Justice System: I Litigate for the Whole City

Chapter 141 : The Hospital Admits

January 23rd, Saturday, 9:30 a.m. The date had been set over the phone by the presiding judge—the courtʼs schedule was jammed, so heʼd asked if a weekend morning would work. He Xiufen had answered with two words: thatʼs fine.

Chengbei District Peopleʼs Court, second floor, Third Mediation Room.

The judge sat at one end of the long table, flanked by the court clerk and an open laptop. Two stacks of materials sat at the other end. The thicker stack on the left was squared off, its corners flush with the tableʼs edge, a black pen resting on top of the case file with its cap pointing inward. The man seated by the stack finished counting the pages, withdrew his hands, and folded them over his knees.

Director Xu sat to his right, a dark jacket pulled over his white coat. Two more chairs lined the wall; Huang Weizhong sat in one, his coat draped over his arm.

He Xiufen entered first, setting down the name ”Lawyer Lu” before anything else.

Lu Jibai rose and gave a slight nod. ”Director He.” His gaze traveled past her, settling on the last person through the door.

”Lawyer Shen.”

”Lawyer Lu.”

The stack was his. Corners against the tableʼs edge, a pen on the case file, cap pointing inward. Shen Zhixia glanced down at her own notebook—spine facing up, pressed against the table corner. Same placement. She nudged it half an inch to the side before sitting.

The clerk verified identities, verified service, verified agency authority—reciting each item in sequence. He Xiufen handed over the power of attorney and the firm letter; Lu Jibai did the same on his side, quick, with stamps pressed perfectly straight.

”Today is evidence exchange.” The presiding judge set his pen down. ”Plaintiffʼs side—whoʼll be handling the materials?”

”She will.” He Xiufen said. ”Iʼll supplement.”

The judge glanced at Shen Zhixia. ”Slowly. The clerk needs to record.”

She kept it brief, one line per item: the sealing inventory and on-site photos from the day of sealing; a photocopy of the Autopsy Notice; printed electronic medical records; the Medical Affairs Officeʼs on-site record from January 21st; Hengzhengʼs Lawyerʼs Letter of January 6th with its one-page attachment; the January 12th reply letter and its registered-mail receipt. Six items done, she pushed the stack half a foot toward the center of the table.

”Defendant.”

Lu Jibai opened his own stack. The first page was the list. ”Consistent with what was served on the plaintiff before hearing. Six items. The second item includes two pages of the shift handover records in transcribed form.”

”Those two pages,” Shen Zhixia said. ”Are they the originals or transcribed copies?”

”Transcribed copies.”

”Where are the originals?”

”The originals are sealed in the hospitalʼs Medical Records Room and have not been submitted with the file.”

The clerkʼs keyboard paused, then resumed.

[Thud. He named where they were sealed, not where theyʼd been taken that night.]

”The defendant confirms that item two contains no originals,” the judge said.

”Confirmed,” Lu Jibai said.

She flipped the Statement of Defense photocopy to the middle and read aloud one line: ”The department carried out a transcribed consolidation of the shift handover records pursuant to internal management requirements.” She raised her eyes. ”Please have the defendant confirm that this sentence was written by the defendant.”

Lu Jibai paused half a second. ”Confirmed. The sentence is from Article Two of the Statement of Defense, already served on the plaintiff before hearing.”

She turned the page face-up and laid it in the center of the table. ”Iʼm not asking who copied it. Iʼm asking about two things: on one side you claim the records are complete and thereʼs been no forgery or tampering; on the other, youʼve admitted the department organized a transcription. And while you acknowledge this sentence, youʼve submitted two copied pages—with no originals.”

”Plaintiffʼs side.” The judge cut in. ”Keep the conclusions short. Today, weʼre recording facts.”

”The facts are those two sentences.” She pushed forward another sheet—the attachment to the January 6th letter. ”Please have the defendant look at this page.”

Lu Jibai picked it up, read it at the same measured pace as before, start to finish, and set it back down.

”This page was issued by our firm. The defendant has no objection to its authenticity,” he said. ”As for its evidentiary purpose—a lawyerʼs opinion cannot prove that any party engaged in tampering.”

”Iʼm not using it to prove tampering.” She said. ”Iʼm using it to prove one thing: before the defendant handed over these two transcribed pages, they already knew they had one copied set and one original set in their possession. This page states—records already sealed and copied shall not be reorganized or have pages replaced; if the hospital has already organized a re-copy, it shall cease immediately and preserve both the recopied pages and the originals together, intact.”

[Thud. The words left her mouth, and the paper entered the record.]

The mediation room went quiet for a few seconds. Director Xu squeezed the hem of his jacket, then released it.

”The defendantʼs position on the remaining evidence,” the judge said.

”The Lawyerʼs Letter and its attachment, the reply letter, and the receipt—no objection to authenticity.” Lu Jibai said. ”The facts the plaintiff seeks to establish from them are not accepted.”

”Record it.”

She opened her notebook and pulled out a page—an application stamped with the courtʼs receipt seal. ”The plaintiffʼs three applications. Written copies are already in the file.”

”First: the original shift handover records for the December 26th and 27th shifts, and the original Nursing Record Logbook from the Obstetrics Nursesʼ Station, to be produced to this court and reviewed in the presence of both parties. On the logbookʼs page following the entry for the nighttime retrieval on December 30th, an entire page has been torn out. I request the page after the tear as well.”

”Second: pursuant to this courtʼs preservation order of January 20th, the defendantʼs system operation logs, the backup media from before the system replacement, and the migration inventory records.”

”Third: in the Verification Statement submitted January 18th, the plaintiff requests a written explanation from the defendant regarding the source of one signature.”

”That notebook is not a medical record.” Director Xu spoke up. ”Itʼs for internal department notes—”

”The defendant objects on relevance.” Lu Jibai took over. ”The notebook is an internal department register and has no bearing on diagnosis or treatment.”

”The objection is noted and will be ruled on before trial.” The judge tapped his pen twice on the paper. ”The originals are to be delivered to this court first. The court will decide after review. Three days.”

Director Xu glanced at Lu Jibai. The latter didnʼt look back, only said to the judge: ”The defendant will deliver on schedule.”

”The backup and inventory records,” the judge said.

”The notice this court issued on January 20th set a three-day deadline.” Shen Zhixia said.

”The media has to go through the technical department for extraction. Three days wonʼt be enough.” Lu Jibai said. ”The defendant requests an extension to ten days. During that period, the original data in the system will remain untouched.”

”The extension is entered into the record.” The judge said. ”Submit within ten days; if any item does not exist, provide a written explanation.”

”The signature source.”

”Verification is underway. A written response will be provided within the evidence submission deadline.”

”Please specify who signed it, when it was signed, and the name and title of the verifying party.” Shen Zhixia said.

Lu Jibai looked at her. The look was brief, asked nothing. She didnʼt elaborate either.

[Thud. He didnʼt ask ”whether it was signed by the person herself.”]

”Lawyer Shen, our hospital has gone through these pages twice, front to back.” From the chair against the wall, Huang Weizhong spoke.

”Director Huang.” The judge raised his head. ”The defendantʼs statements are to be made by the authorized agent.”

Huang Weizhong withdrew his hand from his coat and straightened up.

The clerk printed the record—two copies. He Xiufen read hers through from the beginning and drew a checkmark beside an error in line spacing. Lu Jibai read faster, then signed under ”Litigation Agent”—three strokes, each inside the line. He Xiufen signed as well. They exchanged copies, and each was stamped with the courtʼs receipt seal.

”The positions recorded today will not be restated at trial,” the judge said. ”Cross-examination of evidence is reserved for the hearing. Weʼre done.”

* * *

The corridor wasnʼt long—stairwells at both ends, two elevator doors in the middle.

Theyʼd walked a dozen paces from the mediation room when someone caught up from behind.

”Lawyer Shen, a word.”

Huang Weizhong still wore his polite expression. He Xiufen didnʼt move, just stood looking at the wall. Shen Zhixia stopped.

”Everything this morning—you got it all into the record.”

”The court did.”

”On Dr. Linʼs matter, the hospital will have a decision this afternoon.” He lowered his voice half a notch. ”The number you want—we can talk about it first. The childʼs account doesnʼt need to wait for the appraisal. Just one condition: donʼt tie the two things together and push them upstairs.”

”Letʼs talk about the cause of death first,” she said.

”The cause of death is for the appraisal to decide.”

”Then weʼll wait for the appraisal.”

Huang Weizhong smiled, very briefly. ”That decision—it didnʼt have to be issued. Go home and think it over. Call me when youʼre clear. I gave the number to Director Xu.”

”Director Huang.” He Xiufen came up from behind, pulling on her gloves one finger at a time. ”Money gets discussed in court. No phone calls. The one in our office is for clients to use.”

Huang Weizhong looked at her and was about to reply when someone rounded the corner from the stairwell.

Lu Jibai, case file in hand, unhurried, stopped beside Huang Weizhong.

”Director Huang.” He said. ”Todayʼs statements and deadlines are all in the record. Each side holds a copy.” He paused. ”Whatʼs said after adjournment is harder to clarify.”

The corridor went silent for two seconds. The goodwill on Huang Weizhongʼs face withdrew; the smile stayed at the corners of his mouth, but his eyes changed. ”Lawyer Lu, what do you—”

The elevator doors opened. Lu Jibai reached out to hold them, already halfway in.

”That page was written by you,” she said.

He stood inside the doors, turned back: ”It was.”

The doors closed.

He Xiufen watched the door. ”He didnʼt say one false thing today.” She tugged her gloves up. ”That line was true too.”

Huang Weizhong turned around, his face composed again. ”Next Monday, please come to the hospital.”

”To discuss what?” He Xiufen asked.

”To discuss the case.” He draped the coat back over his arm and walked toward the stairs.

She pulled out the photocopy of the legal opinion from her notebook and looked at it. Before today, it had been just a page tucked among her papers; from today, it was in the record.

* * *

12:20 p.m., upstairs at the Old Town Noodle House. The stove downstairs had just been shut off; the smell of scallion oil still hung at the stairwell.

He Xiufen spread the record photocopy across the table and set the legal opinion page by her hand. ”Three lines nailed in today.” She tapped down with the butt of her chopsticks. ”Originals not submitted; the department admitted to the transcription; three deadlines.”

”Thereʼs one more line,” Shen Zhixia said. ”The page he wrote to the hospital is now in the record.”

”That page in the file works both ways—half of it speaks for him, half of it pins the hospital down for you.” He Xiufen set the chopsticks aside. ”Before Monday, draft the appraisal application. Once the logbook originals reach the court, hold that tear up to the light—thatʼs the first cut in this case.”

”Iʼve already gotten a quote for the appraisal fee.” Shen Zhixia said. ”Class-based screening is charged separately. Iʼve noted the portion the firm advances in my book.”

”Note it to the case, not to you.” He Xiufen said. ”Renew the cold storage for another week. Deliver the form yourself, donʼt make him take time off.”

”I know. He works three shifts. One day off means losing his full-attendance bonus.”

Shen Zhixia opened her notebook flat and turned to the last page. First she wrote a line: January 23rd, evidence exchange. Below it: originals within three days; backup within ten; signature source, within the evidence period.

When she finished, she skipped a line and wrote: Next Monday, Huang Weizhong meeting, at the hospital.

Her phone buzzed on the table. The un-saved number. A text message, only one line: The Medical Affairs Office called again, asking me to come up next Monday.

She copied the message below that line, then drew a vertical stroke between the two lines, separating the dates. The line came out perfectly straight.