Justice System: I Litigate for the Whole City

Chapter 511: Brother-in-Law

The fire in the kitchen was turned down to its lowest setting, the pot lid left open a half-inch crack. Two rounds of bowls had been cleared from the long table, leaving a few plates, their bottoms smeared with red and white. The paper wedged in the seam where the two long tables met had been knocked out half an inch by someone's elbow, one corner sticking up. Guo Jianping walked over and pressed it back down with a finger.

Shi Lei and Jiang Bo pushed the chairs along the wall inward, clearing a path from the kitchen to the long table. Li Huilan called from the counter: half a pot of noodles left, two bowls of steamed egg custard, and the two soft dishes needed reheating. He Xiufen answered from the kitchen.

Lin Qi had fallen asleep on a chair against the wall, chin tilted up, face turned toward the light. Tang Guo took the jacket draped over the chair back, shook it out, and laid it over Lin Qi's knees.

Chai Guizhi wiped the corner of Xiaoyu's mouth with her thumb, twice, then rubbed her finger on her apron. Feng Xiaotian crouched by the table, staring up at the last bit of cream melting into a puddle on a plate, perfectly still. He Lan tugged her back. "Get up. The floor's cold." She squatted back down a moment later.

Peng Weidong sat at the far end of the long table, saying little, stacking his bowls in front of him and holding them steady with one hand.

When He Xiufen came out of the kitchen, she wasn't carrying anything, the dishcloth still draped over her shoulder. She stopped in the open space between the stove and the long table—one stride from the door, a half-step back to the edge of the pot.

"I have a few words," she said.

Conversation at the far end of the table had been falling in layers, each one quieter than the last until it faded out. Old Kan started to stand. He Xiufen raised a hand and pressed him back down.

"Everyone stays seated. In my place, nobody stands up for this."

She wiped her hands on her apron, then let it go.

"Over twenty years in this upstairs room, I can't remember every name of the people who've come through, but I remember their faces." She said, "Some come upstairs and ask one question, then leave. Some come three times before they'll even say their name. Some come up and don't say a word—they sit down and cry first, and only after the crying's done do they tell you what happened. And some come up carrying things: vegetables, cornmeal, a bag of freshly ground flour."

Wang Changshun nudged the bag of cornmeal by his feet further under the table. At the table by the door, Cen Hong pushed Auntie Wang's chair a half-inch back under the table.

"The stairway's narrow," He Xiufen said. "Two people side by side have to turn sideways. You can hear anyone coming up from downstairs. I cook here, and I can tell who it is just by the footsteps. Light steps are from people afraid of disturbing the place. Heavy ones are from people carrying something in their hearts."

She paused. The pot on the stove made a sound—the soup was about to boil over. She turned, nudged the lid another half-inch open, and turned back. Shi Lei picked up the thermos and topped off half a cup at the table by the door, then set it back and retreated to the base of the wall, standing.

"Shen Qian ate noodles at this table."

No one answered. Lu Jibai was standing at the far end of the long table holding two bowls, motionless. He stood there a while before setting the bowls on the kitchen counter. Tang Guo had been holding her phone; she laid it face-down on the counter.

He Xiufen lowered her eyes and folded the dishcloth.

"I won't say anything else." She said, "He didn't like hearing people praise him while he was alive."

With that, she turned and went back into the kitchen, slung the dishcloth over her shoulder, and lifted the lid of another pot to look inside. The room was silent for a moment before anyone moved, and once they did, it was just like before. Li Huilan lowered her voice at the counter: "The food's getting cold. Eat." Wang Changshun picked up his chopsticks first.

Zhi'an was opening sodas at the counter. He'd hauled the crate up from the grain and oil shop that morning, one bottle at a time, handing them to the younger ones at the table. Ge Xiaoyu took one and held it, watching the bubbles rise until they stopped, then drank. Zhi'an poured half a cup into Feng Xiaotian's glass, and she guided it to her lips with both hands.

Zhi'an kept a cup for himself too.

He stood by the kitchen door drinking at first, taking a sip and glancing toward the far end of the long table. Lu Jibai was clearing bowls, carrying a stack into the kitchen. When he came out, his hands were empty. He nudged a plate at the corner of the long table inward, then went back to wiping the table.

Zhi'an walked over with his cup and stood in front of him.

"Brother-in-law."

Lu Jibai was still holding something. His finger tapped once on the rim of a plate.

"Yeah."

The word came out before he seemed ready for it. He set the plate down, turned his face, and answered again: "Yeah."

Zhou Yu was right beside them. He smiled, raised his glass—just water in it.

"Zhixia, happy wedding," he said.

She set the thermos on the tabletop, the base knocking against the wood. "Senior."

"I should've raised this glass long ago."

"Better late than never."

"I've already stepped back where I should." Zhou Yu said, "This last thing, I won't step back on."

"I remember the steps you took back," she said.

"That's all I need." He set his glass down and turned to Lu Jibai, raising it a second time. "Lawyer Lu. This one's for Lawyer Lu, not for the brother-in-law."

"I'll take both," Lu Jibai said.

"If there's more to step back from later, I'll still step back," Zhou Yu said.

Zhi'an was still standing there, hadn't left. He switched his cup to the other hand, and his throat moved once.

"The sleeves are too short," he said. "I sewed them myself."

"Stitches are crooked," Lu Jibai said.

"Crooked, but they hold." Zhi'an said, "My sister used to climb these stairs alone. From now on, don't make her come up alone."

Lu Jibai wiped his hand on his pants and held it out.

"Never alone."

Zhi'an looked at the outstretched hand, switched his cup back to his right hand, and only then offered his own. They grasped once and let go. He turned to walk away, then looked back after two steps.

"Give me your cup. I'll pour it for you."

"I can pour it myself."

"No you can't." Zhi'an said, "You don't know where our cups are kept."

Laughter broke out across the room, bouncing up under the lampshade. Chai Guizhi pressed her lips together, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Tang Guo turned her face away and pressed the back of her hand to the corner of her eye, and by the time she turned back, she was smiling again. Li Huilan said from the counter: "Let those sleeves out, they'll last another two years."

"Two more years and he'll stop growing," Zhi'an said.

He Xiufen didn't come out of the kitchen. Only the sound of the iron ladle clinking against the pot rim answered.

At 1:30, Deng Wei and Xiao Duan had to leave. Deng Wei's car was parked at the mouth of the alley. Xiao Duan held the door for him. He Xiufen came out of the kitchen and blocked the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron.

"One bag each," she said. "Hot. Eat on the road."

"Auntie, it's hard to eat in the car."

"Pull over and eat." She pressed the two bags into their hands.

"Then I'll make fewer stops."

"Don't make fewer stops." She said, "Drive slow."

Ma Jianjun walked them past the threshold and stood on the top step, watching them descend the stairs, exit the alley, and turn the corner. When he came back in, he nudged the chair by the door inward, clearing the path from the entrance to the long table, and bent to pick up a wadded tissue from the floor.

At 1:40, the table by the window. Pang Chunlai drank the last mouthful of soup from his bowl, set it down, and pressed his palm on the rim for a moment before letting go.

He Xiufen brought over a small bowl of steamed egg custard and set it in front of him.

"It's soft," she said. "I added a little sugar."

"I had two bowls of noodles."

"I'm asking if you've had enough."

"Enough."

He scooped two spoonfuls, left the spoon in the bowl, and pushed it toward the corner of the table.

"There's water on the window," he said. "Splashed up when the stone steps were washed this morning."

"The sun will dry it."

He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out that folded paper, unfolded it to look, folded it back exactly as before, tucked it away, and pressed his palm over the pocket from outside. It was the copy of the judgment Shen Zhixia had left him on the mountain last December. The edges were frayed.

"Elder sister," he said.

"Hmm."

"From now on, I can sleep."

He Xiufen didn't answer right away. She moved the empty bowl and plate aside, wiped the table edge with the dishcloth, and doubled back at the corner.

"Then sleep," she said.

"Nine years." Pang Chunlai said, "Every time I close my eyes, it's that sound."

"What sound?"

"Tearing tape." He said, "Rip. No one in the courtyard made a sound. Just that noise, over and over."

He Xiufen folded the dishcloth and pressed it down on the table corner.

"There's always a light on upstairs here," she said. "If you can't sleep, come up and sit. There are chairs, and water's ready."

"I can't manage that many stairs."

"Three steps." He Xiufen said, "I've counted. Each one lower than the last. The top one's the shallowest."

Pang Chunlai smiled, then started coughing halfway through. After a few coughs, he picked up his glass and sipped.

"Do you have enough medicine?"

"Three doses a day. I haven't missed one."

"Your son's outside?"

"On the steps. The car's borrowed—needs to be returned before four."

"Then leave before four." He Xiufen said, "Have another bowl before you go. You like the noodles soft, and they cook fast."

She went into the kitchen and brought out a small bag of raw noodles, tied shut in a plastic bag, and pressed it into the hands of Pang Chunlai's son. He stood and accepted it.

"Boil them soft when you get home," she said. "No chili."

"He's on a restricted diet."

"I remember."

At two o'clock, conversation still filled the room. Someone brought up last winter's snow, how it had collapsed the awning at the mouth of the alley; Li Huilan flipped the sign-in book to the last page at the counter and read the names aloud one by one for Auntie Wang, each person answering as their name was called. Tang Guo had said she wouldn't bring out her camera today, but she'd carried plenty of plates.

Her own bowl of noodles didn't arrive until now. Lu Jibai set it in front of her, pulled her chair a half-foot over, and sat down. A layer of oil floated on top, the broth newly added.

"Gone mushy," he said.

"Where's yours?"

"I already ate."

"Then why are you sitting here?"

"To watch you eat." He said, "Mushy noodles lose their chew."

She lifted her chopsticks, and the noodles drooped over the rim of the bowl. Before the first bite reached her mouth, she looked up.

The lamp by the door burned even in daylight, its shade coated with a film of kitchen grease. Light slanted down from the upper edge of the doorframe, falling across the floor inside the threshold in a bright line, whitening a strip of the doorsill.

On the other side of that bright line, beyond the glass door, a shadow stood on the steps. It didn't move forward, didn't retreat down.

Someone in the room laughed, and before it finished, another voice picked up. Still, that shadow didn't move.

She lowered the chopsticks back into the bowl.