Chapter 441: Tomorrow, Ten O'Clock

The electric fan on the second floor was on its highest setting. Every time the blades swung around, the papers at the corner of the desk lifted. She set a glass cup on the top page to hold it down. The pressed corner went still, but the pages underneath kept curling up one by one. Downstairs, oil sizzled in the wok, and the smell of scallion oil drifted up the stairwell.

August 10th, afternoon. All three of them in the firm were at their own desks. Li Huilan's time sheet for the day laborer had reached its third page, her pen moving in stops and starts, her lips silently counting. The half-door to the inner office stood open. Lu Jibai sat at his desk, a form spread in front of him, a pen resting on it, untouched.

She wrote line by line on a blank page:

Witness. Lawyer Lu, the Procuratorate's interview record is at the Intermediate Court.

Pang Chunlai. Baixi Village. The row behind the Village Committee's back wall, third house down.

When she finished, she capped the pen, then unscrewed it again and added a smaller line at the bottom: His son's number, the call came in on July 3rd. After writing it, she read the whole page over once, pushed it to the corner of the desk, and tucked it under a kraft envelope.

The Intermediate Court had sent the decision to Chengdong District. Once Chengdong District opened the case, someone would call asking for witness names and contact information. She wasn't going to chase that call. Better to write out what needed reporting in advance, so when it came, she could just read it off.

Li Huilan turned around. "Shen Lawyer, can a wage sheet scanned from a phone be used as evidence?"

"Don't delete the original photo. When you print it out, someone needs to explain where it came from, who took it, and when." She moved the glass cup an inch. "When you screenshot it, keep the date visible at the top, don't crop it out. Later, have the day laborer write a page in his own words, explaining that he took the photo himself, or that he pulled it off the wall of the work shed."

"He took it himself, in the work shed. It's the sheet the labor contractor posted."

"Even better. Have him state the date he took it too."

Li Huilan nodded, lowered her head, and went back to filling in the form. The fan swung toward her, blowing her bangs up. She pressed them down with one hand.

A while later, she flipped back to the previous page. "In this box I wrote: people entered at 8:20, meeting started at 8:40. That's what I saw while squatting outside their company gate. Can that go in the document?"

"Yes. Write clearly who saw it, on what day, and where they were standing."

"It was me who saw it."

"Then write what you saw. Don't write what you assume."

"I don't assume anything. I just squatted there for half an hour and watched when people went in and when someone came out to meet them." She revised the line accordingly, then read it back to herself once.

"How did the company respond?" she asked.

"Legal Affairs sent one line back. 'That man wasn't hired by us. The labor contractor brought him in himself.'" Li Huilan tapped her pen twice on the paper. "The wage sheet was posted in the group chat. The group disbanded the day before yesterday."

"If the group's gone, the records are still there. Tell the day laborer not to delete anything and not to leave the group. Screenshot from the very beginning to the very end, one after another, no skipping in between. His phone screen is cracked in one corner. Where it's too blurry to read, write today's date on a piece of paper and lay the phone on top of it when he photographs the screen."

"Got it. I'll go find him at the shed later."

At 15:30, the phone on the inner office desk rang.

He picked up on the second ring. "Lu Jibai."

Someone spoke on the other end. He said, "Mm."

"Tomorrow morning, ten o'clock."

"Fine."

"I'll be at the office."

He pushed the form aside, put the pen back in its holder, then looked up toward her. She happened to look up at the same moment. Their eyes met across the half-room.

"Tomorrow at ten, someone from the Bar Association is coming. To see me." His voice wasn't loud, but both people in the room heard it clearly.

Li Huilan set down her pen. "Which department?"

"Discipline."

"Guan Min?"

"Guan Min."

"Did they say what it's about."

"No. Just that they're delivering a notice and asking me to be present in person."

The room fell quiet for a moment. The fan swung to its farthest point, and the papers on the desk flipped again. She turned the glass cup half a circle with one finger, moved it aside, and smoothed the top page flat.

"Should I be here tomorrow?" she asked.

"Whether you're here or not, she'll still read that page."

"Then I'll be here."

"Good."

Li Huilan didn't ask anything further. She checked the three pages of hours from the top once through, then flipped them over and started a new page. After a while she looked up again.

"Aren't you going to ask what it's about?"

"No," she said. "Whatever she has to say will be on that paper. When she brings the paper, we'll see it."

"One question, just to have some idea."

"Ask and she won't say anyway. If she did say, I'd end up thinking about it all night."

Li Huilan said nothing more and went back to writing.

At 16:40, Lu Jibai came out to pour water. The kettle's spout aimed at the mug, and no one spoke. When the water reached the top, he set the kettle down but didn't go back to the inner office right away. He stood by the desk and switched the mug to his other hand.

"The court hasn't called yet."

"No," she said. "When they do, they'll ask for names. I'm writing them out in advance."

"Once names are reported, the person has to be there."

"He was still there in July."

"That witness is still up on the mountain," he said.

"He is."

"Mm."

He went back to the inner office, pulling the half-door closed behind him. She pushed the kraft envelope further toward the center of the desk, leaving only an edge of the page underneath visible. A bicycle bell rang down in the street.

At 17:00, she went downstairs.

Lu Jibai was already seated at the table by the door. A bowl of noodles sat in front of him, chopsticks laid across the rim, the steam thinner than when the bowl first came. He Xiufen stood by the stove, one foot braced against the brick at its base, a rag folded twice and draped over the back of her hand.

"The Bar Association people are looking for you," He Xiufen said.

"They are."

"Which department?"

"Discipline. Guan Min."

He Xiufen shook the rag off her hand and hung it on the rim of the bucket.

"Bringing paper?"

"Bringing paper."

"What time tomorrow?"

"Ten. She's coming upstairs to the office to deliver it."

The pot on the stove made a bubbling sound. He Xiufen turned the flame down half a notch. The water still rumbled.

"Fine. Tomorrow I'll come upstairs and sit."

"Sitting doesn't require talking."

"I won't talk. I'll just sit." She picked up the rag and wiped the table again, going around the porcelain vinegar bottle. "That chair under the window—I've sat in it for months. Tomorrow I'm not moving."

"What about downstairs?"

"I'll shut the stove down for half an hour. Can't shut off the broth—once the fire's off, it keeps going."

"What if customers ask?"

"Then they'll hear 'I don't know.'" He Xiufen said. "Someone comes looking for the lawyer, they go up the stairs. Nobody's business who's sitting downstairs. If they ask too many questions, I'll top up their soup."

A delivery rider came through the door, helmet tucked under his arm, ordering two to go, one without spice. He Xiufen shouted "no spice" toward the back, then turned around and began lifting noodles from the pot.

She sat down at the table further inside. He Xiufen made her a bowl and brought it over, the bottom of the bowl knocking lightly against the tabletop. As she took it, she noticed a fresh burn mark on the back of He Xiufen's hand, a small red patch.

"What happened to your hand?"

"Brushed against the pot edge at noon." He Xiufen wiped her hand on her apron and turned back.

"You'll be upstairs too tomorrow."

"I will."

"Sit at your own table. Don't stand by the door. What would that look like."

"Mm."

"Let them read what's on the paper. Once it's read, answer as you should. Don't rush to answer for anyone else."

"I'll remember."

She picked up a mouthful of noodles. He Xiufen hung the strainer back on its hook. The hook swung twice, and then she suddenly turned her head again.

"Did he tell you?"

"He said one sentence."

"Just one."

"Just one."

"That man—one sentence from him still counts as him saying something."

At 18:30, the sky was still light, and scooters packed the street one after another, crowding toward the mouth of the alley. She was about to go upstairs to pack up. At the foot of the stairs, she looked back: Lu Jibai was still at the table by the door. The bowl was empty, but he hadn't moved, one hand pressed against the edge of the table.

The light was on in the inner office upstairs. The stack of papers on his desk was neat. The top page hadn't been turned. The pen sat beside it, cap still on. She gathered her things into her bag, opened her notebook, and wrote under the August page: The 10th, 15:30, Bar Association, Guan Min, only set a time; tomorrow 10:00 to the office. She closed the notebook, shut the window, and went downstairs.

He Xiufen was counting coins in the noodle shop, stacking them one by one on a porcelain dish, then pushing them into a tidy column.

"No need to come too early tomorrow morning," He Xiufen said. "For a ten o'clock person, going up at nine thirty is plenty."

"I know."

"Go on back. It's hot out. Take it slow on the road."

August 10th, 23:10. No wind in Baixi Village.

In the row behind the Village Committee's back wall, the third house's courtyard light clicked on for a while. A faint yellow glowed from the window, falling on the rim of the water vat in the yard. A single point of light shimmered on the water's surface.

A car drove up from the bottom of the slope, pulled up to the row, and stopped in front of the third house, headlights aimed at the gate. The two headlights were left on, throwing a white patch against the wall of the fourth house next door. The patch stayed for a long while. The driver got out, opened the rear door, stood there waiting. He didn't go into the yard.

Two people came out of the courtyard. The old man walked slowly, clutching an old phone in one hand, the screen dark. The younger, sturdier one carried a bag in one hand, the bottom weighted, his shoulder sagging a little; his other hand supported the old man under the arm.

The old man wore cloth shoes. At the threshold, his leg lifted, but didn't clear it. The younger man had to help him over, his shoe sole scraping the threshold. The old man stopped, looked back at the door, then out toward the row behind. When he reached the stone stool, his free hand reached out and pressed against the top of it before he continued toward the car.

"Lock it or not?" he asked.

"Lock it," the younger one answered.

The door pulled shut. A padlock came out of his pocket, clicked into place, snapped shut. The key went into his trouser pocket.

The stone stool by the gate stood where it always had, empty.

"How many days?" the old man asked.

"A few days," the younger one said.

They walked to the car. The bag went in first. Then two hands supported the old man's arms and eased him into the back seat. The car dipped and bounced back. The man standing at the door closed it, very gently.

From behind the next house's door, someone called out: "Where are you going?" The voice was muffled, coming through a door. The younger man answered, not loud, too faint to make out. A dog in the village barked twice, then stopped. Someone's television was still on, and a stretch of music leaked over the courtyard wall. After a while, that stopped too.

The car backed all the way down to the bottom of the slope, tires crunching twice over the gravel. Turning around at the bottom, the headlights swept once.

The light passed across the back wall of the Village Committee. The small window of the long-abandoned pump house flashed.

Then went dark again.