Justice System: I Litigate for the Whole City

Chapter 233: No Longer Pursuing

"The recording's exported." Shen Zhixia set Tang Guo's phone on the long table, screen up. "Fifty-one seconds."

On the morning of July 21st, only half the lights were on above the noodle shop. She pulled the audio file off Tang Guo's phone, transferred it to the laptop Tang Guo used for editing, and saved it in two places: one folder, one USB drive. She named the file: 0720-2117.

"She had you recording the day you switched numbers?"

"Director He told me to." Tang Guo sat curled on a low stool, scraping the end of a charging cable with her fingernail. "She said any unknown number goes on speaker and gets recorded. I've been doing it for over two weeks. First time it's paid off."

She'd copied the number into her notebook digit by digit, checking it twice when she finished. He Xiufen came up from the kitchen, flour still on her hands. She looked at the string of numbers first, then the call time, then put on her reading glasses.

Three sentences. First: "You went through the files fast." Second: "My surname is Qin." Third: "You've seen my name on paper. You copied it down today."

When she finished listening, she took off her glasses and set them on the notebook.

"That's not a slip of the tongue," she said. "That's a message: there are people above me."

"He knows where I went yesterday morning."

"What did you write down at the window yesterday morning?"

"An archive photocopy request. Change-of-registration applications for every filing, plus the signature pages."

He Xiufen walked to the wall and flipped the desk calendar back a page. Written in the box for the 20th: "Past 4 p.m., someone taking photos at the door." She penciled a new line below it: 9:17 p.m., call, gave surname only.

"Look at the two things together." She capped the pencil. "They weren't looking at Tang Guo's face. They were looking at what you wrote at that window. Once they know what you're after, they know which way you're heading. That's why they called at that hour—to test how thick those papers in your hand really are."

"Going forward, do we answer these calls?" Tang Guo asked.

"Yes." He Xiufen said. "Answer with one line: direct all inquiries to the handling lawyer in writing. Then hang up."

"And if they refuse?"

"His first words will be conditions. Conditions written on paper count. Conditions floating in someone's mouth are worthless." He Xiufen turned. "If he really wants to talk, make him write. Every word he puts down is one more thing we have."

Shen Zhixia pulled out a blank page and wrote up the Call Record. She wrote the full time: July 20th, 21:17. She copied the number from the notebook—eleven digits, then double-checked the last four. Call duration: fifty-one seconds. The caller identified himself only by surname, Qin, and offered no specific conditions. On the last line she added: If further communication is needed, please contact the handling lawyer in writing.

[Thud. Words don't stay. Write down the time, and now the call exists on paper.]

He Xiufen read the last line and didn't cross it out. "This page is for you," she said. "Three weeks from now, when you're sitting behind that table and they ask, you need to say exactly what day, what time, and who spoke first."

"I'll go to the phone company this afternoon and pull the detailed call records," Shen Zhixia said. "Incoming, outgoing, duration—it'll all match."

"Pull the whole year," He Xiufen said.

The USB drive went into the metal cabinet. She turned the lock twice.

Past ten, Lu Jibai came upstairs. He set his bag on the table by the window, walked over, read the page, then listened to the recording.

"Have you checked the number?"

"I'll ask at the carrier's office this afternoon. Two things: when this SIM was activated, and whose name it's under."

"Ask everything," he said. "If the registered owner can't be traced, then this card was bought for this one phone call."

He Xiufen called from the kitchen that the water was boiling, then came back and started setting out bowls and chopsticks.

"I've seen that name before, at Hengzheng." Lu Jibai pushed the phone forward. "A few years back he had several companies in his name—data, media. One by one, he pulled out of all of them, clean withdrawals—you won't find a single word of his on any deregistration notice."

"A man who withdraws that cleanly calls on his own?"

"That's exactly why this call is worth recording." He said, "For jobs like Xingyao or Dingchang, the Qin family wouldn't make the young master do the dirty work himself. Money moves through other hands; names get passed through other mouths. Last night, he made the call himself."

"He's showing his head."

"He can't sit still." Lu Jibai said, "The column you wrote at that window matters more than that fake video. He's fixed on the signature pages, which means he knows what's on them too."

Shen Zhixia smoothed the page flat. "He gave a surname first, not a given name."

"Surname was for you to hear. Given name was for him to keep." Lu Jibai said, "Once the name's on the table, it stops being a phone call. He hasn't decided if he wants to lay it down."

He Xiufen lined up three bowls and wiped her hands on her apron. "He can't decide now, but he'll have to eventually. Three rules—memorize them together. One: unknown numbers get one response—written contact only. Two: no meetings, not even at a dinner table. Three: from today, the word 'settlement' doesn't go into our paperwork."

"Got it," Shen Zhixia said.

Lu Jibai took out his own notebook, opened to a fresh page, and copied the number down. He Xiufen glanced at him. "Firm notebooks don't leave the building."

"I'm making a copy." He said, "And I'll note that it's a copy."

Shen Zhixia slid the black pen over. The one Tang Guo had pressed into her hand the day she got her certificate. There was a worn-white mark on the cap. He bent to write, capped the pen when he finished, and slid it back. His fingertips never touched her hand. The two notebooks sat side by side in the middle of the long table—same number, his handwriting stark, hers neat.

"The noodles are going to clump," He Xiufen said.

Past three in the afternoon, Tang Guo flipped the phone over, screen glowing.

"I want to cut this and release it," she said. "The whole city has seen twenty-one seconds of fake video. Why shouldn't people hear fifty-one seconds of the truth?"

"You can't post it," Shen Zhixia said.

"Why not?"

"He identified himself by surname, but he didn't say a single substantive thing." Shen Zhixia picked up the phone and pressed the screen dark. "You post it today, and tomorrow he puts out one line: I have never contacted any party involved in this case. Then your recording becomes something you hallucinated."

"The number has to trace back to someone."

"Only when it does, it counts." She said, "If it doesn't, all he has to say in court is 'that wasn't me,' and you've handed 'my surname is Qin' right back to him."

"I brought this case to myself," Tang Guo said. "In May, I was the one holding up my phone outside that hospital gate. And now what—I have to delete my own words and withdraw my own lawsuit."

"You don't have to delete anything," Shen Zhixia said.

Tang Guo didn't answer. She fished a sticky note from the drawer and wrote three characters, one stroke at a time: I'm not withdrawing. When she finished, she slapped it onto the base of the livestream light. The light was still plugged in; the red indicator had never gone out.

He Xiufen brought up a bowl of noodles and glanced at the sticky note.

"Words on a sticky note blow away the moment the door opens," she said. "If you want to write it, write it into your statement."

Tang Guo pulled out her Party Statement and added a page at the back, writing slowly: I, Tang Guo, do not withdraw this lawsuit, will not issue any statement, and do not agree to any settlement terms. All of the above reflects my true intent. She signed her name at the bottom and dated it: July 21st.

He Xiufen read it through and nodded. "Keep 'any' in one spot. Cross out the second one. The fewer words, the harder it stands."

Tang Guo crossed out the second "any," set the pen down flat, and left an indentation from the pen tip across the back of her hand.

"I didn't sleep at all last night," she said. "Phone face-down under the pillow. I flipped it twice. Moved, changed my number, and his call still came through."

"I know."

"What do you know."

"You're afraid he'll call me."

Tang Guo didn't answer that. She just pushed the statement page forward.

"Should I go to the hearing?" she asked.

"Yes," Shen Zhixia said. "Front row."

"Sit next to me." He Xiufen pushed the noodle bowl toward her. "Saying no in front of people is harder than writing it on paper. Practice."

Shen Zhixia tucked the page back into the statement. What she didn't say: she'd practiced those words herself once—her throat had gone tight, and it took three tries before they came out smooth.

"He's showing cards. We keep handing in paper." She said, "You writing that page today is enough to make him nervous."

Close to four, someone called up the stairs for "Lawyer Shen." A delivery guy came up holding a kraft paper envelope—thick, rigid. The sender line was printed: Jiangzhou Jiahong Law Firm.

He Xiufen took it, held it to the light first, then slit the side open with a small knife and spread the pages on the table.

Two names sat at the top, side by side: Lawyer Shen Zhixia, Lawyer Lu Jibai.

"Side by side again," Shen Zhixia said.

"Copied off the Bar Association's public listing," Lu Jibai said.

Three clauses in the body. First: Ms. Tang Guo is requested to delete the relevant statements about this case from her account. Second: an application to withdraw the lawsuit should be filed with the court. Third: the company will no longer pursue the previous online statements. At the end it read: The above serves as the basis for negotiation; compensation amounts may be discussed separately. Please reply within three days.

At the bottom, a round seal, and next to it a handwritten surname: Zhao.

He Xiufen pulled out her red pen and circled "no longer pursue."

"First time," she said. "They put the word 'pursue' on paper."

Lu Jibai turned the page and read it through. "Three clauses, and not one word about Tang Guo's reputation. What they're buying is a single sentence."

"What do we do with this letter?" Shen Zhixia asked.

"Keep it." Lu Jibai said, "Words on a phone call, he can say he was just talking. A letter has a seal, a date, and a handling lawyer's name. It's the first time they've set their intentions down on paper."

"Submit it to the court?"

"Hold it for now." He Xiufen set down her red pen. "August 12th, on that table—it'll be useful. Draft the reply like the last one: this case has entered litigation; all matters are subject to the court's review. Your name still goes in the handling-lawyer line. They gave a deadline of the 24th. Keep the registered-mail receipt, file it with the last one."

Shen Zhixia opened the notebook to the final page and logged an entry: July 21st, received one letter, two pages, one round seal, one surname. In the notes she wrote "reply per previous." Then she filed the letter by date—the Call Record underneath, the letter on top.

[Thud. This page—they handed it to us themselves.]

The sticky note on the light base was still standing.