Justice System: I Litigate for the Whole City

Chapter 178 : Decided to Use

The registered letter arrived at the gatehouse a little after nine in the morning.

The gatehouse sat to the left of the building entrance—a single glass window with two plastic potted plants on the sill, one green, one yellow. The woman on duty slid a brown envelope out from under the window. ”That Dr. Lin on the fourth floor? She has to sign for this in person.”

Shen Zhixia didnʼt reach for it. She looked at the envelope first.

The recipient line was machine-printed: Lin Qi, Fourth Floor, Youfang Lane, Chengbei District. It was the same address sheʼd helped Lin Qi update at the commission on February first. The sender line read ”Chengbei District Health Commission, Jiangzhou City.” In the upper right corner sat a registered-mail label, postmarked clean and square: April 8.

She took out her phone and photographed both sides of the envelope, making sure the postmark date was legible, before picking it up.

”Iʼll go up and get her.”

”Take it slow on the stairs,” the woman said. ”They still havenʼt fixed the pull cord for the light on the fourth floor.”

The door at the end of the fourth-floor hallway was fully shut today. She knocked twice.

”Who is it.”

”Me. Thereʼs a letter downstairs. You have to sign for it.”

The door opened halfway. Lin Qi stood there in an old gray sweater, hair tied back carelessly, the dark circles under her eyes deeper than yesterday. She was holding a rag—sheʼd been cleaning again today.

”What is it.”

”Registered letter. From the commission.”

Lin Qi hung the rag on the hook behind the door and followed her downstairs.

When it came time to sign, Shen Zhixia glanced at the logbook pressed under her hand and told Lin Qi to write the date too. Lin Qi finished the line, set the pen down, and only then noticed the printed sender line on the envelope. Her finger stopped on the paper for a second.

”Letʼs read it upstairs,” Shen Zhixia said.

* * *

The damp smell still lingered in the apartment. The window was open a crack. The drinking glass that had been upside down yesterday now sat upright, mouth facing up.

Lin Qi placed the envelope on the table and stepped back half a pace. She didnʼt open it.

”You open it.”

”Open it yourself.”

”You read it,” Lin Qi said. ”If I hold it... my hands shake.”

Shen Zhixia didnʼt push. She slid a file folder under the envelope, tore open the flap, and found two printed pages inside, plus a photocopy paper-clipped to the back. She checked the signature block and date first: April 8, with an official seal.

She read from the top, slowly.

”Written Reply on Lin Qiʼs Statement of Defense.”

”1. Regarding the medical record issues you raised in your statement of defense, our commission has opened a separate review. During this review period, your practice conduct will be examined simultaneously.”

”2. The Explanatory Statement on the Clinical Use of the Drug in Question, submitted by Chengbei Hospital, contains a section stating ʼDecided to Use Carbetocin Injection.ʼ This statement was issued by you personally. You are hereby required to provide a written explanation of the four words ʼDecided to Useʼ within fifteen days of receiving this reply, along with the corresponding basis.”

”3. Regarding the revocation of your medical license, the facts require further review. No action will be taken for now.”

When she reached ”issued by you personally,” she paused a beat and read the sentence again.

Lin Qi stood by the table, hands at her sides.

”I never submitted that paper,” she said.

”I know.”

”The hospital typed it. They brought it to me. They sent it up. I didnʼt even sign it.”

”I know.” Shen Zhixia turned over the last page—the photocopy of the Explanatory Statement. She pushed it toward Lin Qi and pressed her index finger on the final line: the signature line was blank, not a single character on it. The date, however, was printed: March 30.

”Look here. The statement the commission says you issued—thereʼs nothing in the signature line.”

Lin Qi stared at that blank space for a long time.

[Thud. No license revocation doesnʼt mean no mark on the record.]

”No revocation,” she said slowly. ”Then what do they want me to explain.”

”They want you to explain those four words.” Shen Zhixia said. ”Four words written on a piece of paper you didnʼt write, now sitting under your name.”

Lin Qi picked up the two pages, flipped to the second, then back to the first. Her hands were indeed shaking; the corners of the paper trembled with them.

”I need to get back to the firm,” Shen Zhixia said. ”Director He needs to see this.”

”Iʼm coming too.”

”Eat breakfast first.”

”Canʼt.”

”Then bring it with you.” Shen Zhixia glanced at the white paper bag on the table, still where it had been. ”Donʼt stop your medication on your own. Take your noon dose too.”

* * *

The scallion-oil smell from the noodle shop downstairs was already rising by ten. He Xiufen had just passed oil through the wok, and the aroma drifted out to the stairwell. She took the letter and read it standing right beside the stove. She finished it once, then went back through the second page again.

”No revocation is trickier than revocation.” She set the paper down.

”How so.”

”Revocation is a clear road. Administrative reconsideration, litigation—one step after another, win or lose in the open.” He Xiufen wiped her hands on her apron. ”ʼFurther reviewʼ leaves you hanging in midair. Your license is held, youʼre suspended, you donʼt know when youʼll come down, and you have to climb your own way out.”

”When did it arrive.”

”This morning.”

”Then itʼs the ninth.” He Xiufen squared the corners of the two pages on the table. ”Fifteen days takes you to the twenty-fourth. Write the date on paper, not in your head.”

Her finger pressed on the end of the second line.

”The medical record alteration—they know that looks bad, so theyʼre not asking about it anymore. Now theyʼre asking you about ʼDecided to Use.ʼ”

”Iʼll write the explanation,” Lin Qi said.

”This paper is a step ladder they built for themselves.” He Xiufen said. ”If your first sentence starts with ʼAt the time, I considered...ʼ then this paper becomes your self-admission—those four words will count as yours from then on. But if you donʼt write, once the deadline passes, theyʼll process it as failure to explain, and that column sits empty in your file all the same.”

Lin Qi sat at the long table, hands clasped together. A strip of the back of her hand showed past the sleeve cuff, the purple bruise wrapped over twice by the fabric, only the yellowish edge visible.

”Iʼm not afraid of losing my license,” she said after a moment. ”Iʼm afraid I canʼt make myself clear.”

”Then donʼt explain,” Shen Zhixia said.

She took the items out of her folder one by one.

On the far left: the photocopy of the Explanatory Statement. In the middle: the defense statement Lin Qi had submitted on Monday. On the far right: the temporary medical order sheet from the medical records, copied yesterday afternoon during the column check, still creased.

She aligned the three papers and drew a few light vertical pencil lines across them, separating one section from the next.

”You went through the medical records line by line yesterday afternoon,” she said. ”Today, do it again—against this sentence in the letter.”

The pencil point descended, pointing at the bottom of the leftmost paper. ”This field—signature line: blank. The date is printed, March 30. The submitting party column has the Medical Affairs Office seal.”

The pencil moved right.

”This field is the medication receiverʼs name—not your writing. This one is the pharmacy delivery time—not your writing. The temporary transfer slip needs upstairs approval, the return slip needs upstairs review—none of it happens on the obstetrics floor.”

The pencil slid further right and stopped on the line on the temporary medical order sheet: Carbetocin Injection 100μg, intravenous. Below it, in the signature field, were two characters reading ”Lin Qi,” the three horizontal strokes flat, the final stroke ending with a firm stop.

”This field is yours,” she said.

Lin Qi stared at those lines.

”Then where is ʼDecided to Useʼ written,” she asked.

”It isnʼt written in any field,” Shen Zhixia said. ”Itʼs written in a sentence in the middle. A sentence—you canʼt tell who wrote it.”

”So the first line of this explanation doesnʼt state any reasoning,” He Xiufen picked up. ”The first line removes the name first: this paper was not written by me, not signed by me, and I had not received it before. Take it out from under your name first. Then deal with everything else.”

”And then.”

”Then write only the words you wrote.” He Xiufen said. ”You wrote one line of medical orders—write that one line. Donʼt add a single extra character to the page.”

Shen Zhixia spread a blank statement sheet in front of Lin Qi and placed the pen by her hand.

Lin Qiʼs fingertips brushed the edge of the paper. She signed medical records with ease; writing this kind of document was a first for her.

After a while, she picked up the pen.

Her writing was very slow.

”1. The Explanatory Statement was not written by me, was not signed by me, and I had not received the document prior to this.”

”2. At 00:40 on December 27, in accordance with that dayʼs progress notes, I issued a medical order for Carbetocin Injection. The signature is my own.”

At the third line, she stopped.

”ʼThe medication pickup, seal-breaking, and verification were handled by pharmacy and nursing staff...ʼ” she murmured. ”Do I write names here.”

”Write positions, not names,” He Xiufen said. ”Write who handled it by role, donʼt name anyone.”

Lin Qi nodded and finished the line, then continued below: ”4. The procurement, temporary transfer, and return of this drug fall outside my departmentʼs and my own authority.”

The pen moved downward. She started the fifth line: ”5. My understanding of the phrase ʼDecided to Useʼ is...”

When she reached the four words ”Decided to Use,” the pen stopped.

A small ink dot remained on the paper, blooming wider and wider.

[Thud. She only claims one line of writing. The paper says four words.]

”Not this.” She set the pen down, crossed out the half-written line, and wrote anew:

”5. I have never used the phrase ʼDecided to Use.ʼ The phrase was not written by me.”

On the signature line, she wrote her name and that dayʼs date.

When she finished, she put the pen down and braced both hands on the table.

”Iʼm not afraid of losing my license,” she said. ”Iʼm afraid I canʼt make myself clear.”

”You didnʼt explain,” Shen Zhixia said. ”You only wrote down the words you wrote. Not one stroke more.”

He Xiufen picked up the page and read it from top to bottom, paying particular attention to the signature.

”Go submit it tomorrow morning,” she said. ”Donʼt mail it. Submit it in person and have them write on the receipt how many pages they received, what day, and who accepted it. Registered mail can get lost; a receipt wonʼt. Make a copy before you turn it in and keep yours.”

”What about the stack on the medication,” Shen Zhixia asked.

”Donʼt stuff it into this paper yet,” He Xiufen said. ”This paper only addresses whatʼs on this paper. The drug is one line, the paper is another. Keep them separate.”

* * *

That evening, Shen Zhixia walked Lin Qi back to Youfang Lane.

Dusk was just settling when the bus reached the stop. A few people sat outside the corner store downstairs, watching the news on TV. The old woman had finished cleaning her shepherdʼs purse greens, leaving a few yellow leaves scattered on the concrete.

At the building entrance, Lin Qi stopped.

”I want... to hear my momʼs voice.”

Shen Zhixia pulled out her phone and found the name in her contacts. Sheʼd copied the number back in January from the emergency contact field on the landlordʼs lease and from a courier waybill; on those earlier calls, Lin Qi had been in Tongling.

She dialed. It rang twice before the other end picked up.

”Hello?”

She handed the phone to Lin Qi and stepped back two paces to the base of the wall.

”Mom,” Lin Qi said.

There was a pause on the other end.

”...Qiqi?” An older womanʼs voice, not loud, with a television playing in the background. ”Have you eaten?”

”Yes.”

”Is it cold over there?”

”Not cold anymore.”

”Is your money enough? Last time you said you needed to buy that... that whatsit.”

”Enough.”

”Enough is good.”

”Is everything fine at home?”

”All fine. Your sister-in-law came by last week and brought two chickens. Your dadʼs leg is the same—hurts when itʼs overcast, fine when itʼs sunny.” A beat. ”When are you coming back.”

”In a while.”

”In a while is fine. Work comes first.”

”Mm.”

”All good?”

”All good.”

”Good. Good.”

The TV sound on the other end grew louder, as if someone had entered the room, then faded again. Lin Qi pressed the phone closer to her ear. She didnʼt speak, and she didnʼt let the other end hang up either. After a few seconds, she said:

”Mom, I should get back to work.”

”Go on. Donʼt skimp on food.”

”Mm.”

When the call ended, the duration was forty-seven seconds.

Lin Qi handed the phone back, her hand pausing on its edge before letting go.

”My mom sounds good,” she said.

”She does,” Shen Zhixia said.

”She canʼt tell,” Lin Qi said. ”She can only tell whether the moneyʼs enough and whether Iʼve eaten.”

Shen Zhixia didnʼt answer. The wind blew that yellow leaf across the entrance and pressed it against the threshold.

Lin Qi folded the two pages in half, then in half again, then into thirds, aligning the edges twice and pressing them flat.

She held it out.

”Keep this for me,” she said. ”When Iʼm brave enough to read it, give it back.”

Shen Zhixiaʼs fingers touched the paperʼs edge and hesitated. It was folded hard, the corners sharp against her skin.

”Okay,” she said. ”Whenever you want to see it, just tell me.”

”Mm.”

Lin Qi turned and went upstairs. The fourth-floor light cord still hadnʼt been replaced. She climbed step by step, one hand on the wall, her footsteps echoing twice in the stairwell.

Shen Zhixia stood below.

The fourth-floor window lit up. It stayed lit for a while, then went dark.

The two pages were still in her hand, the creases digging into her palm. She looked up twice but didnʼt go up.