Justice System: I Litigate for the Whole City

Chapter 89 : The Old Building

Before heading out, she lifted a corner of the glass desk pad. That old newspaper was still pressed at the very bottom, folded in quarters, the masthead corner facing out. When she pulled it free, a few crumbs of paper flaked off the edge. She tucked it into the innermost layer of her canvas bag. The words "Qingyuan Testing" were circled twice in red. The second circle had poked a small hole through the paper, and the fold line ran right across it.

He Xiufen was waiting at the mouth of the alley, holding a kraft paper case file envelope, its corners worn white. Two characters in fountain pen on the cover: Work Injury.

"Take this too."

"You don't walk into someone's building empty-handed and expect them to let you up to the third floor." He Xiufen smoothed the flap flat. "Characters written twenty years ago—people still recognize them today."

In the car, she laid things out first.

"Three things today. Keep them straight. The archive belongs to the company. The cabinet belongs to the company. The one thing inside the cabinet belongs to a dead man. Three things, three different people with authority."

"What am I allowed to see?"

"The outside of the cabinet." He Xiufen said. "Photograph what you can. Don't take anything you shouldn't—not even a strand of hair."

"What about the paper in my bag?"

"If no one asks, act like you didn't bring it."

The car crossed the bridge over to Chengbei. He Xiufen rested the case file envelope on her knees, one hand pressing down on it.

"The name 'Qingyuan Testing'—who told you?"

"The one who passed on half a sentence."

"People who pass on half a sentence are harder to deal with than the ones who say the whole thing." He Xiufen said. "The man watching the building is surnamed Cui. Twenty years ago, a machine crushed his hand. I fought for him."

"His hand—"

"Lost two joints." He Xiufen said. "What he remembers isn't me. He remembers the year someone finished his sentence for him."

"The bank gave us ten days. Until the twenty-second." Shen Zhixia said.

"I know." He Xiufen looked out the window. "The day he hands over the original, you still need to take the bank's material and check it against what's in that building today. Whether it matches—you won't be able to tell just from today."

Qingyuan Testing's old building sat in an old industrial zone in Chengbei. Three stories, gray walls, climbing ivy on half the wall, the leaf tips starting to yellow. Two rows of plane trees below. Under the trees, an old bicycle covered in dust, its chain lying slack on the ground.

One side of the glass door stood open, two sheets of paper taped to it. The top one was a relocation notice—the office had moved to the development zone. The one below it was plain white with black characters: Visitors must register.

In June, she'd found the registered address on the public information system: Shuangqiao Road, Chengxi. He Xiufen said that was just a registration address; the old building and the archives had always been in Chengbei, never moved.

Master Cui came out the door. Fifties, gray-blue work clothes, left hand wrapped in an old cotton glove that covered the fingers, a ring of keys at his waist that clanked against his trouser seam as he walked.

"Lawyer He."

"Lao Cui."

He lifted his left hand half an inch, then let it drop.

The stairs were terrazzo, worn into a shallow groove down the middle. The doors on the second floor all stood open, rooms empty, a layer of dust on the windowsills. At the end of the third-floor hallway, the last room was locked. Master Cui tried three keys before it opened.

Inside, a row of metal cabinets. By the window, an old desk with an enamel mug holding a few pens, two pots of dead pothos on the windowsill. In the deepest corner, a cabinet half a head shorter than the others, a printed label taped to the door.

Three characters on the label: Cen Shouye.

"Passed on June fourteenth." Master Cui said. "For six months before that, he came every day."

"To do what?"

"Go through the archives." He swept his hand along the row of cabinets, from one end to the other. "This room on the third floor—he went through it cabinet by cabinet. Into the night. I'd come up to turn off the lights, and he wouldn't let me."

"Just him?"

"Just him. I offered to help, he said no. Spent his whole life around machines. A man of few words."

He paused.

"One time, he called me over at the stairwell."

"What did he say?"

"He asked me, for those samples delivered from Chengnan nine years ago—were the sample receipt records still around?"

Shen Zhixia's hand stopped at the mouth of her bag.

"I said they were. Third row." Master Cui said. "He nodded, took two steps, then waved me off and said, forget it, asking you won't help."

[Thud. Words swallowed back. Note them, don't guess.]

"After that, he went up to the third floor alone. Didn't call anyone."

"The last time he came up?" He Xiufen asked.

"June eighth, on the lunar calendar." Master Cui thought it over. "He stood in front of that corner cabinet for half an hour. I was waiting at the stairwell to lock up. When he came out, he turned off the light himself."

He Xiufen shifted the case file envelope from under her arm to her hand. "Lao Cui, do you still remember that settlement agreement from back then?"

"I remember." He stared at his left hand. "You told me not to sign it, to get an assessment first. The assessment came out Grade Nine. The factory paid according to Grade Nine in the end. If I'd signed that day, it would've been three thousand."

"Three thousand yuan. You've remembered it for twenty years."

"I remember." Master Cui said. "That year my son had just started elementary school."

He Xiufen pulled a stack of papers from the envelope and laid it on the desk. "I made a copy. For you."

"What do I keep it for?"

"Keep it." She said. "Someday when your son asks about those two fingers of yours, you'll have a piece of paper to show him."

Master Cui held the stack for a moment, then rolled it up and tucked it into the inside pocket of his work jacket.

"This one belonged to the director." He walked to the corner cabinet. "He retired and got rehired for three more years. His mug sat on that desk for three years without moving, and nobody dared touch it. Three days after he passed, his wife came by. The administration office took her up and opened the door."

"What did she take?"

"Clothes. Carried out a bundle. The glasses case, the enamel mug—she didn't want those." He stopped. "Under the cabinet there was an iron-shell thing, square, palm-sized, with a little lock on it. She carried it away."

"Carried it away."

"Two days later, she brought it back." Master Cui said. "She said she tried two shops and neither could open it. The first said they couldn't do it. The second waved her off and said they wouldn't touch the job."

"Why bring it back?"

"No place to put it." He said. "Her son isn't around. She lives alone. Every time she sees anything of the old man's, she just sits down and sits there for half a day. Bringing it back was putting it back where it belonged."

"And this lock?"

"The administration office put it on last month." Master Cui said. "This building gets handed over next month. Everything inside gets sealed. No one touches anything."

"How many times has the administration office come by in the last six months?"

"Twice. Once to hang the label. Once last week—two people came to measure the windows and said they needed to inventory everything in the room." Master Cui said. "They have the key."

Shen Zhixia knelt down. The lock was new, no rust on the shackle. Along the bottom edge of the cabinet door were two scratch marks, one deep, one shallow—one near the hinge, the other half an inch from the hasp.

She took three photos and stood up.

"Master Cui, these two marks—were they here before?"

Master Cui leaned in for a look. Studied it for a while. "Didn't notice."

"So they appeared today?"

"Today."

[Thud. The lock is from last month. The scratches didn't say which day made them.]

"Who can open this cabinet?" He Xiufen asked.

"The key's with the administration office." He said. "Besides, the cabinet belongs to the company, and what's inside belongs to her family. Need both parties together before it can be opened."

"The sample receipt records from Chengnan nine years ago—could I take a look?" Shen Zhixia asked.

Master Cui shook his head. "No."

"I won't go through anything, just—"

"It's not me saying no." He said. "For anything in the archives, the company has to issue a form, or the court has to come. The key's in my hand, but the authority isn't."

"Today, we'll only look at the outside of the cabinet." He Xiufen said.

[Thud. The cabinet is locked. The key isn't in anyone's hand here today.]

The gatehouse was under the stairs, a desk squeezed against the window ledge, a blue-covered logbook lying open, its corners curling.

"Lao Cui, in the last six months, has anyone else come to look at Director Cen's things?"

Master Cui thought for a while. "Yes. Last Friday afternoon."

"What kind of person?"

"White shirt." He said. "A badge pinned at the chest, a small one, dark lanyard."

Shen Zhixia lifted her head.

"He stood at the entrance for two minutes and said he was here to pick something up. I had him sign in. The work unit column was blank. Purpose said one line: retrieving documents. Name scribbled. Left a number at the bottom."

"How long was he up there?"

"Ten minutes or so. Came down and left."

"Which room did he look at?"

"Third floor." Master Cui said. "Didn't need me to show him the way. He knew it himself."

"What did the badge say?"

"Didn't see clearly. Just a little white block, with a dark strip below." He said. "I don't stare at people's badges."

"Did he say anything else?"

Master Cui lowered his eyes for a second, like he was setting a sentence straight.

"He asked me one thing." He said. "He asked whether that iron-shell thing under the cabinet by the window was still there."

"What did you say?"

"I said it was."

"Has he come back?"

"No. Just that once." Master Cui said. "When he left, he stood downstairs for a while, looking up at the two windows on the third floor."

[Thud. Someone asked about the same cabinet before you.]

She photographed that page three times: the full page, the middle line, and the number at the bottom. The date at the start of that row was August seventh. The number had eleven digits, the last stroke dragging downward a little at the end. She didn't dial it.

She thought of July twentieth. In the screen at that fresh produce store in Chengbei, a man in a white shirt with a badge at his chest had walked to the cold cabinet and spoken a full name. Door to door, under forty seconds. She'd watched that footage more than twenty times. She couldn't pin down the color on the badge—just a small white block, with a dark strip below.

"Lao Cui." He Xiufen said. "Don't touch this logbook. If anyone asks, don't say anyone looked at it today."

"Understood."

"And that lock upstairs—don't touch it either."

"I get it." Master Cui said. "I'm the last person who'll walk out of this building. The day I hand over the keys, I won't be able to get back in."

"That's why we need to get everyone together today." He Xiufen said. "Don't wait for them to put up the seals."

One step at the entrance was loose; it wobbled when you stepped on it. Standing below the steps, she looked back. The inner window on the third floor was open a crack, a faded sheet of paper pasted to the glass. A gust of wind lifted a corner, then pressed it back down.

"Last Friday." He Xiufen studied the photo on her phone. "Someone beat us by six days."

"This page is just a photo today." Shen Zhixia said. "For it to become part of the record, someone has to step forward and say it themselves."

"Right." He Xiufen said. "What he asked about was the cabinet, not the archives."

"Then we ask the family first." She said. "That thing left in her hands for two days. Who touched it during those two days, who knew about it—only she can tell us."

He Xiufen tucked the case file envelope tighter under her arm and started down the steps first.

"This afternoon."