Chapter 442: Proof of Service

The old wooden chair beneath the window had been dragged back half a foot, its legs scraping a white mark into the floorboards.

At nine-thirty, He Xiufen carried up half a basin of water and wiped down the table against the wall in the outer room. She wrung out the rag, wiped it again. When she finished, she poured the water into the flowerpot on the windowsill. The pot held only soil, its surface cracked into a hard crust.

"Today's visitors sit at this one," she said. "You all stay at your own desks. Don't stand up."

She carried the basin downstairs. When she came back up, her elbow knocked against something on the stairway — an old mailbox, rattling.

"The firm's," He Xiufen said, pressing the lid back down. "The last two years, registered mail gets called up from downstairs. So it sits empty."

The paint on the box had worn away, leaving only a trace of green at the edges. When those three documents arrived last May, the mailman had called up from below: "Zhengping Law Firm — registered mail —" She'd opened it sitting on the little stool downstairs. She remembered He Xiufen asking her to read it aloud that day, and when she reached the line near the end — "submit a written statement of defense within fifteen days" — the wok was sizzling downstairs.

Li Huilan sat at her desk, gathering several sheets of paper into a drawer. Before putting them away, she flipped them face-down and pressed them under an old register log.

"The day laborer's name is on these," she said. "If outsiders come upstairs, put them away first."

"What about the page he wrote himself?"

"That page is in the file. The file is in the cabinet." Li Huilan pushed the drawer shut, then halfway open again, and put the pen from her desk inside too. "This one leaks ink."

The half-door to the inner room stood open. Lu Jibai put the form on his desk into a drawer and cleared the surface, leaving only a fountain pen, cap on, set straight. He got up and opened the window halfway. Heat surged in from outside; the stairwell, by contrast, offered a faint draft.

She opened her notebook. The August page still held only the few lines she'd written the night before. The pen tip hovered over the paper, didn't land. She clicked the cap back on.

At nine fifty-five, a bicycle bell rang downstairs, then footsteps on the stairs: two people, one heavy, one light.

Guan Min came up first. Light gray short-sleeved blouse, the same black hard-shell folder under her arm. Her hair was shorter than last year, still tucked behind her ears. Behind her came a young man with a notebook and pen in one hand, a canvas bag in the other, the bag's bottom sagging low with weight.

Guan Min surveyed the room as she entered: He Xiufen by the window, the rag draped over her knee; Li Huilan at her desk; herself at this desk; someone behind the half-open door to the inner room.

"Municipal Bar Association, Discipline Department. Guan Min." She opened her work ID and set it on the corner of the outer room table, without pressing anyone to look. "With one clerk."

"Director He is in," He Xiufen said.

"Good." Guan Min tipped her chin toward the inner room. "The respondent himself — please come out and sit. This one requires personal signature."

Lu Jibai came out, bringing the chair from the inner room with him, and set it across from the table in the outer room.

The first thing Guan Min asked wasn't on the paper. "You are currently the person in charge of this firm."

"That's right."

"Three partners."

"Three."

"Practicing lawyers, including yourself — how many?"

"Four."

"The roster lists three partners." Guan Min said. "The fourth — Lawyer Shen — admitted to practice last July."

"Correct," she said.

Guan Min nodded once and had the clerk note it down. Then she opened the folder and drew out a single page, laid it flat, pressed a fingertip along its edge. Then three more pages. Then, from the bottom, a stack. She squared them all, edge to edge, and pushed them across to him.

"Notice of Acceptance, one page. Copy of the complaint, three pages. Attachments, one stack," she said. "Count them. Then sign."

He turned them over one by one. He studied the Notice of Acceptance a bit longer; the three pages of the complaint he turned without haste, pausing on page two. The attachments were photocopies, each page stamped with a small red square seal in the lower right corner, a line of small print beneath the seal.

Halfway through the attachments, his hand slowed. Those pages were photocopies of an internship log, the grids filled with dates, matters handled, the signature of the lawyer who supervised him. Handwriting from nine years ago: horizontal strokes level, vertical strokes straight — stiffer than his writing now. He looked at two pages, smoothed a dog-eared corner, and continued to the last page before closing the stack and pushing it back to its original position.

"Complete," he said.

Guan Min picked up the notice and read it plainly: "Respondent: Lu Jibai. Complainant: Jiangzhou Hengzheng Law Firm."

She paused, then continued: "Complaint items: two."

As she read on, the only sound in the room was the electric fan. Downstairs someone shouted "Where's the vinegar?" No one answered, and the voice found the bottle itself, knocking over a plastic stool. He Xiufen sat beneath the window, both hands on her knees, the rag set aside. She didn't move or glance toward the stairwell.

The first item finished — "failed to notify the firm in advance" landed in the room. July seventh, eight fifty in the morning, he had walked into that building alone, and no one at the firm had known. She held that sentence in her mind for a moment and said nothing.

When both items had been read, Guan Min set the paper back on the table.

"Let me be clear from the start," she said. "The fifteen-day period runs from today's signed receipt through August twenty-sixth. If you plan to write a defense, do it within this window. Sign it, date it, one original copy, submitted to the Discipline Department. We'll accept late submissions too, but a notation will be added: 'submitted past deadline.'"

"Understood."

"You may request a hearing," Guan Min said. "To apply, submit a separate sheet stating your request for a hearing, signed and dated, delivered with your defense or separately. We'll notify you of the time and place separately."

"Noted."

"One more thing, and I'll tell you up front." Guan Min said. "The complainant in this matter is a firm founded by one of this Association's vice presidents. Vice Chairman Han has submitted a written recusal request. The Discipline Department has received it. He will not be involved in this matter."

He Xiufen pressed her hand against her knee but still said nothing.

"Accepting the investigation does not affect your practice," Guan Min said. "You continue appearing in court, continue taking cases. Suspension of membership rights or revocation of membership — those only come after a disciplinary decision. As of now, no decision has been made."

She reached out and nudged the glass of water on the table half an inch to the side. She didn't drink.

"Two items, two different tracks." She said. "The first concerns July of this year — that you gave statements to judicial authorities about matters learned during your internship without notifying the firm beforehand. This year's matter. We'll investigate."

"The second." She pressed her index finger onto the second page. "That concerns back then. A practice certificate is issued by the judicial administrative authority, not by the Bar Association. Whether to revoke it is their business; only after our investigation clarifies the facts can we discuss whether to make a recommendation."

"Understood," he said.

"Don't take the procedures lightly," Guan Min said. "Investigation, hearing, decision, recommendation — each step follows the last. No step is skipped. You follow the dates on the paper, and I will follow the dates on the paper."

"Fine."

"If any sentence on the paper is unclear, ask now. I'll leave only after you've asked. Ask later, and it all has to go in writing."

He flipped the page back and studied the bottom. "After signing, this copy stays with the firm."

"The Notice of Acceptance, complaint copy, and attachments all stay with you. I take back the proof of service."

"Do I deliver my defense to the window or mail it?"

"Either. In person, the date of receipt is noted. By registered mail, the postmark date counts. Fax and email are not accepted."

"Fine."

"During the investigation," Guan Min half-closed the folder, "we may come to ask people at the firm a few questions. Who handled what, who signed what, who saw what on which day — whoever is asked answers, and the answer goes on record."

"So we don't need to write anything first," Li Huilan said.

"Not now. We ask who we ask."

"I'll be here," she said.

"Director He is also in this building," Guan Min said.

"Been in this building over twenty years," He Xiufen said. After that she fell silent, her eyes settling on the stack of papers on the table.

Guan Min glanced at her, didn't respond, and from the very bottom of the folder drew out a single proof-of-service form, filling it in line by line: document name, number of copies, time of service. When finished, she pushed it across.

"Sign here."

He turned the form around and read it over from the top, box by box, stopping only at the line reading "Time of Service." Then he took a pen from the holder and unscrewed the cap. When he signed, his wrist rested on the tabletop, the stroke starting light, ending short, each character drawn deliberately, and beneath it: "August 11."

When he finished, he screwed the cap back on, set the pen beside the form, and pushed the paper back with both hands.

Guan Min held it up to the light for a look, then slipped it into her folder. "One more thing, and I'll say it plainly: the investigation isn't finished. Don't spread it around. If rumors get out, I won't investigate who spread them. But nothing about what's on this paper may be repeated beyond what the paper says."

"Fine."

He Xiufen stood and carried away the two untouched cups from the table, one at a time, and emptied them into the flowerpot by the window. The water hit the soil, the hard crust darkening where it soaked in, and in moments it had seeped away, leaving a ring of moisture around the rim. She came back and sat down, folding the rag twice, pressing it on her knee.

The clerk closed his notebook, clipped the pen to its edge, stood, and hoisted the canvas bag onto his shoulder. The bag was heavy; his shoulder dipped.

She had sat at her own desk through the entire proceeding and never once uncapped her pen. This time last year, she had been the one standing in the outer room, answering question after question, only realizing afterward which answers had counted. This time she didn't have to answer. She only needed to hear clearly what was written on the paper, and whether what was written was true.

The stack of papers stayed on the table, edges aligned, the top sheet pressed flat. A red seal pressed beside the word "Accepted," the ink in the center of the seal darker than at its rim.

Guan Min retrieved her work ID from the table corner, tucked it into her shirt pocket, snapped the folder shut, and moved toward the stairs. At the doorframe she put a hand out and turned back.

"Lawyer Shen."

"Yes."

"Your case from last year — I reviewed that one too."

"I remember."

"I spent three days on that one." Guan Min said. "This one is thicker than that one."

She didn't wait for a reply, just took the railing and went down. The clerk followed, the canvas bag swinging at his side — swinging all the way to the stairway, where it struck the old mailbox.

A sharp crack — the lid sprang open half an inch.

An empty box, with a layer of dust inside.