Justice System: I Litigate for the Whole City

Chapter 47 : No Money Under This Companyʼs Name

The noodles in his bowl had already gone soggy.

That little table by the stove had been empty before. All the heat and steam drifted straight toward it. Sit there for a while and your back would be soaked through. Lu Jibai had his sleeves rolled to his elbows, the case file lying sideways by his left hand, pinning down half a menu. Shen Zhixia stood in the doorway for two seconds before she recognized him—at this hour, the noodle shop only had three tables: one with an old man collecting cardboard, one with two mechanics from the repair shop.

”Sit,” he said.

”What are you doing here?”

”Eating noodles.”

She sat and pulled a pair of chopsticks from the holder. He Xiufen poked her head out from the kitchen, glanced over, said nothing, and turned back to drop another half portion of noodles into the pot.

”The twenty-fourth. Last day of the appeal period. Iʼm filing the notice of appeal,” he said.

”You already said that this morning.”

”This morning I only said it would be filed.” He laid his chopsticks flat across the rim of the bowl. ”Today Iʼm telling you the date. Once the notice of appeal goes in, the first-instance court transfers the case file, second instance gets docketed, scheduled, heard—or handled on the papers. Second-instance trial time limit is three months, plus service, plus the time the file spends in transit.”

”Filing on the very last day.”

”One day is still one day.” He said, ”How long? Listen—fastest, four months. Slowest, half a year.”

”Then for half a year, the judgment wonʼt take effect.”

”So for half a year, not one cent of that money of yours can move.” He said, ”These six months are when it moves things out.”

She lowered her head and took a bite. The noodles really had gone soggy.

That afternoon she had gone to the Litigation Service Center to pick up a duplicate copy of the judgment. While she was there, she pulled a number and asked about enforcement. The person at the window flipped through two pages and said only one thing: it hasnʼt taken effect, so enforcement canʼt be filed. She remembered the way that person pushed the papers back. It was the same motion Judge Cheng had made that morning when he handed her the judgment.

”Have you counted whatʼs under their names?” he asked.

”The four companiesʼ business licenses, registered addresses, annual reports, insured employee counts.”

”Thatʼs not what Iʼm asking about.” He pushed his bowl half an inch away. ”Last time, you counted names, and you counted them clearly. This time, you need to count things—accounts, vehicles, property, equity, and whoʼs in line ahead of you.”

”Youʼve calculated it all out very carefully for them.”

”Itʼs all written in the Public Information Registry. Go look.” He raised his eyes. ”Everything Iʼve handled for it is a road it chose to walk itself. What youʼre doing for those twenty people is the same.”

The sound of water in the kitchen stopped. He Xiufen brought a bowl of noodles over, set it down by her hand, laid the chopsticks in a cross, and turned away.

”Nine years ago,” she began, ”where did you hear it?”

He didnʼt answer right away. He rested both forearms on the edge of the table and tapped one finger once against the surface, then stopped.

”A conference room,” he said. ”That winter, I was at the door pouring water for people.”

”Which one?”

”There was a long rectangular table with a stack of papers on it. A man put both hands on a piece of paper and said something.” He paused. ”It was more or less what you said today.”

She set down her chopsticks. ”Who was it?”

”You can guess.”

”I want you to say it.”

The heat from the stove had fogged up the window on his side. He drew a line through the mist with the back of his finger, then stopped halfway.

”Your father once asked someone for a piece of paper, too,” he said. ”What he asked was almost the same as those two lines of yours. He asked three times.”

”What did he ask the three times?”

”The third time, no one answered him.” He pulled his hand back. ”As for the rest, Iʼll keep talking once you turn that paper into money.”

”Why does it have to wait until the money comes?”

”Because words cost nothing.” He stood, tucked the case file under his arm, and dug some money out of his trouser pocket. He pressed it flat beneath the bowl. ”When you have something real in your hands, youʼll be able to catch what I say.”

”Youʼre still representing them on the appeal.”

”Iʼve signed the retainer.”

”Then why did you come tonight?”

”To eat noodles.”

The plastic curtain lifted and fell back down. She looked at that bowl—he hadnʼt taken a single bite. Under the bowl were eight yuan: one five-yuan bill and three ones, pressed completely flat.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. A voice message in the rider group, Luo Chengʼs voice, with street wind behind it: ”On the twentieth, the installmentʼs seven hundred twenty. Iʼm still two hundred short here.” She typed back three words: Iʼll be there. Luo Cheng replied fast: ”Whyʼre you coming? Itʼs not like Iʼm denying the debt.”

He Xiufen came up to clear the bowls. She balled the eight yuan up in her hand.

”He came to eat noodles,” she said.

”Mm.”

”A bowl of noodles went soggy, and he never touched his chopsticks.” He Xiufen put the money into her apron pocket. ”You do the math.”

Ten thirty. The long table upstairs.

The judgment lay open under the lamp, turned to the second page. Attached at the back were those twenty lines. He Xiufen pulled out a sheet of grid paper and drew a horizontal line. On the left, she wrote ”February 9,” then filled in one square at a time to the right:

February 9 — picked up the judgment; service.

From February 10, fifteen days — appeal period; before the 24th.

Once the notice of appeal is filed, the whole judgment does not take effect.

Second-instance trial time limit three months — at the earliest, end of May.

Second-instance judgment served; it takes effect.

Ten days after taking effect — performance period.

After the deadline — apply for enforcement.

When she had written the last line, she set the pen down.

”That date you laid out for them in the corridor yesterday.” She tapped the grid line. ”At the fastest, one month.”

”That was if they didnʼt appeal.”

”Theyʼre appealing.” He Xiufen screwed the lid back onto the mug. ”So that piece of paper now in your hands is this number. Six months minimum.”

”I know.”

”What do you know?”

”What we won is paper,” Shen Zhixia said. ”What we want is money.”

”Youʼve been able to say that for a while now.” He Xiufen pushed the grid paper toward her. ”Saying it is just a catchphrase. Write it down—thatʼs what makes it real.”

She turned the paper over and wrote three lines.

First line: Submit a property preservation application to the court, requesting a freeze on the assets under Defendant 2ʼs and Defendant 3ʼs names, capped at 36,406.

Second line: Submit a written objection to the registration authority, signed and fingerprinted, with the judgment and attached schedule, requesting that the simplified deregistration not be approved.

Third line: Find leads.

He Xiufen read it over, then tapped her finger on the third line.

”The accounts arenʼt your worry. Once itʼs filed, thereʼs point-to-point. The court will check them itself,” she said. ”Houses, vehicles, equity—you have to hand the leads to them.”

”Preservation requires a guarantee.”

”It does,” He Xiufen said. ”Have you calculated the preservation fee?”

”Starts at thirty yuan. The portion over one thousand is calculated at one percent. 36,406—384.”

”How much is in your bank card?”

She didnʼt answer. Her wallet lay open under the lamp: three hundred-yuan bills, one twenty, one ten, and the rest in coins. She counted twice.

”Three hundred thirty-four.”

”What about your brotherʼs living expenses for next week?”

”Thatʼs in there.”

He Xiufen dug a fifty-yuan bill out of her apron pocket and smacked it down beside the grid paper. ”The firm will front it. Put it on your account.”

”No need. I can scrape together 384.”

”The hell you can.” He Xiufen pushed the fifty half an inch closer to her. ”Treat this fifty as the firmʼs money, not your own. And stop pretending to be rich in front of your brother.”

The wooden stairs creaked a few times, then the stairwell went quiet.

She flipped her phone over and opened the Public Information Registry. At the top of Sutongʼs page, that same horizontal line was still there: Simplified Deregistration Filing Application — Accepted. Jianhuaʼs page had the same line. She scrolled down to Hengtongʼs page. At the bottom, an extra line of small text had appeared:

Change Registration. February 3. Legal Representative: Wang Yuhai before the change; Wang Deshan after. Registered address: Shiqiao Village, Linhe Town.

She zoomed in. Wang Deshan, seventy years old. The listed address was a house number in a village.

February 3. Six days before the verdict was handed down.

[Thud. People arenʼt afraid of having no money. What they fear is that while youʼre still holding the paper, it swaps the people first.]

[Thud. The four signs are still hanging on the door. The people behind the signs have been replaced.]

[Thud. A guarantee needs money. Leads need legwork. Of those two, how many do you have?]

Her phone lit up again. Tang Guo sent a screenshot: Confirmed had been posted, and in three hours it had 270,000 views. She had circled the top comment in red: ”Confirmed. Then what?”

She replied with three words: Five steps left.

The ticket that came out of the number machine was printed with B017. Ma Jianjun stood behind her, his coat zipper pulled up to his chin, holding a plastic bag. Inside the bag was a piece of paper, twenty lines, one card number per line. He had copied them one by one in the rider group the night before, working until two in the morning. After he finished, someone in the group still asked why he was copying that.

”How many of those words on the window can you read?” she asked.

”I can read ʼEnforcement,ʼ” he said. ”You read the rest.”

Seven people waited ahead of them. At the very front, an old woman held a stack of papers tied with red string wound around three times. When the window called her number, she shoved the papers through the slot and said ”my son” twice. When she came out, the stack of papers was still in her hand.

Then it was her turn.

Inside the window was still the same enamel mug, lid screwed on. The man was around forty. He looked up at her, then first flipped to the page of the judgment with the parties.

”The one with four defendants.”

”Yes.”

”You came yesterday afternoon.”

”I did.”

”That answer is the same today.” He pushed the judgment back. ”It hasnʼt taken effect. Enforcement canʼt be filed.”

”I know.” She passed the draft through. ”This is a property preservation application.”

He took it and read it line by line, then set it beside the keyboard. His fingers tapped a few keys.

”Sutong and Jianhua—the simplified deregistrations have been published. From acceptance to approval, as fast as a few days, as slow as over a month.” He turned the screen half an inch toward her. ”If you want to freeze, you have to do it before then.”

”Which asset to freeze, Iʼll write down myself.”

”You donʼt need to write the accounts,” he said. ”Once itʼs filed, thereʼs point-to-point. The court will check them itself. Houses, vehicles, equity—you have to give me leads.”

”If I had leads, I wouldnʼt be standing here today.”

”Then let me show you something else.” His hand tapped the keyboard a few more times. ”Hengtong.”

”Jiangzhou Hengtong Freight Service Co., Ltd.”

”Last September, there was a sales contract dispute. It went to enforcement. The amount involved was 113,000. Last December, terminated execution.”

”Terminated execution.”

”Terminated execution.” He pointed at those words on the screen so she could see them through the glass. ”The reason column says: No available assets for enforcement found. Three bank accounts, checked twice—first time, four figures.”

”The second time?”

”Two figures.”

”And now?”

”Now—” He dragged the scroll bar to the bottom. ”Zero.”

She stared at that line for three seconds.

”Sutong and Jianhua donʼt have any cases here with me,” he said. ”Last year there was a labor arbitration. The award came in October. It never got to enforcement.”

”Then is there still money in their accounts?”

He moved the enamel mug aside and pulled his hand back from the keyboard.

”Iʼll tell you the truth,” he said. ”Thereʼs no money under this companyʼs name.”

The person behind them edged forward half a step, a heel knocking against the railing.

Ma Jianjun held the plastic bag up to the glass.

”Sir, at the window. The card numbers for the twenty of us.”

The man glanced at the bag and didnʼt take it. ”Card numbers are no use right now. With no money in the accounts, the card numbers are just twenty strings of digits.”

”Then what about this whole carload of us—” Ma Jianjun started, then stopped.

”These papers in your hands, I can process them all. The judgment, the preservation application, the objection—Iʼll tell you which window and which drawer in a minute,” he said. ”But what you want is money. The money isnʼt here with me.”

”Where is it?”

”Go find it yourself.” He pushed the draft back. ”This case of yours, from the day the judgment came down to today, is five steps: delivery to you, appeal period, second instance, effective plus ten days, enforcement filing. Youʼve already finished step one. Only after all five steps are done does it come time to check how much is in their accounts.” He screwed the lid back onto the mug. ”If you donʼt speak up this month, by next month you wonʼt be able to find these two companies in the system anymore.”

As they left the hall, the wind surged up from the bottom of the steps. The line below the steps still curved around the flowerbed, each person pressing a piece of paper flat.

Ma Jianjun took out the list and spread it over his knee, smoothing out the twenty lines of names one by one.

”Thirty days ago, in the corridor, you told us it would be one month at the fastest,” he said. ”Today is February 10.”

”They appealed.”

”They admitted it.” He folded the paper back into the bag. ”Whereʼs the money?”

She didnʼt answer. On the screen just inside the hall door, B017 had just skipped past, jumping to the next number.

[Thud. It is still hanging on the door. The things in the house have long since been moved out.]

”The money isnʼt under those four names,” she said.