Read Novel Full Chapter 252: Certificate of Effectiveness
Chapter 252: Certificate of Effectiveness
The ticket machine spat out A047, edges still warm.
September 10th. The last day of the appeal period. The filing hall's screen scrolled through window numbers. She sat in the third row, aisle seat, four sets of papers on her knees: a photocopy of the judgment, a photocopy of the proof of service, two copies of the Enforcement Application, and underneath those, four pages Lu Jibai had drafted last night. The header read, in small type: Asset Leads (Fields and Dates Only, No Conclusions).
"Applying for a certificate of effectiveness." She slid the ticket under the window's lower edge.
The window clerk was a young court clerk, badge pinned on backwards—all you could see was the clip. "Which case."
"Xingyao and the platform. Online infringement. Verdict August 26th." She pushed the proof of service forward. "Two defendants. Appeal period ends today."
The clerk typed, stopped after three keystrokes, looked up. "No appeal on file in the system. As of right now, none."
"What time do you close today?"
"The intake window closes at five-thirty. If an appeal comes to this floor, it comes to me and I'll see it."
"Then I'll wait."
"Suit yourself." The clerk pushed the proof of service back. "One thing I'll spell out for you: mailed appeals count by mailing date. If someone drops an appeal in the post office today with today's postmark, it counts."
She wrote that into her enforcement notebook: once the certificate of effectiveness is in hand, check with the Intermediate Court in three days about any appeal registration. Her pen pressed harder on the word "postmark" than on the characters around it.
The hall was packed. To her left sat a woman holding a child. The child had fallen asleep, head lolling against her shoulder, fist still clenched around a photocopied work injury determination. To her right, a middle-aged man counted a stack of pay stubs three times, stuffed them back into a plastic bag, then pulled them out a while later to count again. Both their numbers came after hers.
At 10:20, her phone vibrated against her knee. Lu Jibai.
"The platform's attorney just called the firm," he said. "That ten thousand—they'll transfer it voluntarily within three days. They're asking us not to put the platform on the dishonesty list."
"Put them on."
"I will. I'll add a note: has expressed intent to pay voluntarily within the performance period." He paused. "To them, ten thousand yuan isn't money. Having an enforcement record attached to their name is money."
"What about Xingyao?"
"Xingyao didn't call."
She copied the "enforcement subject amount" line from the Enforcement Application again: 45,400 yuan; case acceptance fee of 1,700 yuan, borne by both defendants; the platform jointly and severally liable for 10,000 yuan of the damages. At the bottom she added a footnote: Platform has expressed intent to pay voluntarily within the performance period.
By the time she'd written "45,400," she'd done the math a third time: judgment was 55,400. The platform's joint liability of ten thousand would transfer on its own. The remaining bulk sat on a company with exactly one insured employee.
She didn't go out for lunch. The woman's child woke, cried twice, fell back asleep. The man's pay stubs finally went back into the bag. He looked up at the window: "Comrade, my contractor took off. Can you find a person like that?" The window said something back. He nodded, nodded again, stepped aside and held the bag to his chest.
At 5:20 in the afternoon, the screen called A047.
The clerk tore paper from the printer—it came out warm. She pushed the Certificate of Effectiveness through the window, pressing her fingertip on the date line. "September 10th."
Five lines of Song typeface. She didn't read the case number string. She read the two lines "no appeal filed by either party within the statutory period" and "has entered into legal effect" twice through from top to bottom before picking up the paper, folding it in half, careful not to crease it.
[Thud. The appeal period has expired. It filed nothing.]
[Thud. Judgment entered. Entry half recorded.]
Enforcement case filing was on the east end of the third floor. Taped to the glass was an A4 sheet: To apply for enforcement, bring effective legal document, certificate of effectiveness, identity materials, and asset leads.
Behind the window sat a woman in her early fifties, hair permed short, a pale ring-mark on her ring finger where a ring used to be.
"You've listed two judgment debtors." She counted the pages. "Five items, seventeen pages."
"The platform's ten thousand is within the joint liability scope. Their attorney indicated voluntary performance today."
"Writing it down doesn't hurt." The woman drew a parenthesis under that line with her pen. "If they transfer it on their own, I just won't issue a notice to them."
She turned to the four pages of asset leads, turning slowly, page by page. She stopped on the third page: Chen Maolin's three entries—Legal Representative of Xingyao, Legal Representative of Hengyue Capital, Financial Officer of Dingchang—three signatures on the same day, June 20th.
"An affiliated company isn't a judgment debtor," the woman said. "Its accounts can't be frozen from here."
"I'm not asking the court to freeze it." Shen Zhixia said, "I'm asking the court to trace three things: the five labor fee payments from Dingchang's account to Guo Jianping, the three promotion payments to the three reposting accounts, and the seven transfers from Taiying and Sheng'an into Dingchang over three months. Establish who those payments were spent for and received for. Then decide whether to go further."
The woman squared the four pages and added a final line to the list: Asset leads attached, four pages.
"This has to go to the enforcement judge," she said. "I can't make that call."
"I'll wait."
"You'll wait at home. When a case number's assigned, I'll call you." She tore the list in half and slid one half out from under the window, bearing the receipt date and the handler's signature. "Keep this. Keeping it means it was received. If anyone asks, you have proof."
At 6:50, the noodle shop's plastic curtain flipped aside and the smell of scallion oil hit first.
He Xiufen sat at the wall table, the three-line sheet spread in front of her. Shen Zhixia handed over the judgment, but He Xiufen didn't take it—she looked at the certificate of effectiveness first.
"September 10th."
"September 10th." He Xiufen pulled the paper over and wrote in the last square of the "compensation" row: September 10th, enforcement filed, 45,400. She capped her pen, then added a line below: Fine of 100,000, no reconsideration filed, not received.
"The two items from the fifth," Shen Zhixia said.
"No reconsideration, no payment," He Xiufen said. "They didn't even bother with reconsideration. That means they know they'd have to pay it anyway. This one isn't Tang Guo's, but it's hanging on her account—which means they're still calculating."
Upstairs, someone moved a chair. Tang Guo came down carrying her livestream light, unplugged, and it clanged against the table corner. Guo Jianping followed behind, his old jacket draped over one arm, both hands pressed flat against his trouser seams.
"Attorney Shen, my SIM card and the slips."
"Once the enforcement case is on file, I'll go with you to the court to handle the paperwork." Shen Zhixia said. "Right now it's in the court's cabinet. Safer than under your bed."
"Then my work—" He swallowed. "Today someone I used to shoot with called me. Said there's a job."
"Take it. But find out who's paying, and write it down."
"Okay." He grinned, then pulled it back. "I won't run my mouth."
Lu Jibai sat by the window, an A4 sheet in front of him. The top half bore two lines: One, under Xingyao's name; Two, other entities' accounts.
"First calculate what's actually collectible." He turned the paper around. "The platform's ten thousand moves on its own—fastest. The remaining 45,400 has to come out of Xingyao. The 1,700 acceptance fee hangs on both defendants—write it in with the rest."
"What's in Xingyao's accounts?"
"Run the standard online asset inquiry and you'll find out." He tapped his pen on the "under Xingyao's name" line. "My guess is empty. One insured employee, nine accounts registered to its address—a shell like that can't even cover the electric bill."
"And if it's empty?"
"Go to line two." He flipped the paper over. The back read:
One: Shareholders. Tomorrow, pull Xingyao's latest shareholder register. After June 20th, how many entities are left in its shareholder column—you have to see the paper. If it's down to one, it's a one-person company. Whether a one-person company's property and its shareholder's property are the same thing—that's not ours to prove. It's theirs.
Two: Commingling. Dingchang paid five labor fees and three promotion payments on its behalf. The payer wasn't it. The payees were its people. Money from whose account, work dispatched by whom, signatures from the same hand or not—lay all three out, and only then is it commingling.
"You're not submitting these today?"
"Today we submit the leads," he said. "This step has to be done by the court itself. We can only point at where to look. If we point wrong, the judge strikes it with one stroke. If we point right, there's a next step."
Tang Guo flipped her phone over onto the table. "It's effective now. Can I post?"
"Three days," He Xiufen said. "Within three days of effectiveness, they're supposed to have the video fully removed. Once they remove it, then you talk."
"And if they don't remove it?"
"If they don't, there's a path: refusal to comply, fines, another enforcement application." He Xiufen tapped the "removal" square. "If you post too early, they'll just say, 'The video's still circulating—who are you clarifying to?' and push it right back at you."
"Seventh draft." Tang Guo lit up the screen and enlarged the first line for her: The court determined that the video was spliced together.
"That line works," He Xiufen said. "The one after it—'I want an apology'—delete it. The apology is the seven days they have to post on their homepage. You don't beg for it."
Tang Guo pressed her lips together and nudged the light toward the table leg. "Fine."
Shen Zhixia opened the police report notebook. "Zhou Yu sent four words this morning: let the school handle it first."
"He's keeping the school thread at the school. Correct," He Xiufen said. "The child's matter goes through the school first. Only if the school can't handle it do we step in."
At 7:20, her phone rang. Jiahong Firm's office line. She flipped the phone over and hit record before answering.
"Attorney Shen, this is Zhao from Jiahong."
"Attorney Zhao."
"We're not appealing the judgment. I already spoke with the judge this afternoon."
"I know. I picked up the certificate of effectiveness at five-twenty."
A pause on the other end. "Perfect timing, then. Some things are better discussed outside the courtroom."
"Tell me exactly which step you don't want on the record."
"The enforcement step," Attorney Zhao said. "Freezes, seizures, the list. You want the money; we'd rather not carry an enforcement record. Nobody wins that way."
"Attorney Zhao, is today's call on behalf of Xingyao?"
"I am Xingyao's attorney."
"Party A on the Hengyue Capital settlement document is also represented by your firm. August 31st. I made a note of it."
"That's a separate matter."
"Then I'll note them separately."
There was a faint sound of paper rustling on the other end. "Attorney Shen, where some of this money comes out of is not my call to make. Give me three days."
"What will you do in those three days?"
"What I'm supposed to do."
"Attorney Zhao." She switched the phone to her other hand. "We can talk once the money's in the account. Not before."
"Attorney Shen—"
"Call this number the day it arrives. I'll answer."
She hung up. One minute fifty-six seconds.
She exported the recording, named it "0910-1920," and wrote in the third page of the Call Record: four verbatim sentences copied out, ending with "No answer, no promise, no conditions accepted, no meeting arranged."
Lu Jibai's chopsticks had been resting on the rim of his bowl the whole time. Only now did he set them down.
"He shouldn't have made that call today."
"Why?"
"He said one thing: 'Where some of this money comes out of is not my call to make.'" He looked up at her. "That sentence is an admission that the money isn't in Xingyao's accounts."
The pen in her hand stopped.
"Write the exact words. No adjectives." He pushed the paper an inch toward her. "If he changes his story later, we still have that sentence."
[Thud. He let one slip. You write it down.]
[Thud. Enforcement isn't winning. It's taking.]
She turned the three-line sheet over and, below the "compensation" row, wrote a single word: Freeze.
Outside the window, the sky had gone fully dark. The roll-up shutter was halfway down. The concrete under the streetlamp was dry.