Chapter 263: Thresholds and Discount Rates

The taxi crossed the speed bumps on the elevated road, and a muffled tremor came up through the chassis. Lin Chen's left foot slid half an inch forward with the inertia; his numb ankle knocked against the metal buckle of his canvas bag. There was no pain, only a dull, delayed thud. He drew his leg back and hugged the bag on his knees. The email notification on the screen was still lit, the cursor blinking steadily in the reply box.

"Right of first use." Five words. In a commercial contract, they were standard language; in his algorithm architecture, they were the vital point. Once the underlying logic was authorized, the investors could strip away the execution team at any time and wrap the code into their own product matrix. The fault-tolerance module and dynamic scheduling logic he had spent two years iterating would become one line of intangible assets in someone else's report. But refusing meant the advance payment would jam. Xiaoman's EEG results had not been reviewed yet, his medication cycle could not be interrupted, and the hospital deposit was already bottoming out.

The driver glanced at him through the rearview mirror. "Boss, traffic's backed up ahead. Take the side road or wait it out?"

"Side road." Lin Chen's voice was very low. He turned off the screen and placed the phone face down on his knees. The calculations could not stop. He needed to put medical expenses and contract cash flow into the same spreadsheet and discount them together.

The emergency building of Municipal No. 3 Hospital was always brighter than the outpatient building. The smell of disinfectant mixed with the damp smell of mop water surged out through the seams of the automatic doors. Lin Chen swiped his card and went upstairs. One fluorescent tube in the corridor was flickering. He avoided the crowd and lightened his steps. When his left foot landed, his weight rested almost entirely on his right leg; his gait was slightly lame, but its rhythm was steady. He knew the circulation here: which elevator was fastest, which nurses' station had the more patient doctor on duty, and that the attending physician's office was at the end of the corridor, with a sign on the door reading "Neurology—Epilepsy Specialty Clinic."

He knocked. A voice inside said, "Come in."

Dr. Shen was looking at scans and did not lift his head. "Sit. Family member?"

"I'm his older brother." Lin Chen pulled out the chair and set the canvas bag by his feet.

Dr. Shen turned his chair around and pushed over a printed long-term EEG report. "Your brother's monitoring is complete. Look here." His finger tapped the waveform chart. "There are clear epileptiform discharges in the medial temporal lobe, at a frequency of around three times per second. The medication concentration has already been adjusted to the upper limit, but the seizure threshold hasn't risen. What does that mean? It means the current conservative treatment plan has reached its bottleneck."

Lin Chen stared at the rising and falling line. He did not ask, "Is it serious?" Instead, he asked, "Does he meet the indications for surgical evaluation?"

"He does." Dr. Shen nodded. "The lesion is clearly localized, but the position is deep and close to the hippocampus. The resection range has to be precise down to the millimeter. We recommend stereoelectroencephalography implantation first—three-dimensional reconstruction, then a surgical plan. The success rate is about sixty to sixty-five percent. If it succeeds, seizure frequency can be reduced by more than eighty percent. If it fails, or if there is postoperative recurrence, then we can only consider vagus nerve stimulator implantation. That is palliative treatment; the control rate is roughly forty percent."

"Cost and timing." Lin Chen took out his notebook, the tip of his pen hovering over the paper.

"Evaluation plus hospitalization, around eighty to one hundred thousand. For the surgery itself, after medical insurance reimbursement, the out-of-pocket portion is about one hundred twenty to one hundred fifty thousand. If you go with the stimulator, device plus surgery starts at two hundred thousand out of pocket. In terms of timing, evaluation takes two weeks, and scheduling depends on bed availability. The earliest would be the beginning of next month." Dr. Shen paused, his tone softening. "Mr. Lin, I know this is not easy for you. But epilepsy is a chronic illness, not a cold. Your brother's EEG background has already begun to show slow-wave changes. Long-term seizures cause irreversible damage to cognitive function. If you delay, the issue won't be money anymore. It will be the window."

Lin Chen set the pen down. SEEG evaluation: 100k. Surgery out of pocket: 150k. Window: 30 days. The numbers were cold, but clear. He capped the pen. "What about doing it in stages? Evaluation first, surgery after the funds arrive."

"That's possible. But medication cannot stop during the evaluation period, and monitoring cannot be interrupted. If a seizure occurs, he could be in the resuscitation room at any time." Dr. Shen looked at him. "As long as you understand that. Go handle the admission procedures. A bed for evaluation can open tomorrow afternoon."

"Thank you, Dr. Shen." Lin Chen stood. The hollow numbness came again from his left foot. He walked out of the office, and the corridor lights pulled his shadow very long. He did not go straight to the payment office. Instead, he leaned beside the fire door of the stairwell and took his phone from his bag. The screen lit up; the email interface was still there.

He opened Notes and created a new entry.

Cash flow: advance 30% ≈ 180k. Covers SEEG evaluation + initial surgery payment. Gap: 70-120k.

Risk: Contract Clause 7.3 "right of first use" has no term limit and no scope restriction. Accept = surrender core asset. Reject = cash flow breaks.

Solution: limit authorization boundaries. Revise "right of first use" to "a non-exclusive use license within the scope of this project for a term of three years." Ownership of underlying architecture retained. Calls outside the defined scope billed by tiered usage volume.

He typed the reply word by word. There was no emotion, only clauses. He knew Zhao Qiming would not concede easily, but this was the bottom line. Technology could compromise; property rights could not. Working for wages would not save his family, but handing over the lifeline would leave him without even the chips for a comeback. He checked once for typos and clicked send.

When he returned to the ward, Xiaoman was already awake. The cup on the bedside cabinet was empty, and the beeping of the monitor was half a beat slower than usual. Lin Chen poured a cup of warm water, inserted a straw, and handed it over. "Drink a little."

Xiaoman took it, drank two sips, and looked at him. "Ge, does your foot still hurt?"

"It doesn't hurt anymore." Lin Chen pulled the chair over and sat down, tucking the blanket higher. "Tomorrow afternoon you'll transfer departments and have the examination. Sleep, and it'll be fine."

Xiaoman nodded and did not ask more. He was used to his brother's brief sentences. Outside the window, the sky darkened, and the city's streetlights came on one after another. Lin Chen looked at the dark circles under his brother's eyes, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the hard edge of his notebook. The rough feel of the paper kept him awake.

His phone vibrated. It was not Zhao Qiming. It was a bank text message. Your account ending in 7749 has received a transfer of RMB 15,000.00. Note: project advance payment (first 10%).

Lin Chen stared at the string of numbers. Ten percent. Not thirty. Zhao Qiming was testing him, and applying pressure. He had cut off the cash flow to force him to accept the original terms.

Lin Chen took a deep breath and put the phone back in his pocket. There was no anger, only confirmation. The game had begun. He opened his computer and connected to the ward's weak Wi-Fi. He brought up the packaged files for the algorithm core module. If the investors squeezed his throat, he had to prepare Plan B. A lightweight version for independent deployment: strip away the commercial authorization interface, preserve only the basic cleaning logic. The code volume would shrink, but it would run through. He needed time, and he needed a shell that could carry implementation.

A new email notification popped up in the lower right corner of the screen. Sender: Zhao Qiming's assistant.

Engineer Lin, President Zhao has reviewed your reply. We agree in principle to limiting the scope, but the three-year term must be shortened to one year. After the one-year term expires, the investor shall enjoy a right of first refusal for renewal. If you agree, please sign the supplemental agreement before 10:00 tomorrow. The first advance payment (30%) will arrive before 18:00 today. Failure to respond by the deadline will be deemed abandonment of this round of cooperation.

Lin Chen glanced at the wall clock. 17:42.

One year. Enough for him to run through the MVP, and enough for the investors to map the underlying logic. His fingers hovered over the keyboard. Accepting meant taking the money to save a life, while handing over half the knife handle. Refusing meant cutting off supplies; Xiaoman's examination might be postponed.

He closed his eyes. What moved through his mind was not a moral choice, but probability. A one-year term and a renewal right were commercial conventions, not indentured servitude. As long as he did not hand over the core code or open the architecture, the initiative remained in his own hands. He opened his eyes and typed two words: Agreed.

He added one line: Please send the supplemental agreement PDF as well. Acceptance criteria and payment milestones shall follow the original agreement.

Send. He closed the computer. At last, a sharp pain shot through his left foot, like a needle driven into the bone marrow. He clenched his teeth and made no sound. The pain was real, and so was the money. He stood and went to the hot-water room at the end of the corridor. The plastic cup wall scalded his hand; he switched hands, the heat passing through the paper cup into his palm.

When he returned to the ward, his phone lit up again. This time it was an internal hospital system notification.

Notice: Patient Lin Xing (Bed 14) has been scheduled for stereoelectroencephalography evaluation tomorrow at 14:00. Family members should bring previous medical records and payment receipts to Neurosurgery Ward One to report. If late, the bed will be deferred.

Lin Chen set the cup on the bedside table. He looked at the steady green numbers jumping on the monitor and gently pressed his fingers to the back of Xiaoman's hand. The skin was cool. The pulse was steady.

Tomorrow afternoon at two. The evaluation would begin.

He opened the canvas bag, took out the bound cost breakdown, and turned to the last page. In the blank space, he wrote a new line: Independent deployment node: 30 days. Technical debt liquidation: started.

Wind passed through the half-open window and lifted a corner of the curtain. The city's neon refracted into blurred spots of light on the glass. Lin Chen did not turn on the light. He sat in the dark, listening to the beeping of the monitor, waiting for tomorrow to arrive.