Justice System: I Litigate for the Whole City

Chapter 125 : Row Eleven

The long table in the activity room had been hauled over from the card room next door. One of its four legs was short, propped up with a folded half-sheet of newspaper.

Ma Jianjun carried in the last stack of plastic stools, the legs scraping a string of noise across the concrete floor. He stood just inside the door, wiped his hands on his pants, and didnʼt sit down.

”Leave once the haulingʼs done.” Tang Guo looked up from the table. ”You stand in that doorway and before long people will crowd around asking questions.”

”I wonʼt answer.”

”Not answeringʼs still an answer.”

He set the minibus key on the corner of the table and retreated into the hallway.

A sheet of white paper was taped to the wall outside the door, written by Tang Guo the night before: December 15th, Tuesday morning, Building 3, Minsheng Road; next Wednesday, Xincheng Garden, Chengxi. Two small lines underneath: Say the amount, not the unit number.

People who came to check the order read the paper first, then came in.

At ten to nine, the first to enter was a short woman, scarf wrapped up to her chin, a grocery bag in her hand with a bunch of cilantro sticking out. She pressed her ID card onto the table, pinning it down with two fingers.

Tang Guo flipped open the clip of signed receipt slips. The top one read: Building 3, Minsheng Road, Unit 2, Room 301.

”Iʼll read the name once. You listen.”

”Thatʼs me.”

”Iʼll read the account number once. You check it against your own.”

She read, and the woman repeated the last digits under her breath. At the final four, she nodded.

He Xiufen sat at the other end of the long table. No hands moving, no words. Her eyes fixed on that ID card. Shen Zhixia had the schedule spread across her knees, marking a pencil line through the roster: row number, name, amount—only when all three matched did she pass the pen over.

The womanʼs hand shook when she signed; the strokes broke twice. Her fingerprint went on above her name, pressed too hard, bleeding a small ring at the edges.

”Done.”

”When does it arrive?”

”Transferred today. Fast case, this afternoon; slow case, tomorrow morning.” Tang Guo said. ”Keep your phone on. Donʼt power it down.”

The woman hugged the bag closer to her chest. ”Nineteen thousand two hundred. Thatʼs the number, right?”

”Nineteen thousand two hundred. Deposit six thousand, prepaid rent thirteen thousand two hundred.” Tang Guo turned the receipt slip around to show her. ”It matches.”

”Then Iʼll go pay back my motherʼs medicine money first.”

She left faster than sheʼd come in.

The second group was a married couple, arguing for a long while over who should sign. Tang Guo set the pen between them. ”Whoeverʼs card the money goes into signs.” The man reached out first, then pulled back. In the end the woman signed—the account was her own payroll card.

”Once we sign this, will the landlord come back with some paper and ask for it?” the man asked.

”The judgmentʼs taken effect.” He Xiufen said. ”Who owes what is written in the operative part. This amount youʼre collecting—you donʼt need to pay it back.”

”What if later someone shows up with some slip asking me about it?”

”If the slip has your name, bring it to me. If it doesnʼt have your name, donʼt sign it.”

The man nodded and nudged his stool aside to make room for the people behind him.

Someone halfway through the line outside ran back, saying heʼd left his ID upstairs. Tang Guo circled his row in pencil. ”Your spotʼs saved. Come back this afternoon.” The person behind moved up one space. Not a single person cut at the table.

After ten, an old man in a knit cap squeezed in, bypassing the stools and going straight to the table.

”That moneyʼs saved up for my son. Last November I paid two years at once.” He said. ”The day I handed it over, I counted three times.”

”Youʼll count it just fine today too.” Tang Guo said.

”Counting fineʼs not enough. I want to see it land.” The old man raised his phone. ”Youʼve got to let me watch.”

”When the text comes, youʼll see it yourself.” Tang Guo pointed out his row. ”Sign here, write the card number here. One wrong character and the money bounces back, and youʼll have to reapply.”

The old man wrote slowly, stroke by stroke. When he finished, he capped the pen, retreated to sit against the wall, and held his phone in both palms.

At ten-thirty another person came in, a young man in a washed-out jacket, an old watch on his wrist. He signed but didnʼt leave. He stood by the table and asked, ”The apartment—can I still stay?”

”The contractʼs in your hand, you stay.” Tang Guo said. ”If the landlord wants you out, tell him to come talk to you with the judgment in hand.”

”He came by twice last month.”

”Then keep a record when he does. Photograph the door, send him a message, make him reply.”

The young man took out his phone and raised it toward the table. Tang Guo pressed the corner of the paper down. ”Photograph the form, not the names.”

Ten signings in one morning, all done before eleven. Row eleven belonged to the Chengbei Hospital household. Tang Guo had gone there on Saturday; the person had just finished an exam and was asleep, so the signing never happened. This morning the womanʼs husband called and said sheʼd woken up, asking if they could bring the paper to the ward.

”Bring it.” He Xiufen said. ”She signs it herself. You canʼt make a single stroke for her.”

”Iʼll go this afternoon.”

The signed receipt slips were stacked at the corner of the table, one by one, all bearing other peopleʼs names. Sheʼd worked through this whole pile, and in the end, what landed on paper was also someone elseʼs name. That line from Saturday fit right here—spread out, and none of the signatures were yours.

Someone came in at the door, a folded printout in hand. He stopped at the wall to read the white paper once more before turning around. It was Jiang Bo.

”Just came to take a look.”

”Look at the schedule.” Tang Guo turned it over. ”Building 3, Minsheng Road, row eleven. You can see the row number; you canʼt see the names.”

He read it top to bottom, finger resting on the last row.

”Next Wednesdayʼs really our building complex.”

”Itʼs written right there.”

”Weʼve got a lot of people. One day wonʼt finish it.”

”If one day wonʼt do, make it two.” Tang Guo said. ”Your buildingsʼ unit numbers—Iʼll go by Friday first.”

Jiang Bo folded the printout back into his pocket. ”Iʼll say something in the group chat.”

”State the order. Donʼt say anything else.” He Xiufen cut in. ”That groupʼs big; one sentence through three mouths changes shape.”

After Jiang Bo left, the old man suddenly stood, holding his phone high.

”Itʼs here.”

”Hold off before saying anything.”

”Twenty-four thousand three hundred twenty.” He read it out anyway. ”Not a cent off.”

Everyone in the room looked up. The old man turned the screen around to show them—a blue payment-arrival text, the last four digits matching his card number.

”Put it away.” Tang Guo said. ”Money into whose card is whose business.”

Someone outside raised a phone to film inside. Tang Guo went over to block it. ”Filmingʼs allowed. Just donʼt film the ID cards.”

The table was carried back near noon. Ma Jianjun stacked the stools onto the van and glanced back at that pile of signed slips. He didnʼt ask about results, only said, ”That trip next Wednesday—still want to borrow the tables?”

”Borrow four.”

After two in the afternoon, the schedule went up on the wall on the second floor of the noodle shop, pushpins at all four corners. Tang Guo dragged over a stool, climbed up, red pen held in her mouth, counting down line by line.

”Building 3, Minsheng Road, row eleven.”

Count a row, mark a cell. The first ten cells became red checks. Row eleven sat empty, with six small characters beside it: Chengbei Hospital, pending signature.

The bottom section of the sheet was a separate column. She switched to a blue pen and circled that block—not a single character written inside.

”Why circle it?” He Xiufen came up from the stove, the smell of scallions on her hands.

”Looks better circled.” Tang Guo jumped off the stool. ”If anyone asks, Iʼll point to it: circled doesnʼt mean not received. It means still frozen.”

”The people standing under it watching today—what did they say?”

”Some looked for their own row, found it, and left. One lady asked me why she was seventh.”

”Howʼd you answer?”

”I said the order follows the filing roster, written on paper, and on paper, everyoneʼs there.”

He Xiufen wiped the water off her apron and stood beneath the sheet for a while.

”Ten checks, one blank.”

”Eleven rows, one household unsigned.”

”Donʼt treat eleven like itʼs ten.” He Xiufen said. ”One household still owed, the sheet has a blank cell. People look at a sheet, they look at the blanks first.”

Her phone buzzed on the table. A text from the City Enforcement Bureau: the transfer receipt for ten households. She copied the total into the hardcover notebook. After that line, per old habit, she left a blank row.

[Thud. Enforcement funds received, one deposit. Housing case—1,042 households, 72% disbursed.]

[Thud. Money in, one cent logged. Frozen funds stay on the ledger, not on the scoreboard.]

She copied those two lines down too. The pen tip stopped after ”72%,” drew a horizontal line beneath it, and left the space below blank.

”What are you writing?” Tang Guo leaned in.

”Keeping count.”

”What percentage.”

”Seventy-two.”

”Thatʼs pretty good.” Tang Guo said. ”Ten red checks on the wall now.”

”Those ten checks drawn today say how much is in the hands of the people who signed.” He Xiufen picked up the thread. ”How much is left on the sheet—look at that circled block.”

Tang Guo picked up the red pen and wrote four characters beside the blue circle: March 14.

”This line goes in too.” He Xiufen said. ”Write it in the separate ledger, not the main one.”

She flipped ”Separate File: Under Review” to the last page and started a new line: Hongyi Account Group, 4.2 million, frozen until March 14 next year, one extension available; return requires judgment to take effect and verification against the victim roster household by household. After writing, per old habit, she left a blank line. The note ”zero is also a number” from two pages back still sat clipped on top, its edge worn soft from turning.

”One main ledger, one separate ledger.” He Xiufen closed the book. ”Donʼt think of them as one lump. Lumping them together—you wonʼt sleep tonight.”

She set her pen down and used a fingertip to lift one corner of the glass desk pad. Two paper strips were pressed beneath it—one yellow, one white. The yellow one had only half a sentence; the white one had five characters. She looked for two seconds, then pressed the glass flat again.

”The circled block—thatʼs the Hongyi household group.” Tang Guo said.

”It is.”

”Whose hands are that household groupʼs money in?”

”The procuratorateʼs.”

As dusk came on, Zhou Yu called. No pleasantries.

”That Hongyi sum—itʼll take another week.”

”Whereʼs it stuck?”

”The supplementary investigation materials went in over the past couple of days. The recovery list has to travel with the indictment file.” Zhou Yu said. ”The money stays frozen for now. The freeze period runs to March 14 next year. Iʼve signed the extension order.”

”A week—is that certain?”

”What Iʼm telling you is the number of days the materials spend on the road.” He said. ”4.2 million, how many seals a trip like that needs, and every seal needs a name on it.”

”Iʼm not rushing you.”

”Youʼre not rushing me, but I still have to make it clear: when this money comes back, it still has to be checked against the victim roster, one by one. Whoever it checks out to signs.”

”I know.” She asked, ”Any new movement from Chengdong?”

”Lawyer Luo came again yesterday. More supplementary materials. On his way out he asked how far your batch of final payments had gone out.”

”Whatʼd you say?”

”I said I donʼt handle civil.”

She smiled, silently.

After hanging up, only the two of them remained in the room. The smell of scallion oil from downstairs rose through the cracks in the floorboards. Tang Guo held the red pen in her hand, its tip aimed at that last blank section on the sheet.

”Not a cent moved.” She said.

”Not moved.”

”So tell me.” Tang Guo tapped the pen twice against the grid. ”The moneyʼs all arrived. How come this last household group just stays frozen, not moving?”