Miss Wheelchair - Chapter 5

The ward door slammed open. The ceiling light in the corridor was painfully bright, cleaving the soft, shadowed gloom of the room into two distinct zones.

Gu Ci sat squarely in that contrast. She was in a wheelchair, long hair tied neatly at the nape of her neck; the backlight carved the silhouette of her head, lending her an efficient, chill precision that seemed to come from within and radiate outward.

“Who are you?” she asked.

The wheelchair rolled into the room. The gentle light draped a frosty wash across Gu Ci’s face as she lowered her eyes to the middle-aged couple sprawled on the floor, her voice as cold and sharp as an ice blade.

“What’s all this commotion about?”

On the side, Zhang Huiqian—eager to repay a favor—popped up and pointed the finger theatrically.

“Ms. Gu, they came here to make a scene. They insisted Tan Xin refund the surgery fee—it’s outrageous!”

Gu Ci and Lu Ran had heard the gist of it in the doorway before they came in.

Lu Ran, righteous by nature, had been annoyed with Tan Xin earlier; she’d assumed Tan Xin was a crazed fan willing to sacrifice herself and that the spectacle had damaged Zhang Huiqian’s standing with bystanders and sullied the hospital’s reputation. She had not expected Tan Xin’s background to be so miserable.

Lu Ran looked down at the two people who wouldn’t get up. “As parents, you don’t visit your own sick daughter and instead come here causing a scene—what kind of people are you?”

Zhang Huiqian chimed in fiercely, “Exactly! You don’t deserve to have children!”

Seeing that those who’d come were all young—except the woman in the wheelchair who looked dangerous enough to avoid—two adults on the floor began to roll and shout, attracting everyone in the corridor until the crowd was dense and noisy.

Gu Ci had run a business for years; she’d seen all kinds of tantrums and tantrum-actors. This level of theatrics barely registered—at best, bronze-tier.

“Xiao Li, get two people in here. Room 901—handle the disturbance and throw them out,” Gu Ci ordered.

A single call brought six security guards, and the raucous couple was escorted out of the hospital.

The assistant arrived and, with practiced efficiency, called the police. To prevent any counterclaims, they pulled footage from both the ward and corridor cameras and handed it over to the police.

At last the farce ended and the small ward sank back into its hush.

Tan Xin felt a twinge of pain where her heart was, looked down, and saw blood seeping through the gauze—her incision had split open.

“That wound’s burst. I’ll take you to get it fixed,” Lu Ran said. She was a doctor after all; she cared for her patients.

Tan Xin waved her hand. “It’s fine. Not serious.”

The surgery had been days ago—done before she tried to jump. The fall hadn’t torn it open; the fight had. It made no sense.

Besides, Gu Ci had shown up in her ward again. If she left now, wouldn’t that squander the chance to see her a second time?

She steered her wheelchair over to Gu Ci, aligning their eye levels. “Ms. Gu, about earlier—thank you.”

Gu Ci glanced at the chair—a piece of junk by all appearances—and her brow shifted. “No trouble,” she said.

A curt, idiomatic two-character reply sent Tan Xin off; there was no opening for further conversation.

Tan Xin’s mind blanked for a second; she couldn’t think of anything to say. Awkward, she turned to Lu Ran. “And Dr. Lu—thank you, too.”

Lu Ran’s voice was gentle. “You’re welcome. I’m your attending physician—taking care of you is my job.” She pointed toward the door. “Come on. I’ll check your wound. Superficial cuts are fine, but I’m worried the incision inside might have split.”

Tan Xin desperately gave Lu Ran a look—please, let me stay with Gu Ci a bit longer. The wound could reopen; who cared? This was a once-in-a-lifetime chance: Gu Ci had come to her ward.

Lu Ran understood immediately and nodded with sympathy. “I’ll also check your eyes while I’m at it.”

Tan Xin’s breathing quickened. She glanced at Gu Ci, eager to manufacture some common ground. “Ms. Gu, don’t worry—they won’t come back to make trouble. And about the surgery fee—I won’t make the hospital refund it again.

There’s another surgery coming up, right? I promise I’ll pay on time.”

Gu Ci regarded her with an unreadable depth; her eyes were so dark you could lose yourself in them. “Did they force you into that?” she asked.

“Huh?” Tan Xin blinked. She hadn’t understood. She looked toward the top of Gu Ci’s head—no emotion numbers appeared above it.

“Did they force you to demand the hospital refund the surgery fee?” Gu Ci clarified.

“Oh.” Tan Xin finally caught on. “No.”

Lu Ran couldn’t listen any longer. “Gu Ci and I both heard everything. Stop hiding it.”

Tan Xin panicked. “It wasn’t them—that was my fault.”

Even if her family background was dire, it didn’t justify asking the hospital to refund the surgery. Tan Xin felt this was a fault of the original owner of her body.

But to onlookers, this sounded like a considerate daughter trying to protect her shameful parents’ face.

Lu Ran shook her head repeatedly; a blue +30 flashed over her—she was consumed with sorrow. “After how they treated you, you still think of them?”

Tan Xin hastened to explain. “I really didn’t. About the refund—I was wrong.”

She was falling for Gu Ci and she didn’t want to advance the relationship by playing the victim card.

But the more she explained, the worse it sounded. Everyone was now convinced she was a mistreated child who nevertheless showed compassion towards her abusers.

Tan Xin felt trapped. She prayed nobody would hoist her onto some moral pedestal; she wasn’t that saintly—and if she became known as kind, her true nature would only reveal itself later and the façade would crumble.

She struggled to defend herself when Zhang Huiqian suddenly let out a practiced wail.

“Wah—Tan Xin, you’re so unfortunate!” Zhang cried.

Tan Xin ground her teeth and turned. “What are you doing now?”

Zhang Huiqian’ theatrics ratcheted up and she burst into real tears. “Gu Ci, look—Tan Xin has no money for surgery and still thinks of others. She must have jumped because she couldn’t bear the abuse from her family.”

Tan Xin’s eyes went wide. Was this how you whitewash yourself?

She reached for Zhang Huiqian to shut her up, but Zhang leapt to Lu Ran’s side instead. “Dr. Lu, Tan Xin is my best friend—you have to help her! I’ll cover the surgery fee! Give her the best care! Wah, so pitiful.”

Tan Xin couldn’t believe it. Zhang Huiqian could cry professionally—she’d make three hundred yuan a day as a studio audience member on Hunan TV with that skill.

And why was Zhang doing this? This whole scene was about Tan Xin—Zhang’s dramatic display did nothing to help her pursuit of Lu Ran. Why such effort?

A young Tan Xin was baffled as Zhang’s performance escalated. Then Zhang slipped; Lu Ran—standing just in time—caught her.

“Dr. Lu, I feel unwell. My chest—can you check me?” Zhang simpered.

Tan Xin was suddenly relieved. Perfect—just what she needed.

Seeing the situation swinging off-course, Tan Xin had no choice but to abandon the attempt at getting alone time with Gu Ci. She used the wound as an excuse and hurried Zhang away for treatment.

Just as the three reached the doorway, the silent Gu Ci spoke.

“Tan Xin, the hospital will cover the cost of your second surgery.”

“What?” Tan Xin immediately started to back up in her wheelchair. The right tire was flat and the chair lurched dangerously, nearly tipping her over.

“Are you serious?” she blurted.

Gu Ci looked at her. Her gaze was still cool, but her voice was softer than yesterday. “Yes.”

Tan Xin felt overjoyed beyond reason. It wasn’t about the money—the system’s funds couldn’t be taken out anyway. What mattered was that Gu Ci was willing to take responsibility for her surgery. Of all the people in a busy hospital, Gu Ci had singled her out.

What did that prove? It proved Gu Ci wasn’t the cold, heartless figure the system rated her as—she was the kind of sister who was icy on the surface and warm at the core.

A runaway, insane person meeting a soft-hearted deity—who could resist?

“Thank you, Ms. Gu,” Tan Xin pushed her luck. “May I ask why?”

Gu Ci’s lips tipped into the faintest curve. Though calculation gleamed behind her eyes, all Tan Xin saw was a smile, as if a winter ice sheet had thawed into water.

“I have one condition.”

“What condition?”

“My assistant will come to you later. Go get your wound treated first.”

Tan Xin’s heart raced—she cared about my wound.

“All right,” she said readily.

“I’ll agree to anything you say,” she added, emboldened.

If only you’d offer yourself to me—that would be even better.