Chapter 7
Chapter 7
Juyuan’s IPO was the largest case Zhongda had taken on since its inception.
As the lead partner, Yang Ru was both the overall head of the project and my greatest source of support. This was the first time I had taken on a case as the lead attorney since returning to the country and joining the firm.
Even with the advantage of memories from my past life, the pressure was still off the charts.
Fortunately, Yang Ru understood what this case meant even better than I did.
If we succeeded, Zhongda would thrive; if we failed, Zhongda would die. It was that simple.
Consequently, he didn’t dare relax for a single moment.
The elite lawyers from all over Zhongda were pulled in to form a dedicated team. Additionally, Yang Ru leveraged his connections to bring in several veterans from Red Circle Firms as external consultants to ensure the project proceeded smoothly.
The listing of a super unicorn was bound to be the center of attention. However, the legal procedures involved in this process were incredibly complex and lengthy.
From corporate restructuring and legal due diligence to the final regulatory inquiries and the actual IPO, the process could take anywhere from one or two years to as many as three or four. It was equivalent to rebuilding the entire enterprise from the ground up; the workload was as vast as the ocean.
Luckily, the team Yang Ru assembled was highly professional and efficient. Combined with my own specialized research and the experience I had accumulated in my previous life, the case soon got on the right track, and all work progressed in an orderly fashion.
While I was digging into Juyuan’s background, I discovered that besides his main focus on AI, Chen Ming also had extensive interests in the biopharmaceutical sector.
One subsidiary in particular, named Saibo Medical, caught my attention.
Saibo Medical was the largest subsidiary under Juyuan. It was no exaggeration to say that it had been burning money since the day it was founded.
Last year alone, Saibo Medical consumed four billion, while Juyuan’s total annual net profit was only seven billion. It had burned through more than half of the company’s net profit!
Furthermore, Saibo Medical’s budget was increasing year by year; it was a typical money pit. If this continued, when the IPO audit came around and the financial statements were consolidated, Juyuan’s beautiful balance sheet would likely be devoured by this subsidiary.
My first instinct, naturally, was to spin it off as quickly as possible.
So, I reviewed Saibo Medical’s business plan, trying to find more reasons to convince Chen Ming. The plan stated that they were primarily researching AI-assisted treatments for neurological diseases.
It sounded very forward-looking.
However, I was extremely sensitive to language, and my intuition told me that the long-winded business plan was being evasive. I was all too familiar with Chen Ming’s style of manipulating legal text.
It was just like when I used to ask him, “Why didn’t you bring the laundry in? It’s getting dark.”
He would calmly and slowly start discussing the themes and emotions expressed in the classic essay “Moonlight over the Lotus Pond.”
In our previous life, we had encountered similar situations many times. Chen Ming had once taught me a trick: if you want to understand what a company really does, the most direct way is to look at the core personnel files and see the backgrounds of the top talents they hire.
Words can be deceptive, but the people doing the work-their educational backgrounds and work experiences-are set in stone.
So, I continued to examine Saibo Medical’s personnel files.
They were all top-tier algorithm engineers and neurological medical experts. The lineup was quite luxurious; no wonder it was such a money pit!
Just as I was about to look into these individuals one by one, I suddenly saw a familiar name: Xiao Zilin, Director of Clinical Trials.
My heart couldn’t help but tremble.
Dr. Xiao… In my previous life, she was our son’s attending physician.
Back when our child first fell ill, Chen Ming and I visited countless hospitals. We saw all sorts of professors and specialists, but the results were negligible.
Xiao Zilin was just an obscure pediatrician at the time, yet her intervention methods were the only ones that actually worked.
That was why she had left such a deep impression on me.
Realizing something was wrong, I immediately issued a legal discovery request to Saibo Medical, demanding access to their intellectual property R&D drafts as well as their medical and regulatory approval documents.
The other party stalled for several days. They likely only sent the files over after finally consulting with Chen Ming.
As I scanned the dense text of the patent application, I saw a specific line:
“Implanted electrodes precisely decode neural signals controlling the lips and tongue when a patient ‘attempts to speak,’ directly translating them into text on a screen or synthesized speech…”
I couldn’t help but gasp.
The primary project Saibo Medical was currently working on-the Lingxi System-was actually researching Brain-Computer Interface Technology.
This technology was highly controversial, both in my past life and the present.
It felt as if Chen Ming was intentionally flaunting it. Included in the files they sent were many pieces of evidence I hadn’t even requested, all of which confirmed my suspicions.
In particular, the business contracts contained massive amounts of data on pediatric autism cases and hundreds of families participating in clinical trials… Looking at them made my heart turn cold.
He was trying to use Brain-Computer Interface Technology to treat autism.
This was insane!
In our previous life, Chen Ming and I had exhausted every possible means to treat our child’s condition. When AI first emerged, similar concepts had surfaced. But those so-called “smart medical” treatments were just scams using technology as a facade to fleece desperate parents. They had no real effect.
Like many families dealing with autism, we had fallen into our fair share of traps. The money spent was one thing, but what was truly hateful was how a parent’s devotion was exploited and the child’s treatment was delayed.
Looking at it now, Chen Ming hadn’t forgotten what we went through in our past life at all.
But whether he was doing this for his business empire or because of the lingering resentment from our past, his ambition was far too reckless.
In my previous life, Brain-Computer Interface Technology was already a subject of intense debate, a deep-water zone of legal and ethical minefields. The requirements for human subjects were extremely strict, generally limited only to those with severe physical disabilities.
And yet, he actually wanted to use it on autistic children.
If he really dared to do this, it would be a social and public relations disaster.
When electrodes are implanted into a child’s nerves, how can you guarantee that everything the child expresses is their own intent, and not the intent of that “electronic brain”? If it’s the latter, it means the AI has effectively killed the child on a spiritual level and replaced them.
The theoretical and technical issues involved were incredibly complex. In this extreme field, there were only a handful of people in the world who truly understood it, and I was one of them.
But even I didn’t have absolute confidence.
The current Saibo was a ticking time bomb. One wrong move and everything would go up in flames.
I slumped into my chair, filled with regret. I had taken this case thinking it would be a shortcut to the top, bringing both fame and fortune. I never expected this bastard was planning to use me as a sacrificial lamb!
As if he had timed it perfectly, Chen Ming called right then.
“Attorney Zhang, if you regret it now, it’s not too late to back out.”
I sneered. “Increase the legal fees by another twenty percent.”
A familiar chuckle came through the phone. “Zhang Yue, you haven’t changed a bit.”