Read Novel Full Chapter 305: Making Up the Numbers
Chapter 305: Making Up the Numbers
December 10, 9:10 a.m., second floor of Zhengping Firm.
A single sheet of paper lay in the center of the long table, pressed flat on all four sides, weighed down by the iron awl used for binding case files. The paper had been cut, its edges still sharp, identical to the stack pulled from beneath the old kitchen cabinet back at the house.
He Xiufen arrived first, sleeves rolled to her forearms, a glass of plain water at her hand, the steam at its rim already faded. The window was open a finger's width; the fryer downstairs hissed, and the smell of scallion oil crept up the stairwell, thinning as it entered the room until only a trace mixed with the old carpet and cardboard boxes.
Lu Jibai arrived before nine. His coat hung from the nail behind the door; he stood by the windowsill, looking down.
Shen Zhixia came up still carrying the bag of dates—half full now, the top twisted shut.
"Sit," He Xiufen said.
She moved the iron awl aside, pushed the paper toward the center, and read aloud:
"I am stepping down."
"The cases belong to Zhixia. The firm's affairs belong to Jibai."
"Partnership."
When she finished, she rested both hands on the table's edge.
She read it flat, in the same tone she'd use for a proof of service, and didn't lift her voice even at the word "Partnership."
The wastebasket in the corner held a crumpled half-sheet, balled tight, and the exposed corner showed the same cut-paper edge. Shen Zhixia glanced at it but didn't ask.
Downstairs someone pushed through the door for noodles; the plastic curtain slapped once, then fell back.
Shen Zhixia pulled the page over and looked at it. Ballpoint pen, the characters slanting right. On the second line she stopped at "belongs to Jibai"—the pen had paused there, leaving a small blot of ink. The third line held only two characters, and beneath them, nothing.
"The space under the third line is empty," she said.
"The empty space is for the numbers," He Xiufen said.
"What does 'Partnership' mean?"
"There has to be a written agreement on how the people in this firm are accounted for going forward. It gets put on paper, filed for the record, and from then on, we follow it."
"We're not a partnership right now."
"We're not called one right now." He Xiufen moved her glass half a foot away. "The responsible person column—from opening day to today—has held exactly one name. Mine. Licensed lawyers, until a few years ago, also just me. July 17, Jibai's transfer of practice was completed: two. July 19, you got your certificate: three."
"Three licensed lawyers," Shen Zhixia said.
"And not a single partner."
He Xiufen raised a hand and pointed at the framed certificate on the wall. Beneath the glass, the practice license, printed in formal script; the box after "Organizational Form" read "Individual."
"Individual law firm," Lu Jibai said.
"To make him a partner, this firm has to apply to convert into a general partnership law firm," He Xiufen said. "The name doesn't change, but without the conversion, no partner's name goes on paper."
Shen Zhixia opened her notebook and bit down on the pen cap.
"Three conditions." He Xiufen held up three fingers. "At least three partners; each partner must have practiced for a full three years; assets of 300,000 yuan or more. If even one condition is missing, the materials get rejected by the Justice Bureau."
[Thud. Three people, three years, three hundred thousand. Missing even one, the sign doesn't go up.]
"Three years," Shen Zhixia said.
"Three years means three years. Not a day less—they check the dates on the certificate."
"I got mine July 19."
"Correct."
"That's less than three years."
"It is less." He Xiufen said. "So this time you don't occupy that column. You don't qualify, and even if your name went on, it wouldn't be approved."
Shen Zhixia lowered her head and copied the lines into her notebook, her pen pausing over the two characters for "three years." Outside, a scrap collector's tricycle rattled through the alley, sheet metal clanging against sheet metal all the way to the corner.
"Then what am I?"
"You're the one who handles cases." He Xiufen said. "The cases belong to you. You appear in court, you sign your name. That column requires a qualification."
"And after three years?"
He Xiufen turned her glass half a circle. "What happens three years from now—why ask me?"
"Then what do I do for these three years?"
"Handle cases. One case at a time, and the days pass." She said, "If you spend them staring at that one column, you won't handle cases well."
"What about the 300,000 condition?" Shen Zhixia asked.
"We'll settle accounts later. I'll lay out the firm's finances for you both in a day or two, item by item."
"Is it far off?"
"Not small." He Xiufen said. "Money can be gathered. If I can't piece it together, I'll think of something."
"Is the firm still called Zhengping?" Shen Zhixia asked again.
"It is." He Xiufen said. "The sign out front stays up tomorrow. Take it down, and the people who come won't find the door."
She lifted her glass, took a sip, and set it down. "I remain in that column. My name stays. I won't be the responsible person; I won't take new cases; I won't keep office hours."
"Why stay?"
"Without me, you can't reach three names." He Xiufen said. "My line in that column is filler. But filler has to be solid filler—when the materials go in, they'll check whether I'm still in active practice."
Lu Jibai walked back from the windowsill and stopped at the other end of the table. "The three-year condition—I meet it," he said. "July 12, I resigned as a partner at Hengzheng; July 17, the transfer of practice was completed here. No disciplinary suspension in my entire career. I've checked these against the Measures for the Administration of Law Firms."
"Then do you accept it?" He Xiufen said.
He didn't answer immediately. He walked over and pushed the window half shut; the draft weakened, and the page at the table's corner stopped stirring.
"The responsible person column—what does it carry?"
"It carries two pieces of paper," He Xiufen said. "The paper facing outward bears your signature. When something goes wrong inside, it also bears your signature. In a general partnership, partners bear unlimited joint and several liability for the firm's debts. My name remaining in that column—I carry the same."
"I know," Lu Jibai said.
"People who say 'I know' usually only ask after they've already signed." He Xiufen said. "As long as you know."
"Who's the third person?" Shen Zhixia asked.
[Thud. Her column—one space still empty today.]
"I made a phone call last night. Chongzheng Firm in Chengdong: Li Huilan." He Xiufen lifted her glass but didn't drink. "You've read her signature—at the bottom of that ledger page."
"The one at Chongzheng."
"Fifty-four." He Xiufen said. "Currently handling three active cases. I only opened the subject over the phone. She said, 'Come visit and let's talk face to face.'"
"She agreed."
"She said come visit. If she'd agreed, she wouldn't need a visit."
He Xiufen stood and took three items from the drawer, placing them on the corner of the desk against the wall: a key ring with three keys, polished bright from use; the firm seal, red plastic handle with one chipped white corner; and a small hardcover booklet—the legal aid duty phone directory—its edges worn fuzzy.
"These three stay here for now," she said. "On the 20th, I'll go through them one by one."
"The first key is for a cabinet," Shen Zhixia said.
"The metal cabinet. Inside are the Kang family's two pages of the will, seven registration books, and the four-page agreement."
"The other two?"
"One opens the document room door, the other opens this second-floor door." He Xiufen lifted the key ring; the three keys clinked once in the window light. "When this set is handed over, whoever holds it will be the one who has to come in the middle of the night."
"Not today."
"Not today."
She pushed the drawer shut and stood looking at the three items for a while, saying nothing. The files by the window were stacked, notes taped to their tabs, the paper yellowed at the corners.
"Yesterday I asked Li Huilan. Today I asked you." She looked at Lu Jibai. "Give me your answer tomorrow."
"Tomorrow morning I'll go to Chongzheng Firm," Lu Jibai said.
He Xiufen didn't respond to that. She turned and went downstairs. Her footsteps descended step by step, the last one lighter—her turning at the landing.
Shen Zhixia folded the page in half and tucked it into her notebook, behind the two lines she'd written yesterday.
In the afternoon, the firm operated as usual. She took the Kang file from the metal cabinet and checked the dates against Article Five of the agreement: within thirty days of signing, jointly apply for confirmation, counted from the 9th; first installment of 10,000, transferred before the 20th. She wrote both items down in her notebook, reviewed them, and slid the notebook under the glass desk pad. The noodle shop's spatula clanged four more times downstairs; moisture built layer upon layer on the window glass.
8:00 p.m., downstairs from the noodle shop.
Someone upstairs was doing the dishes, water running in fits, audible even through the closed window. Wind swept in from the alley, pressing the plastic curtain flat against the doorframe, then slowly releasing it. The upstairs light was on; condensation fogged the glass, so the room was impossible to see.
"I don't occupy that column," Shen Zhixia said, pulling her scarf up higher.
"I know."
"You haven't heard me finish."
"Say it."
"I don't occupy that column, and I won't lend my name either," she said. "Someone will. A small fee each year, their name on paper while they're elsewhere."
"A borrowed name won't pass review." Lu Jibai said. "Practice history has to be reported. The certificate shows the dates. One flip and they'll see July 19."
"Then no borrowed names at all."
"Mm."
"Why have you suddenly gotten so rigid about this?" he asked.
"Last May, those three complaints fell under the name of a firm that no longer exists," she said. "The firm was deregistered, but the name stayed on paper. The complainants couldn't find it. A name on paper, with no person behind it."
"So you won't be a name on paper."
"I won't."
Another gust came through, parting the curtain; someone inside called out, "One beef noodles, no scallions."
"Which condition bothers you the most?" he asked.
Shen Zhixia stared at the toes of her shoes. At the far end of the alley someone was closing up a stall, stacking metal frames one by one.
"She carried it alone for over twenty years," she said. "Now she's leaving herself in the column—not as responsible person, not taking cases—still bearing unlimited joint liability."
"Mm."
"I've seen the sum total of her worth. A room upstairs, a noodle shop, a firm."
"Without one more person, the materials don't go in." Lu Jibai said. "The firm would have to dissolve."
"So her line—I'll take it as mine too, going forward."
"You asked her."
"I didn't ask." He said. "If I asked, she'd say she can bear it."
Shen Zhixia looked up. He shifted half a step sideways, so the wind from the alley passed behind him and not through her.
"What about me?"
"For three years, you handle cases. The He Lan hearing—you handled that yourself." He said. "You passed July 19. It runs to July 2029."
"You even calculated that."
"I did." He said. "And once I calculated it, I knew there was no rushing it."
"When you go tomorrow, what will you say?" she asked.
"Three things." Lu Jibai said. "Who the responsible person is, what it carries, and where the cases come from."
"What if Li Huilan says no?"
"Then we find a third person somewhere else. A firm can't survive with only two."
Upstairs, the window pushed open a crack, then wider. He Xiufen leaned halfway out, a rag still in her hand.
"You two," she called down. "Tomorrow, you go to Chongzheng Firm."
"You're not coming," Shen Zhixia said.
"I'm not. Inviting someone requires a personal visit. A formal letter isn't an invitation." She draped the rag over the windowsill. "Give her my regards."
The window slid shut with a click. The upstairs light stayed on.