Justice System: I Litigate for the Whole City

Chapter 187 : Erasure Marks at Page Number

The courier envelope was kraft paper, sealed with two strips of tape. The paper cutter slid down the side. Out first came a Proof of Service, then the thin bound booklet.

April 20th, 10 a.m. The noodle shop downstairs had just finished the breakfast rush. Someone was hosing down the tiles, the sound of water rising from beneath the window.

He Xiufen set her enamel mug on the corner of the long table, lid still on. ”Read the date.”

Bottom right of the cover: Ningchuan Qiushi Judicial Appraisal Office. First page, dated April 17th.

”Sent back on March 19th. Thirty days.” She said, ”Todayʼs the 20th.”

”It walked itself back within the thirty days.” He Xiufen picked up the mug and carried it to the window. ”You read it. I wonʼt look.”

The table of contents was different from the last one. The previous versionʼs first line had read ”Catalogue of Four Items Submitted for Appraisal.” This oneʼs first line read:

”Basis of Materials: Thirty-four pages of sealed materials already in the case file, numbered page by page. See attachment sequence table.”

She read line by line. When she reached item eight, she stopped. After item eight in the attachment sequence table, there was a line of small print: Nursing Record, page eight, erasure marks visible at page number.

Last month, in the corridor outside the Third Courtroom, Lu Zhicheng had clutched his document envelope and said ”If Iʼm told to write ʼmarks present,ʼ Iʼll write ʼmarks present.ʼ” Sheʼd answered, ”Donʼt write it for me.” Today, that line—heʼd written it himself.

She laid the photocopy of the old opinion on the left, the photocopy of the sealing inventory on the right.

The left one read: Reviewed page eight of the medical records. The entries on this page are continuous, with no trace of alterations or additions.

The middle one read: Erasure marks visible at page number on this page.

The right-hand inventory, dated New Yearʼs Day, read: Erasure marks.

[Thud. The paper had been moved back to its original spot. The indentation still matched.]

Further on came the conclusion. Three findings of fault, each set out in its own paragraph:

One: Chengbei Hospital failed to discharge its obligation to inform Chen Xiaoman of the autopsy. The signature field on the notice document was blank. Fault established.

Two: The medical records were improperly written and managed. The shift handover record showed post-hoc reorganization, transcription, and inserted content. Page eight of the Nursing Record showed erasure marks at the page number. Fault established.

Three: The procurement, acceptance, and receiving procedures for the Carbetocin Injection were incomplete. There was no written basis for its use. Fault established.

Final paragraph of the conclusion: A causal relationship exists between the above faults of Chengbei Hospital and the death of the subject Chen Xiaoman from postpartum hemorrhage. The degree of causal contribution is assessed as equal.

The old opinion had said: The degree of causation between Chengbei Hospitalʼs improper medical record writing and management and Chen Xiaomanʼs death is assessed as minor.

She added one line at the very bottom of the three-column sheet. Left column: ”minor.” Middle column: ”equal.” Right column: blank.

Only then did He Xiufen walk back from the window, put on her glasses, and read through the two conclusion pages once, then read the catalogue entry twice, and hung the glasses from her collar.

”The line about page eight is worth more than all three findings combined,” she said. ”Three findings—he saw those. This line—he looked again.”

”From minor to equal.”

”His first copy was him reading someone elseʼs paper.”

She copied that line into her notebook. When she was done, she pulled out her phone and sent one line to the number sheʼd never saved. Not one word added:

Erasure marks at page number

Three words came back: He wrote it.

She stared at the screen for two seconds, then replied: Mm.

At 2:30 p.m., at the courtʼs case filing window. She submitted two documents: a Supplementary Evidence List with three blank columns—one for the document, one for the source, one for the date—and an Application for Evidence Collection, requesting the court to obtain from the Market Supervision Bureau the relevant pages of the drug warehouse receiving register and the on-site inspection record.

The clerk at the window counted the pages, stamped them, and pushed the receipt back out.

”When did the defendantʼs side receive the corrected opinion?”

”Same day it was mailed. Signed for on the morning of the 20th.” The clerk said, ”Same hour as the copy in your hand.”

She put the receipt away. Outside, a gust of wind caught a sheet of paper on the steps and sent it rolling twice along the ground.

* * *

That evening, scallion oil hit the wok, and the sounds from downstairs surged up wave after wave. He Xiufen wiped down the long table and had her lay out the papers sheʼd need to read in court, in order. The table was under two meters. The papers didnʼt fit.

”Split them into three stacks.”

The first stack was paper: page eight of the sealed Nursing Record, the original and transcribed copies of the shift handover record, the ”Self-Review Statement” with its line reading ”verification found no written record,” and the blank signature line on the ”Statement on Clinical Use.”

The second stack was the drug: the surname in the drug warehouse receiving register, the two empty receiver fields on the two shipment documents, the two same-day invoices—Hengyue selling to Hengkang, Hengkang selling to Chengbei—the March 22nd return-to-warehouse slip, and the 186-yuan line on the daily charge sheet.

The third stack was a single sheet: seven characters written in Lin Qiʼs own hand.

He Xiufen pushed the third stack forward until it aligned with the second.

”Paper first, then the drug,” she said. ”If you start with the drug, one ʼtechnical matters arenʼt my fieldʼ from him and the whole stack slides by.”

”If you start with the paper, you make them first admit they altered it themselves.”

”Thatʼs it.” He Xiufen said, ”When you read it, donʼt read it point by point. String it together—the paper was touched, the source canʼt be produced, the drugʼs provenance is unclear. Three things, one line.”

”What are the two ends of the line?”

”One end is that notice document. The other end is that injection.” He Xiufen said, ”Thereʼs not a single name in the middle.”

She memorized the positions of the three stacks and ran the sequence through her mind once.

On the 21st and 22nd, she copied each of the three stacks once, went to the hospital, and went over with Lin Qi the questions sheʼd ask that day. The white coat had been washed and was hanging from the bed rail. Lin Qi asked if she could wear it to court. She said yes, then added, ”Wait for me at the courtroom door. Weʼll go in together.”

”Before the 24th, submit the remaining page of supporting material from Lin Qiʼs explanation to the commission,” He Xiufen said.

”Iʼll remember.”

”And the witness?”

”Lin Qi has agreed to appear. Master Dong wonʼt take the stand—according to He Min, he went back on his own the day before yesterday and added two lines in the ʼother matters requiring explanationʼ box on the last page of the inspection record, then signed it.”

”If he doesnʼt show, those five vials are still just one old manʼs story.” He Xiufen took off her glasses. ”The plaintiff himself.”

”The summons was issued in his name.”

”Get him there.” She said, ”He doesnʼt have to speak. He just has to sit there.”

As they were clearing the table, He Xiufen added one more thing.

”Heʼll call you in the next couple of days.”

”What would he call about?”

”Heʼs out of new paper. Thereʼs only one thing left he can try—rattle you, keep you off balance.”

That night she opened the Unsettled Ledger. The page was still just those two lines. Not one word more.

* * *

On the afternoon of the 24th, at the Health Commission window. She submitted one photocopied page of the ”Self-Review Statement” (stamped ”Verified Against Original”), one printed shift schedule page (the December 30th slot crossed out, a different name written in), and half a page of explanation stating the source and date. She took the receipt.

”The 24th.” The clerk glanced at the desk calendar. ”The last day.”

At 10-something in the morning on the 25th, Song Qiming called.

”Attorney Shen, Iʼve received the opinion.”

”On my end it arrived the morning of the 20th.”

”Same office, same appraiser. March 11th he writes ʼminor.ʼ April 17th he writes ʼequal.ʼ” He said, ”In between, not one new item entered the file.”

”In between, one sentence entered: based on the sealed materials already in the case.” She said, ”If you want to apply for a redetermination of the appraisal institution, or to have the appraiser appear in court, put it in writing and file it with the court. Iʼll take a copy. Whateverʼs said over the phone, I donʼt record.”

”Iʼll file it.”

”Before you file it, Iʼd like to hear one thing.”

”Go ahead.”

There was a pause on the other end. ”I represent the defendant,” he said. ”Whatʼs in the record, I report. What isnʼt in the record, I donʼt add and I donʼt delete. Same goes for these four pages.”

”See you tomorrow.”

”See you tomorrow.” He was about to hang up, then added half a sentence: ”When it comes to reading paper, Iʼm not your equal. The rest... weʼll talk tomorrow.”

She put down her phone and added a line at the bottom of the call log: 25th, 10:12 a.m. Defendantʼs counsel Song Qiming called. States he will apply for redetermination of the appraisal institution and for the appraiser to appear in court.

* * *

At 8:50 p.m., the noodle shop was filling up. Someone stopped at the foot of the stairs. His feet didnʼt lift.

Peng Weidong. Jacket collar up, phone in his hand, not clenched into a fist.

”Come in. Sit.”

He came in and sat down, placing his phone face-up in front of her. A call log entry: unsaved number, 20:47, duration one minute and forty seconds.

”Same person, same number from last time,” he said. ”Last time he said the number could still go up. This time he gave me a number.”

”How much.”

”Three million eight hundred thousand. Child support separate, in one lump sum.” He said, ”He said no signature needed.”

”Conditions.”

”Just one.” Peng Weidong placed both hands on his knees. ”Tomorrow, I donʼt go.”

[Thud. The words ”withdraw the lawsuit” were someone elseʼs price tag, too.]

Someone downstairs shouted for extra noodles. She got up, poured a glass of water, set it by his hand, and didnʼt rush him.

”He said the money could be transferred tomorrow morning,” Peng Weidong said. ”I could hear him smiling when he said it.”

”How long were you standing downstairs today?”

”Half an hour.”

”I know.”

”Zhixia, tell me straight.” He looked up. ”If I go tomorrow, when does the money reach my hands?”

”Fastest is a month after judgment. Slower—I wonʼt give you a date.” She said, ”Enforcement still depends on whatʼs in their accounts. I wonʼt give you a date.”

”The money for not going is cash now.” He said it very quietly. ”The money for going is paper.”

”It is paper.” She said, ”But on that paper, two characters will be printed.”

”Which two?”

”Equal.” She said, ”Thatʼs where the truth of how your wife died is written. If that money never enters the judgment, then in this case, nobody was at fault. And when your child grows up and asks, what youʼll still be holding is the paper youʼve scraped together over these six months.”

Peng Weidong didnʼt answer. He flipped the phone over, then back.

”If you donʼt show tomorrow, the hearing will be dismissed as a withdrawal,” she said. ”All my paper becomes waste paper.”

”Donʼt bring her into this,” he said. ”I know youʼre going to bring her into this.”

”Iʼm going to bring her into this.” She pushed the glass of water toward him. ”She wrote seven characters. In her own hand.”

He fished a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, then shoved it back. He stood up, smoothed his jacket collar down, then flipped it up again.

”Tomorrow Iʼll wear this. Is that all right.” He pulled the jacket open a little. The shirt underneath was washed pale, with an old crease at the collar.

”Itʼs fine.”

He stood at the top of the stairs, not moving. ”She bought it for me. Iʼve worn it twice.”

”Then wear it a third time tomorrow.”

”What if I canʼt get up in the morning?”

”Eight oʼclock. Iʼll be outside your building.”

”Your way of blocking people—same move you used on that old man at the warehouse.” His mouth twitched into something like a grin.

”Itʼs different.” She said, ”He didnʼt want to come. Tonight, you still wanted to come.”

He went downstairs.

She stayed where she was, listening to him take the stairs one step at a time, listening to the noodle shop door open and shut, listening to someone downstairs call out ”Take care.”

The glass of water on the table was untouched.

The desk calendar was open to April. A line was drawn under the 15th and under the 24th. The line under the 26th—sheʼd drawn that one on April 13th. She hadnʼt traced over it a second time yet.