Justice System: I Litigate for the Whole City

Chapter 176 : Empty Fields

April 7th, 9:40 a.m. Shen Zhixia pressed the final page against the desk edge, lined up her ruler, and wrote the page number in the bottom right corner. One, two, three… when she made a mistake, she scraped it off with a razor blade, smoothed the paper flat, and traced over it again. Once this file went out, anyone who flipped through it would have to point at those page numbers and read them.

Cover, eight characters: Clues on Abnormal Drug Sources. Below it, a smaller line: with attached evidence list, nineteen pages total.

Seven entries in the list.

1. Temporary Medical Order Sheet, Daily Charge Sheets (December 26 and 27)

2. Pharmacy Price List entries (hand-copied, re-read by pharmacist) and excerpted Drug In-Out Ledger pages

3. Procurement and Acceptance Records (excerpted pages)

4. Three signatures for the person collecting the drug (ledger outbound column, temporary medical order sheet, nursing record)

5. Two supply slips and one accompanying shipment document

6. Printouts from the National Enterprise Credit Information Publicity System

7. Statement on the Defendantʼs Contact Person Approaching the Plaintiffʼs Agent, with attached Interview Record

She copied the seven entries again onto the first page of the report materials.

He Xiufen came upstairs with her tea mug, apron still on, and went down the two-page list line by line.

”Change the name,” she said. ”Keep the word ʼclues.ʼ Donʼt put the word ʼconclusionsʼ anywhere.”

”I know.”

”For the court, youʼre submitting supplementary evidence. For the drug regulator, itʼs a report plus an inspection application. One hand to the court, one to the regulator—neither waits for the other.” He Xiufen set her mug on the corner of the desk. ”In the report, just get three main points across: a drug distribution enterprise purchasing drugs must have truthful and complete procurement and acceptance records; a medical institution bringing in drugs must verify the supplierʼs credentials and the accompanying shipment document; once a drug leaves the factory, it must be traceable by batch number. Write the names as they are. Donʼt invent statute numbers.”

”I wonʼt,” she said. ”Iʼll only write whatʼs on the paper, and whatʼs missing.”

”Missing is easier to write than present.” He Xiufen turned to the middle pages and stopped. ”The most valuable thing in this whole file isnʼt these three documents.”

”Itʼs those three empty spots.”

”You counted them.”

”I did.” She pressed down one finger at a time. ”The ʼacceptance inspectorʼ column in the drug in-out ledger—empty. The ʼrecipientʼ signature line at the bottom of the accompanying shipment document—empty. And the last page in the back, the signature line on the Statement on the Clinical Use of the Drug in Question—empty. The date on the paper is filled in as March 30. They didnʼt call the person in to sign until the morning of the 31st. In the afternoon, it got submitted before anyone signed it.”

”An empty field is harder than one full of signatures,” He Xiufen said. ”A filled field, you can compare handwriting. An empty field, you have to go find the hand that belongs in it. If you canʼt find it, it just stays empty, and anyone who reads it knows exactly what that means.”

She pulled the statement out of the back of the file—one page of explanation, stapled behind the April 2 Interview Record—then put it back. ”This one doesnʼt go to the drug regulator.”

”Why not?”

”The drug regulator governs drugs, not whoever took you out for tea.” He Xiufen wiped the corner of her apron with one hand. ”The stack for the regulator only gets whatʼs drug-related. The one about you meeting with that person stays at the back of the court-bound file, with a note attached when you submit it. Whose hand reached out, and how far it got—thatʼs for the courtroom.”

She took a pen and crossed out the seventh entry on the first page of the report materials. Those two pages came out, clipped separately for the court. The regulatorʼs stack lost two pages: seventeen total.

The printer was still warm. She gave the business registration pages one final pass: Jiangzhou Hengyue Pharmaceutical Co., Ltd., registered address: 2nd Floor, Plant No. 3, 17 Hengyue Road, High-tech Zone, Jiangzhou. Jiangzhou Hengkang Pharmaceutical Co., Ltd., same registered address, character for character. Shareholder column listed only one entity: Hengyue Pharmaceutical, 100% ownership. One level up: Jiangzhou Hengyue Group Co., Ltd.

The last page of the roster was the groupʼs external investments. Besides the two pharmaceutical companies, one more was listed at the bottom: Jiangzhou Hengyue New Materials Co., Ltd. Its business scope included ”battery cathode materials.”

She printed that page too and paper-clipped it to the bottom of the stack.

”This company has nothing to do with this case,” she said.

He Xiufen took it, scanned from top to bottom, and set it back down. ”Leave it there for now.” She picked up her mug and left.

[Thud. Once the paper leaves your hands, itʼs no longer yours alone.]

At 10:30 she left and caught the bus. The Market Regulation Bureau building was low, gray walls, two rows of electronic screens at the entrance scrolling slogans. The drug complaint and report intake window was at the west end of the third floor. Behind a glass partition sat a woman in her forties, a small sign at the corner of her desk: Drug Supervision Division—He Min. Reading glasses rested halfway down her nose. Beside her hand lay a copy of the Good Supply Practice for Drugs, opened flat, its spine repaired twice with tape.

Shen Zhixia placed the materials on the counter. ”A report, plus an inspection application.”

He Min pushed her glasses up. ”Are you a party or a representative?”

”Representative.” She slid over the power of attorney, the firm letter, and a photocopy of Peng Weidongʼs ID. ”The principal is Peng Weidong. His wife, Chen Xiaoman, died after giving birth at Chengbei Hospital in December. The case is with the First Civil Division.”

He Min went through each item, methodical, like she was checking a procurement list. ”Keep the originals yourself. A report has to include contact information.” The tip of her pen tapped the cover. ”Tell us exactly what you want us to do. Donʼt just write ʼplease investigate.ʼ”

”Four items,” she said, and read them out. ”One: verify the purchase and sale records between Hengkang Pharmaceutical and Hengyue Pharmaceutical for the 100μg carbetocin injection—how many transactions total, which batch numbers, and where the batch returned to the warehouse on March 22 ended up. Two: the operating credentials and actual business premises of the two companies. Same address, same phone number—are they running two separate licenses, two separate staffs, two separate sets of books? Three: on Chengbei Hospitalʼs procurement and acceptance records, the ʼsupplierʼ field lists Hengyue Pharmaceutical, but Hengkang Pharmaceutical issued the invoice, and the recipientʼs signature at the bottom of the accompanying shipment document is blank. Four: the batch numbers still in stock donʼt match the batch used on the patient. Please verify whether the purchase and sale records are truthful and complete.”

He Min transferred each item into the register, pen moving fast, never looking up. ”Within fifteen working days, youʼll get written notice of whether the report has been accepted. It may be extended if the situation is complex.” She tore off the receipt copy and stamped it with the date stamp—clack. ”Hold onto this. A report is one thing, a lawsuit is another. Two separate tracks. That sentence you want—whether it gets written depends on whether the paper holds up. We only write what we actually find.”

The receipt came back to her. The second copy still sat under the window, its corner curled up.

On her way out, she asked one more thing: ”A single vial, from the factory to the hospital room. How many pieces of paper should there be in between?”

He Min looked up. This didnʼt sound like someone here to submit materials.

”By the book,” she said, ”purchase and sale records, the accompanying shipment document, acceptance records, outbound review, and medication pickup signature. Not one can be missing.”

”Then this hospital is missing three.”

He Min said nothing. She settled her reading glasses back onto her nose. ”Go home and wait for the notice.”

Coming down the stairs, the stairwell window was cracked open, and the wind rattled the receipt. Shen Zhixia folded it in quarters and tucked it into the innermost layer of her bag.

[Thud. The goods have a paper trail now. Still missing: the one vial.]

2:30 p.m., Litigation Service Center, First Civil Division.

She submitted the Supplementary Evidence (Abnormal Drug Source Portion) and the two-page supplementary statement, with the Statement attached at the back. The court clerk flip through the evidence list and made a mark on the receipt slip: ”Will be served to the defendant with the case file. Nothing missing.”

”This item the defendant never submitted,” she said. ”Please have the court note it: the accompanying shipment document was only submitted as a supplement on the afternoon of March 30.”

”Noted.” The clerk pushed the receipt slip over for her signature.

Back at the firm, almost five. The noodle shop hadnʼt filled up yet. Beef bones simmered on the stove. Sheʼd just hung up her keys when her phone lit up in her bag.

Lu Jibai: ”The recipient column is blank. Did you ask the pharmacy staff? Did you ask the warehouse keeper?”

She stared at the screen for two seconds, then typed six words back: ”Warehouse keeper never made the file.”

No reply after that.

Sheʼd just put the file in her drawer when someone cleared his throat at the door. Peng Weidong stood there, cap still on, holding a plastic bag of oranges, the bag tied tight at the top.

”Passing by,” he said, setting the oranges on the counter. ”The babyʼs been crying hard at night. Only settles if I walk around holding him.”

”Itʼs been three weeks since you took him home,” she said, pouring him water.

”Twenty-one days.” He remembered precisely. He took off his cap and twisted it in his hands. ”Lawyer Shen, a number called me yesterday.”

”What kind of number?”

”A cell phone. Didnʼt recognize it.” He gave the first few digits; he couldnʼt remember the rest. ”Said the amount they mentioned last time is still negotiable. Told me to stop letting you run around on this. Said the kidʼs young; the sooner the moneyʼs in hand, the sooner we rest easy.”

She pulled out her notebook and wrote down the digits. ”What did you say back?”

”I said I couldnʼt decide on my own.” Peng Weidong sat there, hands flat on his knees. ”I didnʼt agree to anything.”

”Good that you didnʼt.”

”Lawyer Shen.” He looked up. ”Let me ask something, and donʼt take it the wrong way—if I took the money, would the investigation into that vial stop?”

She set the pen down. ”Money and the drug are two separate things. If you want to talk money, Iʼll go with you. You set the number. I wonʼt push you to ask for more, and I wonʼt tell you to take less. But I wonʼt trade the drug away for cash. Which one comes first, which one comes later—you decide.”

”That vial…” His lips moved twice, and it was still the same question. ”Who actually ordered it used?”

A car passed outside; light slid across the window glass. She pulled the file out of the drawer, turned to page three, then page five.

”Thereʼs a line on the medical order sheet, written by Doctor Lin,” she said. ”The hand that took the drug out of the pharmacy, who approved it, who received it—three places on the paper are still blank.”

”Does a blank spot mean it canʼt be investigated?”

”A blank spot is the easiest thing to investigate.” She closed the file. ”Itʼs the fully written places that are hard—every character already written, and the person hides behind the words.”

Peng Weidong put his cap back on. At the door, he turned. ”If something really is wrong with that drug, does taking their money conflict with it?”

”No conflict,” she said. ”Thatʼs compensation. This is paper. Paper canʼt be exchanged for money, and money canʼt erase paper.”

He nodded and headed downstairs. The oranges stayed on the counter, the bag still tied.

After dark, she called Lin Qi.

It rang seven times before she picked up. The voice on the other end was hoarse, like sheʼd just sat up in bed.

”Submitted the materials on Monday,” Lin Qi said. ”Theyʼre in. I didnʼt write about the drug.”

”What about the Medical Affairs Office?”

”They called me in again this morning.” She paused. ”I didnʼt go. Said I had afternoon clinic.”

”Tomorrow…” She remembered He Xiufenʼs words. ”Tomorrow Iʼll go with you.”

”No need.” Lin Qiʼs voice was very quiet. ”Iʼll go myself. I just need to go.”

There was a long stretch of silence on the line. She heard paper rustling on the other end—once, then again.

”Lawyer Shen,” Lin Qi said suddenly, ”these past couple of days I keep dreaming. I dream about that number—6:20. When I wake up, I pinch the back of my own hand. Pinch it for the longest time.”

”You should see a doctor—”

”I already did.” Lin Qi said. ”Got some medicine. It doesnʼt help.” She paused. ”I packed up my room. Packed and packed, and then it was morning.”

She pressed the phone to her ear. ”Lin Qi, Iʼll be waiting downstairs at your place tomorrow morning.”

”No need,” Lin Qi said. ”Really, thereʼs no need.”

The call ended from the other side. The call timer sat at two minutes, eleven seconds.

He Xiufen called up from downstairs for her to come eat noodles. She recounted those two minutes. He Xiufenʼs rag hung over the stove edge; she didnʼt put it down.

”Tomorrow morning, donʼt call her,” she said. ”Go to her place on Youfang Lane and wait at the door. If she says no need, you stand there. Stand until she comes out.”

”What if she doesnʼt go to the Medical Affairs Office tomorrow?”

”Then wait anyway.” He Xiufen turned off the stove. ”The womanʼs skin and bones, and she spent a whole night packing by herself. Go.”

Going upstairs, the desk lamp was still on. The file sat on top of the desk, cover face down, page numbers facing out.

The three empty fields—each one, sheʼd folded its corner. The ”acceptance inspector” column in the ledger: one corner folded. The ”recipient” line at the bottom of the accompanying shipment document: one corner folded. The last corner folded at the back of the file—on the page printed with ”Attending Physician: Lin Qi,” the signature line still blank.