Justice System: I Litigate for the Whole City

Chapter 46 : An Employment Relationship Exists

February 9, 8:40 a.m. The row of plane trees in front of the district court stood bare. The wind swept the paper scraps on the steps into a line. Seven electric scooters were parked below, the plastic sheeting over their rear boxes flapping.

Deng Wei stood under the indicator light by the entrance counting heads. When he reached nineteen, he looked up. ”Whereʼs Lao Chang?”

”Parked out back.” Xiao Duan raised a hand, navigation still glowing on his phone. ”He said the scooterʼs borrowed—his brother-in-law needs it today—so he was afraid of losing it.”

”Whereʼs Xu Li?”

”Went in a while ago. Said his wife told him to go in and sit down.”

Luo Cheng pushed his padded cap up. The strip of forehead below the brim was red from the cold. ”Iʼm going in.” After two steps, he looked back. ”Can I smoke in there?”

”No,” Deng Wei said.

”Then Iʼm staying out here.”

”You have to go in.” Deng Wei lifted the papers in his hand. ”The representative is already inside. If the headcountʼs short by one, theyʼll have something to talk about.”

Luo Cheng cursed but followed anyway.

He Xiufen came across the road, switching the cloth bag to her other hand. She stopped at the foot of the steps and looked up at Shen Zhixia.

”Once youʼre in there, just listen.”

”Mm.”

”He reads, you listen. If he asks whether you have any objection, say no.”

”What if I do?”

”Then hold it until heʼs done.” He Xiufen started up the steps first. ”Today is his day. Not yours.”

Ma Jianjun stood at the base of the steps, both hands in the pockets of his padded jacket. Inside his pocket, the edges of a thing folded in four pressed against his palm. He didnʼt move until everyone else had gone up.

Lao Song sat on the edge of the flowerbed, opened his small notebook, and wrote: 8:52, went in. When he finished, he clipped his pen back to the spine of the notebook. His butt never left the flowerbed.

Xiao Duan was walking last and looked back. ”Brother Song, youʼre not going in?”

”No.”

”Itʼs the last one.”

”Going in just means sitting there.” Lao Song closed the notebook. ”Iʼll wait by the door. Easier to note the time when you come out.”

Second Courtroom, 9:00 sharp.

Behind the plaintiffsʼ seats, twenty chairs were set out, sixteen of them filled. He Xiufen sat in the gallery, cloth bag on her lap. Only two people sat at the defendantsʼ table today: Lu Jibai and Lü Hang. The nameplates for Defendant Two, Defendant Three, and Defendant Four still stood on the table. Their chairs were empty.

”The court will now pronounce judgment,” Judge Cheng said. ”All rise.”

Chair legs scraped across the concrete floor all at once.

Judge Cheng picked up the stack of papers and began reading the parties in a flat voice, as if reading something that had nothing to do with him. When he reached the plaintiffsʼ column, he read ”Ma Jianjun and nineteen others,” paused, then read ”authorized representative, Shen Zhixia.” When he reached Defendant Two, Defendant Three, and Defendant Four, he looked up briefly.

”Defendant Two, Defendant Three, and Defendant Four were duly summoned by this court and failed to appear without justifiable reason. This court lawfully conducted a trial in absentia, and this is noted in the hearing record.”

He flipped ahead. When he reached the page with the operative part, he stopped, raised his head, and looked around the plaintiffsʼ seats.

”One. The court confirms that employment relationships exist between the twenty plaintiffs and Defendant One.”

When Shen Zhixia heard the words ”employment relationship exists,” a small piece of what came after didnʼt quite register. Her hand gripped the underside of the table until the wood creaked. Beside her, Deng Weiʼs shoe tip shifted forward half an inch, then drew back.

”Two. Defendant One, Defendant Two, Defendant Three, and Defendant Four shall jointly pay the plaintiffs, within ten days of the date this judgment takes effect, a total of RMB 36,406 in remuneration and overtime deductions, in the amounts set out in the list attached to this judgment, matched to each person one by one.”

”Three. The court filing fee shall be borne jointly by the four defendants.”

A one-page list was attached at the end of the judgment: twenty lines. One line for each name, one line for each amount. The clerk pulled that page out and spread it flat on the table.

Judge Cheng did not read the entire judgment aloud. He read three sentences from the ”This Court finds” section.

Order acceptance, pricing, overtime deductions, account bans, and account unbans were all implemented through the backend system operated by Defendant One; the plaintiffs had no room for negotiation there. Remuneration was settled through Defendant Oneʼs settlement system, and the settlement funds came from accounts under a company in Defendant Oneʼs name. The platform service agreement and various rules were drafted unilaterally by Defendant One; all a rider could do was click ”I agree” once on the screen.

Defendant One argued that the relationship between the parties was cooperation and did not constitute an employment relationship. In form, a rider could choose when to come online and which trips to take; but the bounds within which he could choose were drawn by Defendant One. That sliver of formal autonomy was not enough to negate the existence of management and control.

Judge Cheng squared the pages and tapped their edges against the desk.

”This judgment is a first-instance judgment. The judgment will be served within ten days. If any party is dissatisfied with this judgment, it may file a notice of appeal with this court within fifteen days from the date the judgment is served.”

”Adjourned.”

The clerk split the record of pronouncement into two columns and passed it over. Lu Jibai signed first. He drew a pen from the inner pocket of his suit, unscrewed the cap, and wrote his name in Defendant Oneʼs column. On the final stroke, his hand slowed—just slightly. He screwed the cap back on, snapped it shut, let his gaze rest on the line ”within fifteen days” for half a second, and closed the case file.

Lü Hang added the date beside him and pushed the record back.

When Shen Zhixia signed, she realized the sweat on her palm had softened one corner of the paper. She handed the pen back to the clerk, and only then remembered she had been standing the whole time.

Behind the plaintiffsʼ seats, someone coughed and couldnʼt hold it back; it turned into a sob. She looked back. It was Xu Li. He grinned as if he were laughing, but his eyes were red. Lao Chang put a hand on his shoulder and patted it twice.

Ma Jianjun stood in the last row, both hands still in his pockets. He didnʼt move.

[Thud. Six words, read aloud.]

[Thud. The paper arrives in ten days. The money is still in its pocket.]

The radiator in the T-shaped corridor was lukewarm. When they came out, no one spoke. At the stairway, Xiao Duan was the first to speak. ”So itʼs really... over?”

”Itʼs over,” Deng Wei said. He unfolded and refolded the stack of papers in his hand—the original Representative Nomination Letter, its edges worn soft from handling. ”What about the money?”

”The judgment will come down within ten days. After that, it has fifteen days to appeal. If it doesnʼt appeal, the judgment takes effect. After it takes effect, it has ten days to pay.” She counted off each step and stopped. ”Fastest, a month.”

”What if it does appeal?”

”Then we wait longer.”

”What if we win the second instance too?”

”After a second-instance ruling, it wonʼt have much left to stall with.”

Luo Cheng pulled off his hat and put it back on. ”One month. My installment payment hits on the twentieth. Last month that seven hundred twenty—I scraped it together from cold storage day wages, bit by bit.”

”I know,” she said. ”This afternoon Iʼll go to the Case Filing Division and ask about enforcement.”

”The judgment hasnʼt taken effect. Enforce what?” Lao Chang said.

”Ask how to make it fast.” She said. ”Better to go ask than to wait here.”

Lao Chang wiped his hands on his padded jacket. ”Those eleven screenshots of mine—what did they count for today?”

”They counted,” she said.

Deng Weiʼs phone buzzed in his pocket: a voice message from the rider group. He tapped it. A riderʼs voice came through: ”Bro, whatʼs the verdict?”

”Verdictʼs in.” Deng Wei spoke into the phone. ”It admitted it.”

He Xiufen stood by the window, the cloth bag in her hand. ”Appeal is its right. Donʼt save it the trouble. As long as itʼs in its hands, it has time to work.”

Deng Wei turned and called toward the last row. ”Brother Ma.”

Ma Jianjun didnʼt answer right away.

”Thereʼs still enforcement,” Deng Wei said. ”Twenty people need someone to sign forms, run to windows, and answer on the spot if questions come up. You do it.”

He had never answered to ”Brother Ma” before. Whenever someone called him that, heʼd wave a hand: call me that after the moneyʼs in my account. Today he pulled the thing in his pocket out just far enough to glance at one corner, then pressed it back.

”It wouldnʼt admit it before,” he said. ”Today it did.”

He paused.

”Mm. Iʼll answer to it for now.”

Xiao Duan came over holding up his phone. ”Sis, should I snap a photo of the judgment and post it to the group?”

”The judgment hasnʼt come into our hands yet,” she said. ”Once itʼs served, you can photograph the first page.”

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She took it out. It was Tang Guo: Is the defendant column filled in?

She typed: Filled in. Four.

Tang Guo replied quickly: ”Then Iʼll post. Iʼve got the headline: Twenty People, One Judgment.”

She stared at those words for a while, then replied: Donʼt write ”win.” Write ”confirmed.”

At the stairway corner, she opened the Public Information Registry and pulled down to refresh. The first row was still Sutong, the second still Jianhua.

The text in the registration status column had changed: Simplified Deregistration Filing, accepted.

She turned the screen toward He Xiufen.

He Xiufen looked for two seconds and switched the cloth bag to her other hand. ”Itʼs starting to clear the table.”

”The public notice period ended on January 22. I filed the objection.”

”The objection only blocks the notice period.” He Xiufen pushed the phone back. ”Once the period ends, it can file. Once it files, the companyʼs still here, the people are still here, and the accounts start emptying.” She started down the stairs. ”That piece of paper in your hand has to move faster than it does.”

Lü Hang came over from the other end of the corridor, carrying the case file in his other hand. He stopped two steps away.

”Attorney Shen,” he said. ”My client has no comment on todayʼs judgment. It will appeal within fifteen days.”

”Noted.”

”Defendant Two, Defendant Three, and Defendant Four had no counsel appear today.” He glanced at He Xiufen. ”As for the appeal, I represent only Defendant One.”

”Understood.”

Lü Hang nodded and left.

The wind was stronger below the steps. Lao Song stood, opened his notebook, and wrote: 9:36, came out. When he finished, he clipped the pen back to the spine.

Lu Jibai came out the side door, the case file tucked under his arm. Lü Hang was half a step behind him, on the phone. Lu Jibai went down two steps and stopped.

”Plaintiff.”

”Mm.”

He didnʼt look at her. He looked across the street at the delivery scooter boxes, where the wind lifted the plastic sheeting and let it fall.

”It will file the notice of appeal first, then move on the deregistration of those two companies,” he said. ”The appeal is stalling. Every day it stalls, your money stays out on the road one more day.”

The wind lifted a corner of the top page of his case file. He pressed it down.

”Youʼre handling its appeal.”

”Iʼm telling you first.”

She looked at him. ”Those two words from last time—you still owe me a personʼs name.”

He didnʼt take that line.

”Those last few lines of yours today,” he said, ”I heard once before, nine years ago.”

The wind on the steps stopped for two seconds, then picked up again. On the phone in her hand, the word ”accepted” still glowed.

Nine years ago. That winter she was fifteen. A photocopy had been spread across the dinner table at home, and her father said the signature was his.

”Where.”

He didnʼt answer. He shifted the case file to his left arm, walked to the curb, and waited for the light.

The pedestrian light turned green. He crossed the crosswalk without looking back.

She took the hardcover notebook from her bag and turned to the page marked ”First Trial Round: The Defendant Column.” There were already three lines at the bottom. She uncapped her pen and added a fourth: First instance — it admitted it.

When she finished, she slipped the pen back into the notebook spine. On the steps, the dozen or so people were still standing around talking; Luo Chengʼs voice was the loudest.

[Thud. Judgment not yet effective, payment not received. This Justice Points item is not counted for now.]

[Thud. Chengnan Station No. 1, Ma Jianjun — this line wonʼt be filled in all the way just yet.]