Read Novel Full Chapter 71 : Lined Up to the Mouth of the Lane
Chapter 71 : Lined Up to the Mouth of the Lane
The long table had been hauled down from the firm. One of its four legs was half a finger short.
He Xiufen set it below the steps in front of the noodle shop, fished a sheet of old newspaper folded in thirds from her apron pocket, wedged it under the short leg, and pressed down twice with her hand.
"Don't all crowd around." She tilted her chin toward the lane. "One at a time. You can stand while we do this."
Ma Jianjun held the other end of the table, his work jacket draped over the armrest, an unlit cigarette clenched between his teeth.
"I know this table," he said. "Last time I came to hand in that list, the person was sitting at it."
June 20, 7:47 a.m. Shen Zhixia turned into the mouth of the lane and stopped short.
Three people sat on the steps in front of the noodle shop, and seven or eight more stood along the base of the wall. Some held plastic bags with the white edge of a contract poking out. One woman clutched a stack of printed pages to her chest, the corners gone soft from her sweaty palms.
"What time did you get here?" she asked Ma Jianjun.
"6:40." He pulled the cigarette from his mouth and tucked it behind his ear. "When I came in, there were already three people squatting in the lane."
She shoved the soy milk into Tang Guo's hands. Tang Guo had stayed up all night printing forms in the same format as the day before: seven columns across—complex, building number, monthly rent, how much paid, QR code or loan, when water and power were cut, whether the landlord had changed the locks. Two hundred forms, printed front and back so both sides could be used.
"Four things. Did you bring them?" Tang Guo waved the first person over. "Contract, payment records, collection texts, ID card. You can still register if one's missing—I'll mark that box with an X."
The first was the woman from Min'an Lane Building No. 3, whose water had been cut last Wednesday. She set a plastic bag on the corner of the table. Inside was a neat stack of papers.
"Quarterly payment, 6,300. Contract and transfer screenshots are all here, and I printed the collection texts."
"Printing costs one yuan a page." Tang Guo's head stayed down as she wrote. "I'm recording that too."
"Why bother recording it?"
"You'll know in a couple of days." Tang Guo slid the form over for her to sign.
The signature came out slightly crooked. The person behind her shuffled forward half a step. Ma Jianjun pulled a scrap sheet from the table, cut it into small slips, and wrote a number on each: "Take a number and go sit by the wall. If everyone crowds the table, the people at it can't even breathe." He'd queued at the station. He'd queued outside the ER. He knew how lines worked.
[Thud. Those here today come from Chengdong, Chengxi, and Chengbei.]
A young man pushed to the front of the table, phone held up high. "Jie—sis—someone added me on WeChat last night claiming he can get this money back for me. Wants a 300-yuan service fee upfront."
"Did you pay it?"
"No. I said I'd ask around first."
She set down her pen, stood, and faced the lane.
"I'm only saying this once: anyone who asks you for money—300, 100, 50, doesn't matter—don't reply with a single word. Screenshot it and send it to Tang Guo." She said, "People who actually get things done don't ask you for money over WeChat."
"So where are the people who actually get things done?"
"Right here." He Xiufen rapped her enamel mug against the table, the sound carrying halfway down the lane. "Remember this: anyone asking for money is a fraud."
A younger kid in sneakers stepped forward half a pace. "We agreed in the group chat yesterday. Tomorrow morning, one person from each household goes to the city offices and stands there. Over a hundred people—let's see if they come out."
Shen Zhixia looked at him for two seconds.
"Go if you want. I can't stop you." She said, "But keep your hands empty. One pane of glass breaks, and this changes from 'they owe money' to 'you people vandalized property.' Then that stack of forms was filled out for nothing."
"Then what do you suggest?"
"For a case to stand, it has to be put on paper first." She said, "What you can do today is get a clear photo of your contract and report every payment you've made to Tang Guo. I'll run the rest."
"Can you really run all of it?"
"Run it even if I can't." She pressed the stack of forms flat. "First, get a hundred people to write their names on the same sheet of paper."
At a quarter to nine, Jiang Bo's voice message came in, with a morning market loudspeaker in the background. He'd set up a folding table at the entrance to Xincheng Garden in Chengxi. He'd registered thirty-seven households by morning. Five more were at work and would report in themselves in the evening.
"He even dragged two landlords over." Tang Guo turned her phone around. "Says the landlords are willing to send him photos of their bank statements."
"Reply to him: those two pieces of paper from the landlords are worth more than the tenants'."
"Why?"
"The tenants' papers show how the money came in. The landlords' papers show how it went out." She said, "When the two ends line up, the middle part is what belongs to them."
Just before nine, she gave Tang Guo a couple of instructions, grabbed an empty document folder, and headed for Minsheng Road. She'd arranged to meet Zhao Guangtian before nine.
Zhao Guangtian was waiting downstairs, a kraft paper bag in hand, the opening rolled down twice.
"Deposit receipt and original contract, both in here." He handed her the bag, then pulled a pink carbon-copy slip from his pocket. "This is the deposit receipt from the day she signed. There's a sweat mark along the edge. I haven't touched anything else."
She spread the three items out on the stair railing, examined them one by one, took two photos, and only then put them in the folder.
"Today's the twentieth." Zhao Guangtian said, "My son's mortgage payment went through."
"You mentioned that date last week."
"I'm out a month here—2,200 short." He slid his hands into his pockets, then pulled them out again. "How many people do you have now?"
"One morning—over a hundred."
He paused.
"Over a hundred." He repeated the number. "So where does my 6,600 fall in line?"
She couldn't answer that.
"If I can't get in line, don't tell me to leave a line in some notebook." He pulled the iron gate inward. "What I want is money."
"Your line's still in the ledger." She said, "The hundred-plus households who came today each have a line in it too. When any money moves, there first has to be money."
He didn't respond, just closed the door until only a crack remained and stood in that crack, watching her.
Someone was unloading cargo at the mouth of the lane. Wooden crates hit the ground—thud, thud. She walked out hugging the document folder. The sun had already reached the concrete slab in front of the building.
By the time she got back to the noodle shop, it was past one. At three in the afternoon, the number on the forms had doubled twice over. Tang Guo took the stack upstairs and spread it across the counter, sorting column by column: Minsheng Li, Min'an Lane, Xincheng Garden, Xinghua, Wenchang Road, Textile New Village... Nineteen residential compounds, the furthest household out on Chengnan Outer Ring Road. The person who'd come said they'd ridden the bus an hour and ten minutes.
At six in the evening, she added up the numbers on three sheets twice: seventeen households yesterday, one hundred eighty-seven today, forty-two from Jiang Bo's side in Chengxi. Two hundred forty-six households total.
"Two hundred forty-six." He Xiufen set her mug on the corner of the counter. "One lane, one day."
"The lane couldn't hold them all." Tang Guo said, "More than half sent messages to register."
"Then it's only going to grow." He Xiufen said, "Anyone who can type out their information still has strength in their hands. What about the ones who can't type? What about the ones whose phones are in their sons' hands?"
On a piece of scratch paper, Shen Zhixia wrote one line: Annual report, number of employees, 117.
"That's the number from yesterday." She said, "One hundred seventeen people drawing a paycheck—that's 117 property stewards. How many units does one steward manage?"
"What are you counting by?"
"At twenty units each, that's 2,340. At thirty, 3,510."
He Xiufen pushed the scratch paper back.
"That's multiplication." She said, "Multiplied numbers don't hold up in court."
"I know." She circled both figures in pencil. "But it tells me one thing: the 246 households who made it to this table today aren't the whole case—just the ones who could get out of the house today."
"So have you figured out what you're fighting?"
"A chain." She said, "It takes the money, it switches accounts, it cuts its capital, the bank lends the money out. Remove one link and the money breaks off halfway."
"You've cast your net too wide. You can't stand alone in it." He Xiufen tapped the counter. "In multi-party joint litigation, you can elect representatives. Pick a few, write them on one sheet, and have everyone sign one by one."
"What else goes on that sheet?"
"State clearly whether they can accept the other side's terms on your behalf." He Xiufen said, "A representative can't waive your rights for you, and can't settle for you. Those two things require the individual's own signature. You gathered the people, but each person still has to sign for themselves."
"One authorization per person."
"One per person, and it has to match the right person." She slung the rag back over her shoulder. "The accounts have to be complete too. Three items per household: contract, proof of payment, and the loan document. Missing one, mark an X and follow up later. If three hundred households are on the books and thirty are incomplete, the other two hundred seventy have to sit and wait."
"What about fees?"
"Fifty per household." He Xiufen said, "Write receipts. Make clear it's for supplies and legwork. If someone can't pay, they don't pay—we take the case anyway."
"Fifty times 246..." Tang Guo tapped her phone twice. "12,000."
"When it comes to money, you're faster than anyone." He Xiufen glanced at her. "But that 12,000 isn't today's business."
At 6:30, the long table still hadn't been put away. A crowd ringed it. More people were still walking in from the mouth of the lane.
Shen Zhixia stepped behind the table.
"I'm going to say three things. Anyone who doesn't catch it can ask after."
"One. Not a single yuan of your one or two years' rent went into the landlord's hands. The bank paid it all to Youyu in one lump sum. You're paying the bank every month."
"Two. The landlords stopped receiving money in April. You lost your homes. They lost their rent. It's the same money, lost at both ends."
"Three. The apartment's gone, but the loan is still under your name. The 2,000 due this month, and next month, and the month after—the bank is still going to take it. So don't change your phone number. Don't stop the payments. Protect your credit first. Paying is not the same as accepting. I'll say it twice—paying is not accepting."
Someone in the crowd shouted: "Then when do we get to stop paying?"
"I don't know." She said, "What I do know is, until they acknowledge it on paper, there's no discussion of that loan being returned."
"They ran off. Who's going to acknowledge anything?"
"The people ran. The accounts didn't." She said, "The accounts have names, dates, account numbers. Those can't run."
She finished with three instructions: go home and send Tang Guo clear photos of your contracts and payment records; if anyone asks you for money, wants you to sign or thumbprint anything, or sends you a link, come ask her first; if a landlord shows up at your door, don't fight—bring them to this table.
"Jie," someone asked, "are you taking this case or not?"
"I'm taking it." She said.
"Do you charge?"
"Yes. Fifty per household, receipted. If you can't pay, you don't pay."
That person pulled the form in front of them and pressed a thumbprint at the end of their own line.
He Xiufen came around the table, drying her hands on her apron: "The Zhengping Firm is taking this case. My name goes on it as lead. She runs the legwork." She lifted her chin at the ring of people. "We open tomorrow morning at nine, same table. Bring originals, not arguments."
The crowd dispersed slowly. Tang Guo gathered the forms. The first line of the stack had stayed empty the whole time.
"I'm filling in this line myself." She said, "I owe 24,000, and it's not fake."
"Fill it." Shen Zhixia handed her the pen.
Tang Guo pulled over a stool and sat down, writing one stroke at a time: name, unit number, one year at 24,000, loan. When she finished, she pressed the pen down on the table and looked up at Shen Zhixia.
By eleven, only the one lamp above the counter was left on in the firm.
The three sheets were arranged by complex. The top line was in Tang Guo's own handwriting: Minsheng Road Building Five, Unit 502, annual payment 24,000, loan, locks changed the night of June 16.
The ledger was open to today's page. She was supposed to write tomorrow's business now: which households were short a piece of paper, which complexes still had no one stepping forward, how Zhao Guangtian's 6,600 would move forward. The pen hung over the page. Then the sound came.
[Thud. Registered today: 246 households.]
[Thud. Clients: Tang Guo and 246 other households.]
[Thud. Cause of action: a year's rent, a room no one can move into.]
[Thud. Justice Checklist, item one—]
She waited for the line below.
[Thud. The money it took away—whose accounts is it sitting in today, and how much is left.]
[Thud. This item cannot be checked on your behalf.]
She put pen to paper and wrote four characters at the bottom of the ledger: Where is the money.
When she finished, she looked up at the three sheets. On the first line, unit number, monthly rent, payment method, the date the locks were changed—Tang Guo had filled in every box. Only after the four characters she had just written was there nothing she could fill in today.