Justice System: I Litigate for the Whole City

Chapter 9 : Noodle Money

"Wash your hands first."

The faucet was at the far end of the hallway, a red plastic bucket beneath it, a rag draped over the bucket's rim. When Shen Zhixia came back from washing up, the noodles were already on the table by the window: a thick ceramic bowl, too hot to hold, scallion oil floating across the surface of the broth, an egg nestled in it.

"I only asked for noodles."

"I put the egg in." He Xiufen sat down across from her, one corner of her apron resting on her knee. "Under my roof, an extra egg doesn't cost anything. Only the braised stuff costs money."

She took a sip of the broth first.

"How much?"

"Eight."

"What about the egg?"

"I already told you."

Shen Zhixia reached into her pocket and counted out eight yuan: one five, three ones, all wrinkled. She smoothed them flat and pushed them to the middle of the table.

He Xiufen glanced down, then didn't touch the money.

"What are you doing?"

"Noodle money."

"The noodles were my treat."

"You asked me to come up. You didn't say you were buying."

He Xiufen gathered up the eight yuan and stuffed it into her apron pocket, then pulled a hardcover notebook from the same pocket. A sticker on the cover read "Zhengping Noodle House," its edges worn pale. She flipped to the last page with writing on it and wrote: Noodles, one bowl, eight yuan, received.

[Thud. She took your eight yuan, so you no longer owe her eight yuan. The rest will be settled separately.]

"Where am I sleeping tonight?" Shen Zhixia asked.

"There's a little room behind the upstairs. It's filled with case files. A folding cot, old bedding." He Xiufen set the notebook on the corner of the table. "If you want to stay, stay."

"How much for the room?"

"Nothing."

"Why?"

"Because right now you can't even afford a room." He Xiufen said. "Three thousand nine hundred in your account, eighteen hundred in rent, and a younger brother in his second year of high school. What would you pay me with?"

"If you're keeping me here, there has to be a reason."

"The reason is Zhao Guangnian's phone call. The accounts are something else." She held up a finger. "I don't keep idle people, and I don't take freeloaders. Three jobs. One, the accounts—everything downstairs, stock in, stock out, who still owes, one page a day. Two, the files—watch the cabinet in the back room for me. Whatever's coming due, whatever needs filing, whichever client needs a call, put it on a sheet of paper and stick it to the door. Three, legs—delivering documents, picking up court papers, waiting in line at the Legal Aid Center, you run."

"After I've done all three, I sleep on that cot."

"After you've done all three, you'll have earned that cot."

"What about your delivery rider's case?" He Xiufen asked. "Was it accepted?"

"It was accepted. Hearing date pending notice."

"Who's representing the other side?"

"Hengzheng."

He Xiufen gathered the chopsticks on the table into a neat pile but didn't follow up.

Shen Zhixia thought for a moment. "That room, what's the market rate?"

"What market rate?"

"For my records."

He Xiufen stared at her for two seconds. "Eight hundred."

Shen Zhixia took out her notebook, turned to a fresh page, and wrote: Bed, one month, market rate eight hundred. Below it, on a new line: Noodles, eight yuan, paid.

"Why are you writing that down?"

"You keep your books. I keep mine."

He Xiufen laughed once, then smoothed her face back into a blank look. "Fine. If you want to keep accounts forever, I won't stop you."

She stood, picked up her empty bowl, and walked to the top of the stairs. She looked back.

"That internship thing, don't talk about it," she said. "You were let go by Hengzheng. If I take you on, I'll have to explain it to half the city, one by one. First finish the rider case. After that, you and I will settle up."

"I didn't bring it up."

"You didn't. I know you've got it in your head." She went down one step. "Bring your bowl down. The sink is by the stove."

The sink was sheet metal, with the dinner pot soaking in it. He Xiufen rolled up her sleeves. Shen Zhixia squeezed in beside her, set the bowl down, and picked up the loofah sponge. He Xiufen didn't stop her, just shifted the pot over to leave her half a space.

"You record today's accounts," He Xiufen said.

She pushed the hardcover notebook over to Shen Zhixia, who flipped back through the first few pages: big characters, wide spacing, two lines a day, three at most. One line read only "Zhao, twelve." Another read "Old Xu, twenty." Below that, "Kid, six." None of the three entries had a date, and none had the word "credit."

"When were these three?"

"Forgot what day they were from."

"Then how do you know who still hasn't paid?"

"I just remember." He Xiufen turned the stove flame down to the lowest setting. "They're all neighbors. You run into them."

Shen Zhixia picked up the pen, circled the three entries, and added a date after each. Then at the bottom of the page she wrote: For credit, record the date, name, and amount. Not one line missing. She set the pen down.

He Xiufen looked at that line for a while.

"You're just like your dad," she said. "Everything has to land on paper."

She looked up.

"You knew my dad."

"Eat first, then ask." He Xiufen dried her hands and walked toward the inner door. "Come in. First you need to learn this cabinet."

The inner room was half the size of the outer one. A long table, four chairs, a sheet of glass over the table, and under it contact lists, a scheduling chart, a few business cards. Against the wall stood a wooden cabinet, and beside it a metal one. On top of the metal cabinet was an old photocopier covered with blue cloth. A brass plaque was nailed by the door, polished bright: Legal Aid. Under the brass plaque was a line of smaller characters, the year worn too faint to read. Next to it hung a palm-sized sign, white with black characters, printed with the firm's name. The first two characters matched the wooden sign downstairs.

"This is the room."

"Read files here during the day. At noon, people come up to eat." He Xiufen tilted her chin toward the window. "There's no room downstairs, so customers come up. From now on you sit in the inner room. When you hear chairs moving, put the files away."

She opened the wooden cabinet.

Inside were piles of case files, bound with nylon cord, the cord biting deep into the paper. Some bags had names written on them. Others had only a surname.

"A welder. Fell from scaffolding last October. The employer was a small factory with forty-some workers." He Xiufen's finger moved from pile to pile. "The case was filed in winter. He died in winter. His wife came by once in March this year. She stood at the door but didn't come in."

"An old woman seeking support. Three sons. One can't be found outside the city. Another came twice, saying their mother lives with the oldest."

"A traffic accident. Two thousand four hundred at stake. For that twenty-four hundred, the bus fare alone came to sixty before she'd even made three trips to court."

"And this one." She pulled out a thin file. "A small factory owner owed six people back wages, ran off, and the company was deregistered."

[Thud. Not every case in this cabinet is an injustice. Some people are just poor.]

Shen Zhixia stood in front of the cabinet without moving. After a while, she straightened the pile in her hands to its original position and closed the cabinet door.

"Starting tomorrow, you look through these. Whatever's coming due, whichever call needs to be made, write it on a sheet and stick it on the door."

He Xiufen turned to leave. Shen Zhixia noticed a yellowed sheet of paper pressed under the glass, only a corner showing. On that corner, half of a written character remained: the left side, a water radical.

She didn't touch the glass.

"When you heard my surname was Shen earlier, your hand stopped."

He Xiufen stood at the doorway, the light cord in her hand.

"I knew your father."

"How?"

"In this city there are only so many lawyers who handle small cases. You can't avoid them." He Xiufen said. "He ate noodles here. He never added an egg. He said those two yuan could buy two pens."

"What else?"

"That year he took a case. A bricklayer fell from scaffolding and broke his back. His boss was local. Someone from the factory who knew me asked me to pass along a word, to tell your father not to take it and the money would be taken care of." She wound the light cord around her finger. "I advised him. I said you can't win this case. He said winning or losing wasn't for him to decide. He said only one thing: I saw it."

"Saw what?"

"That man lying in bed." He Xiufen said. "He could walk."

Shen Zhixia stared at the corner of paper under the glass. "His last case. How much do you know?"

He Xiufen let go of the light cord, came back, and slapped the hardcover notebook down on the glass, right over that half character.

"What I know, I won't tell you now." She said. "First, win a case of your own. Once you have a name for yourself, come back and ask me."

"How long will that take?"

"That's up to you." He Xiufen pulled the light cord. "Finish reading before you sleep. The back room. Bedding's on the second shelf of the cabinet."

The back room's door was only half a door and scraped the floor as it opened. A folding cot stood against the wall, one end propped on a cardboard box. The quilt was folded into a neat square, heavy with the smell of mothballs. The window faced the alley. A crack ran through the glass, patched with clear tape.

She set her bag on the bed and laid out Ma Jianjun's materials one by one: the IOU on notebook paper, twenty-three printed screenshots, outpatient receipts, the case receipt, the notice of acceptance, the power of attorney, a copy of the letter of recommendation. The eleven handling notices from this morning she only had as forwarded files on her phone, not yet printed.

She arranged them into three columns.

The first column was what he had done: what time he started, what time he clocked out, which day the rain poured, which day the road was closed.

The second column was who controlled him: where the clock-in location was pinned, who collected the thirty-yuan fines, who sent the notices.

The third column was who had paid him: that private account in the name of a man surnamed Wang, mid-month every month, noted as delivery fees.

When she finished, she looked at the middle column. It was the thinnest.

She tore a page from her notebook and wrote three questions to ask Ma Jianjun the next day: What year did he buy his phone; whose name is on the SIM card; has he ever changed his number.

After writing, she sat on the edge of the bed and called Tang Guo.

"Where are you?" Tang Guo asked first.

"Old Town."

"Where in Old Town?"

"Above a law firm."

"What firm?"

"Zhengping. Director He's firm." She said. "She's letting me stay in a little room out back."

There was silence on the other end for two seconds. "How much money do you have on you?"

"Three thousand nine hundred."

"After eighteen hundred for rent, you'll have twenty-one hundred left, and you still have to give your brother living expenses."

"I've done the math."

"You always do the math." Tang Guo said. "I didn't make you worry about rent. This afternoon the landlord came up. I said you were on a business trip. Transfer the money whenever. Don't force it."

"I'll transfer it tomorrow." She said. "I still have to keep living there."

"You're staying above someone's law firm, and you're still paying rent?"

"You can't carry eighteen hundred by yourself."

Tang Guo exhaled on the other end and didn't argue. "One more thing—that rider's helmet of yours. I put it on your bed, under the pillow. People keep asking in the comments whose it is."

"Don't film it."

"I didn't."

There were two knocks on the door, and it pushed open before anyone answered. He Xiufen stood there holding two sheets of paper. She walked to the bed and slapped them on the folding table.

"The court schedule is out."

"Who said?"

"I was delivering someone else's materials this afternoon and asked in passing."

"In passing."

"In passing." She pushed the top sheet under the lamplight—a blank Service Address Confirmation Form, every field empty. "I changed the address to here."

"You changed my service address."

"Whose roof are you sleeping under tonight?" He Xiufen said. "Tomorrow morning at nine, Window No. 3, pick up the hearing notice. Go yourself."

"You're not coming with me."

"No." She tucked her hand back into her apron pocket. "If you need someone to hold your hand just to pick up a piece of paper, are you going to drag me into the courtroom on hearing day?"

Shen Zhixia didn't answer. She picked up the blank form and looked at it. It wasn't long, just field after field waiting to be filled in.

"The opposing lawyer, Lu Jibai." He Xiufen turned back at the door. "He's never lost an employment case."

"I know."

"Good that you know."

The door closed. Downstairs, the rolling shutter came down with a clatter, leaving only one lamp still lit in the alley.

She opened her notebook and wrote at the top of a new page: Tomorrow morning, nine o'clock, Window No. 3.

The line above it read: Bed, one month, market rate eight hundred.