Justice System: I Litigate for the Whole City

Chapter 106 : Who Would Sign

On the morning of September 4, a blank form lay spread across the long table. Tang Guo had drawn the grid with a ruler. Across the top ran the headings: ”Unit Number, Payment Date, Amount, Deduction Account.” Below it, one hundred and five empty rows waited.

”Yesterdayʼs three items, put them away.” He Xiufen set her tea mug at the corner of the table. ”Today thereʼs only one thing on the table: how the money comes back.”

”The judgment hasnʼt come down yet.”

”The day it does, you wonʼt have enough hands.” He Xiufen flipped the desk calendar to September and pressed her fingertip on the circled 13th. ”He submits the original on the 13th. You submit this form on the 13th. Both of us walk by the same date.”

Three stacks of receipts came out of the canvas bag. When the rubber bands came off, the paper corners still curled the way they had yesterday.

He Xiufen ticked off on her fingers. ”The operative part of the judgment has three pieces. Who was wrong, what they owe, when they owe it.”

”Liability, return, performance period.”

”Say it so people can understand.” He Xiufen said. ”First piece: who was wrong—the bank, when it issued the loan, didnʼt send the money where the contract said it should go. Write that sentence down, and the bank stands inside the judgment. Second piece: what they owe—the three companies cough the money back out. How much? One number per household for a hundred and five households, or one lump sum matching the total on the receipts. Those two ways of writing it lead to different roads later. Third piece: when they owe it—within ten days of the judgment taking effect, or how many days. Write all three pieces complete, and the Enforcement Bureau reads the judgment and knows exactly who to reach for.”

She pulled out the eleven pages and turned to the last one. There was no ”Verified Against Original” half-line on it. No square seal either. The footer just had two punched binding holes.

”The defendantsʼ names have to be written in full.” He Xiufen said. ”Tenants call it Youyu Apartments. The defendant column lists the companies one by one, full names. One character off in the judgment, and the enforcement side sends it back for correction. During those correction days, money knows how to walk on its own.”

”With a hundred and five households in the case, the judgment canʼt fit all those names.” He Xiufen squared the stack of receipts. ”When it actually lands on the page, itʼll most likely be an attached schedule—unit number, amount, payment date, one row per household. The Enforcement Bureau deducts by the schedule. If one householdʼs amount is off by a single yuan, that householdʼs money gets stuck right there.”

”Iʼll verify the schedule.”

”Verify it through the 13th.”

”On the three companiesʼ accounts: 31.46 yuan.” She said.

”Accounts youʼve already gone through, I wonʼt re-check.” He Xiufen lifted the lid off her tea mug and snapped it back down. ”The three frozen households go down the criminal road. After judgment comes restitution by proportion. How much each gets, no one can put a number on until the verification is done. As for how much the tenants get back, no one dares give a number right now. Thatʼs one gap.”

”Thereʼs another.”

”The money that hasnʼt gone anywhere yet.” He Xiufen tilted her chin toward the glass desk pad. ”That piece of paper youʼve got pinned under there—thatʼs its name.”

She opened the receipt book. On the previous page was written the first item of the Justice Checklist: Whereʼs the money—no proxy inquiry. Below it, she added a line: Second item: How the money comes back—no proxy legwork.

[Thud. Justice Checklist Item Two: How the money comes back. This System does not run errands.]

”The bank made the loan. The bankʼs books have a bottom.” He Xiufen said. ”Who the relationship manager was, who signed the approval field, which bound volume the original agreement is stapled into—every row of it lies in their vault. They verified the receipts for a hundred and five households. Those nine transactions, which two accounts they flowed from, which two sets of numbers—Lawyer Luo read all of it out in court. The money youʼre asking for has to come out of the bankʼs own ledger.”

”If the operative part says ʼbears liability within the corresponding scope,ʼ does that count as writing the bank in.”

”The word ʼcorrespondingʼ doesnʼt produce a number.” He Xiufen said. ”The Enforcement Bureau takes a judgment with ʼcorrespondingʼ on it and can only come back asking: corresponding to how much? What you want is for it to be written plainly in one box—toward which sum, and for how much.”

”Whether that line gets written in is not up to us.”

”Not up to us, but it still has to be laid on the table first.” He Xiufen said. ”Lay it out. When the judgment comes down and a sentence is missing, weʼll know exactly which sentence.”

”Heʼll write it.”

”Whether he will or not is a separate matter.” He Xiufen pushed the receipts back toward her. ”First get your own half written. Fill the form through the 13th. Whatever day the judgment comes, thatʼs the day you can deliver numbers.”

At noon, Jiang Bo came upstairs carrying a sheaf of printouts. He had printed out the deduction text messages for the Chengxi area households, one page per household, circling each deduction date in red pen. ”Eight more households left. I told them to print in the same format.” He set the paper at the corner of the table. ”Director He, when the judgment comes, can we really get back twenty-four thousand?”

”Donʼt be a megaphone.” He Xiufen said. ”The form only holds numbers. No one is allowed to promise dates.”

Tang Guo came up with her phone on speaker. In the group chat someone was asking how many days after judgment before the money arrives. ”Answer by the approved line.” He Xiufen said. ”Judgment is judgment. Money arriving is money arriving.” Tang Guo read the line into the mic. The group went quiet for two seconds, then three ”Got it”s popped up.

”Iʼm going live tonight.” Tang Guo set her phone face-down on the table. ”Three days dark. The backend has over two hundred questions piled up.”

”Read them out if you want, but no place names or unit numbers.” He Xiufen said. ”Read the numbers.”

Tang Guo flipped to the third stack and pulled one out. ”This householdʼs receipt says twenty-four thousand. The group reported eleven installments deducted at two thousand each. Thatʼs twenty-two thousand. Two thousand short.”

”Which household.”

”Minsheng Road, Building 5, 11th floor.” Tang Guo said. ”The one where the landlordʼs nephew handed over the key and said ʼweʼll talk on the day of the judgment.ʼ”

”Call him. Ask whether that two thousand was paid in cash, or never existed.” He Xiufen said. ”No guessed numbers go on the form.”

At 6 p.m. on September 4, Zhou Yu came upstairs. He Xiufen made him a bowl of noodles. He draped his jacket over the back of the chair, then first took a piece of paper from his bag and set it at the tableʼs corner—not a case file, just three lines heʼd copied himself: three account names, the freeze dates, ”report in verification.”

”Anything in the case file, I wonʼt carry a word of it out.” He said. ”These three lines were all on that notice you saw yesterday.”

She took it and read it through. She did not copy it into her notebook.

”The three householdsʼ money is criminal now.” Zhou Yu said. ”Restitution waits for judgment. After judgment, it gets divided by proportion. How much each gets, I canʼt give a number. You need to do one thing: tell the tenants to keep everything theyʼve got—contracts, receipts, every monthly deduction record. Not one piece can be thrown away. Thereʼll be a registration coming, and registration days donʼt wait for people.”

”The registration form, Iʼll make it.” He Xiufen said.

”Make it if you want, but donʼt send it out yet.” Zhou Yu said. ”The moment that form goes out, people will come asking when the money gets paid.”

”Besides the three households, are there any other exits.” She asked.

”The machine on the sixth floorʼs been moved. The table inside it is still being verified.” He said. ”How many transactions went out, whose accounts they landed in, what the stated purpose says—each one gets reported as itʼs verified. Thatʼs for whatʼs already gone. As for what hasnʼt gone out and whose name it sits under, I donʼt have anything.”

”I have a piece of paper in my hand.” She said. ”Split into small amounts, queued up, not out of the country yet.”

”Iʼve seen that paper of yours.” Zhou Yu said. ”It never entered the three householdsʼ accounts, so itʼs not in this case right now. To pull it into the circle, you first need the account, the stated purpose, and whose name is signed on the slip. Organize the verifiable documents into a packet and give it to me. Iʼll report it through procedure. Just that. Nothing else from me.”

”Zhou Keming.”

”The man hasnʼt made it out.” He said. ”Zheng Hongbinʼs ticket never got used. Heʼs still in Jiangzhou. If he doesnʼt turn himself in, heʼll have to move at some point. A Border Control Alert doesnʼt last forever either. When it expires, it needs renewal, and renewal requires someone to write the reasons.”

”Iʼll prepare the materials in two sets.” He Xiufen picked up the thread. ”One set for criminal, one for civil. Not a single sheet crosses over.”

Zhou Yu nodded. ”Thatʼs the right line to walk.”

He picked up two chopsticks of noodles, then set them down. ”One more thing you need to do ahead of time. The moment the judgment takes effect, apply for enforcement. The court will run an online asset inquiry. The defendantsʼ names, their entity registration info—one character wrong in the judgment, and the enforcement side has to come back for corrections. Donʼt end up running a month over a single character.”

”I know.” She nudged the blank form toward him. ”The places that need characters filled in—Iʼve already verified them.”

Zhou Yu glanced at the table full of grid lines. ”This formʼs slow work.”

”Slow still has to be done.”

”Show me when itʼs finished.” He picked up the bowl, drank the soup, and reached for his phone to scan the payment code. He Xiufen flipped the QR placard face-down on the table. ”Anyone who scans codes isnʼt welcome up my stairs.” He smiled and put the phone away. At the door, he turned back. ”No firecrackers on judgment day. Save them for the day the money hits.”

On the afternoon of September 5, the firmʼs landline rang. He Xiufen answered, said three sentences, then covered the mouthpiece with her hand and raised her chin at her. ”Hengzheng. Itʼs Lawyer Luo.”

She took the receiver.

”Lawyer Shen, weʼve submitted that post-hearing verification material.” Lawyer Luoʼs voice through the receiver sounded a bit distant. ”Of the eleven households in the first batch, seven have contracts where the lessor column says Minanli Property, or Anyu Business. For the other four, the column is blank.”

”The four with the blank column—what number did they fill in later?”

”I canʼt answer that.” He said. ”The verification used the bank branchʼs base register.”

”Whoʼs the handling lawyer for this case at your firm?”

The line was silent for two seconds. ”I did the court appearance.” Lawyer Luo said. ”But an appeal—someone has to be willing to sign it. And the branchʼs position hasnʼt come down yet either.”

”The judgment isnʼt out.”

”Thatʼs why Iʼm calling today: to ask whether your Service Address Confirmation Forms are in our stack.”

She set the receiver down carefully. He Xiufen came over from the stove, the rag draped over her shoulder, and looked at her. ”You hear that?”

”I heard it.”

[Thud. Appeal period: fifteen days. File, or donʼt file—decided by people.]

”The appeal period is fifteen days.” She said.

”Fifteen days. Long enough, and short enough.” He Xiufen reached over and traced the 13thʼs circle again on the desk calendar. ”First get through the 13th.”

”ʼSomeone has to be willing to sign.ʼ Whoʼs the name on that signature?”

”An appeal needs the handling lawyerʼs name on it.” He Xiufen closed the calendar. ”Once the name lands, win or lose, it follows that person. At Hengzheng, whoeverʼs name gets written onto the bankʼs ledger is the one whoʼll have to stand for it at second instance.”

She said nothing. He Xiufen took her tea mug back to the stove.

At 9 p.m., she sent Lu Jibai two lines:

”Appeal period: fifteen days.”

”On the brief, whose name goes in the signature field?”

At 11 p.m., one line came back: ”After judgment, donʼt scatter. Money has to be gone and gotten.”

She copied the line onto the back of the receipt book. The few lines sheʼd missed copying in August, sheʼd scrolled up on her phone a couple days ago and added them at the top. She counted by date: The stated purpose is in the form. And the signature field? Money doesnʼt know roads. It knows people. You can hold back money, but you canʼt hold back a judgment. The day the judgmentʼs in your hands, look at the operative part first. Whatʼs recorded in court canʼt be changed later. Plus this new line: seven lines total.

He Xiufen walked past behind her with the tea mug and swept a glance at the page. ”Which defendantʼs lawyer is teaching the plaintiff not to scatter?”

She didnʼt answer. He Xiufen didnʼt push.

Of the seven lines, not one said where he stood. Her two questions were still there on the screen. Below them: empty.

She cut a slip of paper, wrote ”Fifteen days” on it, and tucked it under the glass desk pad. There had been two slips under it. Now there were three: Next Shift, The 13th, Fifteen Days. She pushed the three slips in until they lined up at equal depth.

The phone screen dimmed. She pressed it back on and looked again. Below those two lines: still empty.