Chapter 353: The Ink Pad Box Never Opened

The call came through on the firm's landline at three in the afternoon.

She was sorting Qinghe's receipts when she heard Lu Jibai answer, say a few words, then hand her the receiver.

"Court."

The clerk's voice was unhurried, one deliberate sentence after another. "Ningchuan reported in. The testing portion is done. The opinion is still about two weeks out."

"Two weeks is how many days?"

"Two weeks." He paused. "They're saying around fourteen days. I won't pin down a date. I'm just passing the message along."

"Electronic service, or paper?"

"Both. Electronic first; you'll need to pick up the paper copy."

She bit the cap off her pen and wrote in her notebook: March 16, 3:00 p.m., clerk called, Ningchuan testing complete, opinion two weeks out.

"The B Group—did they say whether it's needed or not?"

"I can't see how the report reads from here. Once it reaches your hands, you'll see for yourselves."

"Understood."

"One more thing," the clerk said. "They said it's taking long because there are so many samples. Rushing won't speed it up."

"Noted."

She hung up. She set the pen down on the receipts. Qinghe's printing costs, taxi fares, photocopy fees from the past two months, all spread face-down, waiting to be checked. She wouldn't finish them today.

"Two weeks," Lu Jibai said. "No hearing date lands inside these two weeks."

"Around March 30."

"If it comes before Qingming, fine. After Qingming, also fine." He added a line to his register: March 16, Ningchuan reports testing complete, opinion two weeks.

She flipped back to her own page and stared at the heading "Still Unknown." She thought about adding an entry—what page of the report B Group's line would land on. The pen tip touched paper, then lifted again.

"Tomorrow, two o'clock," she said.

"I'll be here."

"Did he say what he wants to discuss?"

"No." He closed the register. "If he pulls out a sheet of paper tomorrow, don't take it."

"What does he want me to answer?"

"He wants you to answer 'yes' or 'no.'" He said, "You don't answer. He'll keep talking to himself."

On the morning of the 17th, the smell of frying scallion oil drifted up from downstairs. He Xiufen was braising beef in the back kitchen; the moment she lifted the pot lid, the whole alley filled with it.

At eleven, Li Huilan came back from the subdistrict office. The moment she was upstairs she set her bag on the corner of the desk and pulled out a bulging kraft paper envelope.

"Tried all morning, got nowhere," she said. "Neither side will speak first. Setting it aside for now."

"Someone's coming at two this afternoon," Shen Zhixia said.

"Who?"

"Hengyue's side."

Li Huilan glanced up at the clock on the wall and tucked the envelope back into her bag. "Then I'm not leaving. I'll sit in."

"Sit," Lu Jibai said.

At exactly 2:00, the door sounded.

Chen Maolin looked around the room's desks as he came in, as if counting chairs in his head. Dark gray shirt, buttoned to the top, a hard-shell bag in his hand.

"Lawyer Lu. Lawyer Shen." He nodded, then his gaze settled on Li Huilan.

"Li Huilan."

"Lawyer Li." He set the bag on his knees, sat down, and didn't reach for paper right away. Instead he took something out of the bag and placed it on the corner of the desk: a copper-red ink pad box, the lid worn to a bright patch.

"I won't beat around the bush," he said. "I'm here on behalf of the Hengyue Group to discuss one matter with you."

He took a single sheet of paper from the bag. New paper, folded once. He unfolded it, smoothed the crease flat with two fingers, and pushed it to the middle of the table.

"This page is from our side. Unsigned. Unstamped. Read it first."

Lu Jibai didn't reach for it. She didn't either.

Li Huilan pulled the paper around and read aloud: "Settlement Intent."

She read line by line: six households, 50,000 yuan each in nutrition subsidies; the company would arrange physicals for the children at a third-party hospital, at company expense; Jiangzhou Qinghe Environmental Public Welfare Service Center would withdraw the lawsuit; no party would make any public statement.

She read to the bottom: "Payer, date, signature. Every place that needs signing is blank."

"This page is an intent, not an agreement," Chen Maolin said. "Nothing's written until you sign."

"Who signs?"

"The company."

"Which company?"

"Hengyue Group."

"What company does this line say?" Li Huilan's finger rested on the "Payer" column.

Chen Maolin smiled and pulled the paper back about two fingers' width. "That column—we left it for you to fill in."

Lu Jibai spoke then.

"Mr. Chen. There's one part of this page I don't understand."

"Which part?"

"'Withdraw the lawsuit.'"

"Qinghe is the plaintiff," Chen Maolin said.

"Qinghe is the plaintiff." Lu Jibai said. "The six children are not. The money is written to six households, the withdrawal is written to Qinghe. Two different matters on the same page—and then you ask us whether we agree."

"I look at results," Chen Maolin said. "The children get money for treatment. That case stops. This result doesn't hurt you either."

"Public interest litigation isn't yours or mine to withdraw," Lu Jibai said. "If there's to be a settlement, it goes through the court. The agreement's contents get published, with a notice period of no less than thirty days. The moment that page leaves this room, no one will recognize it."

"Thirty days—we can wait," Chen Maolin said. "But some things can't be taken back once they're published. Right now the villagers only know their own children are sick. The moment that notice goes up, the whole city will know the name Qingshi Village."

"So you've come to save them a name."

"I'm saving everyone a name," he said. "Including you."

He laid both hands flat on the table. "Six children, 50,000 per household. A checkup costs just over 800. One child, two checkups a year—this money will keep them tested until they're grown."

"Why not give this money through the court?"

"I'm walking that road too," Chen Maolin said. "It's slow."

He turned slightly toward her.

"Lawyer Shen, you've made several trips out to the village. You know better than we do what those children's homes look like. You tell me—should this money be given or not?"

She lifted the pen tip off the paper, then set it down again and wrote: He asked me "should this money be given."

No words crossed the table.

"Then I'll take it you think it's too little," he said.

"It's not too little," Lu Jibai said. "This page isn't short on money. It's written in the wrong place."

Chen Maolin paused, not yet turning his head.

"That matter with your brother—last year wasn't easy." He said, "Don't read into it. I only mean that when everyone at home is well, that beats everything."

She looked up.

The pen moved across the paper: He said "that matter with your brother."

He waited a few seconds, as if waiting for "yes" or "no."

"Mr. Chen." Li Huilan nudged her teacup half an inch outward. "I have a legal aid case on my hands. The form was sent back once for corrections, and the appointment letter still hasn't come down. Is that the matter you're referring to?"

"Lawyer Li is reading into things," he said. "I don't inquire into other people's cases."

Lu Jibai set his pen down. "Can we keep a copy of this page?"

Chen Maolin folded the paper, then folded it again. "Unsigned paper—no point leaving it behind."

He put the folded paper back in his bag, pulled the zipper shut, stood up, and then also returned the ink pad box from the desk corner to the bag.

From the moment the ink pad box went on the table to the moment it went back in the bag, the lid never once opened.

He walked to the door and turned back.

"Lawyer Lu. One more message, from Chairman Qin. He asked me to deliver it."

"Say it."

"Don't walk too many night roads."

He said it flatly, in the same tone he'd used for thirty days and fifty thousand. Then he went downstairs.

The stairwell was narrow, concrete, with a landing at the turn. Words fell from the landing down to the floor below.

The spoon over the stove paused.

He Xiufen stood at the pot, flour on her apron, a strainer spoon in her hand, not turning around.

"Director He," Chen Maolin called from the bottom of the stairs.

"The noodles are in the pot," she said.

The door opened, then closed.

At 2:50, He Xiufen came upstairs empty-handed. She stood in the doorway and looked at the corner of the table.

"That line about night roads—I heard it," she said. "He's just a paper-passer, carrying a message like that for someone else."

"He stood downstairs for a while before coming up," she went on. "Didn't come into the shop. Stood at the mouth of the alley, looking both ways."

"Looking for what?" Li Huilan asked.

"Couldn't tell." He Xiufen said. "I watched the back of his head for about half a cigarette."

She wiped the strainer spoon against her apron. "If that sentence can be put on paper, write it down. What can't—well, watch yourselves from now on."

She carried the spoon back downstairs.

"Should we tell Cai Qingru?" Li Huilan asked.

"Tell her," Lu Jibai said. "Phone call, not WeChat. Read your notes to her verbatim: Hengyue sent someone, what they offered, how we answered. She isn't allowed to change a single word."

"Why not WeChat?"

"WeChat can be screenshotted," he said. "Once a screenshot exists, whose paper it is gets murky."

"I'll call this afternoon," Li Huilan said. "I'll read it, and let her write it down herself."

"The 3,000-yuan one was also 'nutrition subsidy,'" Shen Zhixia spoke. "Also no public statements, no litigation. This page changed 3,000 to 50,000, one household to six households, and added one thing—withdrawal of the suit."

"Same mold," Lu Jibai said. "The 3,000-yuan one was for villagers to sign. This one was made to show a court."

"He brought an ink pad box," Li Huilan said. "Set it right there, never opened it once."

"Bringing it means he was ready to stamp on the spot," Lu Jibai said. "He didn't, because there was no place on that page a stamp could go."

He pulled a blank sheet of paper from the drawer, pressed it flat on the desk, and uncapped his pen.

"March 17, 2:00 p.m., second floor of Zhengping Firm." He wrote as he spoke. "Present: Lu Jibai, Shen Zhixia, Li Huilan. Visitor: Chen Maolin, who stated he was entrusted by Hengyue Group."

"His first line when he came in."

"'I won't beat around the bush.'"

He wrote: Chen Maolin's exact words—"I won't beat around the bush."

"Second line."

"I'm here on behalf of the Hengyue Group to discuss one matter with you."

He wrote it word for word.

"What was on the paper."

"Six households, 50,000 yuan each in nutrition subsidies; the company arranges physicals at a third-party hospital, at company expense; Qinghe withdraws the lawsuit; no party makes any public statement," she answered. "And at the bottom, every place that needed signing was blank: payer, date, signature."

He wrote line by line. At "no party makes any public statement," the pen stopped. "That phrase—word for word?"

"Word for word."

He kept writing.

"His last line."

"'Unsigned paper—no point leaving it behind.'"

He finished, then started a new line.

"One more." The pen stopped on the paper, and he looked up. "Was this the exact wording—'Chairman Qin said, don't walk too many night roads.'"

"Exact."

He closed the quotation mark, wrote the last line, signed and dated it, then pushed it to Li Huilan. She read it through twice and signed after "Present."

The paper was pushed in front of her. She remembered Master Qiu's advice—"don't sign small"—and filled the space with her name.

The faint half-ring of copper-rust on the desk corner was only visible at an angle.

[Thud. The words stayed outside the paper. Words on paper get signed; words outside paper need someone to keep them.]

She looked up. He lifted the page and blew on it gently.