Justice System: I Litigate for the Whole City

Chapter 76 : The Corporate Window

June 29, 9 a.m., third floor of the District Court. A line curled out from the filing window, where a printer spat out page after page, the paper still warm from the rollers.

He Xiufenʼs stack of documents was held together with a paper clip: on top, the Application for Investigation Order; underneath, the photocopy of Tang Guoʼs loan contract; third, a handwritten note of her own—June 26, 2:40 p.m., Chengdong Branch personal banking window, teller badge Hao Min, eight words, ”needs notarization, not available to outside parties,” recorded verbatim. At the bottom, Tang Guoʼs signed Power of Attorney with her fingerprint.

The presiding judge flipped through quickly, then stopped at page three.

”The bank refused you in person?”

”Twice.” Shen Zhixia said. ”Once at the personal banking window, once at the Credit Business Department on the second floor. Both refusals were verbal. No written response.”

”Verbal refusals canʼt go into an order.” The judge clicked her pen cap shut. ”Time, branch, the name and employee ID of whoever you spoke with, what you asked for, what they said—write it all out, item by item. Thatʼs the only way the paper I sign will hold up.”

She flipped back to page two.

”Three items. The loan contract, the entrusted payment transfer voucher, and the disbursement account statement.”

”Exactly three.”

”I wonʼt sign for one more.” The judge said, ”Overshoot and theyʼll bounce the whole thing back with ʼbeyond the scope of investigation.ʼ”

”Why is the respondent listed as Chengdong Branch and not Jiangzhou Bank?”

”Thatʼs where the money left.” Shen Zhixia recited the row numbers from the three ledgers. ”The disbursement came from this branch, and the deductions from this branch.”

”The contract in your hands is between Tang Guo and the bank.” He Xiufen pulled the photocopy from her bag and laid it on top of the application. ”But how the money walked out the door isnʼt written on that page. If you want them to acknowledge it, you have to pull their own ledger.”

The investigation order came out as a thin sheet, perforations running along the top and bottom, a seal stamped at the base. The ”Order Holder” field read He Xiufen; the ”Accompanying Personnel” field read Shen Zhixia. Before the seal came down, the judge added one more thing.

”Ten days. Within ten days, they must produce. After that, you reapply.”

”Accompanying personnel may not hold the order independently.” The judge glanced at Shen Zhixia again. ”On the day you collect the materials, the order holder must be present.”

Walking downstairs, He Xiufen folded the paper in thirds and tucked it into the innermost pocket of the canvas bag, pressing her hand over the flap.

”My nameʼs on it,” she said.

”I noticed.”

”If you want your own name on that door, finish out the year, pass the exam.” She walked ahead without looking back. ”This paper today is just me cracking the door open for you. How you stand once youʼre inside—thatʼs on you.”

[Thud. They said ”not available to outside parties.” So youʼll report what they said to the court.]

At 10:30, Tang Guo called, asking whether filing day plus seven days had passed yet, asking how much she could get back. Standing on the courthouse steps, Shen Zhixia said: ”Not yet.” A pause on the other end. Then: ”Okay, I wonʼt ask anymore,” and the line went dead.

2:40 p.m., Jiangzhou Bank Chengdong Branch, corporate banking window.

She passed the investigation order, He Xiufenʼs practice certificate, the firmʼs letter, and her own ID through the window, one by one. The young woman inside flipped through them, stopped at the respondent field, and looked up. ”Youʼre the order holder?” He Xiufen slid her practice certificate forward. The woman studied the perforation seal with a magnifying glass, then said:

”Iʼm going to need to call our legal department about this one.”

”Weʼll wait.” He Xiufen said. ”Keep the materials. Just give me a receipt.”

The consultation area sat behind the automatic doors—four plastic chairs, one water dispenser, the hot water light glowing. Over the next twenty minutes, the dispenser gurgled once. He Xiufen checked in with the window, returned, said legal was upstairs and told her not to push.

”If they do produce,” she said, settling back into her chair, ”itʼll be photocopies. You verify two things only: where the seal sits, and whether the perforations line up.”

Shen Zhixia pulled the notebook from the bottom of the canvas bag and reread those two lines: ”not available to outside parties.” Sheʼd copied them verbatim when she wrote them down, punctuation included.

Someone approached from down the corridor. Dark suit, black folder tucked under his left arm, reading a sheet of paper as he walked—paper first, then people.

”Director He.”

He Xiufen stood. ”Lawyer Lu.” She studied him for two seconds. ”Hengzheng took this one.”

”We did.” Lu Jibai set the folder on the table but didnʼt sit. ”Iʼve reviewed the investigation order. Three items.”

He checked her ID, He Xiufenʼs practice certificate, and the two perforation lines on the order—three passes in total—before opening the folder.

Item one: the loan contract. The original came out of a plastic sleeve, page three spread on the table, the four characters after ”Merchant Name” on the left: Youyu Apartments.

Item two: the entrusted payment transfer voucher. Payer account, amount 24,000, the payee field ten characters—Jiangzhou Xinhe Trading Co., Ltd. The summary read ”Rent Installment Entrusted Payment.” Sheʼd seen those six characters before: in Youzhuʼs ledger, the entry that landed on May 11 at 10:07 a.m., the summary identical, character for character.

Item three: the disbursement account statement. Two pages. The 24,000 flowing in; the 2,000 flowing out on the twentieth of each month, line by line, deducted through the current month.

”The contract is an original. The other two items are photocopies, sealed on the main text and across the perforations.” Lu Jibai said. ”The original contract is here for verification. If anyone asks about it in court, you say you verified the original.”

”And the original voucher?”

”In the accounting archive.” He said. ”Retrieval requires an appointment. Earliest is tomorrow morning.”

He Xiufen took the three photocopies and counted pages, one by one. His pen tip hovered over the credit line on item two for half a second—directly over the ”Payee” characters—then moved no further. He said nothing.

”What about item four?” He Xiufen asked suddenly.

”If itʼs not on the investigation order, I donʼt provide it.”

”What is item four?”

”You can apply again.”

He Xiufen signed the receipt at the window, duplicate copies—one for the bank, one for her. Only two people remained in the consultation area, and the water dispenser gurgled again.

Shen Zhixia pressed the photocopied page flat against the tableʼs edge.

”That text message from two weeks ago. You sent it.”

”I did.”

”Why tell me not to just watch the landlord?”

Lu Jibai looked at the payee line on the table. When sheʼd pushed the paper toward him, his finger rested on the corner, squaring the edges. The same way heʼd held down that old newspaper at the noodle shop.

”The landlordʼs ledger—you could see that one.” He said. ”This one, you couldnʼt before.”

”Now I can.”

”Now that you can see it, donʼt stop here.”

He Xiufen returned from the window, folded the receipt, and slid it into the bag. ”Weʼve got everything. Letʼs go.”

Past the automatic doors, hot air swallowed the air-conditioning in one gulp. He Xiufen stood on the steps and said: ”That line of his—ʼyou can apply againʼ—write it in your notebook. He didnʼt say that offhand.”

”What would item four be?”

”You want to know, ask the court.” She hoisted the canvas bag higher on her shoulder. ”Not his mouth.”

4 p.m., Zhengping Firm.

Three sheets of paper on the long table. Left, page three of the contract, the four characters in the merchant name field. Middle, the transfer voucher, ten characters in the payee field. Right, the account number sheʼd copied from the asset inquiry statement—the Xinhe account that had been frozen, balance: 31.46 yuan.

She compared the payee account number on the voucher: starts with 6217, ends in 2604. Digit by digit, all four groups matched. When sheʼd first written this number in her notebook, she hadnʼt known it was connected to this pipe running straight to the bank.

”These 24,000 from the bank,” He Xiufen said, her enamel mug landing on the corner of the table, ”went into that account with 31.46 left in it.”

[Thud. Same number, different name. Who keyed in the number? Ask the person who keyed it.]

She flipped back to the May 11 page. The pencil note in the margin—”Minsheng Road, Room 502”—was still there. The same day, 10:07 a.m., Youzhuʼs ledger had recorded an incoming 24,000 with an identical summary. That day sheʼd stopped at the summary, hadnʼt looked at the counterparty name field. Today she followed it across: fourteen characters. She left the pencil note where it was and added half a line beneath: out of the bank, the payee is ten characters; on Youzhuʼs books, the payer is fourteen.

Tang Guo came out from the inner office, hair still damp, and stood at the table looking at the voucher. She read the payee field aloud, character by character, then looked up.

”Jiangzhou Xinhe Trading Co., Ltd.” She said. ”So who, exactly, rented me that apartment?”

Shen Zhixia didnʼt answer. He Xiufen lifted her mug and took a drink.

”The contract says four characters. The bank sent the money to ten.” He Xiufen said. ”That six-character gap is something theyʼll have to explain themselves—either they keyed in the wrong number against the name, or they picked that account themselves and they know exactly whoʼs standing behind that name. Either way, itʼs a bad road for them.”

”I verified the original,” Shen Zhixia said.

”The words ʼI verified the originalʼ are worth more than any photocopy.” He Xiufen rapped the tableʼs edge. ”You think he let you verify it for free? In court, when someone attacks you with a photocopy, youʼll know what those words are worth.”

”What about my 2,000 next month on the twentieth? Is it still coming out?”

”Yes.” Shen Zhixia straightened the voucher. ”Until the bank acknowledges those six characters, your account continues on schedule. Miss one cycle and it goes on your credit record.”

Tang Guo set her phone face-down on the table and asked nothing more.

Shen Zhixia opened her notebook. The last line—”Check bank—entrusted payment—payee account”—she crossed out and wrote a new line beneath: Add Jiangzhou Bank as a defendant.

”Write the full legal name.” He Xiufen tapped the table twice. ”Jiangzhou Bank Co., Ltd. Chengdong Branch. One character off and the court sends it back for a rewrite.”

”Adding the bank isnʼt todayʼs work.” She continued. ”First, hold steady for July 15. Those four points on the eleventh floor—they signed their names to them.”

She turned the transfer voucher over and pressed it beneath the glass desk pad. In the lower-right corner of the voucher there was a field, three characters: Handling Officer.

Not printed. Not a square seal. Three handwritten characters, strokes running together, crammed inside the grid lines. The first character was legible—a surname. The second sat half on the line and couldnʼt be made out.

She stared for a full thirty seconds and couldnʼt read it.