Chapter 501: Hang Another One Beside It

The old jewelry shop on Zhongshan Road had a narrow storefront. The counter was glass, laid over dark blue velvet, and on it sat plain rings, stud earrings, and a few old watch straps. A small desk lamp stood on the counter, its shade tilted so the light fell right on a scratch in the surface.

At ten on the morning of January 19, there were no other customers. The shopkeeper took the box, looked first at the ring, then at the corner of the box where the edge had worn fuzzy.

"April 10 of last year. Bought it here."

"Resize it," Lu Jibai said.

"Whose?"

"Hers."

The shopkeeper pressed the lamp down a little, pulled a hardcover notebook from under the counter, its paper edges yellowed, and flipped through it page by page. Halfway through, he stopped, running his fingernail down a line. "The narrowest style, medium size, no engraving." He turned the book around to show them. The slip read one line, dated April 10. "I've kept this book thirty years. Whoever buys what, I write a line."

She held out her hand. The shopkeeper took her finger, eased the ring over the knuckle, then slid it back off. "How much bigger?"

"Over the knuckle, settle at the base," she said. "When I flick it, it spins."

"Half a size." The shopkeeper set the ring on a small wooden mandrel that tapered from thin to thick. "Take it down half a size."

"Will that be enough?" he asked.

"Hands are thinner in winter. In summer you'll complain it's too tight." The shopkeeper tore off a slip of paper, wrote down the date and ring size. "Have a seat. I'll do it right now."

He stood to the side, silent. After a moment he held out his own hand and let the shopkeeper feel it.

The shopkeeper glanced at that hand. "Just remember hers."

"I do."

The shopkeeper smiled, tore the slip in two, tucked one half into the hardcover notebook, and handed the other to her. "No charge within a month."

"Why not?"

"I said it when you bought it—if it doesn't fit, bring it back, no charge within a month." The shopkeeper took off his magnifier, squinted at him. "Though your month lasted quite a while. Bought April 10, and here we are, more than nine months later."

"I measured," he said, pulling his hand back. "Picked the medium size."

"Measured and it's still too big?"

"When I measured, it was spring. Hands weren't this thin."

The shopkeeper gave the mandrel a turn. "Then it's not your fault. Hands thin out in winter—looks big now, that's all."

The shopkeeper carried the ring into the small room behind the counter. A little hammering sounded from inside, then the torch hissed twice. Lu Jibai stood waiting at the counter, not sitting. Half an hour later the shopkeeper came out. The ring had been wiped over with a soft cloth. He slipped it back onto her hand—over the knuckle, settling at the base. She flicked her hand. It didn't spin.

There was wind at the mouth of the lane as they left. She tucked her hands into her sleeves and walked a few steps, then suddenly said, "Nine months."

"Yeah."

"You and the shopkeeper both remember it that clearly."

"I remember," he said.

She didn't ask again. Halfway down the lane, inside her sleeve, she touched the ring with her thumb. It sat against the base of her finger, not moving.

At seven that evening she got home. The lights were on, the range hood in the kitchen humming. Zhi'an stood at the stove, two packets of noodles in the pot, a handful of greens, and a plate of leftover pickles from the morning.

"Have you eaten?" he asked.

"Not yet."

"Good timing. I made two packs."

She hung her coat behind the door, and the ring caught the light for a second. Zhi'an carried out the noodles, saw it, set his bowl down, and sat up straight.

"Lawyer Lu asked?"

"He asked."

"You said yes?"

"I said yes."

"Then that's good." He lowered his head and lifted some noodles, took two bites, then said, "He never said that to me."

"What did he say to you?"

"Back in April, at the station, he asked me—if he asked you, and you said yes, what would I think." Zhi'an set his chopsticks down flat. "I said, ask her. If she says yes, that's how it is. He really did ask."

She pushed the chili sauce over to him. Her brother ate the same as always—lifting the noodles high, soup splashing onto the table edge. She pulled a tissue to wipe it, and he dodged, then held still and let her.

"Sis."

"Yeah."

"Is he going to come eat at the house from now on?"

"He will," she said. "Around New Year's." She said it flat, afraid of saying too much.

Zhi'an made an "mm" sound and lowered his head to his noodles. When he finished, he took his bowl to wash it. She sat at the table, opened her notebook, and wrote at the top of the page, "January 19." She thought for a moment, then wrote underneath: Half size down. Done on the spot.

The next day at noon, steam rose through the noodle shop. Four bowls sat on the long table against the wall. He Xiufen finished the last order, draped the rag over her shoulder, and sat down.

"That sign downstairs. Time to change it."

Her chopsticks paused. "What about it?"

"I've hung one in this doorway for more than twenty years." He Xiufen pulled the rag from her shoulder and laid it across her lap. "To this day, I'm still Zhengping. But the people upstairs—they stopped being the ones from twenty years ago a long time back."

Li Huilan pushed the vinegar bottle toward her and started with the rules. "A law firm's name has three parts you can't leave out: the place name, the trade name, and the words 'law firm.' The trade name has to use a person's name—only the name of the firm's founder, or a linking of surnames. Lawyer Shen isn't a founder, and Shen Qian isn't either." She paused. "And one more thing: the trade name can't contain a word like 'center.'"

"So 'Shen Qian' can't be hung under Zhengping," she said.

"It can't. 'Public interest legal center' even less so." Li Huilan said, "It's not that anyone's refusing. It's that the name field only recognizes one kind of writing."

He Xiufen nudged the bowl inward. "Zhengping's sign has hung for more than twenty years. I'm not changing it. Change it, and no one in this lane can find me."

"Then hang another one beside it," she said.

The four bowls went quiet.

"Set up a separate entity." She rested her hand on the table edge. "The firm handles cases. The new one handles no cases—only public interest work. A legal-service social service organization, with the Municipal Justice Bureau as the business supervisory unit and registration with the Municipal Civil Affairs Bureau. The four of us as sponsors, me listed as director, the second-floor inner room as our premises, and the business scope: legal consultation, supporting legal aid work, supporting public interest litigation, legal education."

"The money?" He Xiufen asked.

"The four of us pool the start-up capital. Whatever the total comes to, it goes in the charter, dead set."

"The name," Li Huilan said. "For registration—what do you want it to be?"

She lifted her bowl and drank a mouthful of soup. It was light; He Xiufen never put much salt in noodles.

"Jiangzhou Shen Qian Public Interest Legal Service Center."

He Xiufen lowered her head and drained the last of her soup, every drop, then set the bowl down. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

"That name may not survive registration." Li Huilan spoke slowly. "I only know how the law-firm side handles names. The social service organization side—you'll have to ask at the window yourself."

"I'll go ask."

The door curtain lifted and Tang Guo came in, earbuds still hanging from her phone, hair scooped carelessly back. "Auntie He, one bowl, extra chili." She turned and saw the four faces at the table, froze, then noticed the ring on her ring finger. She pulled the earbuds out.

"I already knew."

"When did you know?"

"I said it on December 19 the year before last." Tang Guo dragged a stool over to the corner of the table. "I'm not asking the date. Whenever you all hold it, even if I know, I won't post it."

He Xiufen glanced at her. "You still eat the noodles."

"I still eat the noodles." Tang Guo called toward the stove, then turned back. "I'll come the day you hang the sign. I won't bring my gear."

On January 21 at ten, the Municipal Justice Bureau service hall. She spread the paper out on the counter and asked questions for half an hour.

The woman at the window listened to everything she said, tapped a few keys, and slid a checklist over. "For a legal-service social service organization, you first get a document from us approving the business supervisory unit. What you need to submit: the application, a draft charter, the basic information of the sponsors and the proposed director, proof of right to use the premises, proof of start-up capital, and the name. For the name field, write what you want first—the Civil Affairs Bureau does the final review. Our side only checks that the business falls within those categories."

"How long does the Civil Affairs Bureau take?"

"Once they receive all valid documents, a decision within sixty days." The woman set her pen down. "Let me tell you straight: we issue the approval and their side still has to review. Write the charter in detail, don't put vague wording in the business scope—write what you can actually do."

"'Write what you can actually do,'" she repeated, folded the checklist, and put it in her bag.

The woman added one more thing: "There aren't many people who apply for this kind of thing—maybe a few a year. If you're missing anything, I'll mark it for you so you're not making empty trips."

At three that afternoon, the three desks in the outer room on the second floor were pushed together, the draft charter spread in the middle. He Xiufen wore her reading glasses and read each clause aloud; Li Huilan marked beside them with a pen; Lu Jibai sat, ticking each section off on another copy as it was read.

"Business scope, four lines: legal consultation; support for legal aid agencies in handling legal aid matters; support for public interest litigation; public legal education." He Xiufen read aloud. "Is four lines enough?"

"Enough. Any more and you won't be able to do it—and what you can't do is empty." Li Huilan said.

"Premises: upstairs of the Zhengping noodle house on Zhongshan Road, second floor. What do we use to prove right of use?"

"The landlord's certificate. I'll call this afternoon." He Xiufen said, "He's known me over twenty years."

"Start-up capital: the four of us pool it, the amount set in writing." Li Huilan passed the pen over. "Who contributes what, all in the charter. Once it's signed, no one can change it."

"I'll put down a figure." He Xiufen wrote first.

"I'll put down a figure." Li Huilan wrote after her.

Lu Jibai pushed his copy over, the amount written out, his signature at the bottom—thin characters, horizontal strokes level, the last stroke pulling back. He handed her the pen.

"The director's field—write your name," he said.

She filled in the director's field. Flipping further down, there was the name.

The line in the form had been left wide. She set the pen tip down and wrote "Jiangzhou," then "City," then "Shen." When she reached the character "Qian," the pen paused.

She wrote the left component slowly, the right vertical rising, the dots landing firm. As a child she had traced this name from the first page of the household register, many times. Later she stopped tracing, but the stroke order stayed. On that page, her father's name was stamped with a square seal in red, tilted, covering half a character.

After "Qian" came "Public Interest Legal Service Center." When the line was done, she lifted the pen.

He Xiufen sat across from her, looking at that line for a long time. She took off her reading glasses, wiped them with her sleeve, and put them back on.

"Done," she said.

"Done," He Xiufen said. "Whatever's missing, from tomorrow we fill it in one piece at a time. After the 22nd, the offices won't handle official business—we'll keep running around after New Year's."

Li Huilan stacked the four sets of materials in order and pressed them down with a paperweight.

"This New Year, it stays right here."

She clicked the pen cap on. The ink on that line hadn't fully dried. The last stroke of "Qian" lay heavier than all the characters around it.