Justice System: I Litigate for the Whole City

Chapter 184 : The Empty Signature Line

There were two marks on the back of her hand. One was from a pinch, faint purple, row after row, running from the webbing of her thumb down to her wrist. The other was from an IV needle. The nurse had needed two tries to get it in; the second went deeper than the first.

Lin Qi lay on the bed by the window, the blanket pulled up to her chin. The afternoon wind of April 12th slipped through the gap in the window that hadnʼt been shut all the way, puffing the hem of the curtain in and out. The machine at the head of the bed beeped once a second, steady, unhurried.

Shen Zhixia sat in the plastic chair beside the bed. Sheʼd been there since noon, leaving twice in between: once to ask the nursesʼ station for a copy of the outpatient emergency records, which she couldnʼt get; once downstairs to buy two buns, still sitting on the windowsill now, wrappers unopened.

Lin Qiʼs eyelids twitched. She looked at the ceiling first, then at the IV tube, and only then at the person by the bed.

”Did I make trouble for you again?”

”Plenty of people make trouble.” Shen Zhixia nudged the bag of buns inward. ”Youʼre not one of them.”

”I brought you two buns,” she added. ”The place downstairs only had red bean paste and pork left. Which one do you want?”

”Iʼm not hungry.”

”Then theyʼll wait.” Shen Zhixia said. ”Foodʼs still food, sitting there.”

Lin Qi tried to push herself up, but her knee buckled and she sank back. Shen Zhixia reached over and pressed her shoulder, gently.

”The case...” Lin Qi stared at a loose thread on the blanket. ”The appraisal, the hearing—did I hold everything up?”

”The hearing can be rescheduled.”

”And the date on that paper? A date on paper canʼt be changed, can it?”

Shen Zhixia didnʼt answer that. She scooted her chair half a foot closer.

”What this case has always lacked isnʼt a piece of paper. Itʼs a person standing in court, saying clearly what she saw that night.” She said, ”That person is lying here right now, a needle in the back of her hand, asking me if sheʼs made trouble.”

Lin Qiʼs eyes went red in an instant.

”You being alive—thatʼs the biggest piece of evidence there is.”

She turned her face toward the window, shoulders trembling a few times, no sound. Shen Zhixia moved her chair back half a step and waited for her to finish crying.

”I stood up there for a long time.” After a while, Lin Qi said, ”I wasnʼt afraid to die. What I kept thinking was—if I signed, theyʼd all come out clean. If I didnʼt sign, theyʼd sign it for me.”

”So you came back.” Shen Zhixia said. ”You came back, so that paper canʼt be signed in your place.”

The room went quiet for a few seconds. The machine kept beeping, just as slowly.

”Attorney Shen.” Lin Qi said. ”I didnʼt sign those eight characters.”

”I know.”

”In the car, I said something to you.” Her voice dropped. ”Did you save it?”

Shen Zhixia pulled out her phone, scrolled to it, and held the screen up to her. Seven characters. Not one wrong, nothing deleted.

”The drug wasnʼt my call.” Shen Zhixia read it aloud.

Lin Qi looked at the line for a long time, then said, ”Give it to me. I want to write it myself.”

Shen Zhixia drew a blank sheet from her folder, took a black pen from her pencil case, uncapped it, and passed it over, point toward Lin Qi.

Lin Qiʼs right hand was on the IV, so she had to use her left. Left-handed writing is slow, the strokes crooked, horizontals not flat, verticals not straight. She wrote those seven characters, paused, wrote her name, and finally the date: April 12th.

When she finished, she set the pen down.

”This one. Iʼll sign it.”

[Thud. These strokes: she wrote them herself.]

Shen Zhixia picked up the paper, held it to the window to check, and once the ink was dry, slipped it into the innermost slot of the folder.

”Iʼll hold onto it for now and submit everything together later.” She snapped the cap back on the pen. ”Those eight characters were never yours to write. Whoever wrote it signs it. Whoever signs it answers for it.”

Lin Qiʼs hand moved to her chest and found nothing there.

”Your name badge is in my pocket.” Shen Zhixia pulled it from the inner pocket of her jacket. The plastic shell still bore water stains. ”I found it in that puddle on the roof. I wiped it off with a tissue.”

Lin Qi reached for it. Shen Zhixia held onto the broken lanyard, not letting go.

”It stays with me for now.” She put the badge back in her pocket. ”The day you hang it back on yourself, Iʼll return it.”

Lin Qiʼs hand hovered in midair for a moment, then settled back onto the blanket.

”My mom... doesnʼt know, right?”

”No. Before you opened your eyes, nobody told her.”

”Donʼt call yet.” Lin Qi said.

”Fine.” Shen Zhixia said. ”Whenever you want to, Iʼll dial. Iʼll write up what needs submitting tomorrow tonight. You only have one job in here: sleep.”

At 5:20, the meal cart came from the far end of the hall, iron wheels scraping against the tile.

He Xiufen arrived carrying a plastic bag with two pork buns and a cup of soy milk inside.

”Eat while itʼs hot.” She shoved the bag at Shen Zhixia and sat down on the bench herself. ”Hand me the folder.”

Shen Zhixia passed it over. He Xiufen pulled out two sheets, resting one on her left leg, one on her right.

”Look.”

The one on the left was the Statement on the Clinical Use of the Drug in Question. The signature line was blank. The date field read March 30th. In the lower right corner sat a company seal.

The one on the right was the Written Explanation in Lin Qiʼs own hand—two pages, her writing, her name and the date at the end.

”Count for me,” He Xiufen said. ”Across these two pages, how many characters are hers?”

Shen Zhixia counted. On the left-hand paper, not a single one.

”When this paper was submitted to the Commission, her signature line was blank.” He Xiufen tapped the sheet. ”The Commission used it to pin her down. She didnʼt claim it, so it claimed for her.”

”Theyʼre not short on paper.” She went on. ”If that drug was used through normal channels, would they need a separate Statement on Usage spelling out that she was the one who ʼDecided to Useʼ it? Would they need to chase her down for a signature?”

”So the act of chasing her to sign is itself a piece of paper.” Shen Zhixia said.

”Correct.” He Xiufen lined up the two sheets, holding them level. ”You write the supplementary evidence. Lay these two side by side. One bears her handwriting, her name. The other has not a single character of hers, the signature line empty to this day. When it was submitted, who handled the submission, why the signature line is empty—write the facts. You donʼt write the word ʼcoerced.ʼ”

”I know.”

”I said this morning: we donʼt touch the drug stack today.” He Xiufen slipped the papers back into the folder. ”But these two pages—theyʼre about a person. This morning she stood in front of that wall. These two pieces of paper are the hand that pushed her onto it.”

Shen Zhixia watched the folder close before she spoke. ”This hospital is the defendant. Iʼve been thinking about the transfer.”

”Canʼt be done. That knee—if anything happened on the move, whoʼd answer for it?” He Xiufen said. ”Besides, keeping her right under their noses means they wonʼt dare lay a finger on her.”

The words had barely left her mouth when a nurse came down the hall, paused at the doorway, glanced in, and walked on.

”Someone from Medical Affairs came by this afternoon too.” Shen Zhixia said. ”Asking who was sitting with Bed 12 when she was admitted.”

”Write it down. What time, what department, exactly what was said.” He Xiufen said. ”Keep the notebook for me.”

The phone buzzed. Shen Zhixia glanced at it. Peng Weidong.

”Did you find Doctor Lin?” The voice on the other end was thick. ”I saw that post in the group.”

”Found her. Sheʼs all right.”

”Is this because sheʼs testifying for me?”

”Things that have nothing to do with you, donʼt pile them onto yourself.” Shen Zhixia said.

The line went silent for a moment. ”Attorney Shen, let me say something straight. My wifeʼs gone, my kidʼs in my arms. Please donʼt let Doctor Lin get hurt over this case. Iʼll drop it if I have to.”

He Xiufen reached over and took the phone.

”Peng.” She said. ”If you back out now, that piece of paper with her signature on it becomes scrap. You want her standing on that wall for nothing?”

Silence on the other end.

”...Then make sure sheʼs okay.”

”Mm.” He Xiufen handed the phone back.

Barely hung up, and it rang again. This time it was Section Chief Zou from the Chengbei District Health Commission.

Short call, two items. One: the deadline. Lin Qiʼs written explanation had until the 24th. The other: the hospital had called that morning.

”How did the hospital report it?” Shen Zhixia asked.

”Said her emotional state has been consistently unstable, connected to the disciplinary action.”

”Then take a note.” Shen Zhixia said. ”This morning at 11:06, she was brought into Chengbei Hospitalʼs ER by a Municipal Emergency Center ambulance. I have the dispatch sheet number right here. Registration, EKG, knee X-ray, tetanus shot: 327.50 yuan. Paid on my own card.”

The other end went quiet for two seconds. ”Write all that up and send it to me.”

”Iʼll write it today. The two-page explanation—she delivered it to the intake window on the 10th herself. The remaining page of supporting material is still with me. Sheʼs still lying in bed; the documents will take a couple more days.”

”All right.” Section Chief Zou said. ”Let her get treatment first. Whenever the materials arrive, thatʼs when they arrive.”

He added one more thing: the Commission had ordered Chengbei Hospital to submit, within three working days, the source of those four characters—”Decided to Use”—in the Statement on Usage. Which record it came from, whose signature. If they couldnʼt produce it, that point would stay marked as pending, no conclusion drawn.

After she hung up, He Xiufen drained the last of the soy milk and crushed the paper cup.

”I said this morning we werenʼt pushing the Commission today.” She said. ”You didnʼt push it—it turned around on its own. You only have one job now: flip that sentence the hospital fed them this morning. She was pushed onto that rooftop by two pieces of paper. As long as we know whose hands hold the paper, their sentence doesnʼt stand.”

A quarter past seven, Lu Jibai came off the elevator. This time the top button of his shirt was done up, his cuffs let down.

He carried nothing. He sat at the far end of the bench, two peopleʼs worth of space between them.

”How is she?”

”Awake. Wrote a page herself.”

Shen Zhixia pulled the paper out and held it up between them, not handing it over. Seven characters, with the signature and date below.

Lu Jibai glanced at it twice.

”Those seven characters are emotion right now, not testimony.” He said. ”What needs saying in court isnʼt ʼnot mine.ʼ Itʼs ʼwhose.ʼ”

She lowered her voice and told him what Lin Qi had said on the rooftop: someone standing beside the treatment cart, looking at the empty ampoule. He listened and didnʼt ask who.

”Have her think through three things.” He rested his hands on his knees. ”First: from the pharmacy to that treatment cart, how many hands did that drug pass through—whereʼs her sign-off, whereʼs the one who opened it. Second: when she wrote the order, was that vial already on the cart. Third: the person she turned and saw—which side of the cart were they standing on, and what were they looking at.”

Shen Zhixia fished out her notebook and jotted it down, point by point.

”If she can answer these three, itʼs testimony. If she canʼt, fine too—say so in court that she canʼt answer.” He said. ”A witness doesnʼt have to remember everything.”

”One more thing.” He paused. ”Starting today, donʼt let her sign another sheet of paper. No matter who hands it to her.”

”Including us at Zhengping?”

”Including Zhengping.” He said. ”The page she wrote herself—that oneʼs fine. Anything else: photograph it first, then put it down.”

The window at the end of the hall hadnʼt been fully closed. The wind lifted a corner of the ”Visiting Rules” notice on the wall until it couldnʼt stay flat.

”You didnʼt say ʼIʼll fight this case for youʼ to her today.” Lu Jibai said suddenly.

”No.”

”What did you say?”

”I said her being alive is the biggest piece of evidence there is.”

He didnʼt respond at first. Then: ”Judgments are read to the living. Sheʼll remember those words longer than sheʼll remember the judgment.”

He rose to go, but stopped midway down the bench and nudged the unopened bag of buns toward her.

”Those two buns from this afternoon are still on the windowsill.”

Shen Zhixia blinked. Heʼd come by once that morning, stood in the hallway. Heʼd seen.

The elevator doors closed, and the hallway held only her.

At nine, the nursesʼ station dimmed half its lights. She opened her notebook and wrote down the three things from today: Medical Affairs came by this afternoon, what time; Section Chief Zouʼs call, three working days; the Municipal Emergency Center dispatch number, four digits per group. Done, she closed the book.

That page surfaced in her mind again. At the top: ”Baixi Village · Shen Qian.” Below it: ”Attachment — One Page, Missing.” Below that, blank. Today, no case was closed. Not a single character on that page had moved.

Today all three of these things ran along this one hallway: a drug of unclear origin, a page sheʼd written in her own hand, a testimony nine years overdue. They didnʼt touch each other, but all of them would eventually land on the same page.

Just as she was about to stand, a sound came in her ear.

[Thud. A character never written is still a stroke.]

She copied the line onto the last page of her notebook and closed it.