Justice System: I Litigate for the Whole City

Chapter 273: Case Handler

October 15, 9:20 a.m.

The exhaust fan downstairs sent wave after wave of scallion-scented air up the stairwell. Shen Zhixia pulled two chairs out from the desk and straightened them, swept the stack of papers into the drawer, and closed the cabinet—Zhi'an's file was tucked under the blank contracts, out of sight.

Footsteps on the stairs. He Xiufen came up first, stopped at the top, and tilted her chin toward whoever was behind her.

Behind her was a woman, a white plastic bag in one hand, a child's hand in the other.

The woman wore a dark gray hoodie with the collar pulled high. Her eyes were swollen, red-bruised underneath. The child was in a school uniform, backpack slung over one shoulder. The strap had torn halfway through at the seam, and her right hand gripped the broken end. Her hair hung loose over the right side of her face, but not enough—a patch of bruising showed at the edges, dark blue fading to yellow.

"Come in, sit down." Shen Zhixia pulled a chair out half a step. "Have some water. Sit first."

The woman didn't sit. She looked around the room first, her gaze landing on Lu Jibai, who was flipping through a notebook by the window.

He Xiufen spoke: "He Lan. This is Lawyer Shen. She's handling this one."

"Sit down," she said again. "You stand there talking, your legs will give out halfway through."

He Lan sat, setting the plastic bag on her knees, both hands pressing down on the opening. The child stood beside her chair, not moving closer.

Shen Zhixia placed a paper cup on the edge of the desk, then crouched down so her eyes were level with the child.

"Are you Xiaotian?"

The child stared at her mother's knees.

"Mm," He Lan answered for her, one syllable.

Shen Zhixia didn't press the child. She filled another paper cup with water and set it within reach, then stood and asked, "Where did you stay last night?"

"Chengbei," He Lan said. "My cousin's place."

"Did Xiaotian sleep?"

"She wouldn't sleep." He Lan's voice dropped. "She said she was scared I would leave."

"Does she have a fever?"

"...I don't know."

Shen Zhixia pressed the back of her hand to the child's forehead. Not hot. The child let her, eyes fixed on a scratch in the corner of the desk.

He Xiufen walked over and pushed Lu Jibai's chair half a foot toward the wall.

"I'll be by the window." He moved his notebook to the windowsill.

"This one's on you." He Xiufen turned to Shen Zhixia. "Case Handler column says your name. I'll be sitting downstairs. Call me if you're stuck."

"When she talks, don't ask 'how many times.'" She bent down and reached toward the child. "Come on, let's go downstairs. Noodles are just in."

The child didn't move. She looked up at her mother.

He Lan nodded.

Only then did the small hand release the backpack strap and slide into He Xiufen's. The two went down, soft shoes tapping the metal steps one by one. He Xiufen's voice drifted up from the stairwell: "Do you want scallions or not?"

The door closed. The room went quiet, and the exhaust fan's hum became clearer.

"You can start wherever you want." Shen Zhixia opened her notebook and uncapped her pen. "If I ask something, a sentence or two is enough. Don't circle around it."

"His name is Feng Guoming, thirty-seven," He Lan said. "I'm thirty-four. Married ten years."

"Xiaotian is nine. Liuhe Primary School."

"Where do you live?"

"Wenmiao Street, Liuhe Community. Building 7, third floor."

"Where do you work?"

"Supermarket. Stocking shelves." He Lan said. "Night shift."

"Who watches Xiaotian at night?"

"Him."

The pen paused.

"How many times has he hit you." She asked without looking up.

He Lan's mouth moved. A long moment passed before four words came out: "I've lost count."

"When did it start?"

"A few years ago."

"What year."

He Lan looked at her two hands pressing the bag shut: "...I can't say for sure."

Shen Zhixia crossed out the line she'd just written, the stroke clean and decisive. She looked up. "Then let's try it differently. The most recent time. What day."

"The night of the twelfth." This time the answer came fast.

"What time."

"I don't know. Xiaotian was asleep. He came home very late. He'd been drinking."

"What did he do."

"He choked me." He Lan tugged her collar up a little higher, fingertips pressed against the spot. "Here. Choked me for... I can't say how long either."

"What else."

"He kicked me."

"Where."

"My leg. Above the knee." She placed her hand on the outside of her left thigh. "Right here."

"Did you scream?"

"I kept my mouth shut." He Lan said. "Xiaotian woke up."

"Then what?"

"He let go and went to lie on the couch. Started snoring in no time." She said, "I sat on the floor for a while, then got up and dressed her."

"Which way did you leave?"

"The back door. The neighbor's dog barked twice as we went down. I carried her and ran." She pressed her eyes down. "At the alley entrance I looked back. The third-floor lights were off."

"That mark on Xiaotian's face." Shen Zhixia said. "Who did it."

He Lan's hand stayed on her knee, head down.

"On the phone the night of the fourteenth, you said he hit Xiaotian. I won't ask about anything else. Just that mark."

"Not these past few days." He Lan said. "Last month. She knocked over a cup. Water spilled on the coffee table."

"What day last month."

"...I can't remember the day. He smashed the cup. Called her stupid."

Shen Zhixia wrote: Last month, day unknown, cup knocked over.

"Have you ever called the police?"

"I have."

"How many times."

He Lan frowned, struggling to remember: "I can't remember. A few times he called first. He punched a hole in the door and even called the police himself."

"The most recent time?"

"I called."

"Who called."

He Lan glanced toward the door. She lowered her head, hands pressing once on the plastic bag: "That day I couldn't get my hands free."

Shen Zhixia wrote it down, word by word, then tapped the pen tip on the paper: "Good. We don't add anything to that sentence, and we don't take anything out."

"He said if I dared go to the police station, he'd take my daughter away." He Lan suddenly spoke very quickly. "Lawyer Shen, it's not that I won't cooperate. I'm just scared of him—"

"I know." Shen Zhixia said. "He doesn't know you're here, and he doesn't know you've got a lawyer. This time is yours. Are the injuries still there?"

"They are."

"Have you been to a hospital?"

"No."

"Why not."

"I'm alone with a child. The registration fee..." He Lan stopped mid-sentence, throat working. "He had work the next day. I didn't dare not go back."

Shen Zhixia didn't respond to that. She flipped to a fresh page and looked up at the wall clock: 10:26.

"I'll write the paperwork. You sign." She said, "This case was taken by the firm. I'm the case handler. From start to finish, it's me."

She pulled two blank template contracts and two powers of attorney from the cabinet, unscrewed her pen, and filled in the fields one by one. Client: He Lan. ID number copied from that plastic card.

In the Case Handler column, she wrote her own name, slower than usual. Below the name was the practice certificate number. She took the dark blue certificate from the drawer, opened it on the desk, and copied it; then put it back, pushed to the very back.

The power of attorney had checkboxes. File on behalf, accept service on behalf, access and copy materials on behalf—she ticked down the list. At "admit, waive, or alter litigation claims; enter settlement," her pen hovered, didn't land.

"This box stays empty." She turned the paper toward He Lan. "Settlement or not is your call. When you decide, tell me."

He Lan looked at the empty box for several seconds, then nodded.

"Sign here." Shen Zhixia handed her the pen. "Write your name exactly as it is on your ID. No fancy script."

He Lan held the pen like a pair of chopsticks, hand shaking. The first stroke landed and jabbed a small black dot into the paper. The last horizontal stroke of "Lan" dragged long. She signed all four, then wiped her palm on her pants.

At 10:30, He Xiufen came upstairs, still holding a rag. She set it on the corner of the desk, pulled the seal from the drawer, pressed it in the authorized party column, and signed her own name.

"Two thousand," she said. "Who told you that number."

"Nobody."

"Two thousand."

"Director He, I only have a little over three hundred on me." He Lan clutched the bag shut. "I've got more on my card..."

"Put it on the books." He Xiufen snapped the seal's cap on. "My firm doesn't run a tab for noodles. It runs one for cases."

He Lan suddenly lowered her head, shoulders shaking twice. She wiped hard across her face with the back of her hand: "I'll pay it back. I swear."

"That's a later problem." He Xiufen picked up the rag and glanced at her face. "Lawyer Shen, the case intake register is by your hand."

Shen Zhixia wrote in the register: October 15, He Lan, family matter, handled by Shen Zhixia, fee 2,000, unpaid as of now. When she finished, she slid one copy of the contract into He Lan's plastic bag—the bag held nothing but a phone and a key. The contract went in, and only then did the bag puff out a little.

[Thud. Case filed. He Lan, Feng Xiaotian, domestic violence. Accepted.]

[Thud. This case has no file. You'll have to build it page by page.]

She looked up. The paper cups were still on the desk. The child hadn't drunk a sip. A small ring of dried water marked the rim of her cup.

At 11:05, the phone rang on the desk.

The screen lit up: two characters. Guoming. The phone was under the plastic bag, vibrating the whole bag with it, the opening flapping open and shut. He Lan's hand pulled back to her knee, both hands locking together.

"Don't answer," Shen Zhixia said.

"He'll keep calling."

"Let him." She flipped back to the October page and glanced at the clock. "11:05, incoming call, no answer."

The phone stopped. The room was quiet for forty seconds. It rang again.

"11:07, incoming call, no answer."

Third call, 11:11. It rang seven times and stopped. Only then did the bag on the desk stop trembling.

He Lan stared at the screen: "If I don't answer, will he go to my cousin's tonight?"

By the window, the man closed his notebook and turned around: "These three calls didn't go to the police station, and they didn't go to your cousin. He called you."

He Lan looked at him. "He wants you to say one word," Lu Jibai said. "The moment you do, he knows where you are."

Shen Zhixia finished writing the three times and capped her pen: "From today on, you don't answer any of his calls. If he shows up downstairs, your first call is to 110. Your second is to me. Don't swap the order."

2:10 p.m., Wenmiao Police Station.

The officer behind the duty desk was around fifty, hair half white, an enamel mug with a chipped rim on the desk. Shen Zhixia spread her practice certificate and the power of attorney on the counter.

"She's here in person." She gestured He Lan half a step forward. "Requesting to access and copy the call-out records for reports made by her personally."

"In person." The officer looked at He Lan. "ID."

He Lan fished the card out of the plastic bag and held it out with both hands. The officer typed in the number, the screen scrolled several lines, and he slid a form across: "Sign here, write the date. Leave a contact number."

He Lan signed. Her hand was steadier this time.

"When can we pick it up?" Shen Zhixia asked.

"Copying goes through a process." The officer said. "Come after nine tomorrow morning. Bring ID. In person. Nobody can do it for you."

"How many records are there."

"You'll see when you get here and verify." The officer gave her a look. "What I say doesn't count. What's on paper is what there is."

Shen Zhixia wrote it down exactly as he said: After 9 a.m. tomorrow, in person, no proxy.

Out the station door, the wind blew He Lan's collar open at one corner. She reached to press it down, half a beat too slow. The bruise showed an inch wide, fading to yellow at the edges.

Shen Zhixia glanced at it, looked away, and opened her notebook: "Show me everything you have on you."

He Lan opened the bag and took things out one by one: phone, charging cable, a cloth wallet—374 yuan inside; ID card; a key with a small plastic figurine on the ring.

When she'd finished, she shook the bag upside down. A supermarket receipt fluttered out.

"That's everything."

"Medical records?"

"Never went to the hospital."

"Photos."

"Didn't take any."

"The messages he sent you."

"They're on the phone." She picked it up. A corner of the screen was cracked. "I don't know how to get them out."

"Have you been to the Women's Federation?"

"No."

"Has the police ever given him any notices, any papers? Have you seen them?"

"What papers." He Lan looked at her. "I've never seen any."

Shen Zhixia closed her notebook, clipped the pen in, and stood still at the bottom of the steps.

"Lawyer Shen." He Lan clutched the bag shut again. "I've got nothing in my hands. Does that mean I can't fight this?"

"You can fight it." Shen Zhixia said. "But right now, everything you've said counts for nothing."

"Then what was all that talking for..."

"What's written in my notebook is so I don't forget." She lifted the notebook, then lowered it. "It only counts when it's on paper. Your grievance has to be built from paper."

[Thud. The paper isn't in her hands. It's at the police station, at the hospital, on someone else's desk.]

She bowed her head and, below the line reading "After 9 a.m. tomorrow, Wenmiao Police Station, in person," left a blank line. Then she wrote one character at the start of the next: "Paper." The rest she left empty.

6:30 p.m., the noodle shop's pot came to its second boil.

Footsteps at the door, climbing step by step, slow, pausing once.

Feng Xiaotian stood in the doorway, a too-large knit cardigan over her school uniform, still holding the backpack, the broken strap swinging. Her hair still hung loose, the bruise showing from beneath the strands. She didn't come in.

"Mom."

He Lan stood up from the chair.

"Does this mean we don't have to go back?"

No one spoke. Downstairs someone shouted "One bowl with scallion oil," and the exhaust fan roared to life.

The paper cup in He Lan's hand crinkled sharply. The water didn't spill. She looked at her daughter, lips moving, no sound coming out.

Shen Zhixia capped her pen and didn't answer for her.