Justice System: I Litigate for the Whole City

Chapter 168 : The ”Place of Origin” Column

Three identical catalogs lay spread across the long table.

March 20th, morning, third floor of the courthouse. The court clerk pushed the ink pad to the middle of the table. ”Today we do one thing only: count paper. Count it, then sign.”

Shen Zhixia started from the first line and worked her way down. Four items on the catalog. The first read ”Medical Records” — sealed medical records, one volume, thirty-four pages. Second, one forensic appraisal test report. Third, one page of court status explanation. Fourth, one written opinion from each side. Not a single character different from the page read aloud in the hearing room on February 27th. She laid her own thirty-four-page page-sequence and page-name sheet beside the catalog and checked page by page. At page eight, there were those four words copied from the sealing inventory — ”erasure marks.” At page thirty-four, a period at the end of the line. She checked line by line to the very end, pencil stopping on that line of fine print in the page sequence — Temporary Medical Order Sheet, three pages.

”Sealed materials on file shall govern,” the clerk recited. ”The materials this court sends by letter are limited to this catalog. The letter goes out today; each side receives a return receipt.”

”Record one line,” she said. ”What goes into this envelope today is the exact set counted in court on the nineteenth. Not one page added.”

The clerk wrote: The materials listed in this catalog are the courtʼs sealed materials on file; nothing new has been added this time.

Song Qiming sat at the other end of the table, still facing the single sheet he had copied by hand. He pulled out a page from beneath it, titled ”Supplementary Explanation on Matters Concerning Page Eight of the Medical Records,” and slid it over.

The clerk looked at it. ”This does not go into the transfer envelope.”

”Then which window does it go through.” Director Xu took a step in from the doorway, that page still in his hand.

”The filing window,” the clerk said. ”Submit it, register it, and it gets separately filed into the case.”

”Then the filing window it is,” Director Xu said. ”We follow procedure.”

”The filing window is fine,” she said. ”The thirty-four pages in that envelope — if your explanation page corresponds to any of them, write down that pageʼs sequence number. If you canʼt write one down, itʼs a blank piece of paper.”

Director Xu folded the page in half, tucked it back into the inner pocket of his binder, and went downstairs.

Glue ran across the mouth of the kraft paper envelope, two seal strips pressed over it, four names signed in a row. Song Qiming signed and did not rush to leave.

”Thirty days to correct, counting from the nineteenth,” he said. ”What you ask, if itʼs on paper, I report it.”

”You reported page eight.”

”Reported.” He capped his pen. ”The next line thatʼs on paper, I report that too.”

”Then we wait and see the paper.”

”Iʼll see the paper.” He folded his hand-copied sheet, tucked it into his breast pocket, and left.

[Thud. This envelope of paper — today only those thirty-four pages on the catalog count.]

On her way out she copied that line of fine print from the page sequence into her notebook: Temporary Medical Order Sheet, three pages.

* * *

Eleven forty in the morning, upstairs at the Zhengping firm.

The thirty-four-page photocopy sat pressed to the left side of the long table. The day it was copied from the medical records room, January 1st, she had counted it twice; the fold marks from that day still creased the page corners. She spread the Judicial Appraisal Opinion out on the right, turned to page three, and held her nail under one line:

”The diagnosis and treatment recorded in the medical records are consistent with the medication administered; no obvious impropriety observed.”

He Xiufen had taught her: every sentence you write must be followed by a page number, or by a date. The same rule applied when reading someone elseʼs paper — this sentence had the words ”medication” after it, so there had to be a medication page. Sheʼd found that page back in January, and back then He Xiufen had held her back, told her to sit on it. Today there was no need to sit on it.

She pulled the photocopy toward her, flipped from the medical records document index page downward, and found the stack labeled ”Temporary Medical Order Sheets.”

On the twenty-sixth, the characters crowded into the grid boxes, strokes looking rushed; on the twenty-seventh, the last three lines were written after three oʼclock, strokes drawn long, ink lighter. She read line by line until she stopped at 00:40.

Carbetocin Injection 100μg intravenous single dose

Ordering physician: Lin Qi

Administered: 0:55 (followed by a two-character signature, the strokes tangled; she couldnʼt read it)

She copied this line into her notebook, copied it, then sat looking at it for a while before dialing.

”Dr. Lin, Iʼm asking about one line of medical orders.”

”Read it.”

”The twenty-seventh, 00:40, carbetocin injection, one hundred micrograms.”

A two-second pause on the other end. ”I wrote that order.”

”The drug is called exactly that.”

”Yes.”

”Which kind does your department keep in the cabinet as standard.”

”Ordinary oxytocin,” she said. ”Three-something yuan per ampoule.”

”And this one.”

”That ampoule was sent up from the pharmacy.” Lin Qi said, ”I glanced at the box. Not the brand we keep in stock in our department. Brought in from somewhere else in the middle of the night.”

”Which manufacturer.”

”Donʼt remember. Didnʼt recognize it.”

”Think harder.”

”I only got one look.” She paused. ”There was a question I wanted to ask, but I didnʼt get it out. The pharmacy said use it first, sort it out after daybreak.”

”Did you ask later.”

”By daybreak I was in another room writing the rescue record.”

Shen Zhixia pressed her pen down on the paper. ”Before she passed, how long had that drug been in.”

”Over two hours, almost three.” Lin Qi said, ”I did compressions for nearly forty minutes. Couldnʼt bring her back.”

”After the drug went in — any reaction.”

”There were contractions,” Lin Qi said. ”The bleeding didnʼt stop. I was only focused on compressions; I canʼt recall anything else.”

After writing that line, her pen tip paused on the paper.

”Youʼre suddenly asking about drugs.” Lin Qi asked, ”What does the appraisal report say.”

”It says the medication showed no impropriety.”

”Then hurry.” Lin Qi said, ”The pharmacy clears that ledger once a month. The slips stacked on top — one clearing, one fewer slip.”

”Understood.”

”Next hearing, if they ask me about the drug, Iʼm afraid I canʼt explain clearly.” She said, ”That day the drug wasnʼt picked up by me, and I didnʼt unseal it. I only signed the attending physician column.”

”Remembering that column is enough.” Shen Zhixia said, ”Iʼll find the rest.”

The call ended. She flipped back a few pages in her notebook, to January 2nd. The top half of that page was in her own hand: That nightʼs contraction-inducing drug was not the brand we keep in our departmentʼs cabinet. After it, three more characters, added at He Xiufenʼs instruction — sit on it.

* * *

Five forty in the afternoon, footsteps on the stairs. Peng Weidong came up, set his blue cloth bag on the long table, and first pulled out a paper roll bound with a rubber band.

”Daily charge sheets,” he said. ”Nurses tuck one at the bedside every morning, the date printed in the header. I didnʼt throw a single one away.”

”Why keep them.”

”The factory runs the same way,” he said. ”Shift schedules, materials requisition slips, acceptance forms — every one of them gets kept. Miss one, and when trouble comes you canʼt explain yourself. Hers — I folded them up and pressed them to the bottom of my bag. Didnʼt dare look close.”

She worked off the rubber band. Two sheets, the twenty-sixth and the twenty-seventh, the twenty-seventh on top. The edges were still flat, folded once, a deep crease pressed into them.

”I remember this twenty-seventh one,” he said. ”The nurse tucked one in that morning; I took it and folded it right up.”

The medication fee column sat in the middle of the sheet, numbers small after each name: glucose injection, 3.60; saline, 2.80; vitamin, 1.20. The second-to-last line stopped her.

Carbetocin Injection 100μg×1 ampoule unit price 186.00 amount 186.00

That dayʼs total drug cost was under three hundred yuan. This single ampoule made up more than half.

She held the paper up to the light. The last cell of that line held characters one size smaller, squeezed into the box: Place of origin Hengyue Pharmaceutical. The origins on the lines above were all from the two or three manufacturers sheʼd seen on the price board on the hospital wall. The four characters on this one line — she had never seen before.

[Thud. The drug was brought in from elsewhere. Elsewhere, too, sits on a sheet of paper.]

”Attorney Shen.” Peng Weidong had stayed standing the whole time. ”What are you looking at.”

”At the drug from that day.”

”Whatʼs there to look at about a drug.”

”Some are three yuan an ampoule. Some are one hundred eighty-six.” She said, ”Your wife got the second kind that day.”

He set both hands on his knees, looked down at that sheet, looked for a long time.

”That ampoule — who ordered it used.”

”The medical order bears Dr. Linʼs name.”

”Then... who had the pharmacy send it up in the middle of the night.”

She folded the charge sheet and tucked it into the left slot of the hard-shell folder. ”Thatʼs what Iʼm going to ask tomorrow morning.”

* * *

By the time He Xiufen came upstairs with her enamel mug, Shen Zhixia had just finished tracing a second pencil line under those four characters; the paper had gone gray from it.

He Xiufen set the mug at the corner of the desk, looked first at the charge sheet, then at the photocopy of the medical order sheet, and finally at those four characters. She looked for a while, then pushed the charge sheet back.

”January 2nd,” she said, ”that half-line you wrote in your notebook — today itʼs landed on paper.”

”Those four characters—”

”Donʼt say them out loud yet.”

”Why.”

”Say them too early and the door closes.” He Xiufen took off her glasses and hung them at her collar. ”First find out how the drug came through this door. Three things: who approved it, what day it was approved, and which slip it came in with.”

”One more thing.” Shen Zhixia said, ”What was collected was one hundred eighty-six. Is this product spec even on the hospitalʼs price list, and what day it appeared — I want a copy of the price schedule.”

”Right.” He Xiufen said, ”The characters on a price schedule are more honest than a drug name.”

”The third thing.”

”Who else that ampoule was used on.” He Xiufen said, ”One batch of drug through that door doesnʼt end up on a single bed. Medication records are day by day; no one slips away.”

”Then Iʼll go to the pharmacy tomorrow morning.”

”At the pharmacy, donʼt ask about the drug name.” He Xiufen said, ”Ask about the price.”

”Ask about the price.”

”Ask about the price.” She shifted the mug half an inch on the desk. ”Once the price schedule comes out, product specs, manufacturers, suppliers — they all follow, one after another. Donʼt stuff the drug matter into those thirty appraisal days. Those thirty days belong to the appraiser. Your words need to land on your own paper.”

[Thud. On the Unsettled Ledger, this case still stands empty. The judgment hasnʼt landed, so no Justice Points can be recorded.]

She turned to the last page of her notebook and wrote four characters: Hengyue Pharmaceutical. Beneath them she drew a horizontal line — same as January 2nd, written only in her own book. Halfway through she paused. That text message was still on her phone; she hadnʼt deleted it, and the words stopped on one line: That half-sentence, Iʼll write it myself.

Her phone lit up once more. A message from Lin Qi, one line: The one who unsealed the drug that day was a young nurse. Let me think of her name.

He Xiufen sat back down behind the long table and worked the abacus. The beads clicked to a stop halfway through.

That one bead — she did not slide it down.