Justice System: I Litigate for the Whole City

Chapter 164 : A Different Line to Stand In

At ten in the morning on March 3rd, the courtʼs kraft paper envelope arrived downstairs.

The delivery man stood at the noodle shop entrance talking to He Xiufen, his voice climbing up the stairwell. Someone downstairs called out about lunch in Jiangzhou dialect. Shen Zhixia tore open the seal and pulled out the first page. The title was a size larger than usual: Application for Redetermination of the Appraisal Institution.

Defendant: Chengbei Hospital. Three grounds, two and a half pages.

Ground one: Ningchuan Qiushi Judicial Appraisal Office accepted materials delivered by the defendant on February 18th and 19th, both without transfer documentation. The office had already had substantive contact with this case; the procedure was tainted. Ground two: This caseʼs intake number was filled in late, and the materials still had not been sorted out. Ground three: Appraiser Lu Zhicheng accepted the plaintiffʼs Written Opinion at the February 27th hearing and stated on the record that he would rely on the materials present, which constituted prejudgment and compromised neutrality.

Two requests: replace the appraiser in this case; if not replaced, conduct a new random draw to determine the appraisal institution.

The final paragraph read, ”To prevent the parties from having reasonable doubts about the appraisal conclusions.” The signature line bore the hospitalʼs name, and in the agentʼs signature blank was Song Qimingʼs handwriting.

She pressed the two and a half pages back into the envelope. Downstairs, the soup pot lid clattered—lifted by steam, then dropped back down.

He Xiufen came upstairs carrying her enamel mug, two specks of scallion floating in it. She put on her reading glasses and read the two pages three times.

”Last week, in this room, I said something to you.”

”You said heʼs not fighting me over paper. Heʼs fighting me over time.”

”Itʼs come true.” He Xiufen set the mug on the glass desktop. ”Switch firms, switch people, draw again, reschedule. The page numbers, the paper color, the hole spacing you nailed down in that courtroom—none of it carries over. The new one wonʼt even know what Page Eight looks like.”

”They donʼt want a new person,” Shen Zhixia said. ”They want to run those few lines from scratch.”

”Then you pin those few lines down.” He Xiufen said, ”He picks the person; you pick the paper. He can move the person, but he canʼt move the paper—thereʼs a date on it, and two people named Xu.”

”Heʼs filing for recusal, saying the appraiser accepted our Written Opinion.”

”The appraiser accepted materials from both sides. His eyes stayed on the set of papers in the file. Thatʼs what neutrality means. Write that sentence into your paper.”

Shen Zhixia opened her laptop, thought for two minutes, and typed the title: Written Opinion on the Defendantʼs Application for Redetermination of the Appraisal Institution and Replacement of the Appraiser.

Three points.

One: The ”receiving materials without transfer documentation” the defendant alleges was caused by the defendantʼs own direct delivery. What one did oneself cannot serve as a reason to switch tables.

Two: The office did not accept those two items—the February 27th hearing record states ”not accepted.” The ”substantive contact” the defendant claims? Not a single word of it appears on paper.

Three: The appraiserʼs half-sentence—”based on the set I have in hand today”—meant he would only rely on the papers in the file. Relying only on paper does not mean speaking for anyone. Replace a man who relies only on paper, and the one brought in is the real prejudgment.

Request: Deny the application, and handle it together at the March 5th evidence examination.

At 10:40, a call came in from the Chengbei Hospital Medical Affairs Office.

”Our application has been submitted,” Director Xu said.

”I saw it.”

”The materials—once the new institution is set, weʼll sort them out again.”

”Who sets it?”

”The court sets it.”

”Who wrote those three pages?” she asked. ”Is that also waiting for the new institution to be set before we talk?”

A pause on the other end. ”Iʼll go back and verify.”

”You said the same thing last time.” She said, ”March 5th. Iʼm writing it down.”

She recorded the time of the call and what was said on both sides on the back of the left-grid page, ending with a line: Due March 5th. Unanswered.

At two in the afternoon, the two-page Written Opinion was filed on the third floor of the court. The receipt copy was folded and tucked into the hard-shell folder. On her way out, she remembered Huang Weizhongʼs line—”different place, same line”—which had sounded like a brush-off at the time. Now it had become two and a half pages of paper, with a title, grounds, and requests.

That evening, He Xiufen peeled garlic downstairs. She asked what to bring tomorrow. He Xiufen didnʼt look up: ”Two pens.”

”You said the same thing last time.”

”Last time you only brought one.”

The night before the hearing, she slept lightly and dreamed of a row of incubators. In the morning, she put a black pen and a blue pen in her bag.

March 5th, 8:40 AM, third floor of the courthouse.

The door to the Third Courtroom was half open. The electric fan inside was spinning; the smell of paper hung heavy. The presiding judge sat center; the court clerkʼs screen glowed. In the second row behind the plaintiffʼs bench sat Peng Weidong, a paper folded in quarters clutched in his palm, no plastic bag at his feet.

In the first row of the gallery sat two young men in jackets. By the door was Huang Weizhong, his coat draped over his arm, a notebook on his knee. Director Xu sat beside him, a thin booklet in hand.

At nine sharp, the presiding judge struck once.

”Today we do one thing: the scope of appraisal materials. The defendantʼs two applications will be handled together.”

Song Qiming rose first. His shirt was buttoned to the top.

”The two applications were filed by my client. I will only cite the two matters that appear in the record—the intake registration at Ningchuan Qiushiʼs first-floor window, and the handler column of the Reply in this courtʼs file. Whatever is not in the record, I will not add on its behalf.”

”The handler column of the Reply shows a person named Xu,” the presiding judge said. ”The Ningchuan registerʼs process server column also shows a person named Xu. The defendant has placed these two items side by side. What is it trying to say?”

”The defendant believes the office has already received materials from the defendant, and the procedure is unclean.”

”Whether the office received them,” the presiding judge said, looking toward the appraiserʼs seat, ”ask him directly.”

Lu Zhicheng stood, then sat again, repeating the same points: he attended the February 27th hearing; the index listed four items; he counted the pieces. Today, the same set remained on the table. The two items from the 18th and 19th—”not in the index, not in my hands.”

”The first floor registered those two items,” the presiding judge asked. ”Why are they not in the file?”

”No transfer letter, I donʼt accept them.” Lu Zhicheng said. ”The intake number was only assigned on February 27th, after the dispute was clarified. On March 3rd, when the courtʼs letter arrived, I went through everything in the cabinet. A few items were moved to different places.”

That one word rose up out of all the sound in the courtroom—heʼd only mentioned it in passing, but it was the word weighing heaviest on his mind.

The fanʼs hum, the keyboard clicks, the rustle of paper in the gallery—all of it receded far away. Only that one word remained, standing in place.

[Thud. Gallery Seat, one use today.]

She lifted her eyes to Lu Zhicheng. He had finished speaking. His face held nothing extra.

”Appraiser.” She spoke. ”The day you cleaned the cabinet—was it only positions that moved, or the papers inside?”

”The papers, I neither added nor removed.” Lu Zhicheng said. ”The transfer letter lists how many items; I count how many items.”

”And the two items without a transfer letter?”

”They never reached my hands.”

”On March 3rd, who told you to clean the cabinet?”

”When the letter arrived, I cleaned.” He said, ”Standard practice.”

She switched pens and asked the court to record one line: The appraiser stated today that when the courtʼs letter arrived on March 3rd, he cleaned the cabinet once, and the positions of materials inside were changed.

Song Qiming lifted his eyes: ”This has nothing to do with the scope of appraisal materials.”

”It does.” She said. ”Scope concerns which set of papers sits on the table. Something else in that cabinet moved. I need to know it wasnʼt the set on the table.”

The presiding judge looked at her for two seconds, then nodded: ”Entered into the record.”

”As for the date of March 5th,” the presiding judge flipped through the file, ”has the defendant provided a written explanation of how the three-page Explanatory Note on Versions of Appraisal Materials came to be?”

Director Xu half-rose from his seat in the gallery: ”Still being verified.”

”Until when?”

”Weʼll report once verification is complete.”

The presiding judge made a mark in his notebook, then raised his voice: ”Enter one line: as of today, the defendant has not provided a written explanation.”

”Does the defendant have anything else to say?”

”The two applications rest on those two matters.” Song Qiming said, ”Whatever is in the record, I have stated faithfully.”

The presiding judge listened, then closed the file.

”The defendantʼs request for redetermination of the appraisal institution is denied; the application to recuse the appraiser is denied. The reasons are entered into the record: the receiving situation the defendant alleges was caused by the defendantʼs own direct delivery; the office did not accept the items, per the February 27th hearing record; the appraiser stated in court that he relied on materials in the case file, and no impropriety is found. The appraisal materials in this case remain the sealed set in the file, and the appraisal shall continue to be handled by this office.”

”Please enter one more line.” She said, ”This court added no new appraisal materials today.”

”Entered.” The presiding judge said, ”Both parties will review the record and sign.”

Huang Weizhong turned a page in his notebook from the gallery but wrote nothing.

Court adjourned just before 10:30.

In the hallway, Song Qiming rolled up the mouth of a kraft envelope.

”Whatever was in the record, I stated it faithfully.” He said, ”Whatever was not in the record, I did not speak for it.”

That one word jumped out again.

She replayed his sentence in her mind. In the replay, that word was absent.

[Thud. Heard. One word.]

[Thud. This word will follow you for three days.]

[Thud. For the next three days, when others speak, it will jump out on its own.]

She stood at the stairway and pressed her left ear. It felt stuffed with cotton. The hearingʼs sounds had receded, but the muffled pressure remained.

The court clerk brought over the record. She read it line by line.

In the middle of page three was Lu Zhichengʼs passage: Asked on what basis he accepted the case, he answered that items without a transfer letter were not accepted, that the intake number was only assigned on February 27th; on March 3rd, when the courtʼs letter arrived, he went through everything in the cabinet, and a few items were moved to different places.

That line sat on the page in black ink—page three, line three. But it broke off at the words ”moved to different places”—who ordered the cleaning, which items, where they went: not a single word.

She signed her name in the signature blank.

At the courthouse entrance, Peng Weidong fell in half a step behind her.

”What does today count as?”

”Today counts as holding the table down.” She said. ”Which set of papers ends up on it—thatʼs not over.”

He unfolded and refolded the visitation registration card; the crease had gone white. ”The day we carried him home, I said things I donʼt know. You said things you donʼt know. Thatʼs fair. I wonʼt ask anymore.”

”The day he came home, I was reading the first sheet of paper.”

Peng Weidong nodded and folded the paper back into its original quarters.

She reached Zhengping Firm at dusk. Downstairs, He Xiufen pushed the last table against the wall. She carried her noodles upstairs and spread out the left-grid page and the copied hearing record side by side.

He Xiufen finished reading and slid her reading glasses down: ”The denial is on record. Everything else is scraps.”

”I heard a word.”

”Is it on the paper?”

”Half a sentence.” She pointed to that line. ”Moved to different places. What was moved, who told him to move it, where it went—not a word.”

”Then tomorrow, itʼs not him you should be asking.” He Xiufen said, ”Itʼs the person who can make the cabinet move. He sits on the third floor. Downstairs, the registration book only shows who came in the door.”

Her phone lit up on the desk. Tang Guo had sent four words: The 5th is over.

She replied: Hold two more days. Wait until this set of papers is settled.

She scrolled further. The top message was still that line from the other night—”Iʼll write that half-sentence myself”—and nothing new below it. She looked at it for two seconds, then turned the phone face down.

A little after nine, she dialed the first-floor intake window at Ningchuan Qiushi Judicial Appraisal Office.

”Ding Yuan, hello. Iʼm the plaintiffʼs agent in that medical damage case from Jiangzhou Chengbei Hospital. You were kind enough to let me look at the register a few days ago.”

”I remember.”

”The person who delivered those three pages on the morning of February 19th—after setting down the materials, did he ask about anything else?”

Ding Yuan thought for a moment. ”He asked where the elevator was.”

”Which floor does the elevator go to?”

”Our third floor is the appraisal rooms; the fourth floor is the archives.” She said, ”Which floor he went to, I couldnʼt see from the window.”

The call ended. Downstairs, the last table knocked against the wall.

Beside the circle marked ”Page-Number Correspondence,” she wrote a single word: Move.

Below it she drew a horizontal line. Beneath the line, three words: Who went upstairs.