Read Novel Full Chapter 14 : The Committee Finds
Chapter 14 : The Committee Finds
On the last page of her supplementary opinion, she wrote only two sentences.
One: The name printed on that badge was the respondent's trade name. The other: The one who could ban his account, and also unban it, was the respondent.
The first three pages covered other things. The shift schedule, the late-arrival list, the rain on July 18th, the eleven disciplinary notices—each one copied line by line against the evidence list. Halfway down page two, she pulled an analogous case out of the old filing cabinet in the inner room of the Zhengping Firm and added it: When business is subcontracted to an organization or natural person lacking worker-employment qualifications, the contracting party with such qualifications bears employment responsibility. That passage was copied, transcribed character by character.
Beneath the second sentence, she added one more: The respondent has never denied that he ran orders. That sentence had been spoken by the other side in tribunal. She recorded it in her own hand, into her own paper. After transcribing the analogous case, she drew a line in the space below. She wrote nothing.
There was still more than half a page left blank. Who held the work badge—she had only her word, not a single piece of paper to put forward.
On the morning of November 9th, she submitted the four pages at Window No. 3 on the first floor of Building No. 1. The young woman inside counted the pages, made a line in the receipt ledger, then lifted her pen. "The respondent submitted yesterday. Want the duplicate?"
"Yes."
The duplicate was a page and a half. She sat on a bench in the main hall and read it through. The first two points she had already guessed. The third was a single sentence: No subcontracting contractual relationship exists between the respondent and the operator of Chengnan Station No. 1, and the applicant has produced no evidence to prove that such a relationship exists.
She copied this sentence into her notebook, drew a line beneath it, and wrote three words at the end of that line: Go prove it. She closed the notebook, then opened it again to look at those three words before she stood up.
On the way back the wind was harsh, and she pulled her scarf up a little higher. He Xiufen was waiting for her downstairs to eat. Seeing her come in, she looked first at her hands. "Handed it in?"
"Handed it in."
"How many pages did the person taking the paper flip through?"
"Three."
"Then it's the first three lines he'll remember." He Xiufen pushed the dishes toward her. "That analogous case you copied—he won't see it."
Eleven days later, the landline downstairs at the noodle shop rang twice. He Xiufen answered, then raised her head and called toward the stairs. "The Arbitration Office. Says to go pick something up."
She came downstairs. He Xiufen was wiping tables, the rag draped over her shoulder. "Good paper or bad paper, see for yourself."
Window No. 3 on the first floor pushed a bound Arbitration Award out from under the glass, then passed over a Proof of Service. "Sign here." On the proof, the respondent's column had already been signed—three characters, the strokes linked tight, finished in a hurry. She signed her own name in the applicant's column and pushed it back.
"Unhappy with it? Fifteen days." The person at the window said it in passing, the work in their hands never stopping.
On the second floor, she ran into Shao Hong in the corridor, coming out of an office with an armload of case files. She stopped at the top of the stairs. "Arbitrator."
Shao Hong stopped. "What's written in the award, read yourself," she said. "A separate case is a separate case. A claim for unpaid wages—one year, starting from the day you knew your rights were violated."
"Starting from which day."
"Count it yourself."
The sound of leather shoes descended, floor by floor.
She sat on a bench in the first-floor hall and read the entire award from beginning to end. At the next window, a woman was arguing with someone about her materials being sent back three times, her sobs held very low. The broadcast called a number, and an old man walked past with a plastic bag. The person at the other end of the bench flipped through documents, pages rustling loudly.
Seven pages. The first page listed both parties and representatives. Her own name had "Citizen Representative" hung in front of it, and in print it was even more solid than it had been spoken in tribunal. Below came the claims, then the defense. The fifth page began with "The Committee Finds."
First paragraph: The applicant performed delivery services at Chengnan Station No. 1 and was subject to the station's scheduling, attendance, and reward-and-punishment management. This finding is supported by the shift schedule from the group chat, the late-arrival list, and the statements of both parties.
She made a pencil mark at the end of the paragraph.
Second paragraph: On July 18th, the applicant arrived on duty at 6:40 a.m. A group notification from the night before stated that arriving before 7:00 a.m. that day would count as full attendance, yet the station still deemed the applicant late and imposed a thirty-yuan fine, lacking basis.
The third paragraph was the longest. She had to read it twice before it flowed: The delivery services performed by the applicant constitute a component of the respondent's business operations. The existing evidence is insufficient to prove that the respondent exercised labor management over the applicant, and insufficient to prove that the respondent paid labor remuneration to the applicant.
Below that came the response to her half-page supplementary opinion: The applicant asserts that the respondent subcontracted the delivery business to an organization or natural person lacking worker-employment qualifications, and that the respondent should bear employment responsibility. As no evidence was submitted to prove the existence of such a subcontracting relationship, the Committee does not support this claim.
She read the next two paragraphs slowly. One acknowledged the IOU—a certain Sun, acting in the name of Chengnan Station No. 1, exercised employment management over the applicant. The 21,400 yuan stated in the IOU constituted delivery fees owed to the applicant plus fines to be refunded, and the applicant could pursue rights against that entity separately. The final paragraph dismissed her evidence-collection application: the requested dispatch records and work badge issuance-and-recovery records were generated and kept by a system operated by an outside entity, and the Committee would not collect them.
[Thud. Three months, the paper acknowledged. The person, the paper didn't.]
The main text was two lines.
1. No employment relationship exists between the applicant and the respondent.
2. All other arbitration claims of the applicant are dismissed.
She read those two lines three times. In the findings, everything she had submitted appeared piece by piece—the shift schedule, the late-arrival list, the rain, the eleven notices—all written into the words. In the main text, two lines: not one of them.
Seven pages of facts. Two lines of verdict.
Below the signature block was one more line: If dissatisfied with this award, file a lawsuit with the People's Court within fifteen days of receipt. She arranged the days in her mind: fifteen days, until December 5th. The separate case's one year, starting from August 16th, running to August 15th of next year—two hundred sixty-eight days between.
That afternoon she called Ma Jianjun and said only one thing: The paper came out. Come by.
He arrived carrying a bag of tangerines and set it on the square table. "Bought from someone selling at the station entrance."
He Xiufen poked her head out from the kitchen. "Coming to my place for noodles and still bringing things." Two bowls of noodles came out, one with an extra egg tucked into it. She recorded in her hardcover notebook: "Ma Jianjun, eight yuan." Then she set down the pen. "This bowl's on me."
She spread the award open and read from the beginning. He sat up straight, hands on his knees, listening even more attentively than he had on hearing day. When she reached the page with the case description, he said, "Slower."
The paragraph on page five, he had her read twice.
"The applicant arrived on duty at 6:40 a.m. on July 18th…"
"It says six forty in there," he said.
"It does."
"First time there's a piece of paper saying I was there at six forty."
He pushed his bowl aside slightly. "Read the last two lines too."
"One. No employment relationship exists between the applicant and the respondent. Two. All other arbitration claims of the applicant are dismissed."
He stayed quiet when she finished, chopsticks resting on the rim of the bowl. After a moment: "So we lost?"
"Lost half." She turned the paper around, her finger pressing on the two paragraphs on page five. "This paper says you worked there. That someone scheduled your shifts, recorded your attendance, fined you. It also says you weren't one of them. Both sentences, on this same piece of paper."
"Then am I one of them or not."
She read that paragraph again. In the name column, there was only a surname.
"The amount was recognized," she said. "The name to collect from—not recognized."
"Then the money?"
"Not one cent came of it," she said. "There's not one cent in this paper that can be enforced. To get the money, we have to open another case: sue a company, and sue a person who has only a surname and no given name."
He lifted his eyes from his phone screen. "That fifteen days on there—is that telling you to sue?"
"Telling whoever disagrees to sue."
"Then we disagree."
"What we disagree with isn't those two lines." She moved her finger away from the main text. "It got it right—too right. What I'm going to find is the name that can be filled into the defendant column."
"That company, I've heard you talk about it," he said. "Zero people on the annual report."
"Zero people still has an address. Still has a legal representative."
"Run off, then?"
"Run off, and we find the next name."
He pressed his phone screen on, then off. "Go another round?"
"Go another round."
"Alright." He finished the last two bites in his bowl and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Then these three months weren't for nothing."
"The paper says you ran them."
He nodded, then started talking about the group chat: Xiao Duan's account came back online yesterday, and he sent a voice message in the group. Lao Song said two more people came to the station with papers, and he didn't sign. Six still waiting, not one cent seen. As he talked, he played the voice message out loud. Xiao Duan's voice was urgent and hoarse, saying he could run orders again, but the money that was supposed to be refunded was still nowhere.
She pushed her notebook over and had him write down the six people's names and phone numbers under the lamp. He wrote slowly. When a character went crooked, he crossed it out and started over. Two of the numbers he had to ask for, and after asking he drew a line beneath them.
"Make me a copy."
"Sure." He said, "I'll copy it out fast."
When He Xiufen cleared the bowls, she picked up the award and flipped through two pages, then set it down.
"Money ruled onto paper, the person ruled out of existence."
"Yeah."
"Thought through your next step?"
"Thought it through."
"Then go on up and sleep." He Xiufen settled the rag over her shoulder. "Get up early tomorrow. I've got something to tell you."
Back in her small room, she spread the award on the desk and first ran this case's accounts through her head: printing, seventeen yuan. Round-trip bus fare to the Arbitration Office, ten yuan forty. The stack of copies for Ma Jianjun, five yuan. Ma Jianjun's three months—not one cent came in.
On her phone, Tang Guo had sent two messages: one said three delivery riders had added her, all wanting to ask about wages. The other was a voice message only a dozen seconds long, speaking fast, asking if she could take them on.
She replied with two words: Let them ask.
Then she fished the notebook out of her bag and turned to the page labeled "Dispatch Record." The first slot said "Sutong." In the second slot she wrote two words: The system. After writing, she added a question mark.
Under the lamp, the words floated.
[Thud. This case settled.]
[Thud. Wage-arrears facts established. Funds not in place.]
[Thud. Enforcement fulfilled—full credit. Enforcement not fulfilled—half credit.]
She gripped the pencil, waiting for the next line.
[Thud. Justice Points: half credited.]
[Thud. Unsettled Ledger: half a line added.]
A page floated before her, its edges older than the oldest case file in the firm. Lines upon lines of writing, faint as if washed by water, impossible to make out. She searched downward until she found a new line—only the front half was solid.
Chengnan Station No. 1, Ma Jianjun.
The back half hung faint, suspended within that line. Beneath this line more writing pressed upward, line after line, so faint only outlines remained. She looked farther down, and the edges of the page dissolved, catching nothing.
"What about the back half," she asked.
[Thud. The day the money reaches his hands—only then does the brush touch paper.]
She stared at that half line for a while. Among the faint lines above, there was someone else's three months, someone else's beating, someone else's erased attendance page. Recovered, and crossed out. Unrecovered, and it kept hanging there.
She asked one more question: "Are there other people's names on it."
No answer.
The notebook was still at hand. Under the second slot she began a new line: Sue Sutong, sue the Sun guy. One year, two hundred sixty-eight days.
After writing, she set the pencil down and reached out to turn off the lamp.
That half line did not go dark with it. Still it floated above the far end of the desk. The front half, recognizable. The back half, not yet written.