Read Novel Full Chapter 311: One More Bowl
Chapter 311: One More Bowl
At 8:50, Li Huilan climbed the stairs to the second floor, thermos in her left hand, a stack of case files hugged in her right arm, counting each step. She set the files down on the table by the window and reached over to test the table's corner. That leg was still half an inch short, propped up by half of an old magazine. It didn't wobble.
"That leg."
"Propped it last time." Shen Zhixia slid a cup of water toward her.
"I brought my own." Li Huilan shook the thermos but still poured herself half a cup of the firm's water. "First day. Can't be late, can't show up before the owner of the place."
He Xiufen had come up at 8:40, sat down at the table nearest the door, spread out the case intake register, and pinned it down with a glass paperweight. Her padded jacket was still on; in her pocket, the square corner of a metal tin pushed a shape into the fabric. She said two things: don't forget to turn off the stove water when it boils; if anyone asks downstairs, send them up. That was all.
At 9:10, footsteps on the stairs. The first one up was a man in his late forties, old leather jacket, cuffs worn pale, a plastic bag in one hand with a few sheets of paper and an enamel mug inside. He stopped at the top of the stairs and looked over the four long tables, unsure where to sit.
"Here." Li Huilan pulled out the chair nearest the door another half foot. "Mr. Kan. The one who called yesterday afternoon."
The man nodded. The plastic bag went on his knee. The mug stayed in his hand.
"Eleven months." Li Huilan said. "Start with the daily rate."
"Two hundred sixty a day."
"Any days off."
"Went home for the New Year. Six days."
She took out a sheet of paper and wrote the start date and end date at the very top, then read them back. The man listened, turning the mug in his hands where it rested on his knee.
"Today doesn't count in the tally." Li Huilan said. "We count by the days you actually worked, one box at a time. If I come up with three different numbers, then I'll come find you."
She typed up two copies of the contract and pushed one across to him. He held the paper at arm's length, squinting from the first line to the last, and when he reached the words "Engagement Agreement," he asked, "Once I sign this, does that mean I've filed a lawsuit?"
"Once you sign, I'm the lawyer on your side." Li Huilan said. "Whether we sue and when—that's your call."
He signed slowly, the last stroke of his name flicking upward. The date field was left blank. Li Huilan took a pen from her jacket pocket and filled in December 19.
"The date goes in today." she said. "From now on, no matter who asks when this case was taken on—it's on the paper."
The second person up was a woman of fifty-nine, a scarf wrapped three times around her neck. She came in and put her hands on the radiator first. She wanted to ask about the three hundred yuan her son owed her every month.
"Three hundred a month." Li Huilan said. "Do you want him to pay, or do you want him to show up."
"I want him to show up."
"Then what gets written down stops being about three hundred yuan." Li Huilan straightened the chair for her. "Think it through. Once it's written, it can't be changed."
The woman took her hands off the radiator. "I've thought it through."
Two cases, two contracts, two new lines in the intake register. Shen Zhixia stood beside He Xiufen, filling it in line by line: date, client, matter, handling attorney. When she reached the last column, she moved the pen aside.
He Xiufen took it and signed once, set the pen down, pressed her fingertip against the paper under that line. When she signed the second time, the nib paused on the paper for half a second before touching down.
[Thud. Two new lines in the intake register. The third line waits on one sheet of paper.]
"This column stays hers for now." Li Huilan said quietly, eyes on the register.
"Yes." Shen Zhixia said.
"Her certificate hasn't been swapped yet, so she's still the one taking cases." Li Huilan capped her pen. "She keeps signing until the day it's changed."
"Who signs then."
"Your new person in charge." Li Huilan said. "The day he signs is the day she's truly retired."
The third person up was a man around forty. He didn't sit, just stood at the top of the stairs.
"My mother's case." he said. "Is it still on."
"It's on." Li Huilan said. "The legal aid assignment letter is still moving through the center. When the paper arrives, I add a name. You won't have to say a single word over again."
"I'm not pushing." He stood there a moment, then went back down.
At 10:40, footsteps on the stairs again—running this time. Tang Guo came up with her bag, a tripod leg poking out the corner, both hands full: a crate of sha tangerines, a paper bag of candied chestnuts, a box of tea.
"Zhixia—"
The person who answered was Lu Jibai: "She's downstairs getting paper."
Tang Guo stopped on the last two steps, set the three items down one by one on Shen Zhixia's little desk.
"I called for her. Why are you answering."
"She heard you."
"She didn't. You heard." Tang Guo said. "Fine. I already knew."
Shen Zhixia came up from downstairs, a stack of printer paper in her arms, and spotted the crate of tangerines. "How heavy."
"Five kilos. The vendor threw it in. My place can't fit any more." Tang Guo pushed the chestnuts toward her. "This bag's for Zhi'an. He didn't get enough last time."
"How do you know that."
"On the night of August 26, I called you twice before I sent that WeChat message." Tang Guo said. "You didn't pick up either time. You always pick up."
Shen Zhixia set the paper on the desk and didn't respond.
"I didn't ask then." Tang Guo said. "I'm not asking today either. Just one question: in anything I shoot from now on, his half of the face—do I blur it."
"Yes."
"I didn't even say which half."
"Blur it." Shen Zhixia said. "All of it, start to finish. Don't write his name either."
"Got it." Tang Guo fished two tangerines out of the crate, peeled one for herself, set the other by Shen Zhixia's hand. "I already knew. It was always just a matter of knowing early. If you've really been wronged, my lens can turn on any time."
"Take care of your own business first."
"My own business is this crate of tangerines." Tang Guo pocketed the last two, turned for the stairs, stopped halfway. "I won't shoot his half-face. But I'd recognize it."
The box of tea hadn't been given away yet. She doubled back to the table by the door. "Director He, the tea's for you."
He Xiufen was pressing the paperweight onto the register. She lifted her eyes a fraction. "Put it on the stove."
"It's for you though?"
"On the stove." He Xiufen said. "I'll brew some this afternoon."
Tang Guo waited for her to say more. Nothing. She looked back at Shen Zhixia and lowered her voice. "What's wrong with her."
"I don't know."
"From the time I came upstairs to now, she's said four words to me. In two rounds."
"That's how she talks."
"Not like this." Tang Guo said. "I've known her for over two years."
[Thud. Someone saw something. This time it wasn't on paper.]
At noon, the four of them went downstairs for noodles. He Xiufen said exactly half a sentence—the noodles were softer than yesterday. At three, Shen Zhixia went to get a queue number at the district court and came back with a slip: the 23rd, 9:30 a.m., A037. She got back to the firm at 5:40. The second-floor lights were on. Li Huilan was still going over case files, the man's eleven months spread across her desk.
Seven p.m. Home. The sound-activated light in the stairwell didn't switch on; she felt her way up to the third floor. The door opened to a rush of heat and a pot lid rattling. Zhi'an was pouring the last ladle of soup into a bowl.
"You didn't wait."
"I timed it." He set two bowls on the table. "You came back twenty minutes later than usual today."
"Queuing at the court."
Halfway through the meal, Zhi'an set down his chopsticks.
"On your phone. His name changed."
"You went through my phone."
"I didn't." he said. "You left it on the table and the screen lit up once. It used to be three characters. Now it's one word."
"Yeah."
"Are you two…"
She swallowed the rice in her mouth. "Yes."
Zhi'an picked the last few strands of noodles out of his bowl and into his mouth, chewed, then spoke. "Then tell him not to keep waiting downstairs under the noodle shop."
"He doesn't wait often."
"He waited yesterday. And the day before." He pushed his bowl forward a little. "It's cold down there. Tell him to come up."
"Come up where."
"Come up and eat." Zhi'an stood and went over to the dish rack. "We've got a stove here. And a pot."
She stood her chopsticks against the edge of her bowl. "The house has two bowls."
Zhi'an took his down from the rack. There was a small chip missing from the rim, the gap worn pale. He set it at the outer end of the table and adjusted it.
"This one's for him."
"Yours has a chip."
"The chipped one belongs in the house." he said. "The new one stays on the shelf for guests."
She looked at the bowl for a while, then got up and washed it, dried it, put it back on the shelf at the outer end.
At 7:50, she remembered the half crate of tangerines. Tang Guo had left the whole thing—five kilos, too heavy to carry up alone. She opened the crate and split off half into a plastic bag, then took it and went out.
At 8:10, the noodle shop's roll-up door was halfway down. He Xiufen was inside clearing tables, her account book tucked in the front pocket of her apron. She was wiping the mouth of a vinegar bottle, polishing away the ring at the base before setting it back at the center of the table.
"Tangerines." Shen Zhixia set the bag on the chopping board. "From Tang Guo. Half stays here."
"Put them under the board."
She tucked the bag underneath, came back out, stood there. A pot of water was still on the stove, boiling, the lid rattling with the steam.
"This afternoon Lawyer Li said those three cases all followed her over."
"Yeah."
"The leg on her table still wobbles."
"I'll bring a piece of wood to prop it tomorrow." He Xiufen said.
Shen Zhixia waited for the next line. He Xiufen tossed the rag into the sink, walked over to the table by the door, sat down. She pulled the account book from her apron pocket and flipped to the last page. Thirty-nine bowls marked for today. Under the last entry, she slowly drew a line in pencil from left to right, the tip pressing a faint furrow into the paper.
Something was tucked under that line. A folded sheet of old paper, edges yellowed, thicker than the account book's pages. From the sliver that showed, it had been folded and refolded many times.
He Xiufen closed the book, pressed it down with the vinegar bottle. She didn't pull the paper out, didn't say what it was.
"Tomorrow, ten a.m." she said.
"Three pages."
"Three pages." He Xiufen wiped her hands on her apron. "Your column—I'm not signing it for you."
"Which column."
"Case handling attorney." she said. "The name He Xiufen's been signed for twenty years. Today I signed for intake. Tomorrow I sign for handover. That column tomorrow stays blank—it's for you."
Shen Zhixia looked at the register under the vinegar bottle.
"And after that."
"After that, I don't climb those stairs again." He Xiufen said. "The second floor is yours. My column is down to one name. The stove downstairs is still mine to fire."
She stood and turned off the inner light. Wind rattled the half-lowered shutter door; the metal shivered.
Shen Zhixia wanted to ask why she'd been so quiet today. She'd thought about it the whole way and still didn't ask, standing at the door.
"Go on home." He Xiufen pulled the light cord. "Tomorrow I'll count the tangerines, see if there are enough for a plate."