Read Novel Full Chapter 295: The Triage Nurse
Chapter 295: The Triage Nurse
The papers sent back by the branch bureau were tied with kraft-paper cord, a receipt slip tucked under the knot. At five in the afternoon on November 22nd, Zhou Yu untied the cord on the fourth floor and spread the items across the desk one by one.
The first was a reproduced copy of the current page from the Municipal No. 2 Hospital ER registration log, the hospital's round seal stamped in the lower right corner, with a line of pen-written characters beside it: "Verified against original." Attached was a photo of the original page, showing the same section. The second item came in a kraft-paper envelope, the header printed with "Interview Record." The third was a page of transfer records. At the bottom lay a thin envelope labeled "Electronic Data, Entrusted Examination," containing a CD.
Four items laid out left to right. He looked at the registration log page first.
Those two lines on the paper he recognized: chief complaint "injured by another person," medical history "fell by accident"—same pen, two lines apart. Those two lines had entered the case file and lain there for two months. The August 31st footage, the five pages of opinion from October 14th, Lawyer Zhao's two pages from November 19th—all of it circled around those lines, but no one had ever asked the person who wrote them.
Now someone had.
Three pages of interview record. The interviewee was surnamed Li, in her fifties, worked the triage desk at the No. 2 Hospital. She spoke slowly, each sentence landing on an exact time:
"Nineteen thirty they came in. I don't remember the name on the registration slip, but I remember the people: two kids, half grown. One had a crooked nose, the other was holding a phone."
"I asked how the injury happened. That's the required question. I ask it of everyone who comes in."
"The one with the crooked nose was about to speak when the one with the phone jumped in first and said, 'He fell.' The one with the crooked nose didn't say anything, just nodded."
"The chief complaint section is what the patient himself said—'injured by another person.' I wrote it down exactly as he said it. The medical history section, I asked how the injury happened, and the one who came with him said, 'He fell.' The two of them weren't saying the same thing, so I recorded both."
The person questioning her asked: why didn't you clarify how the injury actually happened.
"I don't speak for them," she said. "Whoever said it, I write down what they said."
At the end of the interview record she'd added a line: she never saw those two kids again, and the night-shift log entries she'd turned in as soon as she finished writing them.
Zhou Yu closed the three pages, pressing his finger along the edge of the paper. Those two lines weren't fabricated, and they weren't altered. Two people, two versions—one spoke for himself, the other rushed to speak on his behalf. The person writing it down recorded both, changing neither.
The second item was the transfer record. September 19th, 18:22, Qin Hao transferred two hundred yuan to Du Qiang, with a two-character note: "For helping out."
He worked through the timeline. The video of the incident began at 18:45, the police call at 18:46. This two hundred yuan was sent twenty-three minutes before the incident.
Du Qiang's interview record from September 26th had said, "He gave me two hundred." At that time, the file held only his word, not a single piece of paper. Now there was paper—with a date, a time, and those two characters.
He didn't rush to open the third item. He slid the CD into the computer first.
The Municipal Public Security Bureau's examination report laid out the full recovery process: the original phone had been delivered to the branch bureau on the morning of November 21st by Qin Hao's mother, the receipt in the file; inspection, extraction, recovery—each step time-stamped. Among the recovered data was a video, eleven seconds long, timestamp September 19th, 18:43.
The phone claimed to have been thrown away on September 29th—the original had been handed in. He wrote this line down in his notebook.
He clicked play.
The lens pointed down, showing concrete pavement and a pair of white sneakers, the frame shaking. The voice came first:
"Keep filming."
Two seconds later, the same voice dropped half a register:
"Don't let go."
There was half a sentence after that, swallowed by the sound of clothes rustling. Eleven seconds, end.
Zhou Yu dragged the progress bar back and listened a second time, writing the five words in his notebook and circling them: Keep filming. Don't let go.
He aligned the four lines into a vertical sequence, top to bottom:
18:22, two hundred yuan, note "For helping out."
18:43, in Qin Hao's own phone: "Keep filming." "Don't let go."
18:45, Meng Yang's phone, twenty-six seconds. At second fourteen, someone grabbed him from behind and lifted; at second seventeen, a kick to the stomach.
18:46, the police call.
Was one sentence still missing? He held the pen over the paper, thought for a moment, and added nothing.
The prosecutor handling the case with him came in holding a cup: "All three back?"
"All three back." Zhou Yu pushed the registration log over. "Those two lines from the hospital—they have a source now."
The other man studied it for a long time, then looked up. "So does that mean the hospital fabricated something?"
"No." Zhou Yu said. "The triage nurse recorded what each person said, one line each. She didn't change anything. The question is which line is true."
"Which line is true?"
"The twenty-six-second line is true." Zhou Yu said. "Of the two lines she wrote down, one is what someone else said on his behalf."
At nine in the morning on November 23rd, the Chief Procurator's reconsideration decision came down: denial upheld, the reasoning identical to the November 20th document, word for word. The notice went to the case management window and was delivered to Qin Hao's side before ten.
At 9:41, Lawyer Zhao picked up his copy at the window, signed, folded the paper into thirds, and placed it in his briefcase. Turning, he saw Zhou Yu coming down the corridor.
"Procurator Zhou."
"The decision is in your hands."
"When will there be a result." He snapped his briefcase shut. "I'm not pressing."
"The decision will be announced publicly and served." Zhou Yu said. "Procedurally, that's all I can tell you. Nothing else at this time."
Lawyer Zhao stood for two seconds: "Then I'll wait for the paper."
Upstairs, Zhou Yu spread out the first page of the review report.
Two people had written the report, written sparingly: one page per matter, dates and times pushed to the front, not a word wasted.
Under "Facts Found Upon Review" were five lines. August 31st, the stairwell at the east end of the third floor—the words forced at phone-point, quoted exactly; September 19th, 18:22, transfer of two hundred yuan with note "For helping out"; 18:43, two phrases in Qin Hao's phone, "Keep filming," "Don't let go"; 18:45 to 18:46, within twenty-six seconds: grab, lift, feet off the ground, kick, break free, one punch—and no further blows after; 18:46, the police call.
Four lines on the "Findings" page:
The unlawful infringement came first and was ongoing—grabbed from behind and lifted, feet off the ground, a kick to the stomach, and after he broke free, the attacker moved in again.
The defense was to stop it—to shield the classmate behind him, and to get free.
One punch and it ended. The other party was on the ground, the person had backed off, hands down, no pursuit.
The injury was minor, falling short of "serious harm." Excessive self-defense requires both elements; missing either means it doesn't apply.
Below that, a separate paragraph addressed the two lines specifically: the "injured by another person" and "fell by accident" entries in the ER registration log—upon questioning the triage nurse on duty, she recorded the patient's own statement and the accompanying person's statement separately, consistent with the medical record copy in the file. Not fabrication, not alteration. The two lines differ because they reflect two versions given at the scene.
"Proposed Disposition": This case constitutes justifiable defense. Under the Criminal Law's provisions on justifiable defense, no criminal responsibility attaches. Under the Criminal Procedure Law's provision that cases where criminal responsibility is not pursued shall be non-prosecuted, a non-prosecution decision is recommended.
His co-counsel finished the third page and paused. "Two fractures in the nose, the report says minor injury, second grade."
"Minor injury second grade is still a minor injury." Zhou Yu said. "The 'serious harm' box requires severe injury or above."
"What if that punch had landed wrong?"
"What's on paper is the one he threw." Zhou Yu set the pen down. "The one he didn't throw—no one can answer for that."
All that remained on the final half page was the recusal note: recusal matters in this case had been decided by the Chief Procurator, reconsideration upheld, and do not affect the issuance of this report. He capped his pen and looked out the window.
At 15:50, the report entered the Chief Procurator's office.
Four pages, turned slowly. At the two lines on the second page, he stopped: "This has been asked about?"
"Asked. The interview record is in the file."
"The person who wrote it signed?"
"Signed, fingerprint as well."
He turned further. Reaching the proposed disposition, he looked up: "The reconsideration."
"Upheld at nine this morning. Served."
"The injured party's views are in the case?"
"Recorded November 19th. Signature in place. Two pages of written opinion as well."
He nodded, picked up his pen, wrote two characters on the last blank spot of the final page, signed his name, and dated it. The nib paused on the paper. He pushed the report back.
"Before the announcement tomorrow, these pages don't leave this office."
"They don't."
"Everyone who should be there on the day of the announcement will be." He removed his glasses and wiped them. "The injured party—inform them of every avenue of relief, nothing left out. Don't let anyone come back later saying no one told them."
"Understood."
At sixteen hundred hours, the two-character approval landed on paper. At 16:20, in the fourth-floor print room, the non-prosecution decision ran four pages, the paper still warm from the machine. The clerk counted each copy, aligned the perforation, and pressed them flat on the desk; the red seal hadn't been stamped yet.
Zhou Yu stood to the side, looking at the top line of the four pages.
"Tomorrow morning at ten," he said.
At 16:50, the landline on the second floor of the Zhengping Firm rang twice. Lu Jibai answered, only saying "Mm," "Yes," "Understood."
Hanging up, he stood at the top of the stairs and looked down: "Tomorrow morning, ten o'clock."
Shen Zhixia looked up from her desk, her pen paused mid-line on the closing notes for He Lan's case.
"Saying what?"
"Not saying. Only that it will be announced." He came over, closed her notebook. "Defense counsel requested to be present."
She set the pen down and capped it.
"Arrive at 9:50. Not earlier—if you're early you'll just stand in the hallway and no one will attend to you." He said. "Bring your ID. Don't bring any other papers."
He Xiufen came upstairs, her apron still on, had caught half the conversation from the doorway: "Tomorrow morning?"
"Ten."
"Zhi'an—does he have class in the morning?"
"Two periods," Shen Zhixia said.
"Take half a day." He Xiufen paused. "For the reason, write a family matter. Don't write anything else."
At 17:05, Zhi'an walked in with his backpack, looked first at his sister's face, then at Lu Jibai's, and set the backpack on a stool.
"I'm going tomorrow?"
"Yes," Shen Zhixia said.
"To do what?"
"To sign."
"Sign what?"
"I don't know." She said. "Tomorrow they'll read it to you."
Zhi'an sat down and picked up a cold steamed bun from the table. He Xiufen was at the stove, making noodles for him. She turned to Lu Jibai: "Where will you be standing tomorrow?"
"The corridor."
"And their side?"
"Eleven." Lu Jibai said. "By convention, eleven."
"Seven days." He Xiufen lifted the noodles out. "The injured party gets seven days."
Zhi'an looked up: "Seven days for what?"
"Within seven days, they can file another paper upward." Lu Jibai said. "If they file, a second place will review it all over again."
"And after the seven days?"
"After the seven days, no one can turn it over from behind again."
He Xiufen brought the noodles over and pushed the vinegar bottle toward him: "Eat. Wear clean school uniform tomorrow. Don't let that tear in the sleeve show."
At nine in the evening, only one desk lamp remained lit on the second floor.
She dragged the cardboard box out from under the desk and lifted the lid. On top was the school uniform, the left sleeve torn from shoulder to elbow, unwashed and unmended, the threads stiffened. Underneath, four photos: the tear, the fabric edge turned out; Zhi'an's right hand spread across the sleeve, injury and clothing in the same frame; inside the collar, "Shen Zhi'an" in ballpoint pen; the registration slip and the first page of the medical record, their corners in the same frame. Below that, two pages of medical records; the last page had an added line, "history narrated by the patient himself," added at the No. 1 Hospital on September 20th.
She looked through them one by one, pressed her hand over the photos, and lowered the lid back down.
[Thud. This case—the paper hasn't been read aloud yet.]
She turned the notebook to the page marked the 17th. After "phone," below the three gaps, the space was still blank. She added a line after it:
November 24th, 10:00.
She set the pen down on the paper and left the notebook open.
Downstairs someone was closing up their stall, metal frame dragging over the ground, rattling for a while.
Seven days, counting from that day.