Justice System: I Litigate for the Whole City

Chapter 139 : Before It Was Wiped

”Six items on the list, and not one mentions the originals.”

He Xiufen flipped the Evidence List over and tapped the back of the page twice with her index finger. It was past four in the afternoon. The stoves downstairs hadnʼt been lit yet, and a faint smell of scallion oil drifted up the stairwell.

Shen Zhixia spread the binder open and pushed it toward her. ”The originals are in the Medical Records Room. They didnʼt list them, and they wonʼt produce them. When I applied to retrieve the originals, they just said, ʼThe copies are identical to the originals.ʼ That was enough for them.”

”Then stop fighting them over paper.” He Xiufen put on her reading glasses. ”Fight them over the machine.”

That row of entries in the binder was something she had added one by one over the past two weeks: the January 1st sealing inventory, page eight of the Nursing Record with its scraped page number, two pages newly inserted into the transcribed copy, and the signature line of the notice form bearing Chen Xiaomanʼs name with a time of 6:20 in the date column. In the electronic medical record, the ”Rescue Record” field showed a last-modified time of 6:20 as well.

Three pieces of paper all pointed to the same moment on the clock. But those three pieces of paper were all the hospitalʼs own records. A record showing 6:20 only proved someone had been in the system at that time. It didnʼt show who had logged in or which version had been changed.

The only thing that could answer those questions was the operation log embedded in the electronic medical record system.

”I tried to pull it on the first, the day of the sealing.” She paused. ”The Medical Affairs Office said the system had been replaced, the old server had been dismantled, and the logs were never migrated.”

”ʼNever migrated.ʼ” He Xiufen rolled the words around in her mouth. ”They can say ʼnever migrated.ʼ They wouldnʼt dare say ʼdonʼt exist.ʼ Between those two statements, thereʼs a machine.”

Shen Zhixia looked down at the desk.

”Just because the machine was dismantled doesnʼt mean the backups were wiped,” she said. ”Besides, the system switch happened on the night of the twenty-sixth. The 6:20 entry and that stretch on the night of the thirtieth both happened on the new system. About the post-switch logs, the people who came down from the fourth floor that day never said they didnʼt exist. They only said theyʼd need approval from the hospital administration. And even if the old ones really were wiped—when, by whom, and whether a checklist was made before the wipe—somebody had to have written that down. Those are words the hospital will never hand me on their own.”

”So donʼt ask them for it.” He Xiufen pushed the binder back. ”Let the court ask for you. Evidence in danger of destruction and difficult to obtain later—you know how to write that.”

[Thud. They never said the logs donʼt exist. They only said the logs werenʼt migrated. Those are two different statements.]

He Xiufen stood up and switched on the light. When she came back, she had a stack of writing paper in her hand.

”Write two. One is an Evidence Preservation Application, which covers ʼdonʼt touch it anymore.ʼ The other is an Application for Evidence Collection, which covers ʼhand it over.ʼ File them together.”

”If I file both at once, will the judge think itʼs excessive?”

”Whether itʼs excessive is for him to decide.” He Xiufen set the pen down on the paper. ”You only need to keep one thing narrow: donʼt ask for the entire hospitalʼs medical record logs. Just ask for one patientʼs electronic medical record—Chen Xiaomanʼs—from the moment her file was created at 22:00 on the twenty-sixth, through the thirty-first. Who logged in, which line was touched, and what it looked like before the change.”

”What about the server backups from before the system migration?”

”Write that too, but donʼt get greedy.” He Xiufen tapped the corner of the desk. ”That first hour after admission might still be sitting on the old system. Write ʼbackup media created before the system change, along with the migration inventory records.ʼ If you write it too broadly, theyʼll bounce it back with a single phrase: ʼscope unclear.ʼ”

She wrote for nearly an hour.

The Evidence Preservation Application ran three pages. The requests were narrow and concrete: take preservation measures on the operation logs of Chen Xiaoman—hospital number last four digits, which she checked twice against three documents—from 22:00 on December 26 through December 31 in the Chengbei Hospital electronic medical record system, along with the server backup media created before the system change and the migration inventory records. During the preservation period, no deletion, modification, or overwriting.

The reasoning section she rewrote twice. The first draft said ”tampering exists”—she crossed it out. The second version laid out the scrape mark recorded during the January 1st sealing, the punch holes in the two pages of the transcribed copy, the signature on the final page of the transcribed copy matching the same pen and ink as the ”verified by on-duty physician” column. Then she added one line: the above content is directly related to the modification time and modifier recorded in the operation logs. What was on paper, she laid out item by item. What wasnʼt on paper, she wasnʼt going to write for the hospital.

The last line was her own addition: on January 1, the applicant requested the above logs from the hospitalʼs Medical Affairs Office. The hospital responded that ”the system has been replaced, the old server dismantled, and the logs not migrated.” The above backup faces a real risk of being wiped or overwritten.

”That line is the hardest line on this page.” He Xiufen read it over and nodded. ”The bit about dismantling the server—that came out of his own mouth.”

* * *

January 19, Tuesday. Nine in the morning. Chengbei District Court.

This time she didnʼt have to wait in line at the Litigation Service Center window. The presiding judge had a clerk bring her up to the third floor. The office was small, with case files stacked on the corner of the desk. The top one had ”Peng Weidong, Peng Nianman v. Chengbei Hospital” printed on the cover.

The judge was around forty. He turned the pages of her two applications very slowly.

”Preservation. What exactly do you want preserved?”

”The operation log of Chen Xiaomanʼs electronic medical record, from 22:00 on December 26 of last year through December 31,” she said. ”Along with the server backup media created before the system change and the migration inventory records.”

”Just this one patient?”

”Just this one.” She went on. ”Admission was at 22:07 on the twenty-sixth, when the file was created. The last modification stopped at 6:20 on the twenty-seventh. The record was pulled once on the night of the thirtieth. All three events fall within that window. If I asked for even one extra day, Iʼd just be wasting the courtʼs time.”

The judge drew a line under that section with his pen and looked up.

”Preservation can require you to post security.”

”Thatʼs fine. Whatever amount the court sets.”

”What if the hospital responds that the logs genuinely donʼt exist?”

”Then let them explain in writing.” She slid a page across the desk. ”Which day the system was replaced, which day the old server was dismantled, whether there was a backup before dismantling, where the backup is now, whoʼs in charge of it. This page lists the time I asked the Medical Affairs Office about this on the first, during the sealing, and who I spoke with.”

The judge tucked the page into the file.

”One more thing,” she said. ”Yesterday I filed a written complaint with the Municipal Health Commission about alterations in the obstetrics records, with the sealing inventory and thirty-four pages of copies attached.”

”A complaint is a complaint.” The judge clicked his pen cap shut. ”On this side, wait for the notice.”

[Thud. The narrower the request, the faster the judge nods.]

* * *

January 20, Wednesday. Ten in the morning. Chengbei Hospital Administration Building.

The call came from Director Xu. The Information Department had located what she needed, he said, and could she come take a look. When she arrived, Director Xu was waiting at the top of the stairs, white coat open, sleeves rolled to his elbows as always.

”What youʼre asking for is the machineʼs record,” he said as they walked. ”The machineʼs record belongs to the machine. We donʼt hide it. See for yourself.”

The Information Department was the last room down the hall. Section Chief Hao was in his forties, glasses on a cord hanging around his neck. Three monitors glowed in the room. A row of server cabinets lined the wall, fans humming.

”Chen Xiaoman.” Section Chief Hao led her to the middle terminal. ”Look.”

A few lines appeared on the screen. Admission Record, the twenty-sixth at 22:00. Progress Notes, the twenty-seventh at 03:51. Rescue Record, the twenty-seventh at 04:10. Nursing Record printout, the twenty-seventh in the morning... She read line by line down to the end.

”What about the stretch from the night of the thirtieth to the thirty-first?”

”That stretch—thereʼs nothing.” Hao said.

”The system switch was done on the night of the twenty-sixth. This stretch came after the switch. There wouldnʼt have been any migration needed,” she said. ”Is it that thereʼs nothing, or that it was deleted?”

Section Chief Hao gave her a look and slowed his voice. ”Last month we switched to a new system. All the medical record content was migrated over. For this patient, when you open the file, this is what you get. The content is there. The records are there.”

”What about the system from before last month?”

”That oneʼs been dismantled.”

”The machines?”

”Handled according to procedure.” Section Chief Hao adjusted his glasses. ”Data was wiped.”

A young man appeared in the doorway, half-leaning in, arms full of printouts—the same one whoʼd just poured her water. His badge was curled at the corner; she only caught the character ”Du.”

”Chief, the seventeenth cabinet batch...” The young man stopped mid-sentence when he noticed her, swallowed the rest of his words, set the papers on the desk, and left. At the door he turned back, half explaining to himself, half unable to hold it in.

”The operation records from the switch days—we didnʼt lose all of them either.” He said. ”It was wiped, but before the wipe, a checklist was made—”

”Xiao Du.” Section Chief Hao called out.

The young manʼs face went red. He stood in the doorway with his arms wrapped around empty air.

”Who has the inventory checklist?” Shen Zhixia turned around, addressing Xiao Du. ”Have you gone through it entry by entry?”

”I...” Xiao Du glanced at Section Chief Hao. ”I took over later. I donʼt know what happened before.”

”What happened before is something the court will ask about.” Section Chief Hao reached over and pressed the power button on the middle monitor. The screen went black. ”On our side, we only follow whatʼs in the courtʼs documents.”

Director Xu smoothed things over at the door. ”Lawyer Shen, you see—the machine is right here. Whatever you need, go through that route. We wonʼt stand in your way.”

[Thud. The deleted portion always leaves behind the name of the one who deleted it.]

On the way down, the elevator sat unmoving at the third floor, so she took the stairs. At the second-floor landing, her phone rang. The presiding judgeʼs message was brief: both applications had been approved. The documents could be picked up this afternoon.

* * *

Four in the afternoon. Chengbei District Court Litigation Service Center.

The Civil Ruling ran two pages. She stood by the window and read line by line: ”The Court, upon review, finds that the evidence for which the applicant seeks preservation is electronic data stored within the system managed by the respondent, and that there exists a real risk of deletion or overwriting. The applicantʼs request complies with legal provisions... It is ruled as follows: 1. Preservation measures shall be taken on the operation logs of Chen Xiaoman (hospital number omitted) in the Chengbei Hospital electronic medical record system from 22:00 on December 26 through December 31, along with the server backup media created before the system change and the migration inventory records. 2. During the preservation period, the respondent shall not delete, modify, or overwrite the above data.”

Beneath it lay a Notice of Evidence Collection, with a three-day deadline.

She aligned the two documents and folded them into a kraft paper envelope.

The hum of the fans in that Information Department room was still ringing in her ears. The clean, tidy lines on the screen, empty at the end. Xiao Du standing in the doorway, face flushed, saying ”before the wipe, a checklist was made.”

She pulled out her notebook and turned to the last page. The first line recorded the time and place: January 20, morning, Chengbei Hospital Information Department. The second line was copied word for word, each character checked against what sheʼd heard: ”The operation records from the switch days—we didnʼt lose all of them either. It was wiped, but before the wipe, a checklist was made.”

When she finished, she clicked her pen cap shut, left a blank line at the bottom, and wrote a question mark.

The name that line awaited was the person whoʼd signed the inventory checklist.