Justice System: I Litigate for the Whole City

Chapter 145 : The Night Bus

The landlord hauled a stack of plastic-sleeved documents off the shoe cabinet and flipped through them one by one. On the third one, she pulled out a page and slid it across to her.

”Lease contract. When I signed with her, I asked for an emergency contact. She thought about it, then said to write down her mother.”

Inside that box was a line of small, tightly written characters: Mom, followed by a string of numbers. She copied the number into her notebook.

”That half-monthʼs rent of hers,” the landlord said, ”was in an envelope. Counted out bill by bill, not a cent short.”

”Sheʼs fine. She just ran into trouble.”

”What kind of trouble?”

”Trouble at the hospital.”

* * *

January 28th, a Thursday. Chengbei District, Youfang Lane. The apartment felt smaller by day than it did at night; every watermark on the wall stood out clear.

Tucked inside the contract was a courier waybill. The shipping address read ”Hewan Village, Chengguan Town, Tongling County.” The senderʼs line held only the surname ”Lin.”

”What did she send?”

”Back when it got cold, a small box. Said it was padded shoes for her mother.” The landlord said, ”She sends money home around the middle of every month, at the post office. Iʼve run into her twice. She doesnʼt talk much; we just nodded at each other.”

She dialed that number. It rang three times, then the other end hung up. She redialed. Busy.

The two pages in the drawer were still where theyʼd been, the corner of the first one curled, the signature line blank. She lifted the pages and found a dark blue booklet underneath, the cover stamped with gold lettering. She pulled it out and opened to the first page: name, practice registration number, and practitioner affiliation listed as Chengbei Hospital.

She took a photo, put the booklet back exactly as it had been, under the two pages. This detail went into the notebook too.

The apartment across the hall opened. An old woman came out carrying a trash bag, studied her face for a moment.

”Arenʼt you the one who came downstairs with her last time?” the old woman said. ”When is Doctor Lin coming back?”

”She went back to her hometown.”

”Iʼve got high blood pressure. Last month she came up and took it for me once.” The old woman switched the trash bag to her other hand. ”Tell me when sheʼs back.”

”Okay.”

On her way down, she paused at the landing. The row of steel mailboxes at the top had one marked ”402.” The lock was intact; the slot was empty. She noted that, too.

”Iʼm not renting the place out yet,” the landlord said behind her.

”Donʼt touch those two pages. And donʼt let anyone take them, no matter who asks.”

”Who else would come for them?”

”I donʼt know.”

* * *

At noon, the Old Town Noodle House hadnʼt filled yet. He Xiufen sat at the table by the window, peeling garlic, the skins piling into a small mound at the edge of the plate. The radio on the windowsill was giving the weather: sleet expected tonight through tomorrow.

The phone rang once. She tucked the receiver against her shoulder and listened. ”About the deposit—come tomorrow morning, bring your ID and the contract, and donʼt bring anyone. ...Right, just you.” She hung up and pressed the last clove into the plate.

Shen Zhixia recounted the morningʼs events. He Xiufen listened, then looked up at her.

”As long as sheʼs safe. Did the call go through?”

”First ring, they hung up. Second time, busy.”

”Hanging up means the phoneʼs in her hand.” He Xiufen said, ”Donʼt push. Try again tonight.”

”The hospital document went out on Wednesday.” Shen Zhixia flipped to page three of the Disposition Decision Lin Qi had given her and slid it across.

He Xiufen read it end to end. ”Page three says ʼsubmitted together,ʼ recommending disciplinary action under the Physicians Law. A hospital wonʼt sit on that.” She pushed the paper back. ”Three steps from here. The Health Commission investigates first. Then they hand you a written notice—facts, grounds, legal basis, and what they plan to do to her. Only once that paper is delivered does she get a right to respond. Itʼs called a statement and defense hearing, three to five days. If it reaches actual revocation of her license, thereʼs a hearing, but she has to request it herself. No request, no hearing.”

”Three to five days.”

”Counted from the day of service.” He Xiufen rotated her tea mug half a turn on the table. ”Whoever receives that document is the one whose clock starts. Her registration is with Chengbei Hospital, and the address they have is that building. It gets mailed to the department, someone signs for it, drops it in a drawer—and you canʼt even figure out when the countdown began.”

”Iʼll go check on service.”

”To check on service, you need a power of attorney.” He Xiufen said, ”She signs one herself. I can go, or you can go. Without her signature, the Health Commission wonʼt even open the door for you.”

”Thereʼs still the thirtieth,” Shen Zhixia said. ”The draw list was supposed to be served within three days. It didnʼt come today.”

”The list can wait. The draw doesnʼt wait for her.” He Xiufen gathered the garlic skins into her palm, rubbed them together, and scattered them into a bamboo basket by her feet. ”Right now youʼve got two dates in your hands. Oneʼs hanging over at the court, the otherʼs sitting in some departmentʼs drawer.”

”Are you going to her hometown?” she asked.

”Iʼll call first.”

”Before you do, let me put this out there.” He Xiufen said, ”When you find her, talk about two separate papers: one, the authorization. Two, the testimony. Keep them separate. Donʼt bundle them together into one. You bundle them, she wonʼt sign either.”

”I wasnʼt going to bundle.”

”I know you werenʼt. Iʼm just saying it first.” He Xiufen said, ”When you get through, donʼt rush to persuade her. Listen first. If she starts with ʼleave me alone,ʼ then just tell her the number of days and let her do the math herself.”

”And if she canʼt do the math?”

”Then the time hasnʼt come.”

[Thud. The signature she needs to give—you canʼt do it for her.]

* * *

At 7:20 that evening, she sat at the desk above the noodle house and dialed the Tongling number.

The ringback tone was the old county telephone office jingle. After four rings, a womanʼs voice answered: ”Hello?”

”Auntie, Iʼm looking for Lin Qi.”

”Who is this?”

”My surname is Shen. Iʼm her colleague.”

”She just washed her hair. Sheʼs sitting in her room.” The voice said, ”Hold on.”

Through the receiver: the clatter of bowls and chopsticks, a door hinge turning, slippers scuffing across concrete. After a moment, someone picked up the phone and said nothing.

She heard it first—a soft, wet sound, like someone drawing breath through a runny nose.

”Youʼre home,” Shen Zhixia said.

”Yeah.”

”When did you get in?”

”Last night.” Lin Qi said, ”The 10:20 from Chengbei bus station, got to Tongling at four. I sat in the waiting room until five-thirty, took the first bus into the village.”

”Does your mother know?”

”I told her the hospital rearranged my leave.” A pause. ”Sheʼs hard of hearing. Sheʼll believe whatever I say.”

”Why are you crying?”

”Itʼs windy,” Lin Qi said.

Shen Zhixia let that go.

”My mother asked me this morning why I dragged my suitcase back,” Lin Qi said. ”I told her work gave us stuff.”

”She believed you.”

”Sheʼs sixty-nine this year.” After a moment, Lin Qi said, ”Sheʼs spent her whole life in this village, never given anyone a reason to point fingers. If this business gets put on paper and mailed to the village, she wonʼt even go to the market anymore.”

”Whatever the hospital submitted, the Health Commission has it.” Shen Zhixia said, ”Next comes the investigation, then they give you a written notice. Youʼll have a few days for statement and defense. The clock starts the day itʼs delivered to you.”

”Delivered to me.” Lin Qi repeated the words.

”The address you left is the hospital building.”

Silence on the other end. A faint hiss of line static.

”The babyʼs still in the incubator,” Lin Qi said suddenly. ”Has the cremation date been set?”

”No. We donʼt move until the report comes out.” Shen Zhixia said, ”Forensic Examiner Zhong says the autopsy report will be marked pending.”

”Pending.” Lin Qi echoed the word.

The phone changed hands. The old woman had taken it.

”Are you still there, city girl?”

”Iʼm here, Auntie.”

”She ate half her noodles and left the rest on the stove.” The old woman said, ”Keep an eye on her. Sheʼs so busy in the city, she canʼt even remember to make a phone call.”

”Okay.”

[Thud. That ”okay”—who was she saying it for?]

The receiver shifted. Lin Qi had taken the phone back.

”What do you want to do?” Shen Zhixia asked.

”I want this to end here.”

”End how?”

”That paper from the medical affairs office.” Lin Qi said, ”I signed it, they said, and thatʼs that.”

”Itʼs already been submitted.” Shen Zhixia said, ”Signing something today wonʼt pull it back. You can do two things. Come back here. Or give me your name on paper.”

”I canʼt do either.”

”The two pages in the drawer are unsigned, and your practice certificate is still in there too.”

A pause on the other end. ”Let the certificate sit for now.”

”Why canʼt you?”

”Saturday, Iʼm taking my mother to town for a checkup. I have to be with her.” Lin Qi said, ”Besides, if I show my face, this thing has to be explained. I worked night shifts in obstetrics for years. I could write those delivery records with my eyes closed. If people point at me from now on and say, ʼThatʼs the doctor who altered the records,ʼ whoʼs going to let me deliver a baby again?”

”The transcribed copies and that logbook are with the court now.” Shen Zhixia said, ”You didnʼt write those entries. If you donʼt stand up, those papers stay in the file as nothing but records. If you do, they become a statement.”

”Records are enough.”

”The authorization doesnʼt require you to appear in court.” She said, ”One line, the firmʼs name, Director Heʼs signature. I only need one thing: your name on paper.”

No answer.

”Iʼll wait three days for your answer on the defense.” She said, ”After three days, that stack the hospital submitted becomes final. You can hide from the gossip in the village, but you canʼt hide from that paper.”

”Doctor Lin.”

”Finish Chen Xiaomanʼs case,” Lin Qi said. ”The draw is on the thirtieth. After that comes the appraisal, and after that, trial. The time youʼve got on your hands—itʼs enough for one case, at best.”

”These are two separate things,” Shen Zhixia said. ”The authorization is me speaking for you. The testimony is you speaking for Chen Xiaoman. Two papers, each signed on its own.”

”To me, itʼs the same thing.”

”Doctor Lin—”

”Finish Chen Xiaomanʼs case.” She said, ”Anything else—leave me alone.”

The receiver was set down. Not slammed—just placed gently on the tabletop, so gently that Shen Zhixia could still hear a dog barking at the village edge. Then the long tone of a disconnected call.

She called back. It rang through, all the way to the tenth ring. No one answered.

She copied the Tongling number onto the last page of her notebook, writing it beneath that blank line. That space had been meant for a name.

When she finished, she didnʼt close the book. She pulled out her phone and opened the Chengbei bus station schedule. The 10:20 night bus to Tongling—still running. She stared at it for two seconds, then pressed the screen dark.

Downstairs, the shop was closing up. The roll-up shutter hit the ground, sheet metal dragging a long scrape across the concrete.

[Thud. The notice wonʼt wait. And neither will the name.]