Chapter 490: Pick Up on the 15th

At 9:25, Shen Zhixia turned her phone over and set it face-up on the corner of the desk.

The desk calendar was open to December. The box for the 13th was empty. She laid her pencil across the square, tip pointing inward, aligned with the grid line, then picked it up and dropped it into the pen holder.

The exhaust fan downstairs kicked on, sound seeping up through the floorboards in waves. Condensation fogged the window glass, muffling the traffic noise from Zhongshan Road. Li Huilan sat across from her drafting documents, pen scratching steadily. On the old wooden chair by the window, He Xiufen worked through a basket of scallions on her lap, pinching off the green tops, her thumbnail leaving white crescents on the stalks.

The judgment sat on the desk corner, sandwiched between two folders. She pulled it out, flipped to the last page, read the line, closed it, and put it back, edges squared.

At 9:29, she picked up her phone and dialed the Criminal Division.

Third ring, someone answered. "Chengdong District Court, Criminal Division."

"This is Shen Zhixia. The Shen Qian retrial case. Petitioner."

"One moment."

Pages turning, a few keystrokes. She held the phone to her ear, other hand flat on the desk edge.

"Appeal period and protest period ran through the 10th." The clerk read it out like a form. "No protest received, no appeal filed. The judgment has taken legal effect."

"Can I apply for a certificate of effectiveness?"

"Litigation Service Center. Bring your ID. In person."

"Can I submit it today?"

"Today's fine. It's issued after verification."

"Thank you."

"Mm."

The line went dead.

She set the phone back on the desk corner. "It's taken effect."

He Xiufen looked up, said "Mm," and went back to the scallions, pinching off another green, nudging the basket half an inch to the side.

Li Huilan capped her pen and laid it across the paper. "Mine ends today too," she said. "Signed receipt on November 28th. Fifteen days runs to the 13th. We're not suing on our end. The mailman came by this morning—nothing from them."

"So that half's settled," Shen Zhixia said. "The foreman's thirty days runs to the 28th. If he doesn't file for annulment at the Intermediate Court, this one's fully locked."

"I'm going to the Filing Division tomorrow to apply for enforcement."

"You'll need a certificate of effectiveness first."

"The arbitration office issues that?"

"They issue it. Bring the award and the proof of service and ask. Give them whatever they want."

Li Huilan pulled the top sheet out and folded a small triangle at the corner. "The laborers' 7,400 in wages," she said. "Our side's settled." She looked up. "That paper you got today—you need it elsewhere after this?"

"One place."

"Where?"

"I'll say once it's picked up."

The inner room door was half open. A chair leg scraped against the concrete floor. Someone stood, paused, then sat back down.

Shen Zhixia didn't turn around.

At 10:05, she packed the judgment, her ID, and a pen into her bag and stood. "I'm going to the court."

"Coming home for lunch?" He Xiufen asked.

"Yes."

She flagged a cab on Zhongshan Road. The breakfast stall at the intersection had packed up, its tricycle parked sideways by the curb, steam rising from the cart bed. "Chengdong District Court." Twenty minutes.

The Litigation Service Center was warmer than the last time. A number machine by the door, numbers ticking down one by one. She pulled a ticket and sat in the row of metal chairs against the wall.

Two people ahead of her. One clutched a stack of documents, asking what to submit for filing. The woman behind the window listed each item; he couldn't keep up, fished a pencil from his pocket. The other held a mediation order, asking when the money would arrive. The woman said, "You'll have to apply for enforcement." He asked what that took, and she recited the list again. Beside them, an old man with sleeve guards lost his grip on his materials; a kraft envelope slipped from under his arm and scattered across the floor—photocopies. She bent to help gather them. He counted them one by one, said one was missing, crouched to feel under the chair, found it, patted off the dust twice, and said, "This one's the most important."

At the next window over, a young couple asked how to withdraw a lawsuit. The woman said they'd need a written application, both signatures required. They stood there discussing it in low voices; halfway through, the wife turned her head away, the husband stared at the wall. After a moment he turned back. "Not withdrawing." The clerk took back the form. "Then you're not."

While she waited, she read through the blank fields on the application form, down to the small print in parentheses under "Matters Requested": Issuance of proof that the judgment in this case has taken legal effect.

Her turn.

"What do you need?"

"Certificate of effectiveness." She passed her ID and the judgment through.

The clerk opened to the first page, looked it over, flipped to the last, running a finger down. "Pronounced November 30th. Served the 30th as well?"

"Served same day. I signed for it."

"You're the person in question?"

"I'm his daughter. I signed for the judgment."

"Appeal period runs to the 10th." She typed a few keys, eyes on the screen. "No appeal materials and no protest received on this end."

"Mm."

"Fill this out." A form slid out.

Applicant, relationship to the case, matters requested, contact number, date. On "relationship to the case," she paused, and wrote: Daughter of the original defendant.

"Pick up on the 15th. After ten." The clerk pushed the judgment and ID back. "Bring this form. In person."

"What will it say?"

"It states when the case took effect."

"That's all?"

"A certificate of effectiveness certifies that it's effective." She squared the stack of papers.

"I'll be submitting materials further up. Will this one be enough?"

"Enough or not depends on where you're sending it. We issue one fact: it took effect." She nudged the judgment forward. "Keep it safe. Don't fold it."

She folded the application in half and slipped it into the back of her notebook. On her way out she glanced back: the electronic screen above the filing window was skipping numbers. At the end of the hallway a door read Archives. A bailiff walked past carrying two kraft envelopes, his footsteps solid.

Back at the office by 11:30. Li Huilan was on the phone, talking about tomorrow's trip to the Filing Division, asking a third time "original copies?" After she hung up she pushed over a sheet covered in writing—a draft of the enforcement application. "Take a look. What's missing?" Shen Zhixia read it through and drew a pencil line at one spot. "State the subject amount clearly. The attachments at the back—put the certificate of effectiveness first." Li Huilan traced over the two sentences below the line.

At 11:50, He Xiufen came upstairs to mop. At Shen Zhixia's desk she nudged the chair out. "Feet up." She lifted her feet, and the chair settled back. He Xiufen took the scallion basket downstairs, pausing briefly by the desk, asking nothing.

At noon, she went down for noodles. He Xiufen made her a bowl, sprinkled with scallions, no egg. She ate with her head down and didn't mention the egg.

In the afternoon, she finished the written reply on the wages case—two pages, transcribed clean, set on the corner of Li Huilan's desk. At the top of her notebook page she wrote the date, and beneath it: Period expired. No protest, no appeal. Certificate of effectiveness: pick up on the 15th. She capped her pen and looked at it for a while.

Past three, she carried two stacks of files to the metal cabinet, passing the inner room door. He sat at his desk, a single page spread before him, the first line still that date. He picked up the page, folded it in half, then in half again.

He looked up. "Picked it up?"

"Picking up on the 15th."

"Lawyer Li's matter—they didn't file."

"They didn't."

"I'll hold onto this page until the 28th." He slid the folded paper into the drawer and shut it with a click.

"Mm."

She placed the case files on the second shelf of the cabinet, closed the door, pressed the latch.

Back at her desk, she wrote in the box for the 13th on the desk calendar: Certificate of effectiveness, pick up on the 15th. The box was small; the characters crowded inside. When she finished, she glanced at the 14th. Empty.

In the past, when something like this landed, a new line would appear on the desk. She put the pencil in the holder and didn't wait.

At six, she locked up and headed down. A rag hung over the stairway railing, left from He Xiufen's wiping; she carried it down with her.

Three or four people eating noodles downstairs, the exhaust fan running, the plastic curtain over the door lifting and falling with the draft. Water rolling in the pot, the table by the door empty. A middle-aged woman came in with groceries, set her basket by her feet, ordered a plain bowl. Two men in work uniforms at the inner table leaned over one phone screen, one finger scrolling. A few eggs sat on a white dish by the stove, shells still faintly dusted with ash.

"Sit." He Xiufen said it without turning.

She sat. He Xiufen lifted the noodles, shook the strainer twice, poured the broth, scattered scallions, and finally picked up a fried egg from the white dish and set it on top. Crisp-edged, curling at the rim, the yolk still soft.

She looked at the egg. Two days ago He Xiufen had said she wasn't frying any more.

He Xiufen didn't go back to the stove. She pulled out the chair across and sat, smoothing her apron over her knees, wiping one hand on the cloth.

"The year your father's case was decided, I wasn't there for it," she said. "Today I am."

The exhaust fan kept running. The man in work clothes at the inner table called out for garlic. He Xiufen didn't move.

"The day the judgment came down, I was at the stove," she said. "I didn't know anything. When I found out later, there was no one to ask."

Shen Zhixia set down her chopsticks.

"He didn't talk much," He Xiufen said. "He'd sit the whole afternoon, finish copying his documents, and leave, bowl pushed neatly to the corner of the table. One time I asked him—copying all this every day, what for? He said: if the paper's there, the truth's there."

"The first time I came upstairs, I asked you about my father's case," Shen Zhixia said. "You said you weren't there for what came after."

"Still the same words today." He Xiufen said. "Wasn't there—wasn't there."

"Today's words—I'll remember them."

He Xiufen looked down at the rim of the bowl and ran a finger along it, wiping away a drop of broth.

"When you pick it up on the 15th, where's it going?"

"There's a place it needs to go."

"Before you take it, come down for a bowl of noodles." She stood and pushed the chair back in. "Two days ago I said no more frying. Today I fried one. Eat, before it goes gummy."

Shen Zhixia picked up the fried egg and split it in half. The crisp half she kept for herself; the soft half she set in the bowl across from her.

That bowl belonged to He Xiufen. It sat at her hand, a little broth still at the bottom.

"I already ate," He Xiufen said.

She held out her chopsticks. He Xiufen took them and ate the half. "The oil was too hot," she said when she finished.

"Lower tomorrow."

"No more tomorrow."

Shen Zhixia lowered her head and ate. The two at the inner table stood and called for the bill. He Xiufen went over, fished change from her apron pocket, then stacked their bowls. The exhaust fan lifted the curtain by a corner and let it fall.