Justice System: I Litigate for the Whole City

Chapter 167 : He Flipped to That Page

The forensic appraiser arrived before either side.

At 8:40 on the morning of March 19, the doors to the Third Courtroom were only half open when Lu Zhicheng had already taken his seat at the Appraiserʼs Stand. He turned his document envelope sideways, drew out a stack of papers, and squared them page by page, pressing them down beneath the case file. Two fingers pinched a page corner and let each sheet fall of its own weight—no counting, no glancing at the clock.

Shen Zhixia stood at the doorway and watched for a moment. He had only one stack with him.

Before leaving the office that morning, He Xiufen had been peeling garlic at the top of the stairs and said she wasnʼt going. ”Heʼll read the pages, so let him read them.”

Shen Zhixia walked in and set her hard-shell folder down on the plaintiffʼs bench. Two pens sat in her bag. The black one she laid out for recording what he said; the blue one she clipped to the folder for recording what he didnʼt say. Peng Weidong sat in the first row, today wearing a washed-faded shirt, both hands resting flat on his knees. Two rows back by the window, Lin Qi sat with her head lowered, clutching a cloth bag in her hands. She raised her eyes and nodded once, silent.

Across the gallery, Huang Weizhong had draped his coat over his arm. Director Xu sat beside him with that thin booklet resting on his knees. Song Qiming was at the defendantʼs bench, shirt collar buttoned to the very top, a hand-copied sheet spread before him.

At exactly nine, the presiding judge struck the gavel.

”Today, one matter only.” He spread open the March 17 notice. ”This Judicial Appraisal Opinion—what set of papers it was based on. The plaintiffʼs three applications and the defendantʼs two pages of submissions will all be handled together. The appraiser is questioned first.”

Lu Zhicheng rose and pressed down the edges of his stack.

”I based my findings on the sealed set on record in this case,” he said. ”The February 27 hearing listed four items in the index; I counted the pieces. When I received the notice on the 17th, I recounted this set in my hands. What I brought today is the set on record. Page count and page order match the sealing inventory. I donʼt have any others.”

The words ”any others” came out flat and even.

[Thud. Today only one question: the page you read—which set of papers it was in.]

The presiding judge looked toward the defendantʼs bench. ”Does the defendant have anything to add to the appraiserʼs explanation?”

Song Qiming stood. ”Whatever is in the record, I will read as stated. The defendantʼs two pages of written submissions—points one through three remain the same: internal matters, general description, no relevance.” He paused. ”Point four: request the application be denied.”

”Plaintiff.”

She spoke first about the papers, laying them out one by one on the table.

”The sealed original on record, page eight. The sealing inventory describes it as showing ʼerasure marks,ʼ dated New Yearʼs Day.

”The ʼVersion Statement of Appraisal Materials,ʼ with its attached ʼPage Correspondence Tableʼ—at the bottom of the table is a line reading: ʼPage eight: original page damaged, writing illegible; reorganized same-sequence page incorporated.ʼ These three pages were forwarded to the Medical Damage Appraisal Office for review by a first-floor staff member at that institute.

”Then there is this: the opinion itself. Its main text states: ʼUpon review of medical record page eight, the pageʼs entries are continuous, with no alterations, deletions, or additions observed.ʼ

”One page eight, three different descriptions across three documents. Iʼm not asking about anything else.” She said, ”My question for the appraiser is this: when you wrote that sentence, which page lay on your desk?”

The electric fan whirred, lifting a page corner of the case file before letting it fall back.

Lu Zhicheng opened the index and ran his finger down, stopping at item eight. He pulled that page out and looked it over, front and back.

”This page—Iʼve seen it.”

”Youʼve seen it, and it says ʼentries continuous.ʼ”

”What I wrote was what I reviewed.”

”The page you reviewed—page eight—did it have this mark?”

He didnʼt answer. He smoothed the page flat. The paper was pale, unevenly trimmed, and at the lower right, where the page number sat, a shallow trace pressed into the surface. The whole courtroom waited for him to speak.

[Thud. When he flipped to that page, the whole courtroom could hear it.]

”The page I reviewed did not,” he said.

She stepped forward. ”Then which set did you review?”

”When the Version Statement was delivered, I did look through it.”

At the defendantʼs bench, Song Qimingʼs pen hesitated.

”It had the page correspondence table,” Lu Zhicheng continued, pace unchanged. ”The table stated that page eight of the original was damaged, writing illegible, reorganized same-sequence page incorporated. I checked the page order. The page numbers ran consecutively.”

”Did the transfer letter list these three pages?”

”No.”

”Was there a case filing number?”

”Also no.”

”Then why did you accept them?”

”They were placed in the Reference Slot. Sent up from the first floor. The register logged the unit.”

”Whose name was logged?”

”Medical Affairs Office.”

The presiding judge raised his pen. ”Defendant: did your side send these three pages?”

Song Qiming flipped through the paper before him. ”The three Version Statement pages are not on the materials list the hospital gave me.” He said, ”Whatever is in the record, I read as stated. What isnʼt in the record—I wonʼt add to it, and I wonʼt take from it.”

”Defendantʼs Medical Affairs Office.”

Director Xu half-rose from the gallery, glancing first at Huang Weizhong, then back at the presiding judge. ”The materials belong to our hospital,” he said. ”Sending them—I ordered it.”

”When they were sent, was a hospital transfer letter attached?”

”No.”

The presiding judge made a mark on his paper. ”For the record: the defendant confirms that the three pages of the ʼVersion Statement of Appraisal Materialsʼ were delivered to the institute by the defendant, without hospital transfer documentation attached at the time of delivery.”

[Thud. The hand that passed the papers pressed its print today.]

”Reference materials.” The presiding judge said, ”The three pages this court requested by letter—the appraiser will identify them now, in open court.”

A bailiff carried a kraft paper envelope to the Appraiserʼs Stand. Lu Zhicheng drew the pages out, spreading them flat, his eyes going first to the upper right corner of the first page.

”These are the three pages.”

”Who wrote the small handwriting in the upper right corner?”

”A reference-slot number. Not me.”

”These pages—who transferred them, who reviewed them, and which pages were at hand during review.”

”They came up from the first floor. Whoever handled them signed the register. I didnʼt look at the logbook.” He said, ”Once they reached me, I flipped through them. I checked page eight against the page sequence.”

She picked up the blue pen and continued. ”On March 3, when this courtʼs letter arrived, and you cleared the cabinet—where were these three pages?”

”Returned to the reference slot.”

”Who returned them?”

”Whoever was handling it. I opened the cabinet. I didnʼt take the papers in.”

”Was there anything else in the reference slot?”

”A few items. None of them were cited in my opinion.”

”Except page eight.”

He paused. ”Except page eight.”

”Your opinion is dated March 11—six days earlier than the original deadline.” She said, ”Those six days—who pushed for it?”

”When the schedule came due, I issued it.” He said, ”In between, I received one phone call asking when it might be ready.”

”Who called?”

”The first-floor register would show. I donʼt read that logbook.”

She asked the court to note one line: the plaintiff requests the retrieval of telephone logs from the instituteʼs first floor for March 1 through March 11.

The presiding judge nodded. ”For the record: this court will request by letter the instituteʼs first-floor telephone logs for March 1 through March 11 relevant to this case.”

She asked one final question. ”In this set you brought today, are those three pages included?”

”No. What I brought today is the set on record.”

”Then the page eight you looked at today is the one with the mark.”

”It has the mark.” He paused. ”It came back and I looked again. I write what I see.”

The presiding judge waited for her to finish, then closed the file.

”The court makes three findings on the record. One: the defendantʼs submission regarding the plaintiffʼs application for the appraiser to appear in court is not accepted. Two: through in-court examination, the appraiser in this case, before issuing the opinion, reviewed materials that included the three pages of the ʼVersion Statement of Appraisal Materialsʼ—materials not transferred by this court and not entered into this caseʼs appraisal record. The page-eight description cited in the opinion does not match the sealed original on record. The opinion is therefore not adopted in this case. Three: Ningchuan Qiushi Judicial Appraisal Office is ordered, for the appraisal in this case, to base its work solely on the sealed materials on record, return for correction, and reissue accordingly. The reference materials requested by this courtʼs letter are returned to the institute today in open court and shall not serve as appraisal materials in this case. All of the above entered into the record.”

”Please note one more line,” she said. ”Today this court added no new appraisal materials.”

”Noted.” The presiding judge said, ”Both sides review the record and sign.”

[Thud. The opinion heads back to Ningchuan. This case, back to the papers.]

During record review, she read line by line. Lu Zhichengʼs statements were all there—”The page I reviewed did not.” ”When the Version Statement was delivered, I did look through it.” ”I opened the cabinet. I didnʼt take the papers in.” Last time, where the thread had snapped at the words ”change of venue,” today it tied back together.

She signed her name in the signature column.

Court adjourned. Walking out, wind moved at the end of the hallway. Peng Weidong fell in half a step behind her. This time he didnʼt ask ”What does today count as?” He tucked the visitation registration card back into his shirt pocket and pressed it through the fabric.

”Just read whatʼs there,” he said. ”Today he read it.”

Lu Zhicheng walked out with his document envelope under his arm and paused beside her.

”Iʼll look at that page again,” he said. ”If itʼs supposed to say ʼmarked,ʼ Iʼll write ʼmarked.ʼ”

”Donʼt write it for me.”

”Iʼm not writing it for anyone.” He walked on, leather shoes knocking against the hallway tiles, one step at a time.

Song Qiming came from the other direction, rolling his paper into a tube. ”Whatever is in the record, I read as stated.” He said, ”Everything entered today is in the record.”

”Including ʼno letter attached.ʼ”

”That line came from the defendant himself.” He said, ”Like I said—I donʼt do its talking for it.”

Director Xu was last, pausing beside her.

”ʼErasure marksʼ—those three characters,” he said, ”can have another interpretation.”

”What interpretation?”

”When paper gets damp, it leaves traces too.”

She looked at him. ”Then submit an explanation.”

”Submitting it wouldnʼt do much good.”

”Then donʼt submit it.” She said, ”You already said in court today—ʼThe materials belong to our hospital.ʼ”

Director Xu tucked the booklet under his arm, offered no reply, and walked on.

Lin Qi stood by the window at the end of the corridor, hadnʼt come over the whole time. Only when Shen Zhixia reached her did she speak.

”That word he used—ʼcontinuousʼ—itʼs got nothing to do with me, right?”

”Nothing to do with you.” She said, ”The name on that page isnʼt yours.”

Lin Qi hitched the cloth bag higher on her shoulder. ”Iʼve memorized those two lines.” She said, ”The page he reviewed didnʼt have it. He flipped through the Version Statement.”

”Why memorize them?”

”Because thereʼll be another hearing.”

She watched Lin Qi descend the stairs. Wind slipped through the window gap and swept a scrap of paper across the hallway into the corner.

By the time she got back to Zhengping Firm, it was four in the afternoon. The noodle shop downstairs hadnʼt fired up its wok yet. He Xiufen was behind the long table upstairs, working the abacus, each bead moving slow.

Shen Zhixia laid out the copy of the ruling. He Xiufen put on her reading glasses and read through it, then removed them and hung them at her collar. She counted the three points first: opinion not adopted, return for correction, reference materials returned to the institute and excluded from the file.

”The procedure today—you held it down,” she said. ”Whatʼs left is those thirty days.”

”If the correction comes back and the conclusion still says ʼminorʼ—”

”Thatʼs a conversation for after thirty days.” He Xiufen said, ”But inside those thirty days, donʼt assume heʼll do nothing. The appraiserʼs hands—they canʼt get at those. But the hand that slides paper across that desk—that one they can reach.”

Shen Zhixia went upstairs and read the three-column long sheet on the wall to its end, pulled out the pencil, and wrote four characters at the bottom of the right column: Return for Correction. Then she found the page in the left slot and added line nine: March 19—opinion not adopted, return for correction, thirty days. Below that, she added six more characters: Thirty days. Iʼm counting.

He Xiufen stood in the doorway, enamel mug in hand.

”Whatever words come knocking in those thirty days, youʼll see them.” She said, ”Whether you can hold them off or not—thatʼs up to you.”

Downstairs, the noodle shopʼs pot clanged once, the lid jumping up, then settling back down.