Chapter 228: The Ledger and the Seal

At seven-thirty in the morning, the ticket machine at the district government service center had just spat out its first slip of paper. Lin Chen was third in line, his left foot propped on his right knee as he slowly kneaded his ankle with his fingertips. The numbness had become normal, like a thick callus wrapped around his nerves; only the occasional stab of pain reminded him that this body was still running.

The air-conditioning in the hall was turned up high. It blew against the damp collar of his shirt, raising a chill. He lowered his head and checked the list on his phone: copy of the business license, the legal representative’s original ID card, the company articles, the shareholders’ meeting resolution, the lease contract. Su Man had packed the materials and sent them to his email the night before. He had printed three sets and clipped them in order with paper clips. The edges of the paper were slightly curled, and he pressed them flat bit by bit with his palm.

At exactly nine, his number was called. Lin Chen shifted over with the borrowed temporary crutch and slid the materials through the slot in the glass. The clerk was a young woman in black-rimmed glasses, her fingers flying across the keyboard. “The legal representative isn’t present?”

“He is.” Lin Chen pushed his ID card forward.

The woman looked up at him. Her gaze paused for two seconds on the crutch by his left foot. She did not ask about it; she only handed out a form. “Fill out the corporate account opening application. Signature of the legal representative, company seal. The seal hasn’t been carved yet, has it?”

“It has. Next door.”

“Then fill this out first. Bring the seal back for verification after it’s ready. The procedure can be completed today, but account activation has to wait for the People’s Bank review. Three working days at the fastest.”

Lin Chen took the pen. The fields on the form were dense: business scope, registered capital, beneficial owner, actual controller. He filled them in one by one. The nib moved over the paper with a faint rustle. For registered capital he wrote five hundred thousand, subscribed capital, no paid-in contribution required. But the bank statements would look at actual inflows. When he finished, he signed his name at the end. The handwriting was steady. It did not tremble.

At eleven, he walked out of the government service center with the receipt. The sunlight was harsh, and the asphalt shone pale. He went to the seal-carving shop on the corner and handed the filing receipt to the owner. The owner glanced at it, then took three copper seals from a drawer: the company seal, the financial seal, and the legal representative seal. Lin Chen paid three hundred and twenty yuan and put the seals into a velvet pouch. The sound of metal knocking together was heavy.

At two in the afternoon, he returned to the old residential compound where he was renting. Three monitors were spread across the folding table in the living room; the middle one was running a cash-flow projection spreadsheet. Su Man sat opposite him, revising an interface document. Hearing the door open, she looked up and pushed a thermos cup toward him. “Drink some water. Did the bank go smoothly?”

“Smoothly.” Lin Chen sat down, opened the velvet pouch, and set the three seals on the table in order. “Company seal, financial seal, legal representative seal. The account activates in three working days. Lao Zhao’s advance payment goes through the corporate account. It should arrive today.”

Su Man nodded and turned her laptop toward him. On the screen was an Excel sheet listing expenses for the next six months: server rental, third-party testing fees, software copyright application, office rent, basic salaries for the two of them, and Xiaoman’s hospitalization deposit and daily medication. The total was four hundred and twenty thousand. The income column contained only Lao Zhao’s three-hundred-thousand-yuan contract, with a ninety-thousand-yuan advance.

“After the ninety thousand covers the testing agency’s deposit and the first phase of server costs, there won’t be much left.” Su Man’s voice was level. There was no complaint in it, only statement. “The registration certificate cycle is at least half a year. The gap over these six months can’t be filled by the advance payment.”

Lin Chen stared at the spreadsheet. His fingers moved across the trackpad. He lowered the “basic salaries” line and changed “server rental” from an annual package to monthly billing. The numbers recalculated, shrinking the shortfall to one hundred and eighty thousand. Still not enough.

“Take outsourcing jobs.” Lin Chen spoke, his voice a little hoarse. “Not touching the medical line. We take data-cleaning and algorithm-optimization work from traditional companies. Short cycles, payment in fifteen days. Low unit price, but it can create cash flow.”

Su Man frowned. “Your energy is all on the registration certificate and clinical adaptation right now. Outsourcing will split your attention. And traditional companies drag out payables. Fifteen days is the ideal case.”

“I know.” Lin Chen opened the mistake notebook to a new page and wrote: “Article 228: Cash flow is the lifeline. The registration certificate is the long line; outsourcing is the short line. Use the short line to feed the long line, at the cost of fragmented time. A stop-loss line must be set: outsourcing must not exceed 40% of total working hours; if payment is overdue, don’t chase it—stop the order directly.”

He closed the notebook and looked at Su Man. “Take one job first. Test the delivery process. If the payment term drags past twenty days, we pull out immediately. The registration certificate can’t wait, but people have to survive first.”

Su Man was silent for a few seconds, then nodded. “I’ll send you the interface document. I’ll run a pressure test tonight. Tomorrow, you contact the client.”

At six in the evening, Lin Chen went to the hospital. The corridor was filled with the mixed smell of disinfectant and food. He pushed open the ward door. Xiaoman was leaning against the headboard, holding colored pencils and coloring in a picture book. He was drawing several crooked stars, with the words “Brother’s machine” written beside them.

Lin Chen sat down on the folding chair and leaned the crutch against the wall. When his left foot touched the floor, pain crawled up along his calf. He made no sound, only looked at his younger brother’s drawing. Xiaoman lifted his head, his eyes bright. “Ge, is the machine fixed?”

“It’s fixed,” Lin Chen said. “It can be used now.”

Xiaoman smiled and handed the picture book over. “Then can the stars light up?”

“They can.” Lin Chen took the picture book and gently brushed his fingers over the paper. The crayon marks were rough, but the lines were serious. He placed the book on the bedside cabinet and took an insulated lunch box from his bag. It was pork-rib soup his mother had made that morning, already cooled through. He twisted open the lid. Steam rose, carrying a faint scent of ginger.

While Xiaoman drank the soup, Lin Chen took out his phone. A notification from the bank app lit up: “Your corporate account ending in 8842 has received a transfer of 90,000.00 yuan. Note: Advance payment for medical image analyzer project (30%).”

The number appeared. There was no surprise in it, only confirmation. He took a screenshot and sent it to the work group. Su Man replied with “Received.” Lao Zhao said nothing.

At nine that night, Lin Chen returned to the rental apartment. The computer screen was on. Beside the cash-flow sheet, a new window had appeared: the scheduling system for a third-party testing agency. He entered the company’s unified social credit code and searched for available appointment slots. The system showed that the earliest slot was in February of the next year. The remarks field read: “Expedited channel requires an additional 30% testing fee and the original ethics approval document from a provincial Grade-A tertiary hospital.”

He stared at that line. February. Four months away. Four months of server costs, personnel expenses, and his younger brother’s medicine. Ninety thousand yuan would not last until then.

His phone vibrated. It was a message from Su Man: “Just received an outsourcing request for industrial visual inspection. The client is a local machinery plant. They want a defect-recognition model delivered within two weeks. Budget thirty-five thousand, 50% advance. Payment term fifteen days. Take it?”

Lin Chen did not reply at once. He opened the mistake notebook to a blank page. The pen tip came down, and ink spread into the paper.

“Article 229: Expedited testing requires the original ethics approval document, and the schedule is stuck in February. Cash-flow gap: one hundred and eighty thousand. The industrial-vision outsourcing job can add thirty-five thousand, but it will consume core development time. Choice: take outsourcing to protect cash flow, or bet on the registration certificate and gamble on clinical repurchases. The risks differ; the cost is the same. Next step: reply to Su Man before nine tomorrow morning. Also contact the hospital information department to confirm whether the ethics approval can go through an internal green channel.”

He closed the notebook and turned off the monitor. The room darkened, with only a little dim yellow light seeping in from the streetlamp outside the window. His left foot was still numb, but his breathing was steady. He knew the numbers in the ledger would not even themselves out, and what the company seal stamped down was not power, but responsibility. By nine tomorrow morning, he had to give an answer.