Justice System: I Litigate for the Whole City

Chapter 109 : His Name Isnʼt on It

On the morning of September 11th, the range hood downstairs had just clicked off, and the smell of hot oil still hung in the air. She carried half a bowl of soy milk upstairs. Tang Guo had propped her phone against a jar of chili sauce, and group messages scrolled past faster than she could read.

He Xiufen had spread the blank enforcement application form across the long table, filling it in square by square. When she reached the ”Applicant for Enforcement” column, her pen stopped. ”Put the representative, or include the roster number.”

”Weʼll write it exactly as the judgment does,” she said. ”The attached schedule is the list we submitted.”

”Then put the Hongyi account group into the ʼdeduction targetʼ column.” He Xiufen tapped the paper with the end of her pen. ”We donʼt have the third item yet, so just write in the account designation for now. Once the application goes into the court, theyʼll run a check, freeze first, verify after.”

At 9:07, the landline rang. He Xiufen answered, listened for a few words, then held the receiver out. ”Hengzheng.”

Lawyer Luoʼs voice was faster than usual today. ”The branch office passed the decision this morning. Appeal. Itʼs settled. The brief goes into the court this afternoon.”

She held the receiver, her eyes still on the form on the long table.

”What about the handling column?”

”I filled it in.”

”Those three defense statements filed before the first-instance judgment,” she said. ”The name at the bottom isnʼt his.”

There was a pause on the other end. ”I know.” Lawyer Luo said. ”The firm asked him about it once. He said he wonʼt take this case up.”

”What does ʼwonʼt take it upʼ mean?”

”It means this column doesnʼt carry his name.” His voice dropped a little. ”Thatʼs all I can tell you on this end — the brief goes in, and Iʼll still be the one appearing in court.”

She acknowledged and set the receiver back down.

He Xiufen didnʼt press about that person. She only asked, ”What did he say about that column?”

”The firm switched personnel.”

”Mhm.” He Xiufen rotated the desk calendar back and pressed her finger on the box for September 25th. Inside that box were two characters: ”Takes Effect.”

Tang Guo muted her phone and looked up. ”Theyʼre really appealing?”

”Really appealing.”

”Then our money—”

”The moneyʼs still on the schedule.” He Xiufen said. ”This trip upward isnʼt about money.”

”When did they sign the receipt?” she asked.

”The tenth. The judgment was mailed to the firm that afternoon, and the receipt form is stamped for the tenth.”

”Fifteen days, until the twenty-fifth.” He Xiufen traced over that box again. ”If they file the brief before the twenty-fifth, this box doesnʼt count anymore.”

”What does ʼdoesnʼt countʼ mean?”

”First instance doesnʼt take effect.” He Xiufen set down her pen. ”Item 3 hangs, and Items 1 and 2 hang with it. The money for 1,042 households lies on paper for another half year. Second instance has to be scheduled, heard, decided. After the decision is served, itʼs still fifteen days.”

”Weʼre not appealing.”

”Not appealing.” He Xiufen said. ”If we went up, fifteen days becomes half a year.”

”What if they file and then withdraw?”

”Withdrawal requires the courtʼs approval, and the filing fee already paid is only half refunded.” He Xiufen said. ”If they withdraw any day before the twenty-fifth, thatʼs their skill. Once that day passes, this box is locked in.”

”Will all six go up?”

”The three companies have a combined thirty-one yuan and forty-six fen in their accounts. The appeal fee has to be paid up front.” He Xiufen said. ”Thereʼs only one party with both a reason to go up and the money to do it.”

”Whoʼll appear in second instance?”

”The one who signed.” He Xiufen said. ”Those two statements of his last time — pushed back in court, walked it back in the brief. Now his name is on the brief, so this account goes to second instance, and heʼs the one who has to stand.”

Tang Guo copied these lines into her notebook, her pen tip poking a dot into the paper.

[Thud. If the judgment doesnʼt take effect, the money doesnʼt move. Whoever files the brief first has to step to the front first.]

She let that sentence sit in her mind for a moment, then asked, ”So what do we argue in second instance?”

”We fight over that circle around Item 3.” He Xiufen said. ”The word ʼfaultʼ was written by the court — how big the circle is, we draw ourselves. Draw it on the eleven pages the bank submitted.”

On the morning of the thirteenth, it rained. A green China Post van honked outside the noodle shop. The courier stood under the awning shielding a kraft paper envelope from the rain, the corner stamped with the courtʼs receipt and dispatch seal, waiting for her signature.

She opened it to three pages: a duplicate of the appeal brief, two pages of evidence index, and a second-instance notice of acceptance.

She spread the three pages on the long table and first flipped to the last page to read the signature block — the appellant column bore the stamp of Chengdong Branch; the authorized agent column was printed with Hengzheng Law Firm, followed by a surname.

Surname Luo.

The date was the eleventh. Branch office met in the morning, filed in the afternoon. Not a single day wasted.

Only then did she flip back to the first page to read the claims: 1. Revoke Item 3 of the first-instance judgment and rule that the appellant bears no compensation liability; 2. Both first- and second-instance litigation costs to be borne by the appellee. Page two held the grounds, in three paragraphs: the finding of fault lacked factual basis; the appellant had fulfilled its duty of review as agreed; the scope of loss and causation had not been established.

Three pages. She read them twice.

The grounds never once mentioned the words ”approving signatory,” nor ”approval records.” She went down the two-page evidence index — loan contracts, entrusted payment agreements, disbursement vouchers, self-inspection details. All photocopies already submitted in first instance. Not one new sheet.

Tang Guo came up carrying noodle soup and peered at the pages. ”Whatʼs it say?”

”It says how to divide the money.”

”Then their money—”

”Not one word about money.” She flipped the pages over onto the table. ”It talks about whoʼs wrong, and by how much.”

Tang Guo made a small ”oh” and carried her bowl back downstairs.

When He Xiufen returned, water was still dripping from the tip of her umbrella. She stood it behind the door, walked to the long table for a look, then turned and pulled a stack of old materials from the filing cabinet — the three defense statements the bank had submitted in first instance, corners frayed.

She laid the two sets side by side. On the old three sheets, under the ”Authorized Agent” column, a printed name was followed by a handwritten signature, the ink pressed deep into the paper grain. On the new three pages, that column held only a surname.

He Xiufen extended one finger, tapped the column on the old sheets, then tapped the column on the new pages, then withdrew her finger, picked up her noodle bowl, and went downstairs.

She smoothed out a sheet of red-gridded paper and began writing the statement of defense. Everything that belonged on paper was there: Item 3 of the first-instance judgment found the facts clearly and the evidence sufficient; requested to be upheld. When she reached ”bears compensation liability within the scope of its fault,” her pen stopped. She turned back to the eleven pages of entrusted payment agreements the bank had submitted.

Out of those eleven pages, twenty-three accounts could be matched — the twenty-three transactions disclosed among the 128 entries in the self-inspection details. Combine both ends, and the circle that could be drawn was one ring smaller than the circle on the schedule.

”Item 3 was that circle all along.” He Xiufen said when she came back, glancing down for a moment. ”If you draw the number small, the other side will push the circle up a notch. Second instance can be decided without a hearing — it all comes down to paper. The paper has to be complete: agreements, approval records, explanatory statements. Submit your defense within fifteen days of receiving the duplicate. Late filing doesnʼt cost you a penalty, but the judgeʼs file has one less page from you.”

”What are they trying to change in this appeal?” she asked.

”What they want changed, they canʼt change.” He Xiufen said. ”Item 3 is a fact the court has already recognized. To overturn it in second instance, theyʼd need to bring something new. They havenʼt submitted a single new sheet.”

”Then why did they appeal?”

”Buying time.” He Xiufen said. ”Second instance drags on half a year, and your money doesnʼt land for half a year. How many trips the money in that account can make in half a year — you do the math.”

She wrote three characters in the corner of the paper: Six Months.

”The judgment states that as of the judgment date, the branch had not submitted the original approval records, nor explained the identity of the approving signatory.”

”Keep that sentence.” He Xiufen said. ”It isnʼt our words — itʼs the judgmentʼs. Copy it. Donʼt add a word.”

At ten oʼclock on the morning of the fourteenth, Tang Guo started a livestream. Before going live, she read three sentences aloud from the paper to herself: what the judgment ordered, the fact that the bank had gone up a level, the amount unchanged, the date changed. Not a single door number.

Voice messages popped up one after another. Jiang Bo sent a line: eight households in Chengxi are asking, if we wait half a year, will it all fall apart? She replied: the schedule is stapled into the judgment. It canʼt fall apart.

After Tang Guo ended the stream, she asked, ”Is the other side still Hengzheng in second instance?”

”Mhm.”

”Then Lawyer Lu—”

”The handling lawyer is Lawyer Luo.” she said. ”His name is on the brief.”

Tang Guo glanced at her, laid her phone face down on the table, and didnʼt ask further.

Shi Leiʼs call came into the office, wind in his voice. ”Jie, the appeal is their business. My twenty-four thousand is still the same number, right?”

”Number doesnʼt change.”

”Then Iʼll remember row eighty-seven.” He hung up right after.

Zhou Yu didnʼt call. Last time heʼd been clear — the moment a single penny moved in that account, heʼd call her first. No word to this day. No word meant nothing had moved.

In the afternoon, she finished the ”scope of fault” section of the statement of defense: the twenty-three accounts matched against the eleven pages, listed one per line; the rest marked ”request second instance to ascertain according to law.” After making a clean copy, two signature lines — He Xiufen first, her after. Her name was on the second line, written very straight.

Past ten at night, the shop downstairs closed, shutters rolled halfway down. She lifted a corner of the glass desk pad and drew out the slips beneath: next shift, the thirteenth, fifteen days, judgment item. The last one was one sheʼd cut herself, with three characters written on it: Notice of Appeal.

She added nothing else to that slip. She flipped it over, blank side up, and pressed it back into place.

Then she opened the back of the receipt book. Under those half-sentence fragments — designation on the form, whereʼs the signature column, money doesnʼt know roads, it knows people, you can stop money but not a judgment, when you get a judgment read the operative part first, whatʼs said in court canʼt be unsaid, after the judgment donʼt scatter — she added one line. This line wasnʼt copied from his words.

His name isnʼt on the appeal.

The book closed. She pulled her phone from her pocket and set it on the table. The screen still showed the unanswered message from the night of the tenth. It glowed for a dozen seconds, then dimmed on its own.

Footsteps on the stairs. He Xiufen came up carrying an empty bowl, glanced at the lifted corner of the glass pad, and asked nothing.

”The waterʼs on. Sleep early.” she said. ”Thereʼs plenty to do on the second-instance side.”

She acknowledged. He Xiufen went back down. After a while, the sound of counting small change drifted up from below. Coins dropped into a tin box, one clink, then another.