Justice System: I Litigate for the Whole City

Chapter 50 : Certificate of Effectiveness

On the afternoon of March 15, second floor of the Litigation Service Center. Her number was called. She didnʼt sit down.

”Did it pay or not?” she asked.

The person at the window moved the enamel mug aside. ”Denied on the 12th.”

”The deferred payment one?”

”Denied,” he said. ”It was notified the day of the denial, given three more days.” He glanced up at the wall clock. ”Through today.”

”What time counts as today.”

”We close out at four-thirty.”

She sat down in the row of chairs near the hall door, facing the window. 3:50, 4:20, 4:40. The numbers on the queue display ticked down, one after another. No one else went up.

At 4:51, she took a new number.

”Did it come in or not?”

The man tapped the keyboard, and a field popped up on the screen. He finished typing and stopped. ”No.”

She remembered that field herself. Sheʼd checked it once last month, the day the ten yuan was paid, and twice more during the month.

”Then Iʼll come back tomorrow.”

”Donʼt bother coming tomorrow.” He took his hands off the keyboard. ”Weʼre issuing a ruling.”

”What ruling.”

”Treated as an automatic withdrawal of appeal,” he said. ”The first-instance judgment takes legal effect from the date the ruling is served.”

”Does this count as it admitting defeat?”

”No,” he said. ”It just left that ten yuan in its pocket.”

She walked out of the hall. The sky wasnʼt fully dark yet. At the bus stop, a long line of buses was backed up; the brake lights of the last one stayed on, not moving.

At night, in the kitchen at Zhengping Firm. He Xiufen pulled the grid paper out from under the glass and added a line at the very bottom: March 16 — Ruling. When she finished, she pressed the cap back onto the pen.

”That ten yuan—it never did pay it,” Shen Zhixia said.

”Tell me why it didnʼt pay.”

”If it paid, second instance would take three months, plus service, half a year.” She turned the hardcover notebook to that page. ”If it doesnʼt pay, this paper takes effect today. Tomorrow I can go demand the money.”

”That last half is right.” He Xiufen turned the paper around and looked at it. ”In second instance, it has to get nailed by you one item at a time. In enforcement, it just has to hand over one piece of paper.”

”Which piece.”

”The one with zero written on it.”

[Thud. First-instance judgment takes effect. The Unsettled Ledger does not write off the entry.]

[Thud. Taking effect is the thing that stands still. Money is the thing that moves.]

March 17, 9 a.m., at the bottom of the courthouse steps.

Ma Jianjun stood by the flowerbed, both hands tucked into his sleeves, a washed-out scarf around his neck. His electric scooter was parked at his feet, the seat covered with a film of damp.

”Youʼre earlier than me,” she said.

”I didnʼt take any deliveries today,” he said. ”I just wanted to see what that paper looks like.”

At the Case Filing Division window was a young woman with her hair pulled back tight. She passed her ID and the duplicate copy of the judgment inside and recited the names of the four defendants. The young woman went to the cabinet in back, rummaged for a few minutes, and came out with a stack of paper.

”The ruling is one page.” She slid the paper out from under the glass. ”See for yourself.”

The appellant failed to prepay the case acceptance fee within the designated period, and the appellantʼs application for deferred payment of the case acceptance fee was not approved. Pursuant to the relevant provisions on the payment of litigation costs, this case is to be treated as an automatic withdrawal of the appeal by the appellant. This ruling takes legal effect upon service.

The last line.

The first-instance judgment takes legal effect from the date this ruling is served.

She read the page from start to finish, then went back and read it a second time. The top and bottom were blank. The middle lines were crowded together, and the seal at the end pressed over the date.

”I also need a Certificate of Effectiveness,” she said.

The young woman paused. ”You need a certificate issued?”

”I need it for the enforcement side.”

”Wait a moment.” The young woman pulled up the system, flipped through two pages, and hit print. The printer behind the window came to life, squeaking as it fed out paper.

The paper that came out was even shorter than the ruling. One line, one red seal.

Ma Jianjun took the paper, holding it in both hands. His finger paused over the seal, not daring to press down.

”Just this one sheet,” he said.

”Just this one sheet.”

”Let me get a picture.” He held the paper toward the light outside the glass door, his phone raised for a long time, unable to get it in focus. In the end he laid it flat on the windowsill and took one. ”Iʼll send it to my wife.”

”Have Deng Wei send it around too. Twenty people—send it to every one of them.”

He took the paper back from the windowsill, folded it in half, and handed it back, his hand stopping halfway. ”And your judgment?”

”In the bag. Ten-plus pages, with the schedule.”

”Ten-plus pages of paper, traded for this one sheet.” He looked at the sheet in his hand, then at the white edge peeking from the bag. ”Worth it.”

Below the Zhengping Firm offices, the smell of scallion oil drifted out through the exhaust fan. She posted the Certificate of Effectiveness in the ridersʼ group.

Voice messages landed one after another. Xiao Duanʼs was six seconds, with wind and motor noise in the background: ”Jie, tonight Iʼll treat you to noodles.” Deng Weiʼs was longer and slower: ”Iʼll forward it to all twenty of them one by one. First let me read the names through.” Behind him someone shouted something, impossible to make out. Luo Cheng sent text: ”I still get 720 deducted on the 20th.” Lao Song sent a photo—his elementary school exercise book lay open on his knees, a new line written onto the ruled page, the strokes crooked; only ”March 17” could be made out.

On the evening of March 19, in the little room below the noodle house. The tables had been pushed together into one long row. Twenty Powers of Attorney were spread out—enforcement-stage ones, one per person, no one could sign for anyone else. Deng Wei stood at the far end of the table, calling names from the roster. Whoever was called came over, signed their name, and pressed a fingerprint beneath the name.

”Is Lao Chang here?”

”Here.”

”Xu Li.”

”Here.”

Luo Cheng was the last to press his fingerprint. When he finished, he wiped his finger on his pants. ”Jie, this paperʼs different from the last one. It says ʼenforcementʼ on it.”

”Right. The last one was for proving who people are. This one makes people pay up.”

”So will it pay or not?”

”Letʼs get all the fingerprints gathered first.”

He Xiufen pushed the grid paper over from the far end of the long table. A new line had been added: Effective — ten days — performance period through the 27th.

”Taking effect doesnʼt mean you can file yet,” she said. ”The judgment says performance is due within ten days after it takes effect. These ten days belong to it. You canʼt step in.”

”Then Iʼll go ask again on the 27th.”

”You donʼt ask.” He Xiufen pressed the paper down. ”If it doesnʼt transfer for that entire day, then early the next morning you can file the application. Write the double interest for delayed performance into the claims too—calculated by the day, growing day by day.”

”I know.”

”Good that you know. First go write out the application.”

She sat until eleven, writing two drafts of the application. The first draft was crossed out halfway through. The second was copied out clean, the handwriting smaller than the first and the line spacing squeezed tight.

Her phone lit up. She opened her chat with Lu Jibai. The last message was still the two words heʼd replied on the 9th: ”Remember it.”

She typed: Itʼs taken effect.

Half a minute later, he replied: Ten days.

She stared at those two words for a while, then replied: I know.

He: I know you know.

She didnʼt reply again.

March 28, 8:40 a.m., the courtʼs west building, Enforcement Affairs Center.

A sign was posted on the bulletin board: For submission of enforcement case materials and inquiries, go to Window No. 3. At Window No. 3 sat a woman in her forties, short hair held back with a black hair clip. On her desk lay a stack of blank Notice of Property Investigation Results forms, a stapler beside them, the computer screen always on.

She laid the materials out one by one: the Certificate of Effectiveness; the judgment and schedule; copies of twenty peopleʼs ID cards; twenty Powers of Attorney; the Representative Election Form; the representativeʼs identity materials; and finally, the Application for Compulsory Enforcement, original and duplicate.

The woman flipped through two pages and stopped.

”Applicants for enforcement: Ma Jianjun and nineteen others. Representative: Deng Wei.” She read it aloud, then looked further down. ”Judgment debtors: four.”

”Four.”

”Four claims.” She flipped the page over. ”Investigate and control according to law... property leads attached on a separate page.”

”On a separate page.”

She turned to the leads page, her finger pressing down on the paper as she went line by line. Three items: Hengtong changed its legal representative on February 3 and moved its registered address to Shiqiao Village, Linhe Town; Sutong and Jianhua were both in the general deregistration procedure; and the name of the approver on the platform backend cleanup work order.

”For leads, people usually just write ʼrequest judicial investigation and controlʼ—that five-word line.” She looked up at her. ”You wrote three items.”

”Are three enough?”

”Whether theyʼre enough isnʼt for me to say.” She turned the paper back and wrote a line in the acceptance column. ”But this one—ʼin general deregistrationʼ—Iʼll make a note of it here. Before the deregistration is approved, itʼs still a judgment debtor. Once itʼs approved, Iʼll go after the liquidation group.”

”Can going after the liquidation group get us the money?”

”The liquidation group is holding whatʼs left of its assets. How much is left is another matter.” She pulled out a Notice of Acceptance, filled it out, stamped it, and pushed it over. ”The enforcement fee isnʼt prepaid; it gets deducted from the judgment debtor. This is your Notice of Acceptance, and this is the account number for inquiries—the handling officer column has my name, Liao Hong. From now on, when you ask about the case, just give this name.”

”And the Property Reporting Order?”

”Iʼll send it out today with the rest. They have fifteen days to report. If they donʼt, I can fine them.”

”How much.”

”For an entity, fifty thousand to one million. For a legal representative or actual controller, as an individual, up to one hundred thousand.” She clicked the stapler once. ”But donʼt count on it.”

”Why.”

”People with nothing under their names generally arenʼt afraid of fines.”

April 2, 10 a.m., Enforcement Affairs Center. The stack of blank notices on Liao Hongʼs desk had shrunk by half.

She pushed out a sheet of paper.

”The first round of checks is done,” she said. ”Look it over. Iʼll read it aloud too; you listen.”

Defendant One: three bank accounts, combined balance zero yuan, no real property, no vehicles, no equity, no external investments.

Defendant Two: four accounts, zero yuan.

Defendant Three: two accounts, zero yuan.

Defendant Four: three accounts, zero yuan.

The last line read: No property available for enforcement was found.

”Four names.” She clicked the cap back onto her pen. ”Under the names, this is all there is.”

”What can the investigation and control actually find?”

”The things under a name,” she said. ”Cards, houses, cars, equity, receivables on the accounts. If a name isnʼt written on it, I canʼt find it from here.”

”What if the money never needed to be written on any name?”

Liao Hong looked at her for two seconds and pushed the paper a little closer.

”Then thatʼs what you need to write down for me.”

She went downstairs. At the bottom of the steps, Ma Jianjun was squatting by the flowerbed, the scooterʼs kickstand planted on the ground, his helmet lying in the cargo basket.

She handed him the paper. From his padded coat pocket he fished out the corner-folded copy of the judgment—the creases already soft, the corners fuzzy—and laid it side by side with the notice on the concrete ledge, pinning down one corner of each with his hands. Wind swept down the steps, lifting the edges of the paper, and he pressed his wrists down.

”This one says it owes me 36,406,” he said.

”Thatʼs twenty people.”

”And this one says it doesnʼt have 36,406.”

She didnʼt speak.

”Then where did the money go?”

[Thud. The investigation only opens the drawer under a name.]

[Thud. The money isnʼt in the drawer. Itʼs on the people who handled it.]