Justice System: I Litigate for the Whole City

Chapter 15 : A Credential That Gets You Onto the Field

That half line was still there.

Before dawn she woke once. The page floated before her eyes, its edges older than the oldest case file in the firm. The first half held steady: Chengnan Station No. 1, Ma Jianjun. The second half was faint, smudging outward from the "Jun" in Ma Jianjun, as if someone had pinned down one end and kept it from growing out. She reached out to touch it. Her fingertips passed through. There was nothing on the desk.

At five thirty she got up. The stairwell still smelled of last night's noodle broth. On the square table lay three things: the seven-page Arbitration Award, her notebook, and that page-and-a-half Explanatory Statement.

She read all seven pages through again and drew two pencil lines on page five. All the usable wording sat in that paragraph: subject to the station's shift scheduling, attendance, and reward-and-penalty management; on duty at 6:40 a.m. on July 18; 21,400 yuan was owed delivery fees and refundable fines. She did not mark the two lines of the holding. At the foot of the page was another line: If dissatisfied, file suit within fifteen days. December 5 was the last day. In the corner of her notebook she wrote: the 5th. Whether to sue the platform too had to be decided before the 5th.

She had turned over the Explanatory Statement many times. Last night she realized there were three words she had always read as background.

"The station's contractor, Sun X."

The other end of contracting is called contracting-out. When work is contracted to a natural person, the natural person has no qualification to employ, and when something goes wrong, under analogous cases the party who contracted the work out bears responsibility.

She had dug that doctrine out of the old filing cabinet at Zhengping Firm the week before and copied it word by word into a supplemental submission aimed at Hurricane Express. The arbitration tribunal rejected it, on the ground that the existing evidence could not prove the existence of that contracting-out relationship. She wasn't short on doctrine. What she lacked was a piece of paper proving the relationship.

Now that piece of paper was in the other side's hands—written by them, no less. The word "contractor," three printed characters.

[Thud. Those three words—they wrote them for you.]

She drew three horizontal lines in her notebook: who to sue; who was controlling him; whose machine the orders were recorded on.

Under the first line she wrote: Sutong; Sun X. When she wrote "Sun X," her pen stopped. She still didn't know Station Manager Sun's full name. In her hands she had only three things: the surname "Sun" on the IOU, "Station Manager Sun" as written down by Lao Song, and whatever he had called himself at the drinking table. To file a case she needed a name that could be filled in and served. She didn't have one. Then sue Sutong first—it had an address, a legal representative, and a piece of paper stamped with its own seal.

Under the second line she wrote: shift scheduling, attendance, fines, confiscating work badges—all issued under the station's name. She paused at the third line. The final paragraph of the Arbitration Award spelled it out: dispatch records are generated and kept by a system operated by a non-party. A machine. The machine had no name on it, and no one could take a look inside for her.

[Thud. That machine is locked in someone else's room.]

The pencil tip dotted a period at the end of the third line. She switched to a red pen and circled the three words on the Explanatory Statement twice. She already knew Sutong's details by heart: incorporated in March 2021, registered capital of 500,000 yuan, legal representative surnamed Wang, address matching the platform registration exactly, and in the previous year's annual report, the headcount column was a zero.

Even if she won, it would still only be a piece of paper. She wrote that sentence at the bottom of the notebook, then crossed it out—she knew it without writing it down.

Under the first line she listed three things that could point to that room: the original Explanatory Statement lying in the arbitration case file; Sutong's annual reports from previous years; and the small sign nailed to the door. Under the second line she listed more: the shift schedule, the list of late arrivals, the work badge photo, twenty-three screenshots, eleven penalty notices. All of those had gone into the case file last week. This time she wouldn't have to fight for them again—the amount and the labor had already been acknowledged on the previous piece of paper.

Further down she added another line: Letter of Recommendation. Separate case, separate letter. Whether this piece of paper could be reused, she'd have to ask at the window. If it had to be reissued, she'd have to go back to the community once more. When Wu Yuhua stamped it last time, she'd said something Shen Zhixia still remembered: "It's not that I won't help you. I'm afraid you'll lose." This time, if she went back to ask, the first question would certainly be whether the previous case had been won. After that line she wrote: go say, lost half.

Then she started a new line: In the last piece of paper, the money had been acknowledged, and the labor had been acknowledged. What was missing was a person willing to be acknowledged. In this case, all she wanted was that one person.

Outside, someone opened a roll-up door; the metal clattered upward. Her phone lit up.

Tang Guo sent the names and phone numbers of three riders, followed by a voice message of ten-some seconds asking when she could meet them. She replied: come the day after tomorrow.

Half a minute later another message came in: Didn't your case lose? Should I film a story?

She typed three words: don't film yet. She looked at them, deleted them, and retyped: Wait until I fill in the defendant column, then you can film.

Tang Guo replied quickly: Don't forget this month's rent. I covered it for you.

She stared at the message for two seconds and replied: I'll pay you next week.

Below it was a text from her brother: Sis, the materials fee is thirty-five. She replied: I'll transfer it tonight.

Her phone buzzed again. In the rider group, Ma Jianjun sent a voice message: "Zhixia, did you get the name added on that paper?" She replied: I added one. There's still one with no name.

From the bottom of the stairs He Xiufen's voice came up first: "Are you done writing? Come down and eat."

She closed the notebook with the Explanatory Statement tucked inside and went downstairs.

On the stove, steam pushed at the pot lid. He Xiufen filled a bowl of noodles for her, slipped in an egg, sprinkled a generous handful of scallions, and picked up a pen to write in a hardcover ledger: Shen Zhixia, eight yuan.

"Tell me," He Xiufen said, wiping her apron. "What's your next step?"

"A separate case." She spread the page on the table and tapped her finger on the five characters spelling "contractor, Sun X." "Sue Sutong. Sue Sun X. On the strength of those three words they wrote themselves. The original is in the arbitration file. They can't change that copy."

He Xiufen lowered her gaze for two seconds and nudged the bowl toward her.

"The knife was handed over by them themselves."

"The ones holding the knife out are them, too."

"Right." He Xiufen tapped her chopsticks against the rim of the bowl. "So you have to move fast. If you file today, tomorrow they'll dare to change those three words to 'cooperation.' Words are written by people, and people can change them."

"I'm going today."

"Go." He Xiufen set down her chopsticks. "Have you calculated how much filing will cost?"

"Printing is thirty fen a page, round-trip bus fare 10.4 yuan."

"How much did the last one cost you?"

"32.4 yuan."

"How much does he owe you?"

"21,400 yuan."

He Xiufen gave a snort. When she snorted, her nose sounded first, clearer than her speech. "And the platform case?"

"I can file suit. December 5 is the deadline."

"Then stagger them. Start the fast one today, settle the slow one before the fifth. Don't pile everything together." He Xiufen drained the last mouthful of soup from her bowl. "What about Sun X's name?"

"I only have a surname."

"Then sue the company first. The name can come later," He Xiufen said. "And remember one thing: paper is dead, mouths are alive. Some words, write them down while they're still warm."

"What Lao Song said at the drinking table—I wrote down his exact words, the date, the place, and who was present."

"Have you seen the two people who were present?"

"Not yet."

"It only counts once you see them." He Xiufen stacked the bowls. "Let me ask you one more thing: by the time the money actually lands in his pocket in this case, how many legs will you have left?"

She slurped a mouthful of noodles and didn't answer.

"One level, one year." He Xiufen held up one finger. "Those three months of his wages will have to be chased by you trip after trip. The two hundred sixty-eight days—you counted them yourself. What do you have on you? A Letter of Recommendation issued by the community, for one case. When this case is done, who's going to write you one for the next? First Instance, Second Instance, Enforcement—how far can those citizen representative papers get you? Have you ever gone to the window and asked?"

"I asked. I'll handle the recommendation one case at a time."

"Then you'll spend your whole life getting papers." He Xiufen set down her bowl. "One more thing. If you want to get your lawyer's license, you have to put in a full year under a firm's shingle, with a supervising lawyer's signature and the Bar Association's assessment. Your one month at Hengzheng was wiped out from that day on. You don't even have a starting point to restart the clock."

[Thud. You have the arguments. You don't have the name.]

The steam from the noodle soup misted her eyes. She lowered her head, nudged the egg to the side of the bowl, and left it there.

"Director He."

"Speak."

"If you take me in, you'll have to go around putting in a word with everyone, one by one."

"Mm." He Xiufen wiped the table with a rag and stopped halfway. "I've already returned Zhao Guangnian's phone call. The other half—you think it through yourself. My name has hung on this door for over twenty years. If anyone wants to take it down, they can come upstairs and take it down themselves."

She stood up and went into the back room. The curtain rustled. When she came out, she carried a stack of papers; she set them on the table, the corner knocking against the edge.

"The internship registration materials. Put my name in the supervising lawyer column. The stipend will be the lowest at the firm—eight hundred a month, I won't lie to you. Room and board covered, noodle money still recorded. Legal Aid cases have case-handling subsidies, settled case by case. The little cases in the cabinets that nobody takes all year—once you come in, they're yours. Your two cases still belong to Shen Zhixia. Joining the firm doesn't mean anyone will fight them for you." She pushed the stack half an inch forward. "Tomorrow morning, go with me to the Bar Association. Photo, diploma, law exam score report—don't miss a single one. Fill out the form and give it to me. I'll sign."

"What are the firm's rules?"

"Three rules." He Xiufen raised three fingers. "Keep the accounts clear, organize the files well, and whatever a client does outside this table—once you leave this table, don't speak of it."

"Got it."

"And one more thing before you start." He Xiufen looked at her. "That Internship Evaluation from Hengzheng has to come out of their hands. I can't guess what they'll write. Whatever comes, we'll take it."

"You'll be implicated."

"I've seen implication once before." He Xiufen gathered up the bowls and walked toward the stove. Halfway there, her back to her, she said, "One winter your father sat here with a bowl of noodles. Halfway through, he pushed the bowl away and said the case had taken two jin of oranges from someone, and he hadn't dared eat them to this day. I said, get yourself proper status first, then talk about integrity. He said, by the time I have proper status, their vegetables will have rotted away."

The pot lid clattered.

"He won that case. Won it on a weighing slip."

She flipped through the stack. The first page was an intern registration form. The name field was blank, and the "previous internship employer" field was blank too. When she turned a page, beneath the words "Supervising Lawyer," a line of black writing had already been filled in—

He Xiufen.

It was written with more force than the printed label itself, the strokes pressing grooves into the paper. Her finger stopped on that line. A weighing slip—a piece of paper with a weight written on it and a stamp on it. The kind of case her father had won had depended on exactly such a piece of paper.

"Director He."

"Mm."

"You're waiting for me to have proper status—is it this?" She pointed at the stack. "Or something else?"

The spatula scraped once against the bottom of the pot before stopping.

"Both," He Xiufen said. "If you want justice for your dad, first you need a credential that gets you onto the field."