Chapter 386: Eat Your Noodles

The phone on the second floor rang three times before she looked up from Qinghe's form.

"Jiangzhou Zhengping Law Firm."

"Lawyer Shen? Intermediate Court, Filing Division."

The caller spoke slowly, stopping after each sentence. "The application submitted April 26th—your Certificate of Effectiveness has been issued. Come pick it up tomorrow at nine in the morning, at the window. Bring your receipt slip and your practice certificate."

"Can I get two copies?"

"Yes. The extra one will be marked as a duplicate, same seal."

"Anything else?"

"Just those two things."

She said okay and put the receiver back. Downstairs someone pushed the door open, and the draft rattled the glass on the new certificate frame at the top of the stairs—a soft sound. She checked the time: 10:40.

The paper bag from Qingshi Village leaned against her chair leg. She pulled out the case file, tucked the receipt slip behind the photocopy of the judgment, and folded it in half. She unfolded it, smoothed it along the original crease, and folded it again—the second fold neater than the first.

She had waited two days for this piece of paper. The materials for Ge Xiaoyu's case had been checked over yesterday morning, spread out with nothing missing: the complaint, the Power of Attorney signed by Ge Changlin, his ID photocopy, the child's household register photocopy, two blood lead lab reports, the diagnostic certificate, the follow-up report dated April 22nd, the photocopy of the Qingshi Village judgment, and the one-page evidence list. The only thing missing was the Certificate of Effectiveness. The last column sat empty, and as long as it was empty, the filing couldn't go in.

She turned to a fresh page in her notebook, the header written in her father's style:

April 28th, 10:40.

Beneath it: Call from the Intermediate Court. Certificate ready. Pick up April 29th at nine. Two copies. Bring receipt slip, practice certificate.

She opened a drawer. Her practice certificate sat at the very back—dark blue cover, with a stack of case files resting on top of it. She pulled it out, then put it back in the same spot. What she needed to bring tomorrow, she checked today, so tomorrow nothing would be missing.

She clicked the pen cap on and looked up. Lu Jibai sat behind his desk, Qinghe's remediation plan photocopy open in front of him, turned to the page marked "Why It Can't Be Done." His pencil traced a light horizontal line in the margin, then he set the pencil flat.

"Tomorrow at nine. I'll pick up the certificate," she said.

"Noted." He didn't look up. His pencil went down again.

After a moment, he closed the folder. "Qinghe said yesterday that the overflow pipe at Pond No. 3 still hasn't been touched."

"Twenty-six days left, until May 24th."

"Twenty-six days." He repeated the half-sentence, sliding the plan into its folder. The clasp clicked shut with a soft snap. "Two copies—one to file with the lawsuit, one for Qinghe. Keep a photocopy at the firm."

"I've noted it," she said.

She lowered her head and went back to checking the form. The "Replanting Quantity Confirmer" column was still blank. Replanting came later—the person who would sign could only do so after the seedlings were in the ground and counted on-site. May 7th, when the third-party assessor came from the provincial capital, they'd sign the "prepared by" column on the plan. Cai Qingru had set that date with them; the signer would come in person. This blank wasn't hers to fill, and no one could fill it for her. She ran through it in her mind once more and moved on. The three dates on the desk calendar hovered at the edge of her vision: the 7th at 9:30, the 11th, the 24th. The 29th and 30th hadn't been written in yet.

A few minutes before noon, the exhaust fan downstairs started up. She weighed the form down with the paperweight, picked up her cup, and went downstairs.

The noodle shop was full. The table by the door sat empty—four stools, only one pulled slightly away from the table. She pulled it out and sat down.

He Xiufen came over from the stove and set a bowl of noodles in front of her. A layer of chopped scallions floated on the broth, a fried egg tucked at the bowl's edge. The ladle was still in her hand.

"Director He."

"Mhm."

"I broke up with him."

The ladle paused in her hand. She set it down beside the bowl, handle pointing toward the middle of the table. "Mhm." After a pause: "Eat your noodles."

She turned and headed back to the stove, then stopped after two steps and looked back. "From now on, you sit at this table. He sits at the one by the stove. Saves you from eating across from each other."

The stove flame roared up, and the exhaust fan swallowed her words. A while later she came out again, setting a small dish of pickled vegetables by Shen Zhixia's hand, the dish scraping softly against the table before it settled.

"I won't ask." She said it plainly. "You told me. I heard it. That's enough. Noodles get cold—eat."

"I'm going to the Intermediate Court tomorrow morning."

"Come back and eat noodles after." He Xiufen said. "I'll save your bowl."

She ate. The soup was a little hot; she blew on it twice, nudging the fried egg to the side of the bowl to cool. The stool across from her stayed empty. People came through the door for noodles, but no one sat on that stool. The pot by the stove never stopped. He Xiufen dropped noodles with one hand and wiped the counter with the other, scrubbing the rag over the corner of her table twice, as if the mark there needed extra attention.

When she finished, she carried the bowl to the stove. He Xiufen reached for it. "Leave it. Tomorrow morning I'll still make two bowls. If you don't come down, I'll bring it up."

At exactly 3:00 p.m., Li Huilan pushed through the door, hung her cloth bag on the chair back, poured herself a glass of water, and drank it standing up.

"The detention center visit wasn't until 11:30," she said. "Through the glass, on that phone. She's hard of hearing, so I had to shout—my throat's raw. She walked me back through it again and again. By the third time we got to that moment at the counter, her voice dropped."

She stopped between the two desks and set her cup on the edge of the table.

"The old lady's surname is Xing. Xing Shuqin. She withdrew money from the bank counter for someone else—a hundred yuan a day. Someone gave her the card, and someone else told her the PIN. She made seven withdrawals."

"And the money?" Shen Zhixia asked.

"She handed it to the man right after. Counted in front of her. She got a hundred." Li Huilan said, "He's been arrested, suspected of aiding and abetting criminal network activities. The Center's appointment letter came down—they named me specifically. Remember at the end of last year I told you the Center had something moving? This is it."

"Does she admit it?"

"She admits she withdrew the money. She doesn't admit she knew it was stolen." Li Huilan lifted her cup and set it back down. "There's one line that's a problem. The third time, someone at the counter asked her what she was withdrawing so much money for. She said it was to pay her son's house payment. That line went into the record. She pressed her thumbprint on it."

"Was the record read back to her?"

"It was. She can't read many characters—her name she writes herself, slowly, stroke by stroke." Li Huilan said, "When they read that line, she nodded and said yes, that's what I said. So she pressed her thumbprint."

Shen Zhixia pushed the form aside.

"All seven withdrawals at the same branch?"

"The one in Chengdong. Three windows in rotation. She withdrew from all of them at some point."

"Does she remember the dates of the seven withdrawals?"

"She can't. Only that the first time was right when the vegetable market opened, and after that, he came for her every couple of days. The record has approximate dates and times. For the precise ones, we'll need the bank statements."

"The man waited outside?"

"At the door. She came out and gave him the money. He counted it before letting her go." Li Huilan said, "She kept the card next to the rice jar, wrapped in a cloth. The day the police came, she was still digging around by the rice jar. When she found it, the first thing she asked was: should I give this card back?"

"How did she meet this man?"

"He hired her at the vegetable market entrance. She said the first time, he called out to her first, gave her a card, told her to withdraw the amount written on a slip of paper. Afterward, a hundred yuan, and he'd come find her again next time."

"Then copy down the times of her seven withdrawals and compare them with the times the man came to get her," Shen Zhixia said. "If they match, she's just a hand—she withdrew, but she didn't know where the money went. If they don't—"

"If they don't, she's someone who did know where the money went." Li Huilan finished the sentence. "I'll write the application for the bank statements tomorrow. Lao Kan still hasn't heard back from the Enforcement Bureau—I'll call again this afternoon. And that fifty-nine-year-old's son, I need to call him tomorrow too."

[Thud. This one isn't in your name.]

She heard it. She lifted her cup and took a sip of water, saying nothing. Li Huilan picked up her files and walked to her desk, eyes sweeping from Shen Zhixia's desk to Lu Jibai's and back again before she sat down and flipped through her papers.

At five o'clock, she pulled up the complaint and read it through from the top: Plaintiff Ge Xiaoyu, legal guardian Ge Changlin, defendant Jiangzhou Hengyue New Materials Co., Ltd., legal representative filled in from the public record; five claims, totaling 15,700 yuan; subsequent medical costs to be claimed separately after they actually occur.

Three copies: two for the court, one for the firm. She pressed print, then gave the paper tray a nudge forward. The machine had jammed last week—paper was loaded crooked.

The first copy came out smooth. The second too. The third jammed halfway through; the machine beeped and the paper stuck inside.

She opened the maintenance panel and reached in. Her fingertips grazed the edge of the paper but couldn't get a grip. She switched hands. Still just short.

Lu Jibai stood, walked over, reached in from behind the machine, and pinched the corner of the paper, pulling it out. He pulled slowly. One section came out smeared with grayish-black smudges from the fuser, half the header line blurred. He set the paper on her desk corner with one hand and pressed the panel shut with the other, clicking it into place. Then he turned and walked back to his desk.

She printed again. This time it went through. She stood by the machine waiting, catching each page one by one so they didn't fall into the tray.

With the three copies stacked, she checked the defendant line on each, then the total line: 15,700 yuan, identical on all three. She counted the attachments against the evidence list: the photocopied judgment, the two blood lead reports, the diagnostic certificate, the April 22nd follow-up, Ge Changlin's Power of Attorney, the child's household register photocopy, the Certificate of Effectiveness. The last column was still empty today. Tomorrow it wouldn't be.

She turned over the wrinkled sheet on the corner of her desk. The back was still usable. The pen came down: April 30th, 9:00, Chengxi District Court.

When she finished, she slid it under the stack. The three complaints on top. At the very bottom, that paper with the gray-black smudges, the blurred line facing in.

She flipped the desk calendar to tomorrow and wrote 9:00. She looked at it once, capped the pen, and didn't flip any further.

Downstairs, He Xiufen called up, her spatula rapping against the wok: one long knock, two short. No one upstairs answered. Shen Zhixia swept the paper scraps from her desk into her palm and walked to the window, tossing them out. Across from her, his stack of papers had changed. His pencil moved line by line and never stopped.

Back at her desk, she reached for her cup. The water was warm.

She hadn't seen anyone change it. She drank it all, set the cup back down—on her side of the desk.