to the center of the table. "June's work injury, September's elderly support, and last month's drainage dispute transferred from the community. All three have acceptance letters. Two are closed; the drainage one is in its performance period."

"Where are the eleven volumes of the housing case filed?"

"The last slot of the index." He Xiufen flipped to the back and pressed her finger to the bottom row. "Taken on privately. Doesn't take up legal aid quota."

"What if he wants to look through them."

"Then let him. See this slot." She closed the index. "The boxes have case numbers on them, not names."

At a quarter to nine, Tang Guo sent a message: Want me to sit outside your place today? Do half an hour of legal livestream, show my face for you while I'm at it.

Shen Zhixia replied: Not today. Someone's coming upstairs.

Tang Guo sent back one word: Got it.

At nine sharp, a black car stopped in front of the noodle shop. The two customers eating noodles downstairs didn't look up.

When Han Chongli came in, he paused by the stove and glanced back at the wok.

"Scallion oil." He said. "That smell in the old town—hasn't changed in how many years."

Still the navy suit, a thin booklet in his hand. He climbed the stairs steadily, never touching the handrail. The young man behind him carried a briefcase, surveyed the tables and chairs upon entering, then stood by the door without sitting.

Shen Zhixia carried the tray in and set the cups at the corner of the table, pushing the lidded one half a step forward.

"Chairman Han."

"Shen Zhixia." He placed the thin booklet on the table, spine against the table's edge. "You brought me water twice at Hengzheng."

"Once you set the cup on the corner of the table. I didn't turn around. You said, leave it there."

"And the other time, in the hallway." She said.

"Right, the hallway." He smiled, the smile stopping at the corner of his mouth. "That day I said, you're Shen Qian's daughter."

He Xiufen came over, wiped her hands on her apron, and sat down at the table.

"Chairman Han. We met twenty years ago at the Justice Bureau conference."

"Director He has a good memory." He spread the notice and roster out sheet by sheet. "Two matters today. Deliver the funds, and record this year's numbers."

"Legal aid cases this year—how many?"

"Three."

"Fewer than the year before. We're short-staffed."

"The year before, the firm had one more person."

"Staffing is the old problem for every firm." He pulled a pencil from his inner jacket pocket, the shaft sharpened down short. "The association's donation is calculated per case—twelve thousand per case. You have three. Thirty-six thousand."

The pencil landed on the roster. Zhengping Firm sat in the second-to-last row. The amount column originally had a horizontal line with a small question mark after it. He wrote a number over that question mark: 36000. The tip was light; the characters came out paler than the printed text.

"The firms above—eighty thousand, fifty thousand—those reported more cases." He said. "You have three, so it's per case."

"Per case is fair." He Xiufen took the receipt book from the drawer. "I'll report the number of cases as they are, and accept the payment as given."

[Thud. 36,000. Three cases. 12,000 per case.]

"The money goes into the firm's public account, earmarked funds, purpose clearly stated."

"Two-part receipt. One copy to the association, one kept on file here. The register copies go to you today; originals stay with us. Three items, seventeen pages total. Have your young man count them." He Xiufen opened the receipt book. "There's a service receipt here—sign it and write down the time."

The young man stepped forward half a pace and opened his folder. Han Chongli looked at He Xiufen for two seconds, took the pen, signed, and glanced at his watch.

"Ten twenty."

He flipped through two pages of the case file index and stopped at the last slot.

"One thousand forty-two households."

"Taken on privately." He Xiufen said.

"What's the subject matter?"

"Schedule total, fifteen million." Shen Zhixia answered.

"The money's arrived."

"It has."

"Which bank paid it?"

He Xiufen didn't answer. She turned the receipt around and pushed it toward his hand. "Chairman Han, the receipt needs the time of service written on it. If you write 10:20 a.m., I'll enter it in the ledger accordingly."

He looked at her, then wrote "10:20" with real pressure.

"A plate this large—how many people at the firm can move it?"

"Not many." He Xiufen put the receipt away. "Took a year."

"A roster of over a thousand households assembled into a schedule. Who assembled it?"

"We did." Shen Zhixia said.

"Based on what?"

"One receipt per household."

He nodded and flipped the index back.

"Of these thousand-plus households in the index, the industry is all the same—renting. What industries do your other cases involve?"

"Work injury, elderly support, the drainage dispute from the community."

"Anything involving testing, appraisal work."

"We run into all trades." He Xiufen said.

His page-turning hand paused for less than half a beat, then flipped over.

"The procuratorate sent someone."

Not a question.

"They came." He Xiufen said. "Following procedure."

"The court and notary office are also getting regular visits." He picked up the thin booklet, flipped to a page, then closed it. "Last month, you made several trips to Chengnan."

"Procedures are where the paperwork is. People go where they need to."

"Just asking in passing." He smiled and set the booklet down. "Year-end, the city counts outreach visits for statistics."

"The other side of this case is Lawyer Lu from Hengzheng."

"Yes, he represents the bank."

"A young man. Keeps his books clearer than anyone." He nudged the tea in front of him but didn't drink. "People who keep their books too clear end up on a narrow road. You've dealt with him."

That sentence was directed at Shen Zhixia. She lifted the teapot from the tray and refilled He Xiufen's white porcelain cup halfway, without answering.

"Your father, that man." He suddenly changed the subject. "Wrote well, stubborn as an ox. That business back then—I was worried for him."

The spout stopped midair. She finished pouring the last half-cup and set the pot back on the tray.

Under the table, He Xiufen's knee nudged hers.

"Chairman Han, after the case-handling report there's another schedule—thirty-seven rows. Care to look?"

He looked at her for two seconds, longer than before.

"Show me."

The schedule was spread out. He read from top to bottom, skimming the amount column, his eyes stopping on the roster rows.

"Who's the first row?"

"The first row is the building number. The table is arranged by building, not by person." He Xiufen said.

"People with different amounts are grouped together."

"Same building, same deposit. Prepaid months vary by household—the roster records each one individually."

When he finished, he folded the paper back exactly as it had been, corners perfectly aligned.

He stood and pushed his chair back against the table.

"Next year the Bar Association has a model case selection for public interest legal services." He said. "Your one thousand forty-two households—submit it and it'd be first in the city. Once submitted, it goes through association review. The materials need a lead handler, and the case handling process must be reported."

"The materials can be submitted." He Xiufen said. "Names as written in the files."

"The names in the files are also written by your firm." He straightened his suit collar. "The order on this roster—I set it. Zhengping sits second-to-last because last year's materials came in late. If you get your materials to me earlier this year, moving up a few spots isn't hard."

"Order doesn't matter." He Xiufen said. "As long as the money arrives."

"Director He, you always say that."

He walked toward the stairs, the young man following with the folder in his arms. At the stairway he turned back. Downstairs, someone slurped noodles, and steam from the bamboo steamer drifted up through the floorboards. The full-length mirror on the first floor was fogged over.

"Lawyer Shen."

She stood holding the tray.

"Your father's case," he said. "One word of advice—some old accounts, if you turn them over too early, they burn your hands."

The door opened and closed. The car hummed once and was gone.

Upstairs fell quiet. Downstairs someone called out, "Another bowl," and a bowl bottom knocked against the table.

He Xiufen spread open the receipt book and filled in according to the roster: 36,000, the date, item labeled "Municipal Bar Association Special Donation," purpose column reading "For legal aid case handling."

"Count the copies."

Shen Zhixia counted the seventeen pages twice, bound them, and copied the "10:20" from the receipt into the ledger. She tore the receipt out—one part went into the clip, the other stayed on the corner of the table. He hadn't taken it when he left.

"He didn't take the receipt."

"He never intended to." He Xiufen pressed that copy under the clip. "Whose account the money sits in and how it's used—from now on, we need to be able to explain that ourselves."

"Everything he asked today was about people." She untied her apron and draped it over the chair back. "Names, people's hands, the roads people walk. From now on, if you run into his people out there, ask them first: Are you here for me, or for the files?"

"His trip today was about writing names on paper." He Xiufen closed the receipt book. "This year: three cases."

"And the housing case's one thousand forty-two households?"

"They don't go into the association's books." She said. "He doesn't want us recording them—but we still need to know how he plans to."

Tang Guo's message came in again: He gone? What was he like?

Shen Zhixia replied: Normal.

She stood at the table and replayed the morning's conversation from start to finish. Three legal aid cases. One thousand forty-two households. What's the subject matter. Has the money arrived. Which bank paid. Who assembled the roster. Did the procuratorate send anyone. How many trips to Chengnan last month.

Every sentence wore the skin of public interest. Inside each was people and money.

Only that last line—she couldn't find its source in any ledger. The firm didn't record "how many trips to Chengnan," and she'd never reported that to the association.

[Thud. He knows what you're looking into.]

She held the untouched cup in her hands. The porcelain was cold.

She looked down at the glass desk pad. Three things pressed beneath it. The narrow slip at the bottom showed one character's edge, facing inward. This morning he'd set his thin booklet on this very pad, spine aligned to the table's center line, positioned with care.

"Some old accounts, if you turn them over too early, they burn your hands." That case from nine years ago—the confession was signed by her father's own hand, the file locked away in the court. It had long since gone cold.

What burned was the one in her hands.