Read Novel Full Chapter 289: Not Even a Bowl of Noodles for Him
Chapter 289: Not Even a Bowl of Noodles for Him
At 8:20 on November 15, only one half of the west gate of the District Procuratorate stood open.
Shen Zhixia stood on the curb, switching the file bag from one hand to the other, twice. Two sheets of paper inside: a photocopy of Zhi'an's release-on-guarantee decision, and a copy of her own practice certificate. The second one wasn't needed today, but she'd stuffed it in last night anyway. Wind squeezed out from between the two buildings, skimming along the ground. A flyer wrapped around her calf. She bent down, peeled it off, crumpled it, and tossed it into the trash.
At 8:27, a taxi pulled to the curb. Lu Jibai got out, a kraft-paper folder tucked under his arm, hair blown flat to one side by the wind. He pressed it down with one hand.
"Only one name goes on the register," he said.
"Mm."
"You stand across the street." He tilted his chin toward the other side. A sweet potato vendor's metal drum sat by a utility pole, its lid half off, white steam puffing up in clouds. "Standing at the door makes it hard for them to do their job."
"What if they ask whether you came alone."
"I came alone." He switched the folder to his left hand. "I'm submitting paperwork, not bringing family."
At 8:31, he pushed through the half-open glass door. It closed behind him, cutting the wind in two. She crossed the street and stood by the metal drum.
The vendor was a man in his fifties, flipping sweet potatoes with fire tongs. Flip once, tap the drum wall once.
"Waiting for someone?"
"Waiting."
"People waiting at the procuratorate don't like to talk." He set a finished one aside and added, "I don't like to talk either."
She smiled slightly but didn't answer. She looked up at the building. The row of windows on the fourth floor were all shut, the glass reflecting the gray-white sky. She couldn't see a thing.
At 8:50, a black car drove in through the side gate. At 8:57, two people in uniform came out, spoke on the steps, then went back inside. At 9:06, the wind picked up. The metal drum clanged once. The old man anchored it with his foot.
At 9:07, Lu Jibai came out.
He had two more sheets of paper in his hand, one printed vertically with a reference number in the upper right corner.
"Accepted," he said, handing them over. "All four items, receipt for one set. Timestamped nine o'clock."
She looked down. The material-name column listed line by line: one Power of Attorney, one law firm letter, one copy of lawyer's practice certificate, one application to review the case file. The date and time sat in the lower right: 9:00, November 15.
"Who signed it."
"I did." He headed for the other side. "Let's go. Standing here looks bad."
There was a stall next to the sweet potato stand with four plastic tables, an aluminum pot of soy milk bubbling, and a cutting board stacked with fresh-fried youtiao. She ordered one bowl of soy milk and one youtiao, eight yuan. He sat across from her, spread the receipt and appointment slip on the table, and anchored one corner with a vinegar bottle.
"The window said: the case was accepted on November 13, it's in the system." He pushed the soy milk toward her. "File review requires an appointment. We wait for their call."
"And if we don't wait?"
"Then we wait." He tore a youtiao in half. "In a review-for-prosecution case, within three days of receiving notice of acceptance, the suspect must be informed of the right to retain defense counsel. Once the paperwork is complete, the defense can request file review from the start of the review period. The rules exist. Which day they schedule it for is up to them."
"End of the month?"
"It won't be." He said, "This half day today was enough."
She took a sip. The soy milk was scalding; she set the bowl down. The stall's canopy ballooned once in the wind, then sagged back. From the night of September 19 to yesterday: fifty-six days. He'd submitted three applications and one defense opinion. Each time he came back saying only "accepted," "attached to the file." What was in the file—not a single word visible.
"Fifty-six days," she said.
"Mm."
"Not one page looked at."
"Investigation is investigation." He shifted the vinegar bottle, anchoring the corner of paper the wind had lifted. "Starting today, the paper gets spread open both ways."
At 10:20, his phone rang.
She was wiping the condensation ring from her bowl with a napkin, on her third pass. The screen showed a landline number.
"Lu Jibai." He stood and took half a step outside the stall. "Mm." A pause. "Let me note that down." Another pause. "Nine tomorrow, I'll be there. The written notice—please mail it to the firm as well." Finally, "Alright," and he hung up.
He came back and placed his phone face-down on the table.
"Lead prosecutor: Zhou Yu."
She pushed her bowl half an inch inward. The bowl scraped against the plastic tabletop.
"Say that again."
"Fourth floor, District Procuratorate. The case-management staff read the name aloud. I checked it against the paperwork. It's him." He sat down. "The name's in the system. The case belongs to him, starting today."
"He knows the case involves my brother."
"The file lists the legal representative's name." He looked up at her. "What did you send him on August 31?"
She took out her phone. On the screen were those two lines: Someone's being blocked in the hallway and filmed. Name's Qin Hao, from Zhi'an's school. Below, his four-word reply: Let the school handle it.
"Two lines," she said. "He replied with four words."
"Did he receive these two lines first, and only then reply with those four words?"
"Not the same day. A morning later, just those four words."
"He pointed you to one route: the school." He broke his remaining half youtiao into two pieces, then set them down again. "He didn't give you a single legal word, and he didn't point you to a lawyer."
"Don't those four words count."
"They count. They count as him answering, and as him not doing it for you." He looked at her. "For the month the case is under him, the only thing he'll be able to produce in his defense is those four words."
[Thud. Case file transferred. Lead prosecutor: Zhou Yu.]
She stared at the line for two seconds, then looked up. "Would he voluntarily write this entry himself?"
"Someone who knows the rules writes it on day one."
"And if he doesn't?"
"If he doesn't, and the Qins remember on their own, then it becomes his problem." He slid the receipt partway out from under the vinegar bottle so she could see the timestamp. "Only if he writes it himself and submits it himself does it come out clean."
"If he writes it, the Qins will use it to ask questions." She said, "Director He said those favors get used up—each one once. The one spent here would be his."
"Recusal." He pronounced the word flat. "He steps back, someone else reviews the file. The replacement won't be surnamed Zhou. This case will take one extra day for every day it can."
"If he's moved off it, my brother just keeps waiting."
"Waiting a while is better than letting someone use a single sheet of paper to paint the whole procuratorate as yours." He paused. "Whatever relationship you have with him, only what's written on paper counts. What can't be written down, someone else will write for you."
[Thud. Between you and him, from today on, only one sheet of paper remains.]
She turned off the screen, then turned it on again. Below those four words, still empty. She didn't delete it, didn't add a single word.
"I'm not going up there tomorrow," she said.
"I'm going tomorrow to review the file, not to ask him questions." He gathered the two sheets into the kraft-paper folder. "You wait at the firm."
Six p.m., second floor of Zhengping Law Firm.
She logged today's two items in her notebook. First line: "November 15, 9:00 — receipt for defense counsel materials, one copy." Second line: "10:20 — call from case management, file review by appointment." Third line: "Lead prosecutor: Zhou Yu."
On the third character, the pen hesitated over the paper. She wrote "Zhou Yu" the same size as the rest, set the pen down.
Two bowls came up the stairs, steam rising to the rims. He Xiufen carried one in each hand, nudging the half-open door with her elbow.
"Now you eat," she said.
"He Xiufen—"
"Eat."
She ate half the bowl. He Xiufen pushed the garlic dish to the corner of the table and wiped her hands on her apron.
"Talk."
"The paperwork was accepted. One receipt. He reviews the file at nine tomorrow. The lead prosecutor—" she paused. "Zhou Yu."
He Xiufen's hands stopped mid-wipe for half a beat. She hung the apron on the back of the door.
"The one on the fourth floor of the District Procuratorate?"
"Yes."
"Have you sent Zhou Yu anything."
"I have. The night of August 31, two lines. He replied with four words: Let the school handle it."
He Xiufen searched the table, picked up her notebook, and looked through it. She closed it and pushed it back.
"Starting today," she said, "you don't call him. Not once."
"Mm."
"You don't save him a bowl of noodles at the noodle shop."
"What if he doesn't come here."
"If he walks through this door at noon, I'll give him a glass of plain water. Water's free. Noodles, no." He Xiufen pushed the garlic dish another half inch away. "This isn't to embarrass him. Whoever sits downstairs, upstairs is a working law office. The street you stood on today—people can see it too."
"I was standing by the sweet potato stand."
"I don't care which side." He Xiufen said, "Third thing: this stretch, you keep your hands off the case. You're family. When you're asked, you sit there. What isn't yours to say, not a word comes out. He's defense counsel. He does the talking."
"I know."
"Knowing and doing are two different things. On the night of September 19, at the police station, you didn't make a sound. That was right. These nearly two months—keep it that way."
She flipped the notebook back to the first page and tapped a finger on the name "Zhou Yu." "That message from you. Did you delete it."
"No."
"Keep it. Don't delete it, and don't add a word." He Xiufen said, "The day someone asks him whether he ever spoke on your behalf, the only thing you'll be able to produce is those four words. Delete them, and all you've got left is your mouth."
"But if he wrote a whole page himself."
"Then you keep it even more." He Xiufen straightened up. "Only when the two sides match does it count as matching."
"Review for prosecution," Lu Jibai said. "One month. Accepted on the thirteenth—by December 13, he has to give an answer."
"Unless it's sent back for supplementary investigation." He Xiufen stacked the two empty bowls. "Sent back, the clock restarts. That's their own accounting."
"For He Lan, the twenty-eighth," she put in.
"Just keep it in mind." He Xiufen carried the bowls to the door and looked back. "When you go home these next few days, don't tell Zhi'an too much."
"I only said one thing: the case has moved to the next stop."
"That one thing only." He Xiufen said, "Save the third sentence for later."
Footsteps descended halfway down the stairs, then turned back. "Tomorrow when he goes up, you sit at the firm. Don't wait downstairs."
"Mm."
"Nine tomorrow." Lu Jibai stood the kraft-paper folder against the table's edge, pulled out the two sheets—one receipt, one appointment slip—and tucked them under a rubber band.
"I'll wait for you back at the firm." She put her phone in her pocket. "How much will you be able to tell me when you're back."
"What can be brought out of the file, I'll bring out. What can't be brought out stays in that room."
"Those twenty-six seconds," she said. "Meng Yang's phone."
"I'll know whether they exist once I've seen them."
"Will you actually be able to see them this time?"
He clipped the folder shut. "This time, I'll be able to see them."
Downstairs, the noodle shop's pot came to a boil, water pushing against the lid. She slung the file bag over her shoulder. Below those two lines were still his four words—not one more.