Miss Wheelchair - Chapter 4

“Now calculating affection points.”

When the system popped up that line, Tan Xin felt nothing at all.

After two accidental falls, it would have been a miracle if Gu Ci had developed any fondness for her.

No fondness? Fine. At least she’d seen Gu Ci in person and learned she was a neat freak. Not a total loss.

Achievement doesn’t have to show up as a number.

“Okay, calculate it.” She was prepared for a zero.

“Affection: [−10]. Total: [−20].”

Huh?

Seeing those words on the screen knocked all comprehension clean out of Tan Xin. She blinked hard, double-checked the minus sign in front of the numbers as if her eyes had played a trick on her, then asked aloud, “How can it be negative?”

The system replied smoothly: “Dear Baozi, affection points measure the target’s favorability toward you; they can be positive or negative.”

“Could you not call me ‘Baozi’?” Tan Xin said.

“All right, dear. What would you like me to call you?”

“Just use my name.”

“Okay, I, ‘Name’, will call you by your name. Affection points are dynamic; they can be positive or negative.”

“…”

“Anything wrong, Name?”

“You can call me ‘Tan Xin’.”

“Okay, Tan Xin. Affection points are dynamic — they can be positive or negative.”

Tan Xin pointed at the twenty: “Then what’s this twenty? Even if she docked ten points for being displeased today, where did the other ten go?”

The answer that followed was stranger than fiction.

“According to settings, Gu Ci has misanthropic tendencies and dislikes everyone equally. Therefore your initial affection value is [−10].”

Who said achievement had to appear as a positive number?

Tan Xin didn’t respond immediately. “You didn’t tell me about an initial value at the start.”

“We did remind you: Gu Ci is a difficult target, so we do not recommend pursuing her.”

Tan Xin had no guile; her best friend once described her as the sort of person who, even if conned into selling health supplements, would still help count the money afterward.

And that was true.

If someone else — say, Zhang Huiqian — had been told her starting value was negative, she would have argued with the system for three days straight. A target being ‘difficult’ didn’t justify setting an initial [−10], any more than a job listing saying “high workload” could be used to dock pay.

But Tan Xin accepted the explanation. “Fair enough.”

She was thinking about Gu Ci the whole time; the barren wasteland inside her chest felt as if a tiny green sprout had pushed up through the soil. It tickled, and she found herself wanting to scratch that spot several times a day. She even caught herself thinking a line from an old domineering CEO romance: Woman, you have caught my attention.

“So what happens next?” she asked the system.

“Next, we’ll perform the task evaluation.”

“Didn’t we just do that?”

“That was the affection calculation. Affection changes are settled before midnight each time they occur. Now comes the task evaluation. After each task ends, the system assesses completion and awards prizes.”

Prize distribution.

Those words made Tan Xin considerably more upbeat. “Fine. Evaluate it.”

The screen flickered; after a few lines of scrolling code, it displayed one large line:

“Evaluation complete. User Tan Xin successfully completed the task — met Gu Ci and dispelled the suicide misunderstanding.”

Met = they met each other and exchanged introductions.

Dispelled the suicide misunderstanding = denied any lovers’ suicide scheme.

Although “weak health” hadn’t convinced Gu Ci, the way Tan Xin and Zhang Huiqian had explained things didn’t look like the two had been involved romantically. And there was no sign of a lovers’ suicide.

“Now distributing prizes.”

The system’s voice sounded, and the screen switched to the next page.

“Please select your prize:

[Wheelchair] [Critical Condition Notice] [Admission Letter]”

Three items. All of them looked oddly useful.

Tan Xin tried to analyze the options with her scientific brain.

Wheelchair — she could give it to Gu Ci. If the system was feeling generous, maybe it would retrofit the chair with some high-tech features. That might win Gu Ci over.

Critical Condition Notice — it didn’t say who was critical. It usually goes to family members. She hadn’t seen any family around since the system started, so who would it be for? Even if she took it, who would she deliver it to?

Admission Letter — probably for a school. If it was a job offer, it would say ‘offer,’ not ‘admission letter.’ Also, this is a romance system, not an educational one; an admission letter seemed less useful.

After weighing things, the critical-condition notice got tossed out; the admission letter felt irrelevant. The wheelchair, however battered, at least seemed like something she could do something with.

“I’ll take the wheelchair.”

She decided quickly.

The next second the system confirmed, and a wheelchair appeared in the corner of the hospital room.

A secondhand wheelchair.

Its black frame was chipped and rusted, the fake-leather cushion had peeled away in spots and looked as if it had a giant spiderweb plastered across it. One tire was flat, sagging badly.

If she gave this to Gu Ci, Tan Xin figured the affection score might plunge straight to −100.

Zhang Huiqian burst out laughing the moment she saw the chair and flopped onto it with glee. “Hahahaha! Wait—this is your prize? Really? So carefully chosen?”

Tan Xin bristled. “This is my trophy.”

Zhang Huiqian kept giggling. “Okay, okay — your trophy. Hahaha. But seriously, did you offend the system? It feels like it’s out to get you.”

“I made the wrong choice myself.”

Tan Xin believed that every effect had its cause.

If she had chosen the admission letter and happened to attend the same university as Gu Ci, perhaps she could have created more opportunities to cross paths with her.

Zhang Huiqian gave her a look of genuine respect. “Not bad. That’s a good mindset. Anyway, the system is just here to push you into romance. No need to sweat the small stuff.”

“Mm.”

“So, what’s your plan for this prize?”

Tan Xin pondered, then an idea lit up her mind.

“I’ve figured out a way to get close to Gu Ci.”

As she said this, her eyes gleamed, her fighting spirit blazing—she practically looked ready to stand under the national flag and give a speech with a red scarf around her neck.

Who said the wheelchair had to be handed over to Gu Ci?

She had millions to her name—would she ever be short of a wheelchair?

The meaning behind the system’s prize was crystal clear: it was telling Tan Xin to sit in the wheelchair herself, so she could spark a sympathetic, hearts-entwined conversation with Gu Ci.

Only by actually sitting in one could she truly understand what it felt like for Gu Ci to live in a wheelchair every single day.

To know the other, to feel what she feels—only then could she approach Gu Ci as an equal, and begin her journey of winning her wife back.

She shared her plan with Zhang Huiqian, who immediately thought it brilliant.

“Exactly. If the conditions don’t exist, we make them. And hey, since your leg’s already fractured, you’ve got the perfect excuse.”

She clapped Tan Xin on the shoulder.

“Nicely done, sis! You’ve got a sharp mind, all these little tricks lined up.”

Tan Xin was quite pleased with herself.

“I just read Five Years of the System, Three Years of Simulation. The very first chapter says—you have to see the world from the other person’s perspective if you want to strike the right chord.”

“So advanced?”

“Of course. I even read my character profile. My fate in this system is tragic, starting with my family.”

She was about to reveal her miserable backstory when a furious shout erupted from the doorway.

“Tan Xin! Why are you still loafing around here?”

She turned. A well-dressed middle-aged couple stood in the doorway, storming in and jabbing fingers at her nose.

“That money was for your brother’s investment! How could you use it for surgery? What’s he supposed to do now? Has your conscience been eaten by dogs?”

“Didn’t we tell you to get the surgery fee refunded? It’s been three days! You haven’t replied to our WeChat, you don’t pick up calls—what the hell are you trying to pull?”

“And you even went and jumped off a building—now the whole internet’s talking about you! You’ve dragged the Tan family’s name through the mud!”

After their tirade, even Zhang Huiqian, who hadn’t read Five Years of the System, Three Years of Simulation, more or less understood the situation.

She understood, but she didn’t get it. She shot Tan Xin a baffled look.

Did you piss off the system? Otherwise, where did these abstract parents come from?

Tan Xin, not the most emotionally perceptive, didn’t catch the subtext. Mistaking the look for fear, she patted Zhang Huiqian’s shoulder reassuringly.

“Don’t be scared. I can handle this.”

That only made the middle-aged man’s eyes bulge with rage.

“Handle it? How?”

Tan Xin gave him a cool glance. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

The woman’s voice shot up instantly. “What kind of attitude is that? How can you talk to your father like this? Where are your manners? We’re your biological parents, you”

Her lecture in moral blackmail was cut off by Tan Xin raising a hand.

“I am ill-mannered. Which means don’t interrupt me, because you won’t win.”

“You little”

“I’m the reincarnation of the Sun Goddess, here to deal with pests like you.”

“You”

“Keep dreaming. That money was earned by me. I used it for my own bypass surgery. And you still want to snatch it away for your precious son’s investments? There’s no such logic in this world.”

“You! You!”

“That money’s gone into my surgery. And as for the rest of my assets, I’ve already notarized them. Plus, the car I bought for my brother—remember, you called it a loan? Never paid me back. I’m demanding repayment now, with a year’s worth of interest. I’ve handed all the contracts and bank records to my lawyer. If you don’t pay within a month, I’ll sue. When that happens, don’t just worry about your son running—Dad, that half-baked company under your name might go down with him.”

Tan Xin wasn’t naturally good at quarreling.

But she was a fast learner. When she skimmed Five Years of the System, Three Years of Simulation earlier, she’d already drafted the lines in her head and even rehearsed them a few times.

This speech would stump even the cranky old man on the subway who demanded her seat—how could two NPC parents possibly hold up against it?

The middle-aged man collapsed on the spot, groaning about sudden discomfort, then claiming a heart attack.

Tan Xin glanced at his still ruddy face and vigorous expression. Her thoughts clicked into place.

So that’s what the system’s prize, the “Critical Condition Notice,” was for.

If she’d chosen that, she could’ve shipped this old man straight to the ICU by now.

A miscalculation.

The woman rushed to support her “stricken” husband, then jabbed a finger at Tan Xin again.

“Tan Xin! How could you say that? We’re family! With that kind of character, it’s a blessing you never went to grad school—because even if you did, you’d still be nothing but society’s trash!”

Tan Xin frowned.

If only she’d chosen the admission letter—she could have smacked it down on the table right now and basked in her vindication.

As she was regretting her prize choice, the door opened again.

Gu Ci entered—cold, distant, her presence cutting like frost—followed by Dr. Lu Ran, whose expression brimmed with pity.

Above Gu Ci’s head floated a number: Anger +20

Very good. A full twenty points—she was even angrier than when her wheelchair had been dirtied.

Settling back in the wheelchair like a hero resting after battle, Tan Xin crossed her legs, leaned into the cushion, and wore an expression that said it all,

My wife is here.