Chapter 454: The Chengbei Stretch

August 30, 9:30 a.m. She reached out and pulled the landing door shut behind her before dialing.

The outer office was full today: He Xiufen was spreading newspapers on the old wooden chair by the window, Li Huilan had a whole table to herself covered in documents, and the inner office door was closed. If she didn't shut the door, every sentence on the phone would make all three of them look up.

The clerk picked up fast.

"Lawyer Shen."

"There's a man who ran that route on the night of August 10," she said. "A charter car driver out of the Chengxi Bus Station. Surname Jiao. He got to Baixi Village at 11:10 p.m., dropped the person in Chengbei around 2:30, drove the whole way himself. He says: if the court asks, he'll tell it straight."

The sound of pages turning on the other end.

"He's willing to talk on his own?"

"He's willing. I didn't push." She said, "All I've got here is a phone number."

"Read it."

She read the number once, paused at the last digit, then read it again. The clerk repeated it back, only getting it right on the second try.

"I'll enter this into the file and report it to the presiding judge," the clerk said. "Lawyer Shen, one question: have you been to that place?"

"No."

"When this goes up, the court may send someone to take a look around that stretch."

"It's in the back, one road running all the way through, door next to door," she said. "A stranger walks in once, the whole lane knows from end to end. We won't go to that stretch."

"We." The clerk murmured the word as she wrote it down.

"Me, and the people helping me."

"Understood. I'll write it as is," the clerk said. "If there's anything new, call this number."

"I'll call this one. Phone's on."

At ten, the landing door rattled. Li Huilan came out holding a glass with only half the water left.

"Old Kan's case. The second payment came in," she said. "This morning. He called to ask if he needs to come sign anything."

"Tell him no need to come over." Shen Zhixia said, "Just have him take a photo of the bank receipt and send it."

"I told him. He insists on asking: who issues the receipt?"

"We do. He doesn't need to come."

Li Huilan finished the half glass of water and knocked the glass twice against the railing: "You've been standing here taking calls all morning, these past few days."

"Waiting for an answer."

"From who?"

"The court."

Li Huilan didn't ask anything else and went back inside.

Three in the afternoon, the table behind the noodle shop. At this hour the soup pot sat on low heat, no customers out front. He Xiufen was peeling garlic in the kitchen, the skins dropping onto the rim of the basin, layer after layer.

She pulled three numbers out of her phone and called one by one.

The first was Peng Weidong.

"Master Peng, it's Shen Zhixia."

"Lawyer Shen." Machine noise on his end, steady, rhythmic. "I start my shift at three thirty. Talk."

"Have you been to the old machinery plant dormitory area in Chengbei?"

"I've been there. I know that stretch well," he said. "Up front there's a six-story old family building, no elevator, corridors piled full. People going to the back all detour through the side passage. Out back there's a row of single-story rooms attached, one next to the other, one door and one address plate each. All rented out to migrant workers. The first-floor units are all rented; the landlords don't live there, someone comes monthly to collect rent."

"Anyone there during the day?"

"No. Everyone's at work. Around eleven or midnight people come back on electric scooters and park at their own doors, a whole row." The machine noise stopped. "Lawyer Shen, you're asking this—is it about that old man being in that stretch?"

"I'm not saying where," she said. "And you shouldn't try to figure it out either."

Silence on the line for a moment.

"Fine. I won't ask." Peng Weidong said, "I won't ask, and that spares you one hard sentence you'd have trouble saying."

"Thanks."

"After my night shift, I can wander around that stretch," he said. "Nobody there knows me."

"Don't wander."

"Why not?"

"That stretch has only one road," she said. "A strange face walks it twice, and one by one the doors shut. You work at the factory up front and pass by every day—that's just passing by. The moment you slow down and start looking around, people know someone's searching."

"I'll just look. Won't ask anyone."

"Not asking is still looking," she said. "The people there get tenser seeing an unfamiliar face slow down on that road than seeing the police."

The machine clanked twice. He let out a breath: "Then what can I do?"

"Do your job," she said. "If the day comes when the court needs someone who knows the roads—someone to say how many rows of rooms are back there, how many doors, which way they face—you come up and say it. What you say is what you see every day. You don't need to go digging."

"That's it?"

"That's it," she said. "Thanks, Master Peng."

"What's to thank." He hung up first.

The second was Cen Hong. When she picked up, there was a burst of scanner-gun beeps, with two calls of "last digits" mixed in.

"Lawyer Shen." Cen Hong's voice came closer, like she'd pressed the phone to her ear. "Hang on." The roll-up door came down a notch, and the noise of voices dropped with it.

"The row of rooms behind the old machinery plant," she said. "Do packages pass through your station too?"

"They do. All the deliveries for that stretch come to my station. Delivered by tricycle, left at the door, sign and go."

Another scanner beep on her end, and she covered it with her hand.

"I can pull up the delivery slips for that row tomorrow, and you pick through them," she said. "If any name stands out as odd, you'll spot it at a glance."

"No."

"I'm not showing anyone else. The papers stay with me, drawer locked."

"The papers being with you doesn't make them mine," she said.

The line went quiet. The scanner didn't beep.

"I know." Cen Hong said.

"Cen Hong."

"Yeah."

"If the court asks about deliveries to that stretch," she said, "tell things as they were on those days. Which day delivered, which door, anyone receive it—that's your work, you can state it clearly."

"Which day, which door, anyone received it." Cen Hong repeated it once. "I remember that."

"You don't need to remember anything else."

"I won't." She said, "Lawyer Shen, let me ask one thing too. If you find him, do you need me to deliver something over there?"

"No," she said. "That door of his—the court has to be the one to knock."

"Alright." Cen Hong said. "Then you say the word."

The third call went to Chengbei Hospital. At first there were other sounds: cart wheels, someone in the corridor calling a bed number, then a moment before someone answered.

"Dr. Lin, it's Shen Zhixia."

"Go ahead." She changed locations, footsteps walking deeper. "I'm in my office, alone right now."

"I want to ask about a rule at your hospital."

"Ask."

"When a person comes to your hospital for a visit, does the registration field stay in the system?"

"It does." Lin Qi said. "Which day they came, which department they registered with, who wrote the order—all in there."

"How long is it kept?"

"Kept indefinitely." Lin Qi said. "Lawyer Shen, if you want to look someone up, give me the name. I'm on until five today. I can finish the check before I get off."

"You can't."

"Why not?"

"If you look, you won't be that Dr. Lin anymore," she said.

No immediate reply. A cart went down the corridor, wheels clattering over the floor tiles.

"Then I won't look." Lin Qi said.

"Thanks."

"No need to thank me. I've done nothing." She said, "He coughs. A cough gets registered under Respiratory Medicine. Our hospital's just this one building, Internal Medicine's on the second floor. My department's on the fourth. He won't come to me."

"I know."

"What I'm good at is this." Lin Qi said, "A person sits down, I ask where it hurts, not one other question. I can do that too."

"I know." she said.

"Then I'll wait for him." Lin Qi said. "If the day comes when he sits in front of me, the first thing I'll ask is how long he's been coughing."

She hung up and set her phone face-down on the table, her palm slick with sweat. He Xiufen came out of the kitchen carrying two bowls, set one by her hand.

"Eat first. More calls this afternoon."

"Mm."

"You've blocked them three times." He Xiufen said.

"Had to."

"When you're done blocking, remember to say thanks. People stretch out ten fingers to you, you chop off nine—the one left still has to feel like it counts."

"Said it." She picked up her chopsticks. "All three times."

August 31, noon. A minibus parked out front, the back seats folded down, half a load of tiles roped down inside. Shi Lei shoved the door open and stamped his shoes twice on the floor tiles at the entrance as he came in.

"Lawyer Shen."

"Master Shi. Here for noodles?"

"Yeah." He sat down first and set his car keys on the table. On the keyring hung a snipped-off plastic tag. "Need a vehicle, just say."

"No one needs picking up," she said.

"Who said anything about picking people up." Shi Lei grinned. "I haul cargo. If you've got something to deliver, one trip does it. My van seats seven with the back row up."

"Nothing to deliver yet either."

"Then I'll keep it in my pocket." He put the keys back in his pocket. "I run the Chengbei Building Materials Market every day. The road into the dormitory area's narrow—big vehicles can't get in. Mine can, and I can back out again."

"You know the roads around there?"

"I know them. I can tell you with my eyes closed which road's jammed at what time."

"The day a court vehicle can't get through, I'll call you," she said.

"Now that's more like it." He pulled the vinegar pot over and poured half a spoonful.

He finished his noodles, tucked the money under the bowl, stood, and left. The keys jingled once at the door, then nothing.

August 31, 8 p.m. Two knocks at her door.

Zhi'an opened it. Tang Guo came in carrying a bag of grapes, the plastic handles cutting two white creases into her fingers. She set it on the table: "Ran into them at the market today. Eight yuan a bag, I bought three."

"You're going to eat three bags by yourself." Zhi'an reached for one.

"Wash your hands." She lifted the bag away.

"Zhixia." Tang Guo pulled over a chair and sat down. "I won't post."

"What?"

"I know who you're looking for. I won't post anything." she said. "I came today just to say this."

"You didn't post last time either."

"Last time was different. Last time the person came forward himself. A face-blurred photo was enough." Tang Guo poured the grapes from the bag into a basin and plucked them off one by one. "This time the person hasn't come out. The moment I post, the first thing people on that street see is a camera lens."

"Mm." She carried the basin to the sink and ran water over it.

"I posted that clarification for you last time because the camera was pointed at me." Tang Guo said, "This one would be pointed at someone else's front door."

"Good that you understand."

"I understand." Tang Guo said, "Just understood it a little late."

The water shut off. Zhi'an shook the water off his hands at the side and asked: "Then how much longer?"

"I don't know," she said.

"On the day of the hearing, is it open to the public?" Tang Guo asked.

"Open."

"The date?"

"Not set yet."

"Tell me when it is. I'll take leave." Tang Guo peeled a grape into her mouth and said around it, "I'll go sit, last row, not a sound."

"I'm going too." Zhi'an said.

"You're going to class."

"I'll take leave."

"We'll see when the time comes."

When Tang Guo left, she folded the plastic bag into a little square and tucked it into her own pocket: "That day I'll wear something decent."

The door closed, and the sound-activated light in the hallway went on and then off. Zhi'an brought the grapes inside; half a basin still sat on the table.

September 1, 4 p.m. The call came while she was in the second-floor outer office. She took her phone out, stood on the stair landing, and pulled the door shut.

"Lawyer Shen. The presiding judge has sent a letter." the clerk said, "Requesting assistance from the Chengbei Police Station. It went out today."

"Assistance with what?"

"Locating a person, service of process." the clerk said, "The court doesn't have a new address. The police station side has someone who handles that area."

"Good," she said. "I won't follow along."

"No one's asking you to." the clerk said. "If there's news, I'll still call this number."

"Call this one."

She hung up but didn't go back in right away. Three empty cardboard boxes sat stacked on the landing, coated in dust. The wind came up the stairwell, lifting one corner of the topmost newspaper, then let it fall back.

As she pushed the door open to go back in, the phone buzzed in her hand. A new message had appeared at the top of the riders' group. From Ma Jianjun. A photo.

That intersection in Chengbei. A blue signboard hung on the pole, the characters too blurry to make out. Behind it, a lane running inward, low walls on both sides, clothes-drying poles propped on the wall tops. Sun low in the west, a shadow along the base of the wall.

Not a single word beneath it.

She opened it, looked for a while, zoomed in. The rooftops of that row of single-story rooms at the end of the lane were an uneven gray line in the photo.

She backed out of the group, thumb hovering over the text box, typed nothing. She turned the phone over and set it face-down on the desk.

The notebook at the corner of the desk was still open to the page for August 29. The last line was in her own handwriting: Not a record. He didn't sign. The phone number was copied beneath it.

She didn't reply in the group, and she didn't ask him. That lane in the photo—she had never once been there.