Read Novel Full Chapter 160 : The "Tidied-Up Set"
Chapter 160 : The "Tidied-Up Set"
He Xiufen slid the paper across the desk toward her. Shen Zhixia had just set her hard-shell folder down on the corner.
"He doesn't want to stop the appraisal," He Xiufen said. "He wants this file locked in a cabinet."
The paper had three lines of headings, seven lines of body text, the signature line reading "Chengbei Hospital," and a submission time of February 17, 15:40. It was the copy He Xiufen had picked up from the court that morning.
"For how long," Shen Zhixia said.
"Long enough for someone to forget. Long enough for you to run out of time."
"The court's already accepted it. The appraisal has to move forward."
"Read the third line of the body text."
"'The authenticity of the medical records is in dispute, which is a matter of evidence determination and should be judged first by the People's Court; until the handwriting examination conclusion is issued, please suspend the organization of the medical damage appraisal.'"
"Who's that line written for?"
"For the intake window." She set the paper down. "The copy they filed with the court is for people to read. The copy sitting in Ningchuan Qiushi's cabinet is the one they actually intend to use."
He Xiufen pressed a pen into her hand. "Stop making arguments. He's got arguments to spare. You make paper."
Two documents. Keep them tight.
The Written Objection to the Defendant's Application to Suspend Organizing the Medical Damage Appraisal requested only two things: first, that the appraisal procedure continue as scheduled, with the medical record authenticity dispute handled separately and not used to freeze the entire appraisal; second, that even if the court deemed a preliminary determination necessary, it should apply only to the disputed entries, not bring the whole file to a halt.
The Application for Evidence Collection sought only two pages: the appraisal materials list in this case, and the intake receipt register at Ningchuan Qiushi's front window.
On the final paragraph, her pen stopped.
"One more thing. Don't put it in the request. Remember it yourself." He Xiufen tapped the edge of the draft paper with the cap end of her pen. "The appraiser can only have one set of paper in his hands. You need the court to write one line on that set first: the sealed originals control."
"And if that line doesn't land?"
"Then it doesn't land." He Xiufen said. "What he altered is the medical record. If the nursing record in front of the appraiser is the 'tidied-up' version—pages numbered, handwriting clean—then the scratches, the paper color, the two holes you fought three days in court to establish, none of it ever reaches his eyes."
Shen Zhixia opened the hard-shell folder. The left compartment held that one line of registration she'd written down from yesterday's phone call, two blank draft sheets, and a pen. The right compartment held three pages of the Legal Opinion Letter, the three characters of the signature line not yet needed.
"The next fight isn't in a courtroom," He Xiufen said. "No presiding judge to set the order, no witness stand to call people up. The appraiser writes what he writes, the judge accepts what he accepts. In this fight you can't win on principle and you can't win on leverage. You only win on paper."
"Lawyer Lu withdrew. The hospital's still sending Song Qiming to file papers tomorrow."
"He withdrew himself." He Xiufen closed the case file. "He can't withdraw this file."
[Thud. This case is not settled. The truth will not surface on its own just because one person walked away.]
At eleven, her phone buzzed four times in a row—voice messages from Tang Guo, each under ten seconds.
"Zhixia, Ma Jianjun told me about the hearing. Three sheets lined up side by side—give me captions and I'll make three posts."
"Don't post yet."
"Just three." Tang Guo said. "The mother died early morning on the twenty-seventh, the records were pulled the night of the thirtieth, and the doctor got hung out to take the fall. If this doesn't go viral, I'm in the wrong business."
"Wait until the appraiser speaks first."
"Then I'll hold them." She paused for two seconds. "Don't let this case go cold. If it's quiet online for a day, people act like it never happened."
"Post something else first."
"Nothing else has this heat." She said. "Fine. I'll hold them."
At 2:40 in the afternoon, she called Ningchuan Qiushi's intake window again. A young voice answered—not the same person as yesterday.
He flipped the register to that page and read line by line. The line she'd written down yesterday was still there. Two more had been added below it—
February 18, 16:20, Chengbei Hospital, one item, note: supplementary statement.
February 19, 9:40, Chengbei Hospital, one item, note: appraisal materials version statement.
9:40. At that hour she'd been sitting at the firm writing "must not bring the entire file to a halt."
"Those two entries. I want to see the originals."
"You can see them—in person, in Ningchuan." The man said. "For copies, go through the court."
She pulled out her note sheet and copied as he read: submitting unit, number of items, time, notes. When she finished, she read it back: "Check it over. Did I transcribe anything wrong."
He compared. "Nothing wrong."
"Is Appraiser Lu in today?"
"He's not."
The moment the pen cap clicked on, she dialed Director Xu's mobile. It rang four times before he picked up. There was traffic noise on his end, someone calling out a stop name.
"Lawyer Shen," he spoke first. "You're running this file too."
"I'm verifying materials."
"Verification's the right thing to do." He said. "We're filling in whatever needs filling today. The appraisal needs a foundation."
"What kind of foundation."
"The tidied-up set." He paused. "Page numbers complete."
She spread the note sheet back out and wrote against the desk: February 19, 14:50, phone call, a certain Xu of Chengbei Hospital's Medical Affairs Office stated the hospital's appraisal submission is the "tidied-up set," "page numbers complete." After writing, she read it back into the receiver, sentence by sentence, then asked: "What I read—does it match what you said."
Director Xu waited until she finished before speaking. "Write what you want. I didn't say there's only one copy of this set."
"Who told you to supplement it."
"The Medical Affairs Office is handling it." He said. "The hospital leadership's intention. Director Huang told us to complete the materials."
She wrote down "Director Huang told us to complete the materials" as well.
"Supplementing materials isn't filing an objection." The traffic noise on Director Xu's end stopped for a moment. "Lawyer Shen, you can tell the difference between those two things."
"I can." She folded the paper in half. "This document of yours—is it being submitted directly to the appraisal institution, or transferred through the court."
Director Xu didn't answer. Before hanging up he left half a sentence: "If the file can't be delivered, the appraisal can't happen. Who that delays—you do the math."
She looked at the last line on the note sheet one more time, then called the court, third floor.
"I'm the representative for Peng Weidong's case." She said. "I'd like to ask whether the defendant has submitted supplementary materials to the court in the past two days."
The court clerk flipped through something. "No entries in the receipt register for the past two days."
"Good. Thank you."
After hanging up, her fingers were cold. The hospital was sending materials to the appraisal institution, and the court didn't know. Who sent them, which day, how many items—it was all written in that register in Ningchuan, and the register would never make it into the case file.
[Thud. He said "tidied-up." Those words have to land on paper before they belong to you.]
She changed the last line of the Application for Evidence Collection: the defendant submitted materials directly to the appraisal institution on February 18 and 19; please also collect those two materials and their submission records. She didn't rewrite the draft—just added a line below the final paragraph, the characters pressed small, a rule drawn at the end of the line.
The evening bus home was packed. She held the rail with one hand and pulled her phone close with the other.
She opened her chat with Lu Jibai. The last time the two of them had spoken was across the table at that noodle shop.
She typed: "The three pages you signed—I'm keeping them. The day you're willing to write it again on paper—"
The cursor stopped after the dash. What she'd meant to write next was "I'll pull it out in court and read it aloud." She deleted it. She typed another line—"I'll wait for you"—and deleted that too.
What she sent was just that half-sentence, the space after the dash left blank.
February 20, 8:30 a.m., Zhengping Firm.
Lin Qi came in earlier than she had all week, down jacket still on, holding a single page. It was the grid-square kind of draft paper, the writing slow and careful, every stroke pressing against the grid lines.
"I can't get into the hearing." She set the page down at the corner of the desk. "Take this page in with you."
Shen Zhixia looked down at it. It was a timeline Lin Qi had written out herself: what time she'd taken over the shift on the twenty-sixth, what time she'd answered the call from the Medical Affairs Office, what time she'd returned to the duty room. Two spots in the middle were left blank, marked off with small zigzag lines—empty, deliberately.
"The places I can't remember clearly, I left blank." Lin Qi said.
"Blank is good." Shen Zhixia said. "The blank places—someone will have to fill them in later."
Lin Qi glanced at the three pages in the right compartment. She didn't ask.
At nine, court, third floor. She submitted the Written Objection and the Application for Evidence Collection to the clerk's office and got back a receipt slip. She folded it small and tucked it into the left compartment of the hard-shell folder.
At 9:40, a voice called from inside: "Plaintiff's representative."
The presiding judge had the hospital's Opinion on the Materials Submitted for Appraisal spread across his desk. He made himself clear: "Your objection is accepted. A dispute over the authenticity of specific medical record entries does not affect the preliminary appraisal of the remaining portions; the appraisal materials shall be the sealed set on file, and the so-called 'tidied-up set' referenced by the defendant will not serve as the appraisal version. The disputed page will be accompanied by a separate explanatory statement and remain with the file. The file will be resent this afternoon."
"What about the defendant's opinion?"
"It's in the file." He said. "It's a party's opinion, not this court's conclusion."
As she walked out, the corridor window was open, wind pressing the hearing notices flat against the glass. She stood by the window and silently repeated those words—"the sealed set on file controls." That sentence wasn't spoken for her benefit. She had to remember it herself, because in the next room, no one would say it for her.
At 10:10, her phone buzzed.
Lu Jibai had replied with one line: "I'll write that half-sentence myself. For the register page, have the court pull the original—don't use your handwritten copy."
She replied: "Already applied to have it collected."
No response from the other end. She let the half-question in her mind play through once—"your father, back then—" and then turned her phone face down on her knee.
At 11:05, an unfamiliar landline number called.
"Is this Lawyer Shen Zhixia?" A woman's voice on the other end. "Ningchuan City Qiushi Judicial Appraisal Office, intake window. The Chengbei Hospital Chen Xiaoman medical damage case has been scheduled for the first hearing at 9:30 a.m. on February 27, in the third-floor hearing room of this office. Both parties will attend to state their positions. Please bring the original appraisal materials and your written submissions."
"Can family members attend?"
"They may."
"Can I record audio?"
"The hearing room does not provide recording." The woman said. "If you want notes, write them yourself."
"Can I bring paper?"
There was a pause. "Yes."
She wrote "February 27, 9:30, first hearing" on the back of the receipt slip, folded it small, and tucked it into the left compartment. The three pages in the right compartment still sat there. The three characters of the signature at the bottom had been signed for the hospital, back then—and signed for her to see.
That afternoon she sent Peng Weidong a message: February 27, 9:30 a.m., Ningchuan.
A seven-second voice message came back: "I'll be there. Ningchuan's far. You tell me what time the bus leaves, and I'll be at the station waiting."
She set the phone down. There'd be no judges' bench in the hearing room. No one would ask for her: "Which day did this page land on your desk." She'd have to ask it herself, then write it down herself, put it on paper, and figure out how to get it into the file—a step Lu Jibai used to execute effortlessly. Except now he wasn't sitting across from her anymore.
[Thud. The next room has no judges' bench. Whoever wants to ask will have to open their own mouth.]