Read Novel Full Chapter 310: The Light Was Already On
Chapter 310: The Light Was Already On
The roll-up door had been raised long ago. The lamp under the eaves was on, casting a white glow over the three stone steps. A strip of unmelted snow still clung to the wall, silent underfoot.
At 6:20 p.m., Shen Zhixia stopped on the third step. The two seals in the inner pocket of her padded coat were still warm—the brass edges of the finance seal pressed against the fabric, digging in. She'd pressed her hand over them three or four times through the cloth all afternoon. Every time, they were warm.
Through the glass door came the salty-savory smell of noodle broth, chopsticks against bowls, someone laughing loudly.
She reached for the padded door curtain. A voice behind her said, "Wait."
Lu Jibai set his briefcase down on the steps. He'd carried it all the way from the Justice Bureau, and the strap had pressed a crease into the shoulder of his coat.
"Say it inside."
"She's in there."
Shen Zhixia pulled her hand back. Wind came through the alley mouth; the curtain bellied inward, then settled back.
"Three minutes," she said.
He agreed. Later, they stood under that lamp until seven o'clock.
"I meant to wait until the day that nine-year-old paper can be spread open, then say this to you," he said.
"Which day."
"The day it can be spread open in a courtroom."
Shen Zhixia slid her hand into her pocket, fingers brushing the seals.
"On the night of September nineteenth, you said when you could spread it open in court, I'd be the first person you'd read it to."
"You remember."
"I wrote it down," she said. "Three months now."
"I know."
"You saw it."
"Pressed under the glass, pressed down harder than anything else." He said, "I didn't lift it."
Shen Zhixia lowered her eyes to the steps. Two decades of feet had worn the stone edges smooth. One corner was chipped, the notch holding a little unmelted snow that glowed faintly blue under the lamp.
"Then why say it today."
"I've been working this out for nine years. I can't."
"Working out what."
"Which day that day comes."
"If you can't work it out, don't make it a condition."
"'Condition'—cross that out." He said, "It's a sequence."
She let out a short laugh.
"The sequence, I accept," she said. "That sentence from September nineteenth—I'll wait. When the day comes, you read it, and I'll listen. Not one word missing."
He didn't answer.
"I'm not waiting for anything else," she said.
"Think it through."
"This is the thing I've thought through most."
He reached into the inner pocket of his coat, then drew his hand back out, palm empty.
"I was afraid that saying this too soon would turn it into an IOU," he said. "What I owe your father—you've never once brought it up. The day I say this, it all comes back to you at once, and then it becomes me using it to settle the debt."
"My father's business—you don't owe me anything."
"I do."
"Then settle it with him, not me." She said, "On my side, don't use old accounts to cushion this."
He made a sound of assent.
"What's on that paper—I still haven't said."
"You haven't."
"You still want it."
"I want it," she said. "That day, you read it, and I'll ask everything at once. If you can't answer, I'm keeping a tally."
An electric scooter passed down the road, headlight sweeping the wall, then gone. The corner store at the alley mouth had also pulled down its shutter, just a line of light showing beneath the door. Behind the curtain, someone was calling for the bill.
His hands were red from the wind, an old scar across one knuckle.
"This scar." She reached out and turned his finger over. "Where's it from."
"Moving boxes, nine years ago."
"What kind of boxes."
"Cardboard boxes."
She looked at it for two seconds, then set his hand back. "When you're free someday, tell me."
"Not asking today."
"Not waiting today," she said. "Today speaks today's words."
"Then I'll say the short one."
"Say it."
"From today on, when there's no one around, I won't call you Lawyer Shen."
"What will you call me?"
"Your name."
Shen Zhixia pulled her scarf up over the tip of her nose.
"Say it once."
"No."
"Why not."
"Saving it," he said. "The day you get tired of hearing 'Lawyer Shen' yourself—that's when I'll say it."
She turned her face away, a little laugh leaking out from under the scarf.
"One more thing."
"Say it."
"Your business counts as half mine, starting today."
She looked down at the briefcase on the steps, watching it for two or three seconds.
"Half doesn't divide well," she said. "Cases, people, money, my brother—one by one, you can't split them in half."
"Then count by item."
"By item, you have to get in line behind me." She said, "I settle the money first."
"I'm not looking at those accounts of yours."
"If you don't look, how do you settle them."
"The part that can't be settled—I carry it," he said.
"I have one too," she said. "That column at the firm—I'm not taking it, and you're not allowed to stick me in it."
"Three years from now you take it yourself."
"Three years from now, we'll see." She said, "One more: until the certificate's switched over, outgoing documents still carry Director He's name."
"I know."
"After it's switched, the first name is yours."
"The first name is the firm's," he said.
Shen Zhixia tucked her chin into her scarf and didn't continue.
He reached over and folded the corner of her scarf into her collar. His fingers were ice-cold, brushing her chin. She flinched, then stood still, not stepping back.
"Go in," he said. "The noodles will clump."
"Does Director He know."
"She's known for a while."
"Known what."
"Known you've been standing under her lamp for forty-five minutes." He bent to pick up the briefcase. "Her lamp isn't bright, but it reaches the steps."
At 7:05 p.m., the curtain lifted and heat rushed at her face, like someone pressing a hot towel against it.
He Xiufen stood at the stove, broth bubbling in the pot, not looking up. "The light's been on. What took you so long."
"We stood downstairs talking for a bit."
"A bit." The strainer clanged twice against the rim of the pot, shaking off water. "Forty-five minutes."
Only one table by the window remained, an old man bent over his noodles. On the corner of his table sat a plastic bag, bulging, looking like medicine.
Shen Zhixia set the two seals on the cutting board. "The seals."
He Xiufen wiped her hands, picked them up one at a time, and held them to the light to examine the faces. She pulled the tin box from her coat pocket, the two seals went in, the lid clicked shut, and she tucked it back into her pocket.
"Morning of the twentieth. All three," she said.
"Noted."
Two bowls of noodles arrived. An egg lay at the bottom of Shen Zhixia's bowl. She hadn't ordered one.
"Cold today." He Xiufen turned the stove down by half and turned to wipe an empty table.
The broth was clear, flecked with chopped scallion. Two pieces of pickled radish sat pressed in the small dish. Shen Zhixia took a sip of soup first, scalded her tongue, then took another. The steam rose into her face, and only then did she realize her fingers had gone stiff; it took two tries to grip the chopsticks.
"The Kang family's eighteen thousand—what date." He Xiufen asked while wiping tables.
"Before the thirty-first."
"And the judicial confirmation."
"I'm queuing on the twenty-third to file it. Within the thirty-day window."
"Who's going with you on the twenty-third."
"Just me."
He Xiufen slung the rag over her shoulder. "This time no one's checking the papers for you."
Shen Zhixia's chopsticks stopped in the bowl.
"I've learned how to check papers."
"Then you have." He Xiufen said, "And if you can't, don't come back crying."
She carried away the old man's bowl, took his money, and walked him to the door. The old man stood on the steps for a moment and asked if she'd stay open until New Year's Eve. She said through the twenty-ninth. He said the soup was a bit saltier than before; she said saltier saves on food.
Coming back past their table, she stopped.
"From now on, you turn on this lamp yourselves."
"Director He."
"I'm done waiting." She carried the bowl into the back.
Water ran loudly. Lu Jibai lowered his head and ate, two bites in, pushing the scallions to the edge of his dish.
After washing the bowls, He Xiufen sat at the table by the door, opened the ledger, and wrote line by line. Small characters, each row neat and even.
"How many bowls today." Shen Zhixia asked.
"Forty-one."
"Compared to yesterday."
"Five more." He Xiufen pressed the pen tip against the paper. "Cold weather, more people."
"Who keeps this ledger from now on."
"I keep it through the twentieth," she said, finishing the last number, closing the book, and weighing it down with the vinegar bottle.
Shen Zhixia looked at the cutting board, the wood bright where the knife had worn it.
"You waited here all afternoon for us."
"I was waiting on the broth," He Xiufen said. "Broth doesn't wait for people."
At 7:50 p.m., the sound-activated stairwell light clicked on one floor up.
The second floor was dark. She flipped the switch; the fluorescent tube buzzed twice before lighting up. Four long desks stood in a row under the window, the metal cabinet against the wall, the glass desk pad reflecting white. It was colder up here than downstairs, the window glass filmed over with white, last night's cooking-smoke smells not yet gone.
She put her case-file bag on her own desk and slid her notebook out from under the glass, flipping back two pages: three case-file indexes, one figure in the accounts, four items for the seal log—line after line, everything she'd written down these past days. Flipping further, there was the line she'd copied at the service window this afternoon: the twentieth, the tenth, December eighteenth, 4:00 p.m.
Below it she started a new line and wrote: December eighteenth.
The pen tip stayed there, no characters following.
[Thud. No new case today.]
She put the cap back on the pen, pressing the cap gently over the barrel.
Lu Jibai stood in the doorway, both bags in his hands. "What are you writing."
"A date."
"That's all."
"That's all."
He passed her case-file bag over. "Lawyer Li's coming tomorrow morning. Three cases to go over. What time will you be here."
"8:30." She took the bag. "In the afternoon I'm going to court to queue for the twenty-third."
"Call me when you know what number."
"I'll see what number I get." She said, "I left food in the pot for Zhi'an."
The notebook closed, back under the glass. As her fingers slid in, they touched the edge of that page of white paper; the corner was already worn, lifting slightly. She pushed it back into place, pressing it flat through the glass.
The lights went out, the stairwell light clicking on one floor down, and their footsteps echoed hollow in the stairwell.
Downstairs, the noodle shop's roll-up door was coming down. He Xiufen crouched inside, pulling the rope inch by inch, all the way to the bottom, snapping the lock shut. The iron lock clicked, very soft.
In the alley, only the lamp under the eaves still burned.