Justice System: I Litigate for the Whole City

Chapter 161 : Go by What You See Today

Ningchuan Qiushi Judicial Appraisal Office was in a six-story building in the old city. The hearing room was on the third floor. The door was grayish-white, and the bottom-right corner of the plastic sign reading ”Hearing Room” had peeled up a little, as if someone had pressed it and it had sprung back. Beside the door stood a metal bucket with two umbrellas in it; water was still dripping from the tip of one of them.

Peng Weidong stood next to the door, hugging a cloth bag to his chest. The early bus from Jiangzhou had taken an hour and a half, and he hadnʼt closed his eyes the whole way. ”What do I say in there?”

”Nothing yet.” Shen Zhixia shifted the hard-shell folder from her left arm to her right. ”Only speak when I call on you.”

At the top of the stairs, He Xiufen stopped.

”Iʼm not going in.” She switched her thermos to the other hand. ”Iʼll sit in the lobby downstairs.”

”You donʼt want to listen in?”

”Too many people in the room means only one voice gets heard.” He Xiufen tilted her chin toward the door. ”Today, they listen to you, not me.”

”What if he refuses to put it on the record?”

”Donʼt plan his moves for him.” He Xiufen said. ”You only do one thing: make him read that sentence out loud himself. The words he reads land on his own paper.”

”That explanatory page travels with the case file. I donʼt have a copy in hand.”

”I know you donʼt.” He Xiufen gave the cup lid half a turn. ”Which is exactly why you shouldnʼt read it yourself.”

At the far end of the corridor, Song Qiming had already arrived. The blue folder was tucked under his arm. He gave her a single nod. ”Lawyer Shen.”

”Lawyer Song.”

”Everything I say today goes into the record,” he said. ”If it isnʼt in the record, I didnʼt say it.”

”I know.”

Director Xu rounded the corner right behind him, clutching that kraft paper envelope to his chest. He walked between the two of them and went in first.

At 9:29, the door opened.

The hearing room was small. Two long tables sat side by side, leaving a narrow aisle down the middle. Behind the inner table sat three people: the appraiser Lu Zhicheng, a middle-aged man in a gray jacket, and a young clerk. Two sheets of ruled note paper lay spread in front of the girl, a pen resting between them. There was no judgeʼs bench, no national emblem. Only an appraisal procedure chart hung on the wall, its bottom-right corner circled in ballpoint pen.

Lu Zhicheng looked up and counted off the people present. ”Plaintiffʼs agent, Shen Zhixia; family member, Peng Weidong; defendantʼs agent, Song Qiming; Chengbei Hospital Medical Affairs Office staffer, Xu. All present.”

”The entrusted items in this case are three: whether there was fault in the diagnosis and treatment, whether causation exists, and the degree of fault contribution. Materials were transferred by the commissioning court. Iʼll read the index first.”

He read slowly, pausing after each line:

”One: a sealed medical record, one volume, thirty-four pages. Two: one forensic appraisal test report. Three: one page of court explanatory statement. Four: one written opinion from each party.”

”Is there a materials list and sealing inventory attached after the index?” she asked.

”The index is just this one page.” Lu Zhicheng said. ”The lists arenʼt here.”

”Who do I ask for the lists?”

”Ask whoever transferred them.”

She uncapped her pen and wrote six characters on her own paper: Ask whoever transferred them.

”Item three,” she said. ”Please read the first three lines of that page.”

Lu Zhicheng glanced at her, pulled the page from the file, and read:

”Disputes concerning the authenticity of the medical record entries in this case do not affect the preliminary appraisal of other portions. The materials submitted for appraisal shall be those sealed in the case file. The ʼtidiedʼ materials submitted by the defendant shall not serve as the appraisal version.”

When he finished, he laid the page back in the file and smoothed the edge flat with his palm. The clerk lowered her head and wrote.

”Please record one item.” Shen Zhixia pushed a sheet forward. ”Plaintiffʼs ʼWritten Opinion on the Scope of Appraisal Materials and Disputed Entries,ʼ one copy.”

”Received.” Lu Zhicheng said. ”It goes in as a partyʼs opinion, not as part of the materials.”

”I understand.” She said. ”And please also enter those three lines into the record just now: the above three lines are contained in the explanatory statement accompanying the file. And please also record one more sentence: the dispute over the authenticity of the entry on page eight of the nursing record is addressed in a separate statement accompanying the file.”

”Record it.” Lu Zhicheng said.

From the other end of the table, Director Xu pushed the kraft envelope forward. ”Teacher Lu, weʼd like to supplement with a version statement, to keep here for your reference.”

Lu Zhicheng did not take it. He pushed the envelope back to the edge of the table with the back of his hand. ”This envelope canʼt enter my office.”

”On the procedural side, we—”

”The file was transferred by the court, with an index and an item count.” Lu Zhicheng said. ”Your envelope has no transfer paperwork. I work with one set of materials, one source.”

”Then where do I submit it?”

”To the court. Let the court transfer it.”

”Then leave one copy here—it wonʼt take up space among the materials—”

”I donʼt accept reference items.”

The envelope went back against Director Xuʼs chest, its two fold creases still sharp. He didnʼt sit. He stood behind Song Qimingʼs chair, pinching at the envelopeʼs opening with his fingertips.

”Please record.” Shen Zhixia said. ”The defendantʼs staffer attempted to submit a supplementary set of materials on site, without transfer paperwork. This office did not accept it.”

The clerkʼs pen paused for half a second, then kept writing.

”Let me read it back.” Shen Zhixia turned to Director Xu. ”Does it match what you just did?”

”I didnʼt say those were appraisal materials.” Director Xu said. ”What I said was I was supplementing an explanatory statement.”

”Then what were you handing over?”

”Supplementary materials.” He said. ”Medical Affairs Office business.”

”Record both. Verbatim.”

Director Xuʼs throat moved. Footsteps passed in the corridor outside, then came back the other way.

Having an envelope of paper turned away didnʼt mean the words written inside it had disappeared. It was still in Director Xuʼs arms, heading back with him to Chengbei Hospital, to that office in the Medical Affairs Office. She wrote this layer down on her own paper, read it over twice, decided it didnʼt read like paper at all, crossed it out, and left only one line: February 27th, 9:50 a.m., one envelope of paper not accepted.

”Iʼll go point by point.” Song Qiming opened the blue folder, holding the paper with one hand and tracing the first item with the other. ”For every part thatʼs in the record, Iʼll report it one by one.”

”Item one: page eight of the nursing record. The authenticity of this pageʼs entries has not yet been determined, and the court has said a separate statement accompanies it. If itʼs used as material, the conclusion rests on a page that hasnʼt been settled. I ask that it be listed separately, not mixed into the medical record volume for appraisal.”

”Page eight is in the volume.” Shen Zhixia said. ”The scrape marks are on that page too. Remove it, and what reaches the appraiser is a medical record with a missing page.”

”Item two: the handwritten timeline by a witness that the plaintiffʼs agent brought in.” Song Qiming said. ”That is not an in-case material in this matter. It was written by the witness herself. I do not agree to use it as a basis for appraisal.”

Shen Zhixia opened the ruled manuscript paper and laid it flat on the table.

”Not as material.” She said. ”Iʼll read one line. I wonʼt read the rest.”

She read: ”The 26th, 23:50, took over the shift.” She finished, then tapped two blank spaces in the middle, marked off with small zigzag lines. ”These two spots are blank. The writer left them blank herself. I wonʼt fill them in for her.”

Lu Zhicheng turned his head to the clerk. ”Enter it in the partiesʼ statements. Not as appraisal basis.”

”Entered in the statement column—I accept that.” Song Qiming flipped a page. ”Item three: todayʼs discussion of material versions is a procedural matter. The appraisal institution resolves medical questions. Material sourcing should be handled by the court.”

”Iʼm not asking the appraiser to judge the source.” Shen Zhixia said. ”Iʼm only asking to record one sentence: which set of materials is present today, from which page to which page, and whether any other paper was handed in between.”

Lu Zhicheng nodded. ”Record it.”

”I accept that last sentence as well.” Song Qiming said. ”Whatever the record says, thatʼs what Iʼll report.”

”Does the family member have anything to add.” Lu Zhicheng asked.

Peng Weidong set the cloth bag by his feet and stood. He looked at Song Qiming first, then at Lu Zhicheng, and wiped both hands on his trouser seams.

”That name at the top of page eight—itʼs my wifeʼs.” He said. ”Chen Xiaoman. Three characters.”

”That page is in my hands.” Lu Zhicheng said. ”In the volume. Page eight.”

Peng Weidong nodded, sat back down, and placed both hands on his knees.

”I have one last question.” Shen Zhixia said.

”Go ahead.”

”The intake window received two items from Chengbei Hospital: one on February 18th at 16:20, one on the 19th at 9:40. One was recorded as ʼone supplementary statement,ʼ the other as ʼappraisal material version statement.ʼ Are either of those two items in the set you have today?”

Lu Zhicheng pulled out the index, flipped from front to back, then back again. His finger stopped on the line reading ”Four: one written opinion from each party.”

”Those two items are not in the index.”

”Then where did they go?”

”That I wonʼt answer.” He said. ”I only answer to materials.”

”Let me rephrase.” Shen Zhixia said. ”The set you have today—is it the set you will use?”

Lu Zhicheng looked at her for a moment, pressed the index page back into the file. ”I go by the set in front of me today.”

”Please record that sentence.”

The clerkʼs pen moved across the page. Shen Zhixia stared at the line, saw the word ”today” written flat and fast.

At 10:40, Lu Zhicheng turned the note paper around—two pages, corners pressed flat. ”Read it over. Sign.”

She read line by line. The third line read: The defendantʼs staffer attempted to submit a supplementary set of materials on site, without transfer paperwork. This office did not accept it. The sixth line read: The plaintiff requests that the scope of appraisal materials be recorded on file as limited to the sealed materials in the case. The second-to-last line was one Lu Zhicheng had added himself—This case shall proceed with the appraisal materials present at todayʼs hearing.

She signed at the last line and wrote the date: February 27th.

”Where does this page go?”

”It stays in this officeʼs file.”

”What about a copy?”

”The copy goes through the court.” The clerk said.

\[Thud. A returned item doesnʼt disappear. It just moves to a different cabinet.\]

Going downstairs, the two umbrellas were still in the metal bucket. The tips had stopped dripping. On the far row of plastic chairs in the intake lobby, He Xiufen sat with her thermos open.

”It got recorded?”

”Two and a half lines.”

”Good.” He Xiufen screwed the lid back on. ”Half a line still counts.”

Peng Weidong came down behind them, still hugging the cloth bag. He stood beside her, staring at the glass over the intake window. ”The page from today—will it matter later?”

”It will.” She said. ”But first it has to get out that door.”

”The day I bring the baby home—will there be an answer?”

”If I said yes, Iʼd be lying to you.” She closed the hard-shell folder. ”Wait for my word—wait until I move this page to the court.”

She stood in front of the intake window and looked over the left-column paper once more. The three right-column pages had not come out today. On the left-column paper, she hadnʼt written the word ”today.” She had written down two times: 16:20, 9:40.

\[Thud. The record stays in someone elseʼs cabinet. The sentence you need still has to be carried over for you.\]