Chapter 167: He Turned to That Page

The appraiser arrived before both parties.

At 8:40 on March 19, the door to the Third Courtroom was only half open when Lu Zhicheng was already seated at the appraiser's bench. He laid his document envelope sideways, drew out a stack of papers, squared them page by page, and pressed them under the case file. Two fingers pinched a page corner, letting the paper settle on its own—no counting, no glancing at his watch.

Shen Zhixia watched from the doorway for a moment. By his hand lay only one stack.

That morning when she left the house, He Xiufen had finished peeling the last head of garlic at the stairwell landing, washed her hands, and walked out with her. "He can read paper, so let him read."

She entered and set her hard-shell folder on the plaintiff's bench. He Xiufen sat down to her left, reading glasses resting on the table corner, saying nothing the whole time. Two pens lay in her bag: the black one set aside for writing down what he said, the blue one clipped to the folder for what he didn't. In the front row sat Peng Weidong, today in a washed-out shirt, both hands laid flat on his knees. Two rows back, by the window, Lin Qi sat with her head down, a cloth bag in her hands. She looked up, nodded once, and said nothing.

At the far end of the gallery, Huang Weizhong had draped his coat over his arm; Director Xu sat beside him, that thin booklet resting on his knee. Song Qiming was at the defendant's bench, shirt collar buttoned to the top, a sheet of paper he'd copied himself spread out before him.

At nine exactly, the presiding judge struck the gavel.

"Today we do one thing." He spread out the March 17 notice. "This Judicial Appraisal Opinion—which set of papers it was based on. The plaintiff's three applications and the defendant's two-page written opinion: this court will handle them together. First, the appraiser."

Lu Zhicheng rose and pressed the edges of the stack before him.

"The set I based my opinion on is the sealed set in the case record." He said, "February 27 hearing, four items in the index, all counted. On the 17th I received notice and counted this set again. What I brought today is what's in the record. Page count and page order match the sealing inventory. I have nothing else."

The words "nothing else" landed with perfect flatness.

[Thud. Today only one thing is asked: the page you read aloud—which set of paper was it in.]

The presiding judge turned to the defendant's bench. "Does the defendant have anything to add regarding the appraiser's statement."

Song Qiming stood. "What's in the record, I'll report as-is. The defendant's two-page written opinion, points one through three say the same thing—internal affairs, general description, no relevance." He paused. "Point four: request denial."

"Plaintiff."

She began with the paper, laying each item on the table one by one.

"Page eight of the sealed original in evidence. The sealing inventory describes it as 'erasure marks,' dated New Year's Day.

"The Page Correspondence Table attached to the Explanatory Note on Versions of Appraisal Materials has a line at the bottom: 'Page eight: original page damaged, handwriting illegible; compiled according to reorganized same-sequence page.' Three pages, which were transferred from the institute's ground floor to the Medical Damage Appraisal Office for review.

"Then there is this opinion. Its body states: 'Reviewed page eight of the medical record; the page is continuous with no alterations or additions.'

"The same page eight. Three sheets of paper, three different descriptions. I ask nothing else." She said, "I want to ask the appraiser: when you wrote that sentence, which page was on your desk."

The electric fan turned, lifting the case file's page corners slightly before letting them fall.

Lu Zhicheng opened the index, ran his finger down, stopped at item eight, drew out that page, and examined it front and back.

"I have reviewed this page."

"You reviewed it and wrote 'the record is continuous.'"

"What I wrote is the set I examined."

"The set you examined—did page eight have this mark."

He didn't answer. He flattened the page in his hand. The paper was pale, the cut edge uneven, and beside the page number at the lower right corner ran a faint pressed line. The whole courtroom waited for him to speak.

[Thud. When he turned that page, the whole courtroom heard it.]

"The page I examined had no mark," he said.

She stepped forward. "Then which set did you examine."

"When the Version Explanation was delivered, I flipped through it."

At the defendant's bench, Song Qiming's pen paused.

"It had the page correspondence table," Lu Zhicheng said, his pace unchanged. "The table said page eight of the original was damaged and illegible, compiled according to reorganized same-sequence page. I checked the page order. The pages were sequential."

"Did the transfer letter itemize these three pages."

"No."

"Case filing number?"

"No."

"Then why did you accept them."

"They were placed in the reference slot. Delivered from the ground floor. The register recorded the unit."

"Whose name was in the register."

"The Medical Affairs Office."

The presiding judge lifted his pen. "Defendant: are these three pages yours to send."

Song Qiming turned over the sheet in front of him. "The three pages of the Version Explanation are not on the material list the hospital gave me." He said, "What's in the record, I report as-is. What isn't in the record, I won't add to it, and I won't delete from it."

"Defendant's Medical Affairs Office."

Director Xu half-rose from the gallery, first glancing at Huang Weizhong, then back at the presiding judge. "The materials are from our hospital." He said, "Sending them—I ordered it."

"When they were sent, was a court transfer letter attached."

"No."

The presiding judge made a mark on his paper. "Note: defendant confirms the three pages of the Explanatory Note on Versions of Appraisal Materials were delivered by the defendant to the institute, without court transfer procedure attached."

[Thud. The hand that delivered the paper pressed its print in court today.]

"Reference materials." The presiding judge said, "The three pages this court requested by letter: show them to the appraiser now for identification."

The bailiff carried the kraft paper envelope to the appraiser's bench. Lu Zhicheng drew out the pages, spread them flat, and first glanced at the upper right corner of the cover page.

"These are the three pages."

"The small characters in the upper right corner—whose handwriting."

"A reference-slot number. Not mine."

"Who transferred these pages, who reviewed them, and which pages were at hand during review."

"Delivered from the ground floor. The handler signed the register. I didn't read that register." He said, "When they reached me, I flipped through them. Page eight—I checked it by page order."

She picked up the blue pen and continued. "When this court's letter arrived on March 3 and you inventoried the cabinet, where were these three pages."

"Returned to reference."

"Who returned them."

"The handler. I opened the cabinet, but I didn't receive the paper."

"Anything else in the reference slot."

"A few items. I cited none of them in my opinion."

"Except page eight."

He paused. "Except page eight."

"Your opinion is dated March 11. Six days earlier than the original deadline." She said, "Those six days—who pressured you."

"When the schedule called for it, I issued it." He said, "In between, I received one phone call asking when it would be ready."

"Who called."

"The ground-floor register has it. I don't read that register."

She asked the court to record one item: request retrieval of the institute's ground-floor phone log from March 1 to 11.

The presiding judge nodded. "Recorded. This court will request by letter the institute's ground-floor phone records from March 1 to March 11 relevant to this case."

She asked her final question. "In the set you brought today, are those three pages included."

"No. Today I brought what's in the record."

"Then page eight, as you read it today, is the page with the mark."

"It has the mark." He paused. "It came back, so I read it again. I write what I see."

The presiding judge waited for her to finish, then closed the file.

"This court makes three findings. One: the defendant's opinion opposing the plaintiff's application for the appraiser to appear in court is not accepted. Two: through questioning in court, this case's appraiser reviewed materials prior to issuing his opinion that included three pages of the Explanatory Note on Versions of Appraisal Materials—pages not transferred by this court and not entered into this case's appraisal materials. The opinion's citation of page eight conflicts with the sealed original in evidence. The opinion shall not be adopted in this case. Three: Ningchuan Qiushi Judicial Appraisal Office is ordered, for this case's appraisal, to rely solely on the sealed materials in the case record, returning for correction and reissuing. The reference materials requested by this court are returned today to the institute and shall not serve as appraisal materials in this case. All above entered into the record."

"Please record one more sentence," she said. "Today this court has added no new appraisal materials."

"Recorded." The presiding judge said, "Both parties check the record and sign."

[Thud. The opinion goes back to Ningchuan. This case returns to paper.]

Checking the record, she read line by line. Lu Zhicheng's sentences were all there—"The page I examined had no mark," "I flipped through it when the Version Explanation was delivered," "I opened the cabinet, but I didn't receive the paper." Where the last hearing had broken off on the words "change of venue," today the thread picked up again.

She signed the signature column.

Adjourned. Out the door, the corridor's far end was windy. Peng Weidong fell in half a step behind her, and this time he didn't ask "what does today count as." He tucked the visitation registration card into his shirt pocket and patted it through the fabric.

"Just read it as-is." He said, "Today he read."

Lu Zhicheng came out with his document envelope under his arm and paused beside her.

"That page, I'll read again." He said, "If it says 'mark present,' I'll write 'mark present.'"

"Don't write it for me."

"I don't write for anyone." He walked off, leather shoes striking the corridor tile, one sound per step.

Song Qiming passed from the other direction, rolling his paper into a tube. "What's in the record, I report as-is." He said, "Everything entered today is in the record."

"Including the sentence 'no transfer letter attached.'"

"That sentence was spoken by the defendant itself." He said, "I said it before. I don't speak for it."

Director Xu walked out last and stood beside her for a moment.

"Those words 'erasure marks,'" he said, "could have another interpretation."

"What interpretation."

"Damp paper leaves marks too."

She looked at him. "Then submit a written explanation."

"Submitting it wouldn't do any good."

"Then don't submit." She said, "Today you already said 'the materials are from our hospital.'"

Director Xu tucked the booklet under his arm, didn't answer, and walked away.

Lin Qi stood by the window at the corridor's end, not coming over until Shen Zhixia reached her.

"That 'continuous' he mentioned—it has nothing to do with me, right."

"Nothing to do with you." She said, "The name on that page isn't yours."

Lin Qi hitched the cloth bag higher on her shoulder. "I've memorized those two sentences." She said, "The page he examined had no mark; he flipped through it."

"Why memorize them."

"Because there'll be another hearing."

She watched Lin Qi go down the stairs. Wind came through the window gap and blew a scrap of paper in the corridor into the corner.

She reached the Zhengping Firm at four in the afternoon. The noodle shop downstairs hadn't fired up its wok yet. He Xiufen had returned after adjournment and was at the long table upstairs doing accounts, abacus beads clicking slowly.

She spread out the copied ruling. He Xiufen put on her reading glasses, read it through, took the glasses off and hung them at her collar, then counted three points: opinion not adopted, returned for correction, reference materials returned to the institute and excluded from the file.

"You held the procedure today." She said, "What remains is thirty days."

"What if the corrected version still says 'minor.'"

"That's a question for thirty days from now." He Xiufen said, "But in those thirty days, he won't necessarily sit still. The appraiser's hands—he can't move those. The hand that places paper on that desk? That hand, he can move."

She went upstairs and read the three long columns on the wall to the end, took out her pencil, and added four characters at the bottom of the right column: Returned for Correction. Then she pulled out the page in the left grid and added line nine: March 19, opinion not adopted, returned for correction, thirty days. When she finished, she added six more characters beneath—Thirty days. I'm counting.

He Xiufen stood in the doorway, enamel mug in hand.

"In those thirty days, whoever passes a message—you'll see them." She said, "Whether you can hold them off depends on you."

Downstairs, the noodle shop's wok clattered once, its lid jolted up, then settled back down.