Chapter 251: Ledgers and Receivers

The busy tone lasted seven rings before the call disconnected automatically. The screen went dark, reflecting Lin Chen's expressionless face. He stared at the "Call ended" prompt for two seconds, then lit the screen again with his thumb and dialed the village clinic.

The old village doctor answered. In the background were the roar of a tractor and a woman's urging voice. "Guiying took Xiaoman to the county. They left less than twenty minutes ago. Got a ride going that way. Said they'd get an X-ray and check the bone." The old doctor's voice was scattered by the wind. "You handle your work. There are acquaintances looking after things here."

"Call me the moment the film results come out." Lin Chen kept his voice very low. "If the money isn't enough, put it on account first. I'll transfer it right away."

He hung up and opened WeChat. The balance showed eighty-four hundred yuan. He entered ten thousand and transferred it to his mother. The note was only two words: checkup. Nothing extra. He knew his mother would economize, but registration at the county hospital, X-rays, medicine, and round-trip transport made five thousand the bare minimum. The surplus was for possible accidents.

Sent successfully. The green check mark lit up. He put down the phone and dragged his attention back to the Excel sheet.

The cursor blinked in the column labeled "R&D Costs - Server Leasing." Zhao Qiming had pressed the valuation down by ten percent, and the liquidation preference was written as "1.5x participating." That meant if the company was sold or liquidated in the future at a price below this round's valuation, Zhao Qiming would have the right to take back 1.5 times his principal first, with the remainder distributed by equity ratio. The term was harsh, a standard defensive posture for capital. Lin Chen was not surprised. He dragged the mouse, lowered the expected valuation for the next financing round by 8%, and compressed the cash-flow break warning line from "18 months" to "12 months." The numbers rearranged themselves in the cells like cold bricks, building a road that could barely be walked.

He opened another worksheet and began checking the financial assumptions line by line. Labor costs were calculated for a twelve-person team; 150,000 yuan was reserved for compliance audits; the marginal cost of elastic cloud-server expansion was priced by tiers of daily average calls; outsourced data-labeling unit prices were pushed down to the industry floor. Behind every number was a concrete consumption. He remembered three years ago in the main room of the house in Qingshi Village, using an abacus and scrap paper to calculate his younger brother's medical expenses and his own tuition. The ledger back then had been thin, only two columns: income and expenses. The ledger now was thick, hiding valuations, performance bets, preferences, and exit paths. But the underlying logic had not changed: calculate the margin clearly, leave enough buffer, and do not gamble on luck.

Su Man pushed the door open and came in carrying two cups of instant coffee. She placed one beside Lin Chen, her gaze sweeping over the financial model on the screen. "If Zhao Qiming wants to see you, he definitely won't stop at pressing the valuation." She pulled out a chair and sat down. "He has data from a competing company. That medical-imaging AI company from last week just got their angel round from them. The terms were looser than ours, but their tech stack is half a generation behind. He wants to use that to pressure us into signing an exclusivity agreement, or a revenue performance bet."

"We won't sign exclusivity." Lin Chen lifted the coffee and took a sip. The taste of cheap coffee powder spread over his tongue, scorched and bitter. "A revenue bet can be discussed, but the base has to be calculated by the actual number of tertiary hospitals connected, not by contract value. Hospital procurement cycles are long. Forcing short-term revenue will deform our actions. Once we loosen data-desensitization standards just to make up numbers, the moment we touch the compliance red line, the entire pilot is dead."

"He knows you'll answer that way." Su Man brought up a memo on her phone. "So I revised the technical delivery milestones. Move the open-source plan for the desensitization module up to Q3, and use community influence as bargaining leverage. If Zhao Qiming insists on hard terms, we can give another 3% on valuation, but demand that the founding team retain one-vote veto power on the board. We cannot yield on the technical route. Data sovereignty has to remain in our hands."

Lin Chen nodded. He looked at the cash-flow curve on the screen and tapped the desktop twice with his finger. "Finalize the model tonight. Eight tomorrow night, Guomao. You bring the technical roadmap; I'll bring the financial working papers. The bottom line is that control dilution can't exceed 40%, liquidation preference goes down to 1.2x, non-participating. Anti-dilution uses weighted average, not full ratchet."

"Understood." Su Man stood. "I'll run through the final stress-test report and send it to you tomorrow afternoon. Also, the information department is pushing for the draft data authorization letter. I had legal prepare it. Take a look."

The door closed. The office became quiet again. Lin Chen pushed the coffee cup aside and put both hands on the keyboard. He began reviewing the authorization template from legal word by word: patient informed consent, data-desensitization standards, usage restrictions, liability for breach. Every clause drew a boundary. He revised three phrases, changing "permanent authorization" to "valid during the pilot period" and clarifying "raw data calls" as "support only for feature-vector extraction after desensitization." He knew Zhao Qiming wanted the raw-data authorization letter as a test of the compliance boundary, and also as groundwork for later capital operations. Data was an asset, but also a mine. Step wrong, and the blast would take the whole company.

At four in the afternoon, his phone vibrated. It was a voice message from his mother.

He tapped it open. The background was the noise of a county-hospital corridor. His mother's voice was low, tired. "The film is done. The bones are fine. The doctor said it may be growing pains, plus he didn't rest well after the fever a while ago. They prescribed some calcium tablets and vitamins, said he should get more sun. I received the money. It's too much. You focus on your work. Don't worry."

Lin Chen listened to the end, his finger hovering over the screen for several seconds. He typed back: Good. Take the medicine on time. Call anytime if anything happens.

Sent. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. The old injury in his left leg had begun to ache faintly after sitting too long. He reached down and rubbed the muscle along the outside of his knee. The pain was specific, like a fine needle slowly moving under the skin. He was used to it. It reminded him that his body was still running, reminded him that he was not yet at a point where he could relax. Outside the window, the sky gradually darkened, and the city's contours were outlined by neon. His profile was reflected in the glass, the blue-black beneath his eyes deep, but his gaze very still.

At seven in the evening, he saved the final version of the financial model, naming it TS_Performance-Bet-Terms_Bottom-Line-Calculation_v4.xlsx. He packaged it, encrypted it, and sent it to his work email. Then he shut down the computer and picked up his coat.

The corridor lights were already on. He walked to the elevator and pressed the down button. The metal doors reflected his silhouette, his shoulders slightly hunched, but his steps steady. He knew tomorrow night's negotiation would not be easy. Zhao Qiming had not come to do charity. Capital wanted certainty and return rates. What Lin Chen could provide was only a solid technical foundation and a clear path to commercialization. As for the terms pressing in on him, he would dismantle them one by one at the negotiating table, speak with data, and defend with bottom lines.

The elevator doors opened. He stepped inside and pressed the button for B2.

The phone screen lit in his pocket. It was a text message from an unfamiliar number: Mr. Lin, tomorrow night's meeting location has been confirmed. Mr. Zhao instructed that you bring the original data authorization letter.

Lin Chen looked at the line of text, his thumb lightly rubbing the edge of the phone. The original data authorization letter. That was an agreement attachment Director Li from the hospital information department would not sign until tomorrow afternoon. Zhao Qiming asking for it in advance was pressure, and also a test of his reaction speed.

He replied: The agreement will be signed tomorrow. Authorization letter attached accordingly.

Sent. The elevator reached B2. The doors opened, and cold wind poured in from the garage passage. He tightened his coat and walked toward the parking area. The car lights came on, illuminating the empty concrete floor ahead. The sound of the engine starting echoed through the underground garage. He shifted into gear, released the clutch, and the car slowly pulled out of its space.

Eight o'clock tomorrow night. Guomao café. Ledgers, terms, data, bottom lines. Everything was on its track.

He signaled and merged onto the main road. The city's neon flowed beyond the windshield like a silent river. The dashboard clock jumped to 19:42. On the passenger seat lay the folder for tomorrow, holding the financial model, the technical roadmap, and the authorization letter not yet signed. Lin Chen tightened his grip on the steering wheel until his knuckles paled. He knew the real negotiation was not on the paper, but in the silences that never made it into the terms.