作者：张 宇

编辑：周志刚 校对：程筱筱 翻译：彭小梅

她只有五个月。五个月，尚未学会翻身、尚未看清这个世界、尚未拥有任何表达“同意”或“拒绝”的能力，却已经完整地经历了这个国家最冷酷、最成熟、也最熟练的一整套权力运作流程：被交付给“权威系统”，在密不透风的专业语言中失去生命，随后被迅速定义、归档、降温、消音。

她叫小洛熙。在官方叙述中，她的死亡是一次“医疗过程中的不幸结果”；在体制语言里，她只是一个“个案”；在舆情管理的视角下，她的名字甚至不该被反复提及。

但问题恰恰在这里——一个五个月大的婴儿，不需要被“定性”；她需要被追问。

当一个孩子在手术台上离世，我们本应首先问的是：发生了什么？责任在哪里？谁该为此负责？医疗系统是否存在缺陷？

可在中国，这些问题从一开始就被系统性地规避了。不是因为答案太复杂，而是因为答案本身会威胁到体制的安全感。

在中共统治下，婴儿的死亡从来不是一场关于生命的公共讨论，而是一场关于“如何尽快结束事件”的内部协调。真相不是优先项，问责不是必选项，安抚、压制、定调才是。

小洛熙不是第一个在这样的逻辑中死去的孩子。她的名字之所以再次被提起，不是因为她“特殊”，而是因为她过于典型。典型到让人不得不承认：这不是一次偶发事故，而是一个高度熟练、运转顺畅、早已习惯的体制结果。

当一个政权连婴儿的死亡都无法坦然面对，连最低限度的公开、独立、可质询的调查都无法提供，却仍然反复高喊“人民之上”“生命之上”，那么问题就不再是“这家医院做错了什么”，而是——这样的体制，是否还具备对生命的基本尊重？

在任何一个正常社会里，一名五个月大的婴儿在手术后死亡，都应当自动触发一套清晰、独立、可被公众监督的程序：完整病历公开、手术决策逻辑说明、风险评估复盘、责任人明确、调查过程透明。但在中国，小洛熙的死亡并没有开启“追问”，而是迅速进入了另一套更熟悉的流程——控场、定调、降温、切割责任。我们看到的不是“解释发生了什么”，而是“告诉你可以知道什么”。

医疗叙事的第一步：用“专业壁垒”隔绝公众

在事件最初阶段，围绕手术必要性、风险评估、手术中应急处理、手术后监护等关键问题，公众并没有得到清晰问答。取而代之的，是大量高度技术化、无法被普通人核验的“专业表述”。这些语言并非为了澄清事实，而是为了制造距离——把质疑者挡在“你不专业、你不懂医学”的门外。在中共统治下，专业从来不只是知识体系，它是一种权力工具：当权者用它来决定谁有资格提问，谁必须闭嘴。但问题在于：医学的复杂性，从来不是拒绝透明的理由。恰恰相反，越是高风险决策，越需要清晰、可追溯的解释。

医疗事故如何被“去事故化”

紧接着出现的，是一种中国社会高度熟练的操作：将“可质询的医疗事故”，重新包装为“不可避免的医疗风险”。在这个叙事中——没有错误，只有遗憾；没有责任，只有不幸；没有制度问题，只有“个体差异”。这种话术的真正功能，是提前终止讨论。因为一旦被定义为“风险”，追责就会被视为“不理性”；追问就会被扣上“医闹”的帽子。这不是医学逻辑，这是政治逻辑。

谁决定调查？——体制最关键、也是最荒谬的一环

在中共体制下，调查医疗事故的，往往正是事故所在体系本身。医院隶属于行政系统，调查由行政系统主导，结论再由行政系统发布。这意味着什么？意味着这不是调查，而是内部协调；不是问责，而是风险管理。在这样的结构中，“真相”永远服从于“稳定”，“责任”永远让位于“形象”。当一个婴儿的死亡，必须首先考虑对系统的影响，而不是对生命的交代，结果其实早已写好。

舆论不是被回应，而是被管理

公众的愤怒、疑问与不安，并未得到正面回应，而是迅速进入舆情控制轨道：信息碎片化、讨论被限流、声音被标签化。这是中共治理体系中极其成熟的一环——不是解决问题，而是解决提出问题的人。于是小洛熙的死逐渐被处理成：“已经调查过了”、“正在依法处理”、“不要传播不实信息”。可问题是：当所有关键细节都不公开，当调查过程不可旁观，当结论无法质询，所谓“依法处理”，到底意味着什么？

中国共产党最擅长的事情之一，就是反复高举道德口号。“人民至上”“生命至上”“以人为本”——这些词在官方文件、新闻通稿和政治宣传中被不断重复，被塑造成政权合法性的核心来源。但问题是：当一个政权连一名五个月大婴儿的死亡都无法坦然面对时，这些口号还有任何意义吗？

在中共语境中，人民并不是一个拥有具体权利的主体，而是一个被抽象，被代表，被使用的概念。当人民“听话”“配合”“不制造麻烦”时，他们被称为“人民”；当人民提出质疑、要求解释、要求问责时，他们立刻被区分为：“个别人”“情绪化群体”“被煽动者”。这正是中共“人民至上”的真实含义——人民只存在于不提要求的时候。

在中国，生命真的至上吗？

如果生命真的至上，那么一个婴儿的死亡就应当触发最高级别的透明与追责；

如果生命真的至上，那么真相就不应当被延迟、筛选、降级发布；

如果生命真的至上，那么公众的知情权就不应被视为风险。

真正至上的，从来就不是生命，而是“可控性”。

中共可以继续在文件中书写“生命至上”，可以继续在新闻里反复强调“高度重视”，可以继续要求社会“理解”“理性”。但只要它拒绝建立真正独立的调查机制，拒绝让权力接受公众质询，拒绝承认制度本身的责任，那么这些话语就只能暴露出一个事实：它需要口号，正是因为它无法承担后果。

一个连婴儿死亡都无法面对的政权，谈“人民至上”，不是虚伪，而是对生命的再次侮辱。

小洛熙不是被“命运”带走的。她是被一个拒绝被追问、拒绝被监督、拒绝为弱者让出空间的体制吞没的。

而这个体制，正是中国共产党。

今天如果我们允许她的死亡被降级为“个案”，明天被降级的，就会是更多无法发声的人；今天如果我们接受“已经处理”的说法，明天“处理”的，就可能是任何一个普通家庭的孩子。这不是危言耸听。这是中共治理逻辑反复证明过的现实。在这样的体制下，顺从换不来安全，沉默换不来保障，遗忘只会换来重复。

所以，记住小洛熙，不是为了悲伤，而是为了拒绝。拒绝把婴儿的死亡当作治理成本；拒绝让“稳定”压到生命；拒绝接受一个连最弱者都无法保护的政权，却要求人民感恩。她不是一个结尾，她是一份指控。这不是一篇悼文，这是一次拒绝。

She Was Only Five Months Old

Author: Zhang Yu Editor: Zhou Zhigang

Proofreader: Cheng Xiaoxiao Translator: Peng Xiaomei

Abstract:Five-month-old infant Xiao Luoxi died tragically due to a medical accident. Yet under the control of the Chinese Communist Party, the truth was buried and accountability suppressed.

She was only five months old.Five months—she had not yet learned to roll over, had not yet clearly seen the world, had not yet possessed any ability to express “consent” or “refusal,” and yet she had already fully experienced this country’s coldest, most mature, and most well-practiced set of power operations: being handed over to an “authoritative system,” losing her life amid airtight professional jargon, and then being swiftly defined, archived, cooled down, and silenced.

Her name was Xiao Luoxi. In the official narrative, her death was an “unfortunate outcome during a medical process”; in institutional language, she was merely an “individual case”; from the perspective of public-opinion management, her name was not even supposed to be mentioned repeatedly.

But the problem lies precisely here—a five-month-old infant does not need to be “classified.” She needs to be questioned.

When a child dies on an operating table, the first questions we should ask are: What happened? Where does responsibility lie? Who should be held accountable? Are there flaws in the medical system?

But in China, these questions are systematically avoided from the very beginning. Not because the answers are too complex, but because the answers themselves would threaten the system’s sense of security.

Under CCP rule, the death of an infant is never a public discussion about life, but an internal coordination exercise on “how to end the incident as quickly as possible.” Truth is not a priority, accountability is not mandatory—appeasement, suppression, and narrative control are.

Xiao Luoxi was not the first child to die under this logic. Her name is mentioned again not because she is “special,” but because she is too typical—so typical that one must admit this was not an accidental mishap, but the result of a highly skilled, smoothly operating, long-familiar system.

When a regime cannot face the death of an infant openly, cannot even provide the most basic public, independent, and question-able investigation, yet continues to loudly proclaim “the people above all” and “life above all,” then the question is no longer “what did this hospital do wrong,” but rather—does such a system still possess the most basic respect for life?

In any normal society, the death of a five-month-old infant after surgery should automatically trigger a clear, independent, and publicly supervised process: full disclosure of medical records, explanation of surgical decision-making, review of risk assessments, identification of responsible parties, and a transparent investigation. But in China, Xiao Luoxi’s death did not initiate “inquiry”; it swiftly entered another, far more familiar process—crowd control, narrative setting, de-escalation, and responsibility dilution. What we saw was not an explanation of what happened, but a declaration of what you are allowed to know.

1. The First Step of the Medical Narrative: Using “Professional Barriers” to Exclude the Public

At the initial stage, the public received no clear answers regarding key questions such as the necessity of the surgery, risk assessment, intraoperative emergency handling, or postoperative monitoring. Instead, there was an abundance of highly technical, unverifiable “professional statements.” These were not meant to clarify facts, but to create distance—to keep questioners outside the gate of “you’re not professional, you don’t understand medicine.”

Under CCP rule, professionalism is never just a body of knowledge; it is a tool of power. Those in authority use it to decide who is qualified to ask questions and who must remain silent. Yet the complexity of medicine has never been a justification for refusing transparency. On the contrary, the higher the risk of a decision, the greater the need for clear and traceable explanations.

2. How Medical Accidents Are “De-Accidentized”

What followed was a highly practiced maneuver in Chinese society: repackaging a “questionable medical accident” as an “unavoidable medical risk.” In this narrative, there are no mistakes, only regret; no responsibility, only misfortune; no systemic problems, only “individual differences.”

The real function of this rhetoric is to terminate discussion in advance. Once something is defined as “risk,” accountability is labeled “irrational,” and questioning is branded as “medical disturbance.” This is not medical logic—it is political logic.

3. Who Decides the Investigation? — The Most Critical and Most Absurd Link

Under the CCP system, those who investigate medical accidents are often the very system in which the accident occurred. Hospitals belong to the administrative system; investigations are led by the administrative system; conclusions are released by the administrative system.

What does this mean? It means this is not an investigation, but internal coordination, not accountability, but risk management. In such a structure, “truth” always yields to “stability,” and “responsibility” always gives way to “image.” When an infant’s death must first be weighed in terms of its impact on the system rather than an account owed to life, the outcome is already written.

4. Public Opinion Is Not Responded to, but Managed

Public anger, doubt, and anxiety were not met head-on, but were quickly channeled into public-opinion control: information fragmentation, throttling of discussion, and labeling of voices. This is one of the most mature components of CCP governance—not solving problems but solving those who raise problems.

Thus, Xiao Luoxi’s death was gradually processed into phrases like “it has been investigated,” “it is being handled according to law,” and “do not spread unverified information.” But the question remains: when all key details are undisclosed, when the investigation process cannot be observed, when conclusions cannot be challenged—what does “handled according to law” mean?

One of the CCP’s greatest talents is endlessly brandishing moral slogans: “people-centered,” “life above all,” “human-oriented.” These phrases are repeated in official documents, press releases, and political propaganda, and are molded into the core source of regime legitimacy. But when a regime cannot even face the death of a five-month-old infant openly, do these slogans still hold any meaning?

In the CCP’s context, “the people” are not concrete rights-bearing subjects, but an abstract, represented, and instrumentalized concept. When the people are “obedient,” “cooperative,” and “cause no trouble,” they are called “the people.” When they question, demand explanations, or demand accountability, they are immediately reclassified as “a few individuals,” “emotional groups,” or “those being incited.”

This is the true meaning of the CCP’s “people above all”—the people exist only when they make no demands.

Is life truly above all in China?

If life were truly above all, then the death of an infant would trigger the highest level of transparency and accountability;If life were truly above all, then truth would not be delayed, filtered, or downgraded;If life were truly above all, then the public’s right to know would not be treated as a risk.

What is truly above all has never been life—it is “controllability.”

The CCP can continue to write “life above all” into documents, continue to emphasize “great importance” in the news, and continue to demand that society “understand” and “remain rational.” But as long as it refuses to establish truly independent investigative mechanisms, refuses to subject power to public scrutiny, and refuses to acknowledge the system’s own responsibility, these words only expose one fact: it needs slogans precisely because it cannot bear consequences.

A regime that cannot face the death of an infant yet speaks of “people above all” is not merely hypocritical—it is committing a second insult to life.

Xiao Luoxi was not taken away by “fate.” She was swallowed by a system that refuses to be questioned, refuses to be supervised, and refuses to make room for the weak.

And that system is the Chinese Communist Party.

If today we allow her death to be downgraded into an “individual case,” tomorrow what will be downgraded will be even more voiceless people. If today we accept the claim that “it has been handled,” tomorrow what will be “handled” may be any ordinary family’s child. This is not alarmism—it is a reality repeatedly proven by the CCP’s governance logic.

Under such a system, obedience does not bring safety, silence does not bring protection, and forgetting only brings repetition.

Therefore, remembering Xiao Luoxi is not for mourning, but for refusal.Refusal to treat an infant’s death as a governance cost;Refusal to let “stability” outweigh life;Refusal to accept a regime that cannot protect its weakest, yet demands gratitude from the people.

She is not an ending. She is an indictment.This is not a eulogy. It is a refusal.