Justice System: I Litigate for the Whole City

Chapter 157 : Recognizing the Name

The bailiff carried the kraft paper envelope up to the judgesʼ bench. The white string around the flap had been loosened halfway, one end trailing onto the desk edge, the tape at the seal lifting at one corner.

The presiding judge pushed his glasses up, used the tip of his pen to pry the flap open, and drew out a single page. He laid it flat on the case file and held the bottom edge down with two fingers.

”Court clerk, note the time.”

”Eleven twenty-six. The court opens the seal in session and retrieves one original page.”

In the first row of the gallery, Huang Weizhong moved the jacket draped over his arm onto his lap, pen held in his hand, tip pointed down, not touching paper. In the last row, Ma Jianjunʼs helmet sat at his feet. At the plaintiffʼs bench, Peng Weidongʼs hands gripped the edge of his chair.

”Defendant, read it,” the presiding judge said. ”Read slowly. The clerk will record.”

Director Xu stood up. The cuffs of his dark gray jacket were buttoned down today; when he raised his hand, a strip of shirt cuff showed underneath. He held the page up and read the heading first.

”Explanation on Changes to Obstetric Medical Records,” he said. ”Four lines. One: I am the on-duty physician in the Obstetrics Department of Chengbei Hospital. Two: The alterations to the shift handover records and nursing records for the December 26 and December 27 shifts of last year were made by me. Three: I did not verify the above-mentioned records in accordance with regulations.”

He paused half a beat. The fourth line was handwritten.

”I bear the corresponding responsibility,” he read. ”Eight characters.”

”Signature.”

”Lin Qi.”

”Date.”

”January 5.”

[Thud. The date on this page is forty-three days earlier than today.]

Shen Zhixia read the copy that had just been delivered, front to back. Black printer marks rolled along the edges. She lifted the page toward the window, toward what light there was, and examined the left edge—the two punch holes were clean, the spacing exactly matching the hole punch in the medical records room. He Xiufen nudged the hard-shell folder half an inch forward from under the table.

”The plaintiff has received the copy,” Shen Zhixia said.

”The court asks the defendant to clarify one point,” the presiding judge said. ”Whether this page has previously been submitted to this court, or to the district health department.”

Director Xuʼs foot shifted under the table. ”No.”

”Plaintiff asks the clerk to record that statement in full,” Shen Zhixia said. ”This page has never entered any court file. It has never been among the materials reported to the district. Today is the first time it has entered any file at all.”

”Record it,” the presiding judge said. ”Bailiff, show the original to the witness.”

Lin Qi reached out from the witness stand. Her phone was still face down on the surface. She took the page, looked first at the heading, then at the handwritten line at the bottom, at the signature line, where her finger stopped on the two characters of ”Lin Qi.”

”Iʼve seen this page before,” she said.

”Where and when.”

”The morning of January 5, in the medical affairs office, at the long table by the window.” She said, ”There was a printed sheet spread out on the table. Four lines of text, the last line blank. One person handed over the paper, another handed over a pen. Both had their badges flipped over.”

”Did you write the last line?”

”No.”

”The signature?”

”I didnʼt sign it either.” She lifted the paper half an inch so the judgesʼ side could see. ”The writing on this page is not mine. The name wasnʼt signed by me.”

”That sheet of paper you saw that day—what was below the signature line?”

”Blank,” Lin Qi said. ”Even the date line was blank. The line was there, but there wasnʼt a single number on it.”

The courtroom went quiet. The presiding judge set down his pen and folded both hands on the case file.

[Thud. The writing on this page never passed through her hand.]

”The plaintiff will examine the evidence.”

”The plaintiff will examine three items.” Shen Zhixia opened the hard-shell folder and drew three sheets from the left compartment, laying them out one by one on the table.

The first was Lin Qiʼs own signature, written by her own hand at Zhengping Firm on January 31, with a crease at one corner. The second was the final page of the transcribed nursing records—the original was in the file; what she held was a photocopy. The third was the copy that had just been delivered, the bottom line handwritten, signed ”Lin Qi.”

She spread the three pages side by side, pushed them together, and passed them toward the judgesʼ bench. The bailiff carried them up. The presiding judge pulled the desk lamp forward half a foot and leaned down.

”On this page, the three horizontal strokes of the second character slant upward, and the final stroke is light,” Shen Zhixia said. ”On these two pages, the three horizontal strokes are level, and the final stroke presses down with weight.”

”Sit the three pages together and one look is enough,” she said. ”The plaintiff will not draw conclusions for this court. The plaintiff asks the court to record one point: the hand that wrote ʼLin Qiʼ on this page is the same hand that signed the last page of the transcribed copy. It is not the same hand that the witness used this morning when she personally signed the Witness Pledge.”

The clerk finished recording and looked up at the presiding judge. The judge studied the pages for half a minute, then pushed the lamp back.

”The plaintiffʼs comparison is entered into the record, but this court makes no finding,” he said. ”The matter of the handwriting will go to forensic examination.”

”The plaintiff requests that the signature on this page be added to the handwriting examination,” Shen Zhixia said. ”Comparison samples as previously specified. The plaintiff will submit a written application and a sample list within three days.”

”Granted.”

Director Xu cut in: ”Your Honor, whether the handwriting is hers should be determined by a professional institution. The plaintiff laying three sheets on the table and comparing them for us doesnʼt count.”

”The part that doesnʼt count has already been noted by this court,” the presiding judge said. ”Continue, plaintiff.”

”Second item: the date.” Shen Zhixia turned the copy over and tapped the line below the signature. ”This page says January 5.”

”On the morning of January 5, around ten oʼclock, someone from the medical affairs office went to the medical records room and borrowed a hole punch, and also took away a stack of medical record paper. On the afternoon of January 7, that same person set the punched stack on the medical records room window for someone to check whether the holes lined up, and said offhandedly—ʼThe signatureʼs taken care of.ʼ”

She raised the copy, holding the holes toward the court.

”The two holes on the left edge of this page are clean. The spacing matches the machine that punched them. The date written below the signature says the fifth, yet by the defendantʼs own account, the signature on that stack wasnʼt complete until the afternoon of the seventh.” She said, ”The plaintiff asks the defendant to choose one path—either the date on this page is not the date it was actually signed, or that line was filled in after the seventh by someone else on her behalf. Two paths. Choose one today.”

[Thud. The date can be moved. The day the pen touched paper cannot.]

At the plaintiffʼs bench, Peng Weidongʼs hand tightened on the chair edge. In the back row of the gallery, Ma Jianjun shifted his helmet half an inch to the side.

The presiding judge looked toward the defendantʼs bench. ”The defendantʼs response.”

Director Xu leaned sideways and murmured half a sentence to Lu Jibai. Receiving no reply, he answered on his own: ”We need to go back and verify when the material was received and who handled it.”

”Write it up after you verify,” the presiding judge said. ”Clerk, record: the defendant shall, within three days, submit a written explanation of this pageʼs source, the name of the person who handled it, the time and place of submission, and who completed the last line and signature, and on what date.”

Director Xuʼs half-sentence, spoken low, only let Shen Zhixia catch a single word—cabinet.

”Your Honor,” she said. ”The plaintiff has one more question and requests the defendant answer it in court.”

”Ask.”

”From January 5, when this page landed on that table in the medical affairs office, to today, when it entered this courtroom, forty-three days passed.” She said, ”The plaintiff asks the defendant to answer one question: this morning, which cabinet was this page taken from, and who holds the key to that cabinet?”

No one at the defendantʼs bench answered.

”Within three days, in writing,” the presiding judge said. ”Write down whose name, and write it as whose name.”

”Defendantʼs counsel,” he added. ”Examine the original and state your position on the evidence.”

The words ”defendantʼs counsel” were spoken, and everyone in the courtroom looked toward that side. The bailiff retrieved the page from the witness stand and brought it to the defendantʼs bench.

Lu Jibai took it.

He did not look first at the signature. He raised the page into the light from the window and examined the left edge, the two holes—clean edges, even spacing. Then he lowered the page, his eyes settling on the date line, and held there for two seconds.

He turned the page over, turned it back, and laid it on the table. Then he opened his case file and drew out two sheets: one was the Statement of Defense from January 18, and the other was the Response on the Signature Status of the Transcribed Copy, submitted by the defendant to the court on January 25, the last line reading—”signed by the departmentʼs organizing personnel in accordance with standard practice, specific personnel not convenient to name.”

He placed the newly delivered page on top of the other two, aligned the left edges, and smoothed it flat with his palm.

”Counsel for the defendant has two questions to verify with his client,” he said.

”Proceed,” the presiding judge said.

He turned to his right, his voice dropping. The courtroom was so quiet you could hear the clerkʼs pen lift off the paper.

”This page. What day did it reach the hospital?”

”This morning,” Director Xu said.

”When the hospital was putting together the materials, was this page on the checklist?”

Director Xuʼs chair creaked. ”We submitted according to the checklist.”

”Was this page on the checklist?”

”...” Director Xu placed both hands on the table. ”We submitted according to the checklist.”

Lu Jibai waited two seconds. He did not push.

”Second point,” he said. ”Who handed this page to you?”

”Someone from the department.”

”Which department. Whose name.”

Director Xuʼs head tilted half an inch to the side, looking at his stack of materials. The clerkʼs pen hung in midair.

”In writing,” the presiding judge said.

Shen Zhixia sat behind the plaintiffʼs bench watching him. She watched him align the three pages, watched his finger stop on the date line, then watched him withdraw his hand and press it down on the corner of the case file, pressing firmly. She glanced down at her own hard-shell folder—the right compartment, three pages of the Legal Opinion Letter folded inside, the handwritten characters below the signature line.

”Counsel for the defendant,” the presiding judge said. ”Your position on the evidence.”

Lu Jibai slowly stood up.

First he pushed his chair back half a foot. It was a motion heʼd made many times today, always at the same angle; this time, the chair legs dragged a long sound against the floor.

”Your Honor, this side requests—”

He paused. His eyes were not on the plaintiffʼs bench, nor on the witness stand. They were on the page spread open on the judgesʼ bench.

”—to withdraw from representation in this case.”

At the defendantʼs bench, Director Xuʼs chair creaked again beside him. In the first row of the gallery, Huang Weizhong pressed down on the paper the pen that had never once touched it.