Chapter 324: Links and Gaps

The streetlights on the elevated highway stretched into a dim yellow line. Lin Chen kept his speed at sixty, his left hand resting on the steering wheel while his right scrolled through his phone screen. The provincial directory of CMA-certified data appraisal agencies listed seventeen institutions. He opened each official website one by one, cross-referencing their scope of business, scheduling calendars, and expedited service clauses.

The first eight were ruled out immediately. Some only handled judicial forensics; others were booked until mid-next month; a few quoted, “Standard turnaround: seven working days. Expedited requests require additional approval.” In the bureaucratic system, the word “approval” meant unpredictable time sinks. The Health Commission’s preliminary review window waited for no one. Once materials were overdue, the system would automatically close, and the entire project would be bounced back for re-review.

The ninth was the Data Security Laboratory under the Provincial Institute of Metrology. Its scope included “Integrity and Traceability Appraisal of Electronic Media.” The schedule read: Standard turnaround, five working days. Expedited service required full prepayment and self-delivery of samples. Quote: 24,000 RMB.

Lin Chen opened the financial system. Company account balance: 410,000. Deducting this amount meant next month’s cloud server leases and the salaries of two algorithm engineers would have to be pulled from the reserve fund. His finger hovered over the confirm button, but he didn’t hesitate. Compliance was a lifeline, not a cost item. Technology could be iterated, funds could be rotated, but a broken qualification chain meant the product wouldn’t even qualify for launch.

He dialed the lab’s public landline. A woman answered, speaking quickly with a brisk, businesslike detachment.

“Expedited is possible. But you’ll need to provide a complete chain-of-custody record for the media, the original hash values, and a sealing certificate with dual signatures. We only issue the report; we don’t fill in missing materials. Deliver the samples before 9 a.m. tomorrow. Draft by 4 p.m. tomorrow. Official stamped copy by 10 a.m. the day after. We won’t hold the slot if you’re late.”

“Understood.” Lin Chen’s voice was steady. “I’ll email the custody records and hash values to you tonight. I’ll bring the original dual-signed documents with the media tomorrow. Payment will be via corporate transfer. Please send me the digital expedited agreement first.”

“Fine. Send me the email. I’ll return the agreement within half an hour. Note: the media must be sealed in an anti-static, shockproof case. Temperature during transit must not exceed twenty-five degrees Celsius. Our lab’s reading equipment is LTO-7. If your tapes are LTO-5, you’ll need to bring your own compatible reader. We don’t provide adapters, nor do we handle secondary appraisals for physical media damage.”

“I’ll bring my own.” Lin Chen made a note. He hung up.

He pulled over, turned on his hazard lights, and dug out a notebook from the passenger-side glove compartment. Flipping to a blank page, his pen scratched across the paper: 1. Sign CMA agreement (expedited clauses/liability boundaries) 2. Media packaging (anti-static/temperature control) 3. Bring own LTO-5 reader + power bank 4. Complete custody records (missing former director’s signature) 5. Fund transfer (24k).

After finishing the fifth item, he glanced up at the rearview mirror. His left foot, resting near the edge of the brake pedal, felt slightly numb, the muscles twitching involuntarily. He shifted his posture, transferring his weight to his right leg, and fished two ibuprofen tablets from his bag, swallowing them dry. He hadn’t brought water, so he twisted open a bottle of mineral water and took a gulp. The pills slid down his esophagus, leaving a faint burning sensation in his stomach. He waited three minutes before starting the engine again.

By the time he returned to the office building, it was nearly nine. Su Man was still at her desk, her monitor glowing, a half-cold bento box sitting beside it. Her keystrokes were light but rapid.

“I’ve sent you the agreement.” Lin Chen handed her the printed expedited clauses. “Focus on Article Three: the appraisal agency assumes no responsibility for the original data content. They only certify the physical state of the media and hash consistency. This means if the Health Commission presses us on the specific field mapping for the clinical data, we’ll have to cover the gap ourselves.”

Su Man took the document and skimmed it quickly. She pushed up her glasses, picked up a pen, and circled Article Three. “Covering it won’t be a problem. The stress test report is already done. I’ve attached the data masking logic for the core fields and the data lineage mapping table to the appendix. As long as the appraisal report gets stamped, we’ll pass the preliminary review.” She looked up at him, her gaze landing on his slightly pale lips. “Did you transfer the money?”

“Just approved.” Lin Chen sat down and opened his laptop. “I’ve got the reader. I’ll deliver the samples tomorrow. You stay at the office and monitor the Health Commission’s online system. The moment the status updates, take a screenshot and archive it. Also, pull up the scanned original contract for the 2016 server room relocation. I need to check the signature page.”

Su Man’s fingers tapped the keyboard. A few seconds later, a PDF landed on Lin Chen’s desktop. He zoomed in on the signature page. Party A representative: Provincial Hospital IT Department. Party B representative: Outsourcing company. Date: 2016.11.05. Official seals were intact. But in Party A’s signature block, there was only the deputy director’s signature. The department head’s review stamp was missing.

Lin Chen’s brow furrowed slightly. He pulled up the requirement from the retrieval form: Original with dual signatures. In the Health Commission’s compliance templates, “dual” typically meant “handler + reviewer.” The deputy director was the handler; the department head was the reviewer. Missing one stamp broke a link in the chain. Data lineage tracing demanded a closed loop. Any missing link would be flagged as “questionable” by the auditors.

He picked up his phone and dialed Old Zhou’s number.

“Old Zhou, who stamped the review seal on the 2016 relocation contract back then?”

The sound of rustling papers came through, followed by a long silence. “Mr. Lin… back then, the IT department head was surnamed Chen, Chen Guodong. He took early retirement three months after the relocation. The stamp… it seems the new director never got around to adding it during the handover. Nobody really pressed the issue back then. As long as the system went live and ran smoothly, that was it.”

“Where does Chen Guodong live now?”

“West city, in the old textile mill family quarters. I don’t know the exact apartment number. He’s kept a low profile since retiring, and I’ve heard his health isn’t great.”

Lin Chen made a note and hung up. He opened a mapping app and searched for “West City Textile Mill Family Quarters.” The location showed the area had been slated for urban renewal three years ago. Some buildings had already been demolished; the remaining ones were accessed by narrow, potholed roads impassable to trucks. The navigation route cut off three hundred meters from the community gate, displaying a prompt: “Road construction ahead. Walking recommended.”

He closed the map and opened his notebook again. After missing former director’s signature, he wrote: 1. Retroactive signature declaration (requires Chen Guodong’s personal signature + ID copy) 2. Backup plan: Retrieve 2016 hospital office meeting minutes to prove the relocation decision received collective departmental approval 3. Time window: Must obtain signature or minutes before 8 a.m. tomorrow.

Su Man watched him write and said softly, “The roads in the renewal zone are hard to navigate. Your foot…”

“I can walk.” Lin Chen cut her off, his tone flat. “I’ll leave at seven tomorrow morning. Family quarters first, then the appraisal center. I’ve planned the route to avoid the morning rush. You get to the office by eight-thirty. Refresh the status the moment the system opens. If the Health Commission’s system pops up a correction notice, don’t panic. Fill it out using the template, screenshot it, and send it to me.”

He stood up, walked to the whiteboard, and picked up a red marker. On the “72-hour” timeline, he crossed out “Agency Coordination.” Below it, he wrote: 08:00 Retroactive signature link 09:00 Sample delivery & testing 16:00 Draft confirmation Next day 10:00 Official report.

The ink dried. He set the marker down, turned, and began packing his backpack. Anti-static bags, shock-absorbing foam, the LTO-5 reader, a power bank, two media sealing certificates, and the printed expedited agreement. He checked each item off, loading them into his rucksack. The zipper closed with a crisp click.

Su Man handed him a cup of warm water. “Don’t take ibuprofen on an empty stomach. Your stomach can’t handle it. Stop at a service area on the way tomorrow to deliver the samples. Eat something hot.”

Lin Chen took it and took a sip. The temperature was just right. He nodded, saying nothing.

Stepping out of the company building, the night air already carried a chill. The streetlights stretched his shadow long across the pavement. He walked to the parking lot, opened the car door, and placed his backpack on the passenger seat. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he fastened his seatbelt and adjusted the seat angle so his left foot could rest flat on the pedal. He opened the trunk, pulled out a hard plastic transit case, lined it with anti-static foam, and placed three LTO-5 tapes inside one by one. He slipped cushioning cotton between each tape, closed the lid, and secured the latches. He affixed a temperature-control label, then used zip ties to fasten the reader and power bank to the side of the case.

His phone screen lit up. A WeChat message from Old Zhou: Mr. Lin, I asked an old colleague and got Director Chen’s number. It ends in 7743. But I’ve heard his legs aren’t great lately, and he’s not receiving visitors.

Lin Chen stared at the string of digits. He didn’t dial immediately. He opened his notes app and created a new entry: Chen Guodong. 2016.11.05. IT Department Head. Early retirement. Ends in 7743.

He saved it, locked the screen, and started the car. The engine hummed softly as he merged into the night traffic.

Tomorrow, 8 a.m., the renewal zone. 9 a.m., the appraisal center. Out of seventy-two hours, forty-eight remained.

He gripped the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the asphalt stretching ahead. The headlights cut through the darkness, dust settling slowly in the beams. He didn’t accelerate, nor did he slow down. He simply maintained a steady pace, driving forward.

Inside the shockproof case on the passenger seat, the three LTO-5 tapes lay quietly. The serial numbers on their labels caught a faint glint in the dim cabin.

Countdown: forty-eight hours. The chain was still missing one link.