Justice System: I Litigate for the Whole City

Chapter 136 : The Line Nobody Would Sign

She stacked the three-line application on the corner of the desk by the Medical Affairs Office door, lined up the edges, and pressed them flat with one finger.

January 6th, Wednesday, ten minutes to nine in the morning. Director Xu was on the phone inside, his white coat open as usual, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. Seeing her at the door, he clicked the phone off. ”Youʼre here. Sit. Director Huang will be here shortly.”

She didnʼt sit. Sheʼd written those three lines twice last night: copy two pages of the January 4th departmentʼs transcribed shift handover records; copy the written document of the hospitalʼs internal review conclusion; and provide a written response stating the basis for requiring the on-duty physician to sign under ”the above is consistent with the original records” on the 5th.

Director Xu flipped through page by page and stopped at the third line. ”Iʼll have to ask about this one.”

”Then ask,” she said. ”And while youʼre asking, make a note: did anyone keep a record of the Medical Affairs Office asking Dr. Lin for that signature yesterday?”

”Verbal matters, I donʼt write down,” he said.

At ten past nine, Huang Weizhong came in. His hair was neatly combed, his coat draped over one arm. He poured her half a cup of warm water first, then pulled a single sheet from his briefcase. The heading was printed neatly at the top: Explanation on Matters Concerning Obstetric Medical Record Keeping.

She read it front to back. Three sentences mattered: the shift handover records and nursing records for the 26th and 27th contained alterations inconsistent with the original records, and after internal review, the alterations were determined to be the personal doing of the on-duty physician, Lin Qi; the hospital had suspended her from work, with further handling to follow; the hospitalʼs management system was sound, and this matter had nothing to do with department management.

”That page,” she said, ”give me a photocopy.”

Huang Weizhong slid the paper back into his briefcase. ”Dr. Lin was on duty. The records have her name, and the changes were made under her hand. This conclusion is what the hospital has found these past few days.”

The words ”found” — she waited for him to continue.

Director Xu added, ”We conducted the review according to procedure.”

She opened the binder. Inside were three sets of photographs, taken yesterday while standing at the Medical Affairs Office door against the light. She pulled out the top one and turned it to face the two men: on the left, the page from the 25th; on the right, the page from the 28th, the paper edges darkened, characters squeezed into the grid, ink color aged. The two pages in between had been copied cleanly, line spacing so even you could use it as a ruler.

”These two pages — same hand, same pen, written in one go,” she said. ”The paper edges are flush. The binding holes are empty. On the 25th and 28th pages, the binding holes are worn round from turning. These two pages were slipped in afterward.”

Huang Weizhongʼs gaze lingered on the photograph.

”When those two pages were being copied, people were present,” she said. ”Yan Mei stated that before leaving work on the afternoon of January 4th, she handed the blue-grid logbook from the Nursesʼ Station to the Medical Affairs Office to be recopied, and she herself copied one page. Dr. Lin said that that afternoon, three people from the department were called into the Medical Affairs Office and told to copy from the new version.”

”One person altering a medical record does not call in three people to copy it.”

She took the photograph back and replaced it with a photocopy of the transcribed version, flipping to the last page and pointing at the line at the bottom: ”This line reads ʼthe above is consistent with the original records.ʼ On the morning of the 5th, three people from the Medical Affairs Office went to Dr. Lin and demanded she sign under that sentence. She refused.”

”On one hand, you want her to vouch for these two pages being ʼthe same as the original.ʼ On the other, you claim these two pages were altered by her.” She looked between them. ”Pick one of those sentences for me.”

Huang Weizhong lifted his cup but didnʼt drink.

She turned another page. ”And thereʼs that line you copied in,” she said. ”The shifts on the 26th and 27th had two extra lines added that werenʼt in the original records: one noting the risk of postpartum hemorrhage, observe closely; one noting that family members had been informed of matters concerning autopsy.”

”The Autopsy Notice in the familyʼs hands — the informantʼs signature column is blank. Written in the signature column is the motherʼs own name. The date column is handwritten: the 27th, 6:20.”

She pressed her hand flat on the desk. ”She died at 3:40 that morning. More than two hours after she was gone, someone sat there and filled in a form requiring her own signature. That line in the medical record — ʼfamily informedʼ — wasnʼt in the original. It was copied in on the afternoon of the 4th.”

”You say altering the records was the on-duty physicianʼs personal act — then whose hand wrote that line? The hand that altered the record wasnʼt in the delivery room. It was in the Medical Affairs Office.”

[Thud. Changing a piece of paper is easy. Changing an hour on a clock is not.]

Huang Weizhong set the cup down. ”Attorney Shen, those photographs in your hand, that page — none of them are judgments.”

”I know,” she said. ”I want a photocopy of that page. If you wonʼt give it to me, Iʼll write on the application: ʼHospital informed orally, refused to provide copies,ʼ with the time and the handling officerʼs name on the spot.”

Huang Weizhong glanced at Director Xu. Xu stepped out, and when he came back he had three sheets of paper in hand: photocopies of the two transcribed pages, plus a photocopy of the explanatory statement.

”Sign for receipt.” Director Xu set a pen on the edge of the papers.

She added a line beneath her own application: January 6th, 9:40, received three pages of photocopies. Then she slid the pen over.

Director Xuʼs pen tip paused. ”What Iʼm signing is that I received them.”

Then sign exactly that.”

He signed his name, then wrote the time.

At the elevator, Huang Weizhong spoke without hurry: ”Dr. Lin is still young. The hospital doesnʼt want to take things too far. As for Master Peng, going forward, youʼll deal with our people regarding that.”

”Which people.”

He pressed the elevator button and stepped inside as the doors opened.

* * *

At 11:50 a.m., downstairs from the Old Town Noodle House, the smell of scallion oil rolled up from the stove.

He Xiufen read the three photocopies front to back and asked only three things: ”You got the copies.” ”He signed that he received them.” ”Do the two transcribed pages have dates.”

The third question Shen Zhixia couldnʼt answer. The two pages only had shift headers, no dated signature.

”Then that column he signed is the birth certificate for those two sheets of paper.” He Xiufen pushed the papers back and laid out three decisions.

One: the cause of action would be medical damage liability dispute, the defendant Chengbei Hospital, file the lawsuit first. The original medical records were in the opposing partyʼs hands; only the court could retrieve them. The appraisal would be applied for within the litigation, with three items: whether the hospital was at fault, whether the fault had a causal relationship with the death, and what percentage of responsibility it bore. The claims would include funeral expenses, death compensation, dependent living expenses, and mental distress compensation, with the incubator medical costs for the child on a separate line. Amounts would be filed at the minimum first, then amended after the appraisal came back. ”Put my name in the agentʼs column,” she said. ”Youʼre the one doing the legwork.”

Two: file a complaint with the Health Commission about the alteration of medical records, requesting an investigation and accountability. There was a provision in the Tort Liability section of the Civil Code: if a medical institution conceals, forges, alters, or destroys medical records, it is presumed to be at fault. Write that provision down in the notebook first; it would be raised in court.

Three: the application for Lin Qi to testify in court — her name goes in that column. ”Before this paper leaves the door, she has to nod her own head. If she nods, you stand in front of her. If she shakes her head, you erase her name from the paper, and donʼt let her take a knife for someone else.”

”Iʼve made eleven phone calls since yesterday,” Shen Zhixia said.

”Then make the twelfth.” He Xiufen pushed the appraisal officeʼs fee slip toward her. ”The appraisal fee comes out of the firm first, charged to the case. The litigation fee gets a deferred payment application — not one word omitted. The incubator money belongs to no one. Donʼt touch it.”

At 1:30 p.m., the filing hall of the Chengbei District Peopleʼs Court. The person at the window counted through everything one by one: three copies of the complaint, the power of attorney, the firmʼs letter, photocopies of the marriage certificate and household register, the death certificate, the appraisal centerʼs acceptance receipt, the funeral homeʼs registration for deferred cremation.

When she finished counting, the clerk looked up. ”Whereʼs the expert opinion.”

”Not yet issued,” she said. ”Iʼm applying for appraisal during litigation. The original medical records are in the defendantʼs possession, and Iʼm simultaneously applying for the court to retrieve them.”

The clerk pulled out the deferred payment application, gave it a look, clipped it into the materials, and handed her a receipt, saying a response would come within seven days.

”If seven days pass with no answer,” she said, ”Iʼll come asking.”

On the back of the receipt she wrote a line: before the 14th, someone has to take over this furnace.

[Thud. This time, the name written on the paper is the hospitalʼs.]

At four oʼclock, outside the gate of the Chengbei Printing Plant. Peng Weidong came out of the workshop, ink still not fully washed from his hands, gray in the creases of his fingers. She spread the complaint on the windowsill of the guard post.

In the plaintiff column she had written two lines: the first was his name; the second was his daughterʼs, represented by her father as legal guardian. He read it word by word, and what he asked about was the line closest to the heart: ”The child — will this affect her.”

”Thereʼll be payment demands,” she said. ”But weʼre not touching the incubator money. If they try to use the childʼs treatment as leverage, thatʼs its own matter, and it goes into the case too.”

He signed under the first name and pressed his fingerprint, then pressed it again under the second line, harder the second time.

When he finished, he didnʼt leave. ”Yesterday a nurse let me hold her for three minutes. When I held her, she didnʼt open her eyes. Her hand gripped one of my fingers, gripped it tight.”

She dialed the twelfth call. This time it went through on the fourth ring.

”The hospital asked me to turn in my work badge.” Lin Qiʼs voice was flat. ”I handed it in this afternoon.”

”Your name is on that statement.” Shen Zhixia said. ”They wonʼt give me the original, but I have the photocopy. From now until tomorrow, donʼt sign anything anyone asks you to sign. If you absolutely must, write only ʼreceived by me personally.ʼ”

There was a pause. ”If I get on that stand, wonʼt they say Iʼm the one who altered it.”

”Yes.”

”Then why are you making me get up there.”

”Iʼm putting you up there because if you go up, this case is no longer just your name,” she said. ”And if you donʼt, that paper already has your name on it anyway.”

”Let me think it over tonight.” The line went dead.

* * *

At 5:30, Tang Guo came downstairs to pick up noodles and casually asked if she should post something about the medical record situation. He Xiufen didnʼt even look up. ”Lights out.” Tang Guo stuffed her phone back into her pocket and said fine, Iʼll post my braised pork ribs instead, then carried the bowl upstairs.

At 6:40 p.m., Old Wei came up with a kraft envelope in hand, the opening wound with two rubber bands.

He Xiufen asked if heʼd eaten. He said he had and set the envelope on the table. ”This isnʼt a document delivery. Someone asked me to bring it on my way.”

”Who asked.”

The envelope bore the letterhead of Jiangzhou Hengzheng Law Firm. The heading read Lawyerʼs Letter, and the subject line stated: regarding matters related to Mr. Peng Weidongʼs report of issues with the obstetric medical records at Chengbei Hospital.

Three paragraphs. The first stated that the hospitalʼs medical records were complete, the sealing procedures lawful, the family had signed the notice voluntarily waiving autopsy, and no tampering existed. The second requested that the parties and their representative cease disseminating unverified information, failing which the firm would take appropriate legal measures. The third stated that the hospital was willing to continue consultations on the matter and requested a written reply within three days.

Signature: Jiangzhou Hengzheng Law Firm — Lawyer Lu Jibai.

She read those three characters twice. The last time sheʼd heard that name was the half-sentence from Old Weiʼs mouth: ”That half-sentence — donʼt wait for it.”

At the bottom of the letter was a smaller line: Attachment — a legal opinion letter from this firm to Chengbei Hospital regarding the preservation of medical records and related documentation.

That page wasnʼt written for her. It was written for the hospital. It stated plainly: before the dispute is resolved, no department or personnel may reorganize or replace pages of records that have been sealed or copied; if the hospital has already organized personnel to recopy, it should cease immediately and preserve both the recopied version and the original together in full.

She folded that page and tucked it into the binder, behind the two transcribed pages.

”This letter,” He Xiufen asked, ”are you going to reply.”

”I am,” she said. ”Using that same line he wrote.”