Chapter 261: Guarantees and Prescriptions

The rain was dense. Lin Chen opened the long black-handled umbrella; one rib had already come loose, and when it spread, it gave off a faint metallic scrape. He turned sideways, letting his right foot test the step outside the inpatient building first, then bringing the left after it. Water rose over the soles of his shoes, the chill climbing up along his ankles. He ignored it and only tightened the canvas bag strap a little higher on his shoulder. Inside the bag were three freshly printed cost-breakdown sheets, a USB drive with the raw data samples, and the signed joint-liability guarantee. The pages were wrapped in a waterproof document pouch, but their edges were still slightly stiff.

The outpatient pharmacy was in another building. Rainwater had soaked the anti-slip flooring in the corridor, reflecting the sickly white light of the ceiling lamps. He walked very slowly, keeping each step to about thirty centimeters. Whenever his left foot landed, the muscles would seize involuntarily; in his mind, he counted beats and broke the pain down into a physical signal that could be ignored. A long line stretched before the pharmacy window, and red numbers rolled across the queue display. He stood at the end of the line, took the hard-cover notebook from his pocket, and turned to a blank page. His pen hovered. He needed to confirm two things: the actual stock of sustained-release sodium valproate tablets, and the daily cost of the substitute plan. If Zhao Qiming’s project payments could be released according to milestones, the thirty-thousand-yuan reserve plus the final balance would be enough to cover Xiaoman’s medication and follow-up examinations for the next half year. But if the guarantee clause was triggered, that money would instantly become debt. Before two o’clock tomorrow afternoon, he had to calculate the risk exposure down to the smallest possible level.

“Sustained-release sodium valproate is out of stock. The manufacturer’s supply is cut off; it won’t arrive until next week.” The pharmacist behind the window did not lift her head, her voice muffled through the glass. “Do you want to switch to levetiracetam? You’ll need a new prescription, and the blood concentration has to be adjusted again. The first two weeks require close observation. If there’s drowsiness or a rash, stop the medication at once.”

Lin Chen nodded. “What about the price?”

“The original brand is expensive. The domestic one is a third cheaper, but the insurance reimbursement ratio is different. Calculate it yourself.” The pharmacist handed out a printed price sheet; the paper was blurred in spots by moisture.

He took it and scanned the numbers. The original drug cost forty-two yuan per day; the domestic version, twenty-eight. After medical insurance reimbursement, the out-of-pocket portions were eighteen yuan and twelve yuan respectively. The difference did not look large, but multiplied by three hundred and sixty-five days, and then by Xiaoman’s dosage, it became cash flow that could not be ignored. He quickly wrote in his notebook: Depakine out of stock. Levetiracetam substitute. Daily cost difference: 6 yuan/month 180 yuan. Attending physician must sign off on medication-change plan. Blood concentration monitoring: 120 yuan each time, three tests needed in first month.

He turned and went to neurology to have the prescription reissued. The process was tedious: queue, pay, pick up the medicine. The attending physician was an older doctor with graying hair. After listening to his request, the doctor pushed his glasses up and said, “The medication can be changed, but it must follow a stepwise dosage schedule. You can’t replace it directly. Your younger brother has a long medical history, and his liver and kidney metabolism is slow. For the first two weeks, record seizure frequency and sleep duration every day. If anything is abnormal, come to the emergency department immediately.”

“Understood.” Lin Chen took the prescription and thanked him.

By the time he returned downstairs to the ward building, the rain had weakened, but the sky had gone completely dark. Streetlights came on, their broken reflections scattered in the puddles. He did not go upstairs right away. There was a twenty-four-hour print shop on the corner, its rolling shutter half lowered, with the hum of a printer leaking from inside. He pushed the door open, and the wind chime rang once. The owner was a middle-aged man wearing reading glasses, head lowered as he repaired a jammed laser printer.

“Three copies, perfect-bound. And one more copy of the guarantee, laminated separately.” Lin Chen placed the USB drive and document pouch on the counter.

The owner looked up at him, asked no questions, and took the files to plug them into the card reader. The screen lit up, PDF pages turning one after another. Cost breakdown, architecture diagram, stress-test report, joint-liability guarantee. The owner’s gaze paused for one second on the signature at the end of the guarantee, and his fingers tapped a few keys. “Once you sign something like this, you’re the one who has to cover it. You sure?”

“I’m sure,” Lin Chen said. His voice was very even.

The printer began working, swallowing and spitting paper in a stable, monotonous rhythm. He leaned against the counter, the numbness in his left leg gradually replaced by soreness. He closed his eyes. There was no fear in his mind, only equations. Joint liability meant unlimited liability. If the project was delayed, or if the data delivery failed to meet standards, the investors had the right to seek repayment directly from his personal assets. At present, he had only a payroll card in his name, with a balance under four thousand, plus the thirty-thousand-yuan reserve. Not enough to fill the hole. But what the investors wanted was not money; it was binding. If he was not bound to them, they would not hand him the core module. That was the rule. He accepted the rule, then used it.

“Done.” The owner pushed the bound booklets over and handed him a laminated copy of the guarantee. “Forty-five in total.”

Lin Chen scanned the code to pay. His phone screen lit up, and the balance number changed. He put away the booklets and turned to push open the door. The night wind carried the earthy smell after rain into his face.

When he returned to the ward, Xiaoman was awake. The monitor screen glowed a deep blue, the heart-rate curve rising and falling steadily. A freshly changed box of medicine sat on the bedside cabinet. Lin Chen put the document pouch on the table, poured a cup of warm water, and handed it to Xiaoman.

“Ge, has the rain stopped outside?” Xiaoman’s voice was very soft, hoarse with the residue of sleep.

“It stopped.” Lin Chen sat down beside the bed and opened the hard-cover notebook. He turned to a new page and began listing tomorrow’s negotiation points.

1. Cost breakdown: reduce compute redundancy coefficient from 20% to 15%, with elastic reserve. 2. Delivery milestones: split into three phases. Data cleaning starts after the first 30% advance payment arrives. 3. Guarantee clause: add exemption details for delays caused by force majeure and investor-side requirement changes. 4. Bottom line: if the investors refuse to revise the exemption clause, activate Plan B. Break down the module, connect with an annotation company. Lower quote by 15%, cash settlement.

He wrote slowly, making every stroke as clear as possible. Under the light, his handwriting looked restrained and calm. He knew that the conference room at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon would not be an equal conversation. The investors controlled the funds and the channels. He had only technology and a signed guarantee. But he also knew that technology was hard currency. As long as the accuracy rate of the data cleaning could remain stable above 99.2%, as long as compute cost could be pressed down to seventy percent of the industry average, he would have room to bargain.

After taking the medicine, Xiaoman lay down again. The monitor’s beeps sounded at regular intervals in the quiet ward. Lin Chen closed the notebook, stacked the three bound booklets in order, and put them into the canvas bag. He checked the USB drive once, confirming the files were intact. Then he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.

No excitement, and no anxiety. Only waiting. Like a server entering standby mode, all processes suspended, with only the core heartbeat preserved.

The phone screen suddenly lit up. It was a WeChat message from Zhao Qiming’s assistant.

Engineer Lin, Mr. Zhao just finished his meeting. He basically approves of the cost breakdown. But Legal has some additional comments on the guarantee clause. Please come to Legal first at nine tomorrow morning to go through the final contract. Conference room at two.

Lin Chen opened his eyes. The light of the screen reflected on his face. He replied: Received. I’ll be there at nine sharp tomorrow morning.

He put the phone down, but did not get up immediately. Additional comments from Legal usually meant a tightening of terms. The scope of joint liability might be expanded, or the repayment cycle might be stretched longer. He needed to recalculate cash flow and confirm whether Xiaoman’s medication switch would affect the subsequent treatment budget.

He opened the canvas bag and took out his laptop. The screen lit up, its cold glow falling across the ceiling. He opened the cost-breakdown spreadsheet, the cursor stopping in the “risk reserve” column. The originally reserved 15% buffer had been calculated based on ordinary project delays. Now, with the joint guarantee and the hidden cost of the medication switch added in, that figure had to be raised. He created a new sheet and entered variables: Probability of guarantee trigger: 12% (based on historical default rate for similar projects), Recovery period: 6–9 months, Cost of capital occupation: annualized 8.5%. He dragged the formula downward, and the numbers in the cells jumped. The final result was twelve thousand yuan more in hidden liabilities than expected.

He stared at that number for ten seconds. Then he changed the “compute redundancy coefficient” from 15% back to 18%, and wrote in the remarks column: Exchange redundancy for delivery stability; reduce probability of default trigger. Technical fault tolerance was the only lever he had to offset commercial risk. He could not bet on luck. He could only bet on probability.

The soreness in his left leg began spreading toward his knee. He adjusted his sitting posture and propped his foot on the edge of the bed to let the blood flow back. The ward was quiet. Only the occasional sound of a cart came from the far end of the corridor, and outside, tires sometimes rolled through water. The smell of disinfectant mixed with damp earth and settled in the air. He looked at Xiaoman’s rising and falling chest. The breathing was steady. The blister pack of new medicine had not yet been opened; it lay quietly in the drawer.

He closed the laptop. Unplugged the network cable. Put the equipment back into the canvas bag. The sound of the zipper was very soft in the night.

Outside the window, the clouds had finally scattered, leaking a few dim strands of starlight. The city’s outline stood in silence in the night. Lin Chen looked at that light, his fingers lightly rubbing the rough paper of the notebook.

Nine tomorrow. Legal. Two o’clock. Conference room.

He picked up the pen and added one line to the end of the list: Before 9:00, verify Contract Clause 4.2 “Trigger Conditions for Joint Liability” and Clause 7.1 “Definition of Force Majeure.” If there is cross-ambiguity, request written clarification.

The tip of the pen paused. He closed the notebook. Everything was ready.