Read Novel Full Chapter 179 : The "Dong" on the Whiteboard
Chapter 179 : The "Dong" on the Whiteboard
At 8:50 a.m. on April 10th, Shen Zhixia accompanied Lin Qi to the Chengbei District Health Commission.
A printed sheet was taped to the window glass: Medical Administration Division — Visitor Reception. A young man sat inside, a stack of blank receipt slips piled on the desk.
She passed the two-page explanation through the window, keeping the copy in her own bag. The man flipped through it front to back, then looked up. "Is she here in person?"
"I am." Lin Qi took half a step toward the window. "I'm the person in question."
The young man slid a receipt slip toward her. "Name and date. Write it yourself."
Lin Qi finished writing and kept her pen on the paper. "Should I also write how many pages were received?"
"Write it." She put down a line: "Received one submission, two pages total." He stamped it and tore off the bottom copy, pushing it toward her.
"The Commission asked for explanation and basis." He added, "These two pages have an explanation. They don't have a basis."
"A separate statement on the basis will follow, noting it supplements this submission." Shen Zhixia said.
The young man offered no comment. He stuffed the stack into the file basket to his right, which was already piled half a foot high.
After exiting the building, Lin Qi stood on the steps and read the receipt slip twice. Her own name sat above the line "Received one submission, two pages total," the red stamp below pressed down squarely.
"This time I wrote my own name." She said.
"Yes."
She folded the slip into quarters, tucked it into her jacket pocket, and pressed it twice with her fingers before letting go.
"Don't forget the noon pill." Shen Zhixia said.
"I remember." Lin Qi said, then walked off toward the bus stop.
At 9:40, at the window on the west end of the third floor of the Market Regulation Bureau.
That copy of Good Supply Practice for Drugs—the one with its spine glued back twice—was still open on the desk. He Min pushed her reading glasses up and recognized her first. "The same matter again."
"No submissions today." Shen Zhixia said. "Just one question, then I'll go."
"Ask."
"On the accompanying shipment document, the bottom field—'Receiver'. By the rules, who should sign it?"
He Min looked at her for two seconds, then pulled a well-thumbed booklet from under the book, flipped through a few pages, and pressed her finger on a line. "The receiver at the receiving unit. Signature or stamp. It's only entered into the books once signed."
"What if it's blank?"
"A document with no signature means the goods never arrived." He Min closed the booklet. "The person making the entry either completes the signature or writes in the books who actually handled it. Whoever's name is on the entry answers for it."
[Thud. A document with no name on it means the goods never arrived.]
"How far along is the inspection?"
"Written notification within fifteen working days. End of the month." He Min said. "The written reply gets mailed to the address you left on file. It won't get lost."
"Will the on-site inspection include the hospital's drug storeroom?"
"The books are in the storeroom." The reading glasses settled back on the bridge of her nose.
She stood to leave. A voice followed her: "Make note of this—if that document gets entered into someone's books, then someone has to explain exactly whose hands the goods were received into."
A little after eleven, at the row of single-story buildings behind the inpatient building at Chengbei Hospital.
A small blue sign with white lettering hung beside the east-end door, half the paint chipped away: Drug Storeroom. The iron door stood half open. Along the wall, a row of freezers hummed with compressors, and a smell of cardboard boxes mixed with cold air drifted out. Against the wall by the door stood a whiteboard, a half-used marker resting in the tray.
There was writing on the board, three lines from top to bottom:
March 28 — Hengyue Pharmaceutical — 4 boxes — Dong
April 3 — Hengkang Pharmaceutical — 2 boxes — Dong
April 8 — Hengyue Pharmaceutical — 3 boxes — Dong
She counted them: three lines, every line ending in the name "Dong."
A young man in his twenties came out the door, blue work coat, work gloves tucked into his pocket, shifting a cardboard box out of the way.
"Is Master Dong around?"
"Not today."
"When will he be in?"
"Hard to say. He called in this morning, said something came up at home."
"I'm not looking for him personally." She hitched her bag up on her shoulder. "Just a question about the receiving process—when the drugs arrive, who signs the paperwork?"
"Master Dong signs."
"How many people work in the storeroom?"
"Two. Me and him."
"You don't sign?"
"I don't sign. I move the boxes, unpack, put things on shelves." The young man tipped his chin toward the whiteboard. "He does the count, marks a line up there, and I shelve accordingly."
"How many copies of the paperwork?"
"Two. One stays here, one goes to finance."
"Where's the copy that stays here?"
He pointed at the row of steel cabinets inside with the back of his hand. "Bottom drawer. Locked."
"And the receiving register?"
"That's in his cabinet too."
"The receiving needs a signature. What about the acceptance?"
"He fills out the acceptance record." The young man said. "I call out the numbers, he writes them down."
"Who signs the outbound review?"
"Him too." He pulled the gloves from his pocket and shook them out. "Pretty much everything that gets written on those forms is his handwriting."
That brought back the two pages from the case file—the spots where his handwriting should have been, both of them blank.
"The shipment on December 26th. Who received that?"
The young man's hands paused. "I wasn't here then."
"When did you start?"
"February."
He set the box down and wiped his hands on his pants. "Someone came asking about that a couple days ago too."
"What day, exactly?"
"Yesterday afternoon. A little after three."
"What did he ask?"
"He asked if Master Dong was in, then asked who received those December shipments. I said I don't handle receiving. He stood here looking at the whiteboard for a while before he left."
"What did he look like?"
"Jacket, black leather notebook in his hand."
"Did he leave a phone number?"
"No. On his way out he said he'd come back if he thought of anything."
"Did you mention this to Master Dong yesterday?"
"Never got the chance. He'd already left by the time my shift ended." The young man paused. "And this morning, he called in sick."
[Thud. You asked about papers. Someone else asked about the person.]
She took out her phone and photographed the whiteboard, the three lines included, then stepped back two paces and got the paint-chipped sign into the shot.
"What are you taking pictures for?" The young man asked.
"To see how you keep your records."
"Are you with the hospital?"
"A lawyer."
The young man picked up the box and walked inside, stopping after two steps. "Don't say you heard any of this from me."
"I'm recording what's on this whiteboard." She said. "As for who wrote it—I won't say."
He went in. The courtyard emptied out except for the hum of compressors, the three "Dong" characters on the whiteboard sitting in the sunlight, each one fainter than the last.
Standing in the middle of the yard, she pulled up the number with no saved contact and sent a text: Master Dong called in sick today. Someone came to the drug storeroom yesterday afternoon asking about those December shipments.
The message went out. No reply came back.
At 1:30 p.m., Zhengping Firm. The scallion-oil smell downstairs hadn't fully cleared.
He Xiufen took the receipt slip, examined both sides, and pressed it under the corner of her desk.
"Received two pages, dated the 10th, stamped." She said. "The date's on paper."
"The Commission still wants a basis."
"The basis doesn't need to be new." He Xiufen said. "The material supporting the claim that it's 'not in her own handwriting'—you already submitted it in Monday's statement of defense. The supplementary note only needs one line: 'For basis, see pages X through Y of the statement of defense materials.' One sentence. Don't add more."
Shen Zhixia recounted the morning's two matters. When she got to the three "Dong" characters on the whiteboard, He Xiufen set down her tea mug.
"Your file was submitted on the 7th. It went to the defendant the same day." She repeated it slowly. "On the afternoon of the 9th, someone was standing at the drug storeroom door. One day in between."
"Could it be someone from drug supervision?"
"Drug supervision shows a badge first thing." He Xiufen said. "He came asking about people, not inspecting books."
She slid over a blank notepad. "Write it down. Just what you have in hand right now."
Shen Zhixia wrote.
One: The "Receiver" field on the accompanying shipment document is blank. The document was submitted to the court by the defendant on the afternoon of March 30th as supplementary evidence.
Two: The "Acceptance Inspector" field on the procurement and acceptance record is blank.
Three: The receiving register for the drug storeroom is kept by the warehouse keeper and is not included in the case file.
Four: At around 3 p.m. on April 9th, a man who did not identify himself went to the drug storeroom asking about December receiving matters. He left no name or contact information.
He Xiufen took the note and stopped at the fourth line. "'Who did not identify himself' is better than 'unidentified man'—the first means he didn't say; the second means you didn't check."
"Do I submit this note?"
"Not yet." He Xiufen slid the note back. "If you submit it, that side will know you've been poking around the storeroom. Keep it in hand for now. Sit on it."
"Until when?"
"Until the written reply from drug supervision comes down, or until that hand shows itself." She tidied the things on the desk. "The Lin Qi line: the papers are in, wait for the 24th. The drug line: wait for month's end. Keep the two separate. Don't stir them into one pot."
Her phone rang on the desk. She glanced at it and picked up.
"Lawyer Shen." Peng Weidong's voice was low. A child's crying came through from the other end, one wail after another. "That number called again this morning."
"What did they say?"
"Said the number can go higher." He paused. "Also said the kid's hukou, school later on—everything costs money."
"What did you say back?"
"I said me and my wife still want answers."
"And?"
"He said answers are also money."
Shen Zhixia pushed the window open a crack. Traffic noise rose from below.
"Money and the drug are two separate things." She said. "He's folding them into one sentence so you can't tell them apart. If you can tell them apart, that sentence loses its power."
"I've been thinking." Peng Weidong said. "I want to talk money. But I don't want money in exchange for silence."
"Those two aren't in conflict." She said. "Whenever you're ready to negotiate, tell me. I'll go with you."
"Mm." He paused. "What about the drug?"
"The trail reaches the storeroom." She said. "There's a signature field that should have been filled in. It's blank."
After hanging up, He Xiufen lifted the thermos from the stove, filled it with noodles, added an egg, and screwed the lid tight.
"Go see her tonight." She said. "Bring up a bowl of noodles. That woman handed two pages into someone else's hands yesterday—something went hollow inside. Sit with her a while before you leave."
At seven in the evening, she carried the thermos up to the fourth floor.
The pull-cord light on the fourth floor still hadn't been replaced. The door at the end of the hall was shut tight this time, and the slippers that had been outside were gone.
She knocked twice.
"It's me. I brought you food."
No answer from inside.
She pressed her face to the door and listened. Not a sound from within—no shifting at night, no creak of bed boards.
She took out her phone and called Lin Qi's number.
Through the door, a ringtone went off inside the room.
Once. No answer.
She remembered what Lin Qi had said over the phone—the medication wasn't working, and she only drifted off in the small hours. Her finger hovered over the screen, letting the ringtone run until it cut off on its own.
After it stopped, the hallway went quiet enough to hear the neighbor's TV downstairs.
She hung up. Then called again.
The ringtone slipped through the gap under the door, traveling low along the floor—ring after ring, no one picking up.