Read Novel Full Chapter 298: Six Papers
Chapter 298: Six Papers
November 27, 8:50 a.m.
Shen Zhixia unlocked the second-floor door. Yesterday's white film still clung to the window glass. She reached out and wiped a streak through it, her palm cold, and the alley emerged through the gap: the plastic tarp at the repair stall across the street was rolled up, a scrap-collecting tricycle sat at the foot of the wall with two sheets of cardboard pressed into the bed, one corner damp.
She wiped down the long table twice. From the drawer she took a key, crouched down to open the gray-green steel cabinet in the corner, and lifted out the kraft envelope marked "Kang Wenying, Original Will, 2 pages, November 26." She set it at the far side of the table without opening it. She flipped the copier's power switch, let it warm up, and the room filled with the smell of hot paper.
At 9:02, footsteps on the stairs. Kang Wenying came up, still carrying that cloth bag, the opening rolled shut, the cardboard sheet clamped under her arm.
"Where's Lawyer He?"
"Downstairs. She'll be right up." Shen Zhixia pulled a chair out six inches. "Please, have a seat."
Kang Wenying didn't sit. She set the cloth bag on the table and pulled things out one by one: an envelope with the death certificate inside; a red-covered booklet; a household register; a receipt from the funeral home; a certificate from the neighborhood committee. When the bag was empty, she shook the bottom twice to make sure nothing else was hiding.
"Kept it under my pillow last night," she said. "Woke up at four, felt for it twice. Afraid it'd go missing."
"Nothing missing." Shen Zhixia counted, then wrote in her notebook: November 27, 9:03 a.m., all five items present.
He Xiufen came up at 9:07, flour still on her hands. She washed them at the sink first, came back, and settled her reading glasses on her nose.
"Everything here?"
"Everything."
"Lay it out. You read, I'll listen."
Shen Zhixia spread the five items across the table, evenly spaced.
"Death certificate, one. Issued by the Community Health Service Center. Date of death: October 4, 2026."
"This one pins the date," He Xiufen said. "The day the person passed, inheritance starts from that day."
"Real estate title certificate, one. Owner: Feng Wenzhen. Co-ownership section..."
She stopped. That section was blank underneath. Not a single character.
"Keep reading."
"Co-ownership: blank."
He Xiufen reached out and tapped the empty section with her fingernail. "This section's blank. What does that mean?"
Shen Zhixia looked at the box. No characters in it, and none outside it. "The house was hers alone."
"Correct." He Xiufen withdrew her finger. "Hers alone, so she alone could write that last one. If another name were squeezed into this box, that paper couldn't be fully written — and even if it were, it wouldn't count. When you handle these cases from now on, the first thing you look at is this box."
She took the household register and flipped through it herself. The first page bore a cancellation stamp, with a handwritten date beside it: October 4. The second page: Kang Wenying. The third: Kang Youxing, stamped "Moved Out," the paper's corner worn fuzzy.
"This one pins the people." She pushed the third page toward Shen Zhixia. "He moved out more than thirty years ago, and his name's still in this book. With this name here, two people get to sit at my table."
"Funeral home receipt, one. Cremation date: October 6."
"Check it against the first one."
Shen Zhixia flipped the death certificate back over and laid the two side by side. October 4, October 6 — two days between.
"Body kept two days. It matches." He Xiufen said, "Matches, so nobody can tamper with 'what day she left.' These two papers sitting together are for whoever sits across from us later."
"Neighborhood committee certificate, one. It says: 'The elderly Feng Wenzhen was cared for long-term by her daughter, Kang Wenying.'"
He Xiufen picked it up and leaned in to examine the red seal for several seconds.
"This one pins who was at her side all these years." She said, "You talked for half an hour yesterday. I believe you. But my believing doesn't count. This one sentence means others don't have to believe you — they just have to believe the seal."
Kang Wenying took half a step forward. "Lawyer He, those seven years — I didn't do it for this paper."
"I know you didn't." He Xiufen set the certificate back where it had been. "But today this paper exists. Now that it does, keep it. Don't complain it says too little."
The six items formed a line. Only then did she open the kraft envelope and draw out the two pages of the will, laying them at the very top.
"From today on, these six are the bones of this file." He Xiufen said, "Don't keep it in your head. Write a page, one line per item — what each one proves. If you can't write it out, ask me tomorrow."
Shen Zhixia laid a blank sheet under the file cover and wrote, one line per item: the date; who the house goes to; the people; check against the first one for the date; who was at her side all these years; what she wanted to give to whom.
He Xiufen watched from behind. At the last line she said nothing until it was done, then one word: "Read."
Shen Zhixia read it aloud.
"Good." He Xiufen took off her reading glasses and hung them on her fingers. "Whoever opens this file from now on looks at this page first. Once they understand it, I won't have to repeat myself."
At a quarter to ten, Shen Zhixia carried the six items to the copier and made two copies of each. When she returned, He Xiufen divided the papers into two stacks: originals on the right, copies on the left.
"Remember one thing." She said, "A copy can only say something existed. Only an original can say this is how it was."
"Do the courts look at both stacks?"
"They look at both. But if you walk in with only copies and someone asks 'where's the original?' — you're struck dumb right there."
"What if an original gets lost?"
"Then something else has to stand in for it." He Xiufen folded her reading glasses and tucked them into her apron pocket. "A person can't stand in for paper. Paper can stand in for paper."
Shen Zhixia spread out the copies and checked each one against the original: dates, numbers, the position of the red seals, the strokes of the names. After checking a batch, she wrote "November 27, 2026, copied by Zhengping Firm" in the lower right corner, then handed the pen over. He Xiufen reviewed them one by one and signed "He Xiufen" underneath. At the fifth one, Shen Zhixia asked if she should add "verified identical to original."
"No." He Xiufen lifted the pen. "Today the originals are here, so I can vouch. But once you write those seven characters, the moment the paper walks out the door, anyone holding it can claim it's the original. I only write what I saw." She pushed the signed copies over. "Look — I wrote 'checked.'"
"These five, you take them home." She turned to Kang Wenying. "Back under the pillow tonight."
Kang Wenying blinked. "The originals won't stay here with you?"
"The two pages in my keeping are locked up." He Xiufen pointed at the steel cabinet. "These five you take back. If they're lost, they can be reissued — death certificates, registers, all of it. It's a hassle, running around on your feet, but it can be done. That one on top can't be reissued. Nobody can rewrite what a person who's gone already wrote."
Kang Wenying sandwiched the five items back into the cardboard in their original order, slid them into the cloth bag, and rolled the opening shut twice.
"Where does your brother live?"
"West side, the old power plant area. Two bus transfers to get here."
"How often does he come back?"
"His back's bad. Says the ride jolts him." She paused. "When Mom was still here, he'd come for holidays. Sit a while, smoke a cigarette in the yard."
"Do you have his number?"
Kang Wenying fished from a side pocket of the cloth bag a torn-off calendar page with a phone number written on it, the digits gone over twice, the second pass pressed dark.
"I called him," she said. "He said he'd talk to you about it, not me."
He Xiufen glanced at the number, set the paper on the table, and took out her phone.
"I'll call."
"Now?" Shen Zhixia asked.
"Now." She laid the phone flat on the table and switched on speakerphone. "If he's waiting for us to guess, this case drags on."
Shen Zhixia turned to a fresh page and wrote the first line: November 27, 10:20 a.m.
The dial tone rang four times.
"Hello." A man's voice, rough, a TV playing in the background.
"Is this Kang Youxing? I'm He Xiufen from Jiangzhou Zhengping Law Firm. Your sister Kang Wenying has retained our firm regarding your mother's estate."
Two seconds of silence, then the TV volume dropped a notch. Someone pressed a remote twice.
"A lawyer, huh," he said.
"I'm recording this call. What I say and what you say — I'll write it all down."
"Record it." He said, "Whatever I say, I'll own it."
"When did you see your mother's paper?"
"My sister showed me. Just a glimpse. She held it in her hand — I never even got my fingers on an edge."
"You saw it. What did you say?"
"I said it doesn't count." His voice rose. "Mom was on sleeping pills every day those last years. Twice a day, didn't know her own head. Does anything she wrote count?"
"How many years was she on them?"
"Quite a few."
"The exact year it started?"
"How would I remember that?"
"Who bought the pills?"
"...She bought them herself, I guess. My sister bought some too."
"How many a day?"
The line went empty for a beat. Shen Zhixia could hear his breathing, heavy, one breath after another.
"I don't know," he said. "I'm a grown man. What would I keep track of that for?"
He Xiufen didn't press. She nudged the phone half an inch toward the center of the table.
"Fine. You can't remember, I won't fault you." She said, "How many years did your sister stay at her side?"
"Five or six, I guess."
"Seven." He Xiufen said, "She broke her hip in the autumn of 2019. From the third year on, she couldn't get up. How many times have you gone back in those seven years?"
"Holidays." He said it fast. "I live on the west side. Two bus transfers. And my back. Don't you start on that."
"I'm not starting on anything. I'm asking about dates."
"What did my sister tell you?" His voice shifted. "She said I'm not filial, did she? The house belonged to Mom and Dad — two north rooms, a small yard. Mom, by herself, can she write Dad's half over to my sister? I don't accept it."
"You don't accept it, there's a path for that." He Xiufen said, "Come in tomorrow morning. I'll lay all six papers out for you. The firm's above the Zhengping Noodle House — call out when you're at the top of the stairs."
"What do I need to look at those papers for?"
"Then look at them first, and after that tell me you don't accept it."
From his end, someone asked "Who is it?" — a woman's voice, some distance away.
"Law firm," he said, then added into the receiver: "You want to sue, go ahead and sue."
The line went dead. He Xiufen checked the time on her phone. "10:28."
"He hung up," Shen Zhixia said.
"Write it down."
Shen Zhixia copied his words verbatim, one sentence per line, seven lines. When she reached the medication part, she wrote: "He said he doesn't remember about the pills."
He Xiufen leaned over to look and shook her head. "No. He said, 'I'm a grown man, what would I keep track of that for?' His exact words are better than yours. On paper, the exact words are the man."
Shen Zhixia crossed out the line and wrote it again.
Kang Wenying sat all the while in the chair against the wall, gripping the cloth bag's strap, her fingers kneading creases into the fabric.
"That thing he said about Mom being confused..."
"If he'd only said 'my sister's trying to take the house,' I wouldn't think much of it." He Xiufen said, "But he said his mother was confused — that's the one card he's holding. And he won't even look at it. Who bought the pills, how many a day — he can't answer a single thing."
"Doesn't matter what he says then?"
"The words aren't wasted. Once 'confused' leaves his mouth and lands on paper, someone has to answer for it. He says she was confused, he needs to name the day." He Xiufen tapped the back of her fingers against that line.
Shen Zhixia drew a vertical mark beside "confused." At 10:40, Kang Wenying went downstairs. He Xiufen saw her to the top of the stairs and said only two words — "Under the pillow" — then turned and walked back.
At 3:00 p.m., Shen Zhixia called the Chengdong District People's Court. A clerk answered.
"The He Lan case — has the defendant appealed?"
"Not yet," the clerk said. "Appeal period runs through tomorrow, the 28th. As of today, nothing's been filed. Check again tomorrow afternoon."
She wrote in her notebook: November 27, 3:00 p.m., court says: no appeal filed, deadline is the 28th.
November 29, 2:40 p.m., she was alone upstairs. She opened the file cover for He Lan's case. In the case-closing notes written November 14, the "Effective" column had sat empty for two weeks. She picked up her pen and filled it in: November 29, effective.
[Thud. He Lan's case: judgment now effective. Half recorded.]
[Thud. The other half comes every month on the 15th.]
She set the pen down and stared at those two lines.
The call came in before three. He Lan. She could hear supermarket announcements in the background, one after another.
"Lawyer Shen, that judgment — is it real now?"
"It is. The appeal period ended yesterday, nobody filed, so it takes effect today." She opened her notebook. "Child support, the 15th of each month, 1,500 yuan, deposited to your card, with the month clearly marked. If he doesn't pay, we file for enforcement. Every missed payment gets recorded."
The announcement finished its price chant, and she waited for it to end before speaking.
"Xiaotian knew I'm on day shift today. This morning she hung her key on my bag strap and told me to come home early."
"Then come home early."
"Lawyer Shen. That day in court, when you had me sign my own name." She said, "Now I sign it myself every day."
The call ended. Shen Zhixia pushed the notebook toward the edge of the desk and stood up to get water.
At 4:10, footsteps on the stairs. He Xiufen came up carrying a bowl of noodles, apron still on, and set the bowl down, steering clear of the table corner.
"He Lan's case?"
"Judgment's effective."
"Half of it." He Xiufen said, "The other half's in the money. Money's harder than a judgment."
She untied the apron and draped it over the chair back, sat down, and her eyes settled on the stack of copies to the left. She looked at them for a long while. The white on the window had condensed again, and from downstairs came the clink of someone stacking bowls.
"Kang Youxing's line about 'Mom was confused' — you heard it day before yesterday."
"I heard it."
"He can't name the day." He Xiufen's palm pressed against the table edge, her thumb holding down that page dense with writing. "Can't name the day, the words just hang there."
"So what's needed?"
"A person who takes pills herself — the way she took them, some place keeps a record."
She stood up to turn off the copier. She pressed the switch; the lamp dimmed one shade, and the last point of light on the blank paper went out.