Read Novel Full Chapter 234: The Same Hand
Chapter 234: The Same Hand
The square seal on the receipt was still there. Three working days, not a day off.
The person behind the window took it, held the corner up to the light first, then got up to search the steel cabinet in the back. The door slid open to a row of kraft-paper envelopes. She pulled one out by its number, set it on the glass counter, and weighed it in her hand.
"Ten pages," she said. "Sixty cents a page, six yuan. Count them in front of me."
Shen Zhixia drew the papers out and counted one by one. Each page had a red arc in the lower right corner—ten arcs that, put together, formed one complete circle.
"Perforation seal," the woman at the window said. "Any page missing and the circle won't close. If a page goes missing and you bring it back, I won't be able to tell it came from here."
Two dark-blue booklets slid across, plus another introduction letter. The woman opened one, checked the photo, checked the practice institution line, compared it against the firm name on the letter, then pushed them back.
"This set is for this case only," she said. "Any other case, write a new request."
"What about the shareholder group's materials?"
"That's an attachment to the change registration—also needs a new request, three working days." She paused. "One group, one request."
The long bench beside the window still had half its paint worn off. Shen Zhixia sat down and spread the ten pages across her knees, starting from page one.
Pages one and two: the establishment registration application from November 2017, along with the "Certificate of Designated Representative or Jointly Entrusted Agent." In the handler and agent lines—the name of a filing agent, thin characters, short horizontals and long verticals, with a slight back-flick on the final stroke.
Pages three and four: this June's "Company Registration (Filing) Application." The change items line had two rows filled in: Shareholders. Legal Representative.
She flipped back to page one and looked again. This company had stood for seven years and only ever changed this one time.
Page five: the signature block.
Applicant's signature: Chen Maolin.
Handler's signature: Chen Maolin.
The approving authority's line carried the registration office's stamp—not counted.
Two lines, one name. The first was written slowly, stroke by stroke, complete. The second was written fast, the middle two characters connected into one continuous sweep, ending with a downward jab to the upper right. The ink pressed deep, raising two bumps on the back of the paper.
Page six: this June's "Certificate of Designated Representative or Jointly Entrusted Agent." The entrusting party line carried Xingyao's company name. The agent name line was typed: Chen Maolin. Below it, one signature—the same sweeping stroke.
She went through pages seven through ten twice. The only handwriting on the whole set was those two places.
She laid the old authorization certificate and the new one side by side on her knees. The old hand wrote as if measured against a ruler. This hand—broad horizontals, strokes cutting in at an angle, refusing to break between two characters.
"The 2017 paperwork was handled by an agent," she said.
"On June twentieth, they didn't let anyone else touch it." Lu Jibai stood behind her, working down the pages. "Applicant is him, handler is him, agent is him."
"He's the company's legal representative," she said. "And he issued himself a certificate authorizing himself to handle the filing."
"A power of attorney signed by the principal to the principal." He studied the page. "An agent is for outsiders. This was something he didn't dare give to an outsider."
She opened her binder and pulled out the five reprinted pages from July twentieth. On Xingyao's page, the legal representative line held three characters. That day she'd copied the establishment date, the change records, calculated the page count—that line sat in the middle, and she hadn't assigned a name to it. Hengyue Capital's page: same line, same three characters. Change record, final entry: June 20, 2026, legal representative changed from Qin Lang to him.
Two sheets, two lines, one person.
"One name, three positions."
"Same day, Hengyue Capital swapped the name in that line off from Qin Lang." Lu Jibai said. "The young master steps to the back; the bookkeeper sits up front. From now on, nothing carrying Xingyao's name gets signed by anyone surnamed Qin."
"The name in the transferee line is in the group I couldn't pull today."
"Then write another request," he said. "At that table on August twelfth, whoever Xingyao sends will have to bring these three characters with them. And what you ask then is: this line—who wrote it."
He took out his own binder, turned to a fresh page, logged today's date first, then copied page numbers, names, and the ID number in that line. She watched him write—he always put the date down first when transcribing.
[Thud. A name can be printed. A signature can't.]
She returned the ten pages to their envelope in order, tucked it under the binder, put both certificates back in her bag, and went downstairs.
The noodle shop below was thick with scallion-oil aroma at noon. She set the kraft envelope on the long table. He Xiufen untied her apron, dried her hands, and only then put on her reading glasses.
The ten pages spread out, examined from page one through page ten. A red pen tapped at several page corners but circled no characters.
"You write the explanation."
She pulled out a sheet of paper and began. Halfway down, she wrote a line: The two signatures above are written by the same person.
He Xiufen reached over and struck it out.
"The signatures in the applicant's and handler's lines on page five, and the agent's signature on page six, show consistent stroke momentum, connected strokes, and pen pressure." She added this line below, then pushed the paper back. "Which page, which line—write it clearly. What you think is your view; how many lines are on the paper and how many characters in each line is the paper's business. If you write 'the same person' on paper, and in court he opens his mouth and says it wasn't him who signed—your sentence hangs in the air."
[Thud. Record the fields, not the conclusion.]
"What if he says it wasn't him?"
"Then apply for handwriting examination." He Xiufen said, "The paper's in our hands. Who pays the appraisal fee—the court will say."
"With the ID number on that line, the person in the police report material becomes concrete," she said. "A name without a number is just a line of characters when you file it."
She finished the explanation and signed at the end—three characters, written slower than usual.
He Xiufen waited until she was done before speaking: "A name written under someone else's means you're handling their business. Written on the last line, it means you carry it yourself."
Lu Jibai moved page six to the center of the table. "I've got this line memorized. If I see this hand anywhere else from now on, no need to dig through archives."
"The seat originally belonged to Qin Lang," she said. "Swapping in him—aren't they afraid no one will accept him?"
"What's accepted is the chop, not the person." Lu Jibai said, "Put the bookkeeper on top, and when something goes wrong he's the first one called in for questioning. Those two characters, Xingyao—the young master can say he's never heard of them."
He Xiufen rose, opened the bottom drawer of the steel cabinet, and pulled out a kraft folder. Inside, one page holding two samples side by side: Hao Qiuchi's three characters in the corner of the quotation sheet, and the same person's handwriting on the editing girl's settlement sheet from the year before last. She placed today's pages in and started a new sheet.
"Two pages in one folder—don't combine them onto one page." She said, "These two hands aren't the same. Hao Qiuchi's characters—loose frame, the final stroke flicks upward."
She pulled out the top sheet, turned it over, and pressed a finger to one line.
Financial officer: Chen Maolin.
"Financial officer." She read it aloud. "A position where you bear responsibility whether you sign or not. Easy to hang your name on it, hard to take it off."
"Hengyue Group's accounts, going back more than ten years—this man has handled them." Lu Jibai said, "People like that don't go to court. They hold pens."
"His name's been in my binder since July," Shen Zhixia said.
"It's been on paper all along." He Xiufen said, "Nobody just ever asked who it was."
Tang Guo stood up from under the lamp, still holding the charging cable.
"This Chen guy—does he connect to my case?"
"The money for the fake video came through Dingchang." Shen Zhixia said, "Dingchang's books are registered under someone else's name. Whoever kept the books knows who approved that money."
"Will he come to court?"
"No need." She said. "The name stands on the paper by itself."
"The ledgers he kept—can we get them?"
"No." Shen Zhixia said, "For now, memorize the name."
Tang Guo said nothing. She straightened the charging cable under the lamp base and pressed a finger onto the sticky note. The lamp was still plugged in; the red light hadn't gone out.
Her bowl of noodles sat at the corner of the table, gone soggy. Lu Jibai carried it away and brought back a fresh bowl. He Xiufen poked her head out from the kitchen: "My shop doesn't do exchanges." The curtain dropped.
At three in the afternoon, she sealed the reply letter. Same line again: This case has entered litigation; all matters are subject to court adjudication. The handling lawyer line carried her name. Sent by registered mail, the receipt stub clipped together with the previous one. Xingyao's deadline expired tomorrow.
On the desk calendar, He Xiufen added a line: July 23, retrieved ten pages of Xingyao business registration records.
"When you file, the archive copies and the explanation get stapled together." Lu Jibai said, "Number the pages according to the archive's own order—don't renumber them yourself. The perforation seal's arc won't match if you redo the numbering."
"Everything due before July twenty-ninth—count them one by one." He Xiufen capped her pen. "Guo's three pages of statements, the serial on the card back, Tang Guo's written account, the witness court application."
"Today's ten pages are the fifth item," Shen Zhixia said.
"Dingchang's records—our side can't pull them." He Xiufen flipped the calendar back to today. "It isn't a defendant in any case."
"Then let the court pull them," Lu Jibai said.
He Xiufen didn't answer. She picked up her apron and went downstairs.
Evening. The stove fire was turned low. She stood by the long table and looked at the ten pages once more.
"The money left from Dingchang," she said. "Dingchang's books—who kept them?"
Shen Zhixia pulled Dingchang's page from her binder. The sheet from July—one page of basic information, with a few lines below she hadn't read at the time. Worried the copy in her hand was outdated, she pulled it up on her phone and checked again—legal representative: still Hao Qiuchi. Further down, insured employees: 1. In the filing information, financial officer: Chen Maolin.
One sheet, two names. One stamped, one keeping count.
"A company that pays social insurance for exactly one employee." He Xiufen pushed her reading glasses up. "And the books carry a financial officer."
[Thud. Money moves through Dingchang; the books hang under one man's name.]
She pulled out the Hengyue Capital page and turned to the header. Those two characters at the top had been written on July twentieth: Take it higher. The line below had been blank for three days. She picked up the black pen and wrote three characters in the empty line: Chen Maolin.
Stroke by stroke, unhurried, no connecting strokes.