Chapter 324: Three Thousand in an Envelope

Before Ma Jianjun came in, he stood outside and stamped his heels twice.

January 7, 5:40 p.m. Dark had long since fallen. The streetlight at the mouth of the alley was on, its bulb wrapped in a layer of condensation. Anyone passing beneath it had their shadow slide across the wet concrete. He stepped into the noodle shop with his helmet tucked under his arm, one cotton glove clutched in his hand, the other still dangling from his wrist and swinging.

"Director He, a bowl of soup first."

"And the noodles?"

"Noodles after. Soup first."

He Xiufen ladled soup at the stove without looking up. "Sit."

He chose the table by the window, set his helmet on the stool beside him, and stuffed his cap inside. It was warmer inside than out. Within two minutes of sitting down, the top of his padded cap had grown damp. Shen Zhixia came down the stairs just as he was cupping his hands to his mouth and blowing on them. He started to stand when he saw her, then sat back down.

"Third run," he said.

"You went again today."

"I did." He wiped his hand on his padded jacket. "Same warehouse to the convenience store. Same delivery. I made it for the third time."

Shen Zhixia spread her notebook on the corner of the table and flipped to the Qingshi Village page. He Xiufen brought the soup over, setting the bowl on the table rather than handing it to him. He cupped it in both hands, took two sips, and put it back down.

"Drink first."

"I'll talk first." He said. "Drink after."

"Go ahead."

"There was someone sitting outside the convenience store." He pressed his hand downward, as if pinning something to the tabletop. "A little camp stool. An old woman. My scooter had barely stopped when the woman taking the delivery said to me, while counting the goods: she's been waiting for you all morning."

"Waiting for me."

"She said she'd been sitting at the door since before dawn. My first run, the woman taking the delivery even asked me how much I made per trip." He glanced up at Shen Zhixia, then quickly dropped his eyes again. "Today the old woman didn't even look at the goods. She walked over and asked me one thing."

"What thing."

"She asked: is there some place in the city where a person can ask questions?"

The sound of water at the stove faded. On the other side of the cutting board, the knife chopping scallions paused, then came down again. Once. Twice.

"What did you tell her?"

"I said, I don't know what your business is. If you want to ask, call this number. Someone will answer."

"Anything else?"

"Nothing added." He spoke quickly. "I just gave her the number. Didn't add a single word."

"How did you give it to her?"

"She pulled out one of those senior phones." He reached into his inner pocket, felt around, then withdrew his hand. "The case was wrapped in a piece of blue cloth, edges frayed. She asked me to key it in for her. I opened a box for the name and asked her what to enter." He paused. "She said don't put a name."

"No name."

"She said, put whatever you think's right. So I typed: Ask in the City."

Shen Zhixia's pen hovered over the paper.

"Did she press it?"

"I pressed it once to show her. The screen lit up. I told her, press this once and it'll go through." He said. "She pressed it again herself. Pressed it clean. Then she slipped the phone back into her sleeve. Both hands never came out of her sleeves."

"What was she wearing?"

"Gray padded jacket, dark smock over it, cuffs black and shiny." He thought for a moment. "Cotton shoes, mud all over the uppers. That stool she sat on, all four legs rusted, one propped up on a brick."

"Her face?"

"Looked seventy or older. A little hard of hearing. I had to lean in close to talk." He wiped his mouth. "She had a cloth bag by her feet. Not big. Never opened it the whole time."

Shen Zhixia wrote in her notebook: January 7, third run. An old woman. Number given.

When she finished, she rested the tip of her pen on the blank space after "old woman" without writing.

"Her surname?"

"Couldn't get it." His eyes dropped. "I said, may I ask your name? She said, no rush."

"How was she when she left?"

"She folded up her stool, braced herself against the wall for a moment before she could stand straight." He looked up. "That stretch of wall was covered in frost-melt. She had one hand pressed flat against it."

Shen Zhixia wrote that down too, pen pausing at the end of the sentence.

"Her household—how many people, who has paperwork—she didn't mention any of it."

"Not a word. She just said she'd go home and think it over." Then something occurred to him. "Last time I told you there was a grandmother who stood outside the primary school every day. A car picks up one kid and takes them to the city to get tested again. That family."

"You told me."

"I figure it's her." He said. "She didn't say so, and I didn't dare ask."

Shen Zhixia added a few characters at the end of that line: Suspected to be the same person.

[Thud. One number, sent out of the city.]

The noodles arrived, steam clouding Ma Jianjun's face. He ate half the bowl before picking up the thread about the school gate.

"Today there were only three people outside the school." He said. "Last time there were seven or eight."

"Why fewer?"

"Don't know. Maybe the ones who signed don't stand there anymore." He set down his chopsticks. "Diagonally across, there was a van parked. Silver-gray. A line of text on the body, but I couldn't make it out. A man in a padded work uniform climbed out carrying a stack of papers, set them on top of that low wall, and weighed them down with half a brick."

"The uniform—what did it look like?"

"Gray-blue. A row of white lettering printed on the left chest. I was too far away to read it." He said. "On his feet, work boots. No mud on them. He'd been walking on hard pavement."

"Where was the van parked?"

"East of the iron gate, nose pointing toward the village entrance." He considered. "I didn't get the plate. I didn't dare linger behind the van."

"Was there a seal on the papers?"

"There was." He answered immediately. "Red. In the corner. I couldn't tell which corner."

Shen Zhixia wrote it down, line by line.

"What did he say?"

"He just stood there talking. When someone came up, he'd say one thing." Ma Jianjun lowered his voice and mimicked the tone. "One per household. Sign today and get paid today."

"The three thousand—you heard that clearly."

"Clear. He said it twice." He pointed toward the far side of the table, as if indicating a truck bed. "Envelopes were inside the van. Kraft paper. Fat. A whole stack, very neat."

"Did you see anyone sign?"

"A woman. Forties. Pulled a pen out from inside her padded jacket." He said. "The man reached over and took the pen from her, pointed at a box on the paper and said: sign here. She bowed her head and scribbled twice. When she was done he took the paper back himself and rolled it up."

"Did she read the paper?"

"No. She only looked at the box." He added. "He straightened the paper for her and even held down half of it for her."

"This woman was one of the group?"

"She looked familiar." He thought. "Last time, that crowd of seven or eight standing at the gate—she might have been among them."

"And after she signed?"

"He took an envelope out of the van and gave it to her." Ma Jianjun said. "She didn't count it. Stuffed it inside her padded jacket and left."

"Didn't count."

"Didn't count. Her hands never even paused."

"Did anyone else ask questions?"

"A young man asked one." He looked up at her. "He asked: if I sign this, I can't make a claim later, right? The man in the work uniform said: sign this and there's no need to claim. The factory will cover the child's medical costs."

Shen Zhixia wrote those two lines down verbatim, then pressed her hand flat on the paper.

Ah Nan's messages were further back in the notebook: Someone from the factory came. Said they'd pay a nutrition subsidy if you just sign. / Stop contacting me. She flipped back to look, then returned, and under the newest lines she added half a line: A stack of papers on the low wall. Three thousand. An envelope for each person.

"How long did you stay?"

"Long enough for a smoke." He said. "Then the woman taking the delivery glanced outside, so I turned the scooter around."

"She saw you?"

"Whether she saw me or not, I couldn't say." He tapped a knuckle on the tabletop. "When I backed out, the man in the work uniform was still standing there. Didn't look my way."

The only sound left in the noodle shop was the stove. He Xiufen turned the flame down low, pulled a square stool over beside the stove, and sat with her hands on her knees.

"Lawyer Shen." Ma Jianjun pressed both hands against the edge of the table. "Should I tell them not to sign?"

"Don't."

"I won't add a single word. Just one sentence—don't sign. That's still not okay?"

"No." She set down the pen. "The moment you say it, the first thing they'll think isn't about that paper. It's that this person delivered goods last time without a word, went back, and now today he's got something to say. Who told him to say it."

"I spent a year telling them, one by one, by myself." The veins on the back of his hand stood out. "Talked my mouth dry. Today, three thousand, one sentence—they sign."

"I know."

"So I still can't say anything."

"What you talked about was your own case. This one—we haven't even laid eyes on that piece of paper." She pushed the notebook toward him so he could see the lines. "What you heard was a number. What you saw was a box. What about the other clauses on the paper? No further claims, no pursuing the factory, no joining a lawsuit—if those words are on there, you'd never hear them from the doorway."

"I can't read, but I know three thousand when I hear it."

"Say you talk them out of it. Then they turn around and ask you: so if I don't take the money, what do you give me? Can you answer that?"

Ma Jianjun didn't answer. He picked up the cotton glove from the table, then put it back down.

Two creaks from the stairs. Lu Jibai came down to the last step and stopped, one hand resting on the banister.

"Master Ma."

"Lawyer Lu."

He didn't come down or sit. He waited until Ma Jianjun had finished, then spoke, asking only one thing: "When he was getting them to sign, did anyone read the papers aloud to them?"

Ma Jianjun blinked.

"No." He said. "He just said sign here. Whatever the young man asked, he answered just that one thing."

Lu Jibai nodded, took his hand off the banister, and walked to the stove. A bowl of noodles was already waiting on the counter, the cilantro picked out clean. He picked it up and went to another table under the window to sit.

Ma Jianjun watched him sit, then lowered his voice. "Why'd he ask that?"

"He wants to know how that paper got into people's hands." Shen Zhixia said. "If someone read it aloud, then someone knew what was written on it. If nobody read it, then only one person knows."

"One person knows." Ma Jianjun chewed on those words. "So we don't know, and they don't either."

"Right."

He finished the last two bites of noodles and stood to get his helmet. He fumbled with the strap twice before it buckled.

"If the old woman calls—"

"If she calls, I'll know."

"You don't have to tell me who she is. That's fine." He stood beneath the light, cap brim pulled low. "I just want to know if she called. Don't let me make the next delivery and find her still sitting at that door."

"All right."

He used his shoulder to lift the roll-up door a few inches, and cold air rushed in from below. The door dropped back with a clank of sheet metal.

He Xiufen stacked the bowls from the table, carried them to the sink, and turned on the tap. Shen Zhixia picked up her notebook and headed for the stairs. She'd gone two steps when she turned back.

"Director He." She said. "Of those six households, one of them will be the first to open the door."

The sound of water stopped for a moment.

"The one willing to open the door first is always the one who's had it hardest." He Xiufen said.