Justice System: I Litigate for the Whole City

Chapter 38 : Who Wrote the Rules

Shao Hong opened the thick ledger and let the tip of her pen rest on the page for a moment.

”The labor remuneration dispute of Ma Jianjun and nineteen others is now in session.”

Three name cards sat on the respondentʼs table. Behind the first sat Lu Jibai, a dark blue case file standing at his hand, a pen pressing against a notepad. The second and third spaces were empty, each holding a kraft paper envelope with a returned-mail notice stuck to the flap, its corners curling up.

”Respondent Two and Respondent Three, having been duly notified, have not appeared.” Shao Hong wrote the line into the ledger. ”The claims involving them will be heard by this tribunal under default procedure.”

”The applicantsʼ claims remain unchanged,” Shen Zhixia said.

Shao Hong began reading the names, working through them one by one. When she reached Deng Wei, he stood and handed up the original Representative Nomination Letter with both hands. The corners of the paper had gone soft after being held for days. Shao Hong held it up to the window light, turned through a page and a half, clipped the paper into the case file, then looked back and checked the people again.

”Deng Wei, were you present when they nominated you?”

”I was,” Deng Wei said. ”They signed one sheet at a time. Twenty sheets. I counted them twice.”

She nodded and resumed the roll. Twenty names went out one by one, and twenty voices answered ”here” from the gallery. The ninth came half a beat late; after the last name, she did not look up, only made a mark in the ledger.

”Today this tribunal examines three matters.” She set down the pen. ”Whether anything is owed, how much is owed, and which party should pay it. Applicant first.”

Shen Zhixia stood. She did not turn to her notes. On the night of the 25th, she had read this passage aloud three times at the long table in the firm, until He Xiufen said, ”Enough. One more time and itʼll sound like reciting from a book.”

”Twenty applicants registered, took orders, were dispatched, had money deducted, and were banned on the Rider App developed by Respondent One,” she said. ”Two delivery service providers—Jiangzhou Sutong Delivery Service Co., Ltd., with legal representative Wang Yuhai, and Jianhua Delivery Service Department, operated by Sun Jianhua—are both subcontractors used by Respondent One in Jiangzhou. The orders on July 18 were dispatched by the system. The overtime deduction that day was made by the platform. The thirty yuan deducted went out of Wang Yuhaiʼs account.”

When she said the word ”account,” Lu Jibai at the respondentʼs table pressed the pen cap open, then clicked it shut again.

”The applicants request that Respondent One be determined as the employing entity, and that the three parties jointly bear payment liability.”

Shao Hong turned to the right. ”Respondent One, your defense.”

Lu Jibai stood. Three pages lay spread on the table. He did not pick them up.

”Three sentences,” he said. ”First, Hurricane Express is an online information-matching platform. Riders register here and take orders here. Whether to take one, when to take it, which route to use—they decide for themselves.”

”Second, the parties that contracted with the riders are Respondent Two and Respondent Three. The applicantsʼ pay is settled by those two. Respondent One only serves as a collection-and-payment channel, charging an information service fee per order.”

”Third, Respondent Twoʼs accounts and Respondent Threeʼs people are not in Respondent Oneʼs hands. Of the three things the applicants want today, the first two are in the system. The third—that money—never came out of Respondent One.”

He turned over the top page. Underneath were still three boilerplate documents: the Rider Service Agreement, the Platform Service Rules, and the Registration Process Description.

”The dispute isnʼt whether those orders exist,” he said. ”The dispute is who dispatched those orders and who should pay.”

[Thud. He wonʼt ask whether it exists. He wants to know what piece of paper youʼre relying on.]

Shen Zhixia opened her hardcover notebook. At the top of the page was a line she had written last night: ”Four hands are one.” She pressed her finger against that line and said nothing.

”Evidence,” Shao Hong said.

”The applicantsʼ first set of evidence: one Data Recovery Statement issued by Yunfan Cloud Computing, and three off-site backup recovery copies.”

She handed up the copies—one to the tribunal, one to Respondent One. She waited for him to reach out. He took them and turned the pages slowly, pausing on each one.

”The three tables are one group,” she said. ”First, the dispatch record for July 18 at 6:40 p.m.—the order, the pickup point, the delivery countdown, all generated in Respondent Oneʼs system.”

”Second, the overtime deduction record from that same moment: thirty yuan deducted. The deducting party was Hurricane Express, taken from the balance in the Rider App account.”

”Third, the outgoing payment record from that same day: the thirty yuan went into a pooled account under the name Wang Yuhai.”

She paused a beat.

”The three tables carry the same checksum. Engineer Ruan from Yunfan signed the Data Recovery Statement, writing down which day the backup was generated, what method was used to restore it, and the checksum of the original drive. In addition, there is a backend cleanup work order—the operation that wiped these tables. The name signed in the approval column is those same three characters.”

Shao Hong looked up. ”Wang Yuhai?”

”Wang Yuhai. Legal representative of Respondent Two.”

The room went quiet for a moment. In the back row of the gallery, Luo Cheng nudged the helmet by his feet inward and looked down at his shoes; the phone screen on Xiao Duanʼs knee lit up for an instant before he pressed it off; Deng Wei wrote a line in his notebook.

Shao Hong spread the three tables out and ran a finger along the dates, stopping at the third. ”Whose account the money came from isnʼt hard to find out. Whatʼs hard is what that account has to do with Respondent One. Continue.”

”Respondent Two is an outsourced service provider in Respondent Oneʼs delivery chain,” Shen Zhixia said. ”Its accounts, its people, its public phone number—right now they either bounce, are disconnected, or go unanswered. Respondent Threeʼs registration date is November 20. When these people were running orders in July, that service department hadnʼt been born yet.”

”The money taken by the second-tier subcontractor goes into an account that has already been emptied. The name on that account is also the name signed in the platformʼs backend approval column.” She paused. ”Whoever can get into the platformʼs backend is the one managing these twenty peopleʼs orders, money, and accounts.”

At the respondentʼs table, Lu Jibai set down his pen.

”Respondent One has an objection to the form of this evidence,” he said. ”These pages were recovered from backups. They are not originals. How the recovery was done and whether anyone touched them in between—the applicant says thatʼs what Yunfan says. We reserve our position on authenticity and request a separate time for evidence examination.”

”What about the content?” Shao Hong asked.

”On the content, we wonʼt expand today,” he answered.

Shao Hong made a note, the tip of her pen resting on the paper. She watched him for two seconds and did not press.

”The applicantsʼ second set of evidence.” Shen Zhixia pushed the twenty account ban notices, the page of call records, and the two unban screenshots forward side by side, moving faster than before.

”From 11:57 p.m. on December 15 to 12:19 a.m. on the 16th—twenty-two minutes—twenty accounts were permanently banned. Twenty notices, each with the same line of text for the reason; a customer service number was given at the bottom of each.”

”On the morning of the 18th, I called that number. The call lasted seven minutes and twelve seconds. The rep said three things: per platform rules, system determination, report it to the platform. I asked where the appeal channel was. He said it was in the notice. I went through the twenty notices one by one. There was only that number.”

”At 7:40 and 8:10 on the morning of the 19th, two accounts were restored. No notice. No reason. No approver.”

She put down the last two screenshots.

”Ban twenty accounts and the reason is word-for-word identical. Unban two and there isnʼt a single word.”

She turned to face the respondentʼs table. ”Please have Respondent One explain: who banned these twenty accounts, under which rule, and where the appeal channel at the bottom is.”

By the time Lu Jibai stood, Shao Hong had already spoken.

”Respondent One, let me ask differently,” she said. ”Your side just said the platform is a matching party and doesnʼt manage people. Then these twenty accounts—same night, twenty-two minutes, same reason, and not even one appeal channel at the bottom. The finger that pressed that button—whose was it?”

”Account handling is determined by the system under platform rules.”

”Who wrote the rules?”

”The Platform Service Rules were drafted and published by Respondent One.”

[Thud. Whoever wrote the rules is the one who banned the accounts.]

”The accounts were banned under rules someone wrote. Who reviewed it? Whereʼs that entry at the bottom?” Shao Hong stopped her pen. ”These three things—did you bring materials today?”

Lu Jibai was silent for a moment. ”...That item, I didnʼt bring.”

In the back row of the gallery, He Xiufen stopped what she was doing and looked up.

”Seven days,” Shao Hong said. ”Respondent One, within seven days, submit to this tribunal a written explanation on the basis for issuing the ban notices, the reason for the batch processing in that same period, and whether an appeal channel exists. Late submission will not affect the proceedings. I will note it in the record.”

She turned to the clerk. ”Note clearly: Respondent One is required to submit a written explanation, seven days.”

”Applicant.” Shao Hong did not close the ledger. ”Of the twenty accounts, how many can currently go online?”

”Two,” Shen Zhixia said. ”The other eighteen are still banned as of today.”

Shao Hong wrote this down as well. ”Note in the record: two restored, the remaining eighteen still banned.”

Shen Zhixia drew a page out of the case file. The Application for Evidence Collection, written on the night of the 25th and held in reserve for three days.

”The applicants apply in this hearing to obtain from Respondent One the original dispatch records, deduction records, and generation logs for July 18.”

Shao Hong took it, read two lines, and asked, ”Respondent One, your position?”

He stood, pressing a finger against the edge of the page.

”The thing the applicant wants is in Respondent Oneʼs backend,” he said. ”The backend data is currently under preservation. Today, it is not on this table.”

[Thud. He doesnʼt deny that statement, and he doesnʼt bring it to the table.]

”After the hearing, submit an explanatory statement to this tribunal: where the data is stored, who is keeping it, and whether it can be produced.” Shao Hong pressed the application under the ledger. ”Whether it can be obtained will be decided separately by this tribunal. This morning ends here—the hearing resumes at 2:30 p.m., starting with evidence examination of the first set. Recess.”

The sound of a case file closing came from the respondentʼs table first. Lu Jibai straightened the three copies in his hands, squared the corners, and pushed them back to the center line of the table.

The noise from the corridor surged back in. Lao Song sat at the far end of the bench, notebook open on his knee, pen tip tapping, recording each person who came out.

”What does seven days mean?” Ma Jianjun walked up beside her, his hand going first to his inner pocket.

”It means that within these seven days, he has to hand in a piece of paper he didnʼt have to before,” she said.

”What can be written on that paper?”

”Even if it says nothing, itʼs still something,” she said. ”If he really writes it, those words are his own.”

Xiao Duan came over holding up his phone. ”Sis, the hearingʼs still on this afternoon—the cold storage—”

”Luo Cheng already asked off,” Deng Wei added from behind. ”For the ones who didnʼt, Iʼll keep an eye on things this afternoon.”

She opened her hardcover notebook and turned to the page marked ”Things to ask about, things to count.” She drew a mark after the notation ”Account Ban” she had added yesterday, then wrote: Seven days.