Miss Wheelchair - Chapter 1

It was the height of summer, the sun blazing overhead.

On the rooftop of Hongkang Private Hospital, a young woman in a hospital gown stood at the edge, half her foot dangling in the air, teetering dangerously. It looked like she was about to jump.

Below, a throng of people had gathered, black as a sea of ants. Firefighters arrived with sirens blaring, quickly setting up an inflatable safety mat.

A few well-meaning onlookers shouted frantically, terrified she might take her own life. But the rooftop was on the ninth floor—no matter how loud they yelled, their voices couldn’t reach her.

The woman remained perfectly still, neither advancing nor retreating.

And yet, she muttered something under her breath.

Thanks to live-stream cameras broadcasting the scene, the internet erupted into a frenzy:

[Five Elements Missing T]: How could someone this gorgeous be so hopeless?

[Fear of Life pass]: Is she possessed? Or involved in some illegal group?

[Zhu Yingtai Stickler]: I know—she’s committing suicide for love.

[Committing suicide?]

[Gentle Jade Butt]: What’s the inside story? Spill it!

[Zhu Yingtai Stickler]: Last night, celebrity Zhang Huiqian confessed to a doctor on livestream. Many people were shocked. And rumor has it—the doctor she likes works at this very hospital.

[Liang Shanbo’s Aunt]: That explains it. She’s jumping here to warn Zhang Huiqian.

[Zhang Fei Embroidering]: Why bother? There’s plenty of fish in the sea.

[Five Elements Missing T]: And whatever she’s murmuring? Probably another confession. Poor Zhang Huiqian, stuck with such a brainless fan.

[Word Momya]: We didn’t know how to show tenderness—thought “dying for love” was just an old myth.

Within moments, the hashtag #ZhangHuiqianFans shot to the top of trending searches. Pity, anger, regret—a swirl of emotions flooded the live feed, dazzling viewers.

Yet at the center of this storm stood the young woman herself—Tan Xin—muttering something.

Not a confession. Not a lament.

“Next step.”

She spoke confidently to the empty air before her. In truth, in the space invisible to everyone else, a massive holographic screen hovered in midair. Streams of text, dense as code, scrolled across it—most people wouldn’t bother reading it unless it contained juicy celebrity gossip.

Everyone except Tan Xin.

“I’ve memorized it.”

A calm system voice replied from midair:

“Dear darling, for the sake of user experience, we recommend you double-check your work.”

Tan Xin recited a series of color-coded emotions without expression:

“Red means anger, blue means fear, gray means sadness, green means happiness.”

Only when she flawlessly recited every emotion within ten seconds did the system believe her.

“Excellent.”

The system’s voice transformed the moment it spoke into that of her favorite female celebrity. Though still flat like AI, it sounded pleasing to the ear.

“Congratulations. You’ve entered Stage Two: Select Your Target.”

The screen flickered. The dense text disappeared, replaced by a grid of 96 small squares, each showing a full-body video of a potential target—from head to toe, near to far.

A poised, elegant flight attendant. A sunny, unruly college student. A calm, composed lawyer. A cool, flashy DJ. A supple, graceful dancer.

Any one of them could be pursued by fans from China all the way to France.

Among this sea of possibilities, Tan Xin’s gaze locked instantly on the person in the farthest corner.

A woman in a wheelchair. Black hair cascading over her shoulders. Lazy expression. Eyes that seemed to declare all of humanity worthless, tinged with cold disdain.

That gaze pierced Tan Xin’s chest like an arrow, igniting fireworks across the empty plains of her heart.

That woman, damn her was unbearably sweet.

“I want her.”

Tan Xin pointed at square 96.

Ding!

Like the startup chime of Windows, the square enlarged. The icy, beautiful face filled the massive screen, pixel-perfect down to the fine hairs glistening under the sunlight.

Oh.

Even sweeter than imagined.

The system introduced the character while a few lines of text appeared below the video:

“Gu Ci, 32, legal representative of Hongkang Private Hospital, General Manager of Riyue Biopharma.”

Tan Xin nodded repeatedly: “Perfect. Older women are the best.”

She quickly amended herself: “I mean, running a hospital and a company—very impressive.”

The system didn’t allow the confirmation. Instead, it offered a human-like warning:

“Darling, we suggest choosing a different target.”

“Why?” Tan Xin asked.

“Since you have no previous romantic experience and lack familiarity with dating skills, we recommend selecting someone closer to your age.”

Tan Xin sneered: “You don’t understand the value of the word ‘sister.’”

The system persisted, listing Gu Ci’s “flaws”:

“Records show Gu Ci is significantly older than you, has disabled legs, and a reclusive personality.”

Seeing Tan Xin remain unfazed, even breathing faster as if listening, the system continued:

“Additionally, she smokes—not e-cigarettes, but thin women’s cigarettes. She also has extensive tattoos on her waist, and”

Tan Xin cut it off hastily:

“Stop praising her already.”

Even just the twelve-second clip on the screen, accompanied by the system’s calm, mechanical introduction, was enough to make Tan Xin’s heart race.

She couldn’t help but imagine, if she was to bite the tattoo at the waist, and that cold, indifferent face winced in pain and tears welled up, how utterly perfect life would feel.

The system, interrupted mid-sentence, went blank for a moment. The screen flickered twice, emitting a stuttering hum of overloaded circuits.

“I want her.”

Tan Xin’s heart was fully committed. She wished she could immediately dive into the system and confront Gu Ci in person, to see if she was as beautiful in real life as in the video.

The system, at a loss, simply clicked the “Confirm” button at the bottom of the screen.

“Confirming target: Gu Ci. System is importing Gu Ci’s data; please wait.”

A progress bar appeared in the center of the screen, steadily advancing from 0%.

Tan Xin waited obediently, hands clasped in front of her, and asked earnestly:

“Can I give her money?”

The progress bar stuttered briefly—fortunately, this was a mature system, capable of handling minor interruptions. After a moment, it resumed, explaining:

“You’ve already paid the registration fee.”

“I know. I mean, I really like this Gu Ci. I want to give her money.”

Just like in mobile games, spending money on the character you’re smitten with to unlock more scenes and interactions.

Alas, this system had a strict, no-nonsense policy:

“This system prohibits all spending behaviors, darling. Please safeguard your wallet. If prompted to pay, immediately shout ‘Anti-Fraud Center,’ and the system will appear to help you clear the scam.”

Tan Xin’s excitement instantly deflated. “Alright, fine.”

Half a minute later, the progress bar hit 100%, completing Gu Ci’s data import. A full-screen message appeared:

“Entering Stage Three—Important Reminders:

1. This is a romance experience system. Once a target is selected, it cannot be changed or abandoned. When the affinity score reaches 100, the experience is considered complete.

2. After entering the system, users must quickly adapt to their new identity and keep their real-world identity confidential.

3. To enhance the experience, users will feel real touch, pleasure, and pain. Please ensure your own safety and avoid dangerous actions.

4. If the experience fails or is interrupted due to the user’s personal reasons, the fee is non-refundable.

5. To help users integrate into the world, the system provides a free manual, “5 Years of the System, 3 Years of Simulation,” for reference.

6. This is a virtual world. Users should enjoy the experience responsibly and avoid over-immersion.”

Tan Xin carefully read all six points, nodded, and clicked “Confirm” in the lower-right corner of the screen.

Whirrr.

The screen retracted, and the sound of computing machinery filled the air above her head.

A sudden force drew her forward—light, almost weightless. Faintly, she heard the hustle and bustle below, punctuated by occasional piercing screams.

She froze. Was she living above a marketplace? It was so noisy downstairs.

Before she could ponder further, the system issued its final command:

“Complete the first task—enter the system.”

Tan Xin frowned. Enter the system? She could already hear the voices of strangers. What else was there to do?

No matter. An easy task was always a good thing.

So, she muttered quietly to herself and waved generously at the system:

“Alright, I understand. You can go now.”

The next second, the system withdrew.

The force holding her vanished as well.

For the first time, Tan Xin truly felt the tyranny of gravity.

Her body wobbled, then plummeted downward at an acceleration of 9.8 meters per second squared.

“Ah!”

The sudden weightlessness left her flailing. The buildings outside blurred past, and the only sound in her ears was the system’s parting, grandiose declaration of “Task.”

The game starts by making you jump off a building? This is a task?

No warning, just drop her, this counts as a task?

They even pulled her forward to make sure she would fall properly, this counts as a task?

Fear and anger surged from her chest, erupting into a colossal scream:

“R—E—F—U—N—D!”

At the same time, both the live audience and online spectators erupted.

[Cao Xueqin Cai: She jumped! She really jumped!]

[Zhu Yingtai Gang: I told you! She’s committing suicide for love! Even at the last moment, she’s shouting Zhang Huiqian’s name! Hui—Qian—]

[Level-One Performance Artist: Incredible! Sisters, you’re truly a modern-day Sherlock!]

[Mist-Shrouded Green Mountains: Idol announces romance, extreme fan attempts suicide. Is this a distortion of human nature or a moral collapse? Tune in to Shanren Talks at 8 PM tonight.]