Miss Wheelchair - Chapter 6

Gu Ci agreed to waive Tan Xin’s second surgery fees. The condition: Tan Xin had to help her clarify the rumors about the “jumping incident.”

Three men talking make a tiger.

The gossip had already shifted from “tragic romance” to a darker tale—“Tan Xin uncovered a hospital secret, Gu Ci threatened her, and unable to bear the pressure, she chose to jump.”

Even that single, hastily corrected shout of ‘give the money back’ had been twisted into proof that Tan Xin knew of some shady financial dispute.

Coincidentally, the hospital was about to celebrate its 5th anniversary.

Sensing the changing winds, more than a dozen media outlets applied for interviews together. Gu Ci instructed her assistant to arrange a press conference in the middle of the anniversary celebration.

She herself would appear, with Tan Xin—the center of the rumors—by her side, to clear the air once and for all.

________________________________________

Ding-dong!

Just as Tan Xin was bored out of her mind, a soft chime sounded. The air shimmered, vision clouded as if covered by gauze, and a massive translucent screen floated before her.

[You have received a real-time mission—Improve Gu Ci’s public image.]

Tan Xin accepted without hesitation.

She was going to the anniversary event anyway. If she could complete a mission at the same time and get a prize out of it, why not?

________________________________________

“President Gu, Miss Tan.”

The assistant came over to clip a microphone to each of their collars, then gestured ahead:

“You’ll go through this door to the backstage area. From there, it’s an easy ramp straight to the stage. Wheelchairs can go up without issue.”

Gu Ci nodded. “Alright. Thank you.”

The assistant pointed at the threshold. “There’s a small step here. Please be careful crossing.”

“Okay.”

The assistant soon left to coordinate the press conference.

Only Tan Xin and Gu Ci remained in the waiting area.

Tan Xin’s heartbeat quickened.

Just the two of them.

________________________________________

Gu Ci was cold and aloof by nature. Her pale lips were always pressed together, and whenever her lashes lowered, casting faint shadows across her skin, Tan Xin was reminded of the ice-carved deity she’d seen one winter in Hokkaido.

Too beautiful.

“Gu Ci.”

She broke the silence carefully. Gu Ci turned her head toward the voice, and for a moment, Tan Xin forgot how to breathe.

Eyebrows like brushstrokes, teeth like pearls, lips tinged with red—how could someone be this beautiful?

No—not someone.

Tan Xin pulled herself back.

Gu Ci wasn’t real. She was a crafted creation, a fictional character whose face and body had been designed to perfection.

No wonder mobile games made a fortune selling romance routes. If players could buy Gu Ci with money, Tan Xin would probably spend her entire fortune without a second thought.

Flustered, she averted her gaze, dodging the electric pull of Gu Ci’s eyes. She quickly sifted through her mind for the speech she’d rehearsed.

“I know I didn’t leave you with a good impression before, but that was a misunderstanding. I’ll make sure you see the real me.”

This was her second mission from the system—her golden chance to turn everything around.

If she could erase that terrible first impression, everything might have a fresh start.

Her palms were damp with nerves, her fingers gripping the armrest of her wheelchair so hard the knuckles turned white.

She fixed her eyes on the tiled wall, waiting for Gu Ci’s response.

But in the corner of her vision, she saw Gu Ci simply watching her—silent, unreadable.

A ticklish ache spread in her chest, like a cat’s paw scratching. She held back, then couldn’t anymore. She looked up at Gu Ci again.

Gu Ci sat calmly in her wheelchair, dressed in a crisp black-and-white pinstripe suit. A deep-colored silk scarf lay against her pale throat, her black hair clipped neatly back with a few strands framing her face. She radiated the composed decisiveness of a woman from the heart of the city.

“Mm.” Gu Ci gave a single syllable in reply.

It was enough.

Tan Xin’s heart leapt like a favored concubine finally summoned to the emperor’s side.

Her brows arched, her shy smile blooming like a pink flower.

“Then let’s go.”

She swore she would do well on stage—debunk every rumor, silence every question, and earn back that pitifully low favorability score.

With that thought, her hands pressed harder against the wheels, sending her chair gliding forward. She impulsively surged ahead of Gu Ci—completely forgetting the assistant’s warning about the step at the door.

Bang!

The old-model wheelchair hit the threshold with a jolt. Unlike Gu Ci’s chair, which had a built-in shock absorption system, Tan Xin’s was nothing more than a clunky iron frame.

The wheelchair tipped, caught on the threshold, and flipped.

“Ah!”

Tan Xin was thrown forward by inertia, landing face-first on the floor.

She’d lost count of how many times she had fallen already. Once upon a time, she had been the runner-up in the national Taekwondo championships, and yet ever since entering this system, she’d turned into some fragile, sickly Lin Daiyu.

Was this reasonable?

Bracing herself on the floor, she managed to sit up, glanced at the broken wheelchair stuck beyond the threshold, then at her right leg encased in plaster, and sighed long and heavy.

Good things take time. Good things take time.

She repeated the mantra to console herself.

“You alright?” Gu Ci’s smart wheelchair glided easily over the threshold, stopping in front of her. The pleasant timbre of her voice briefly drove away Tan Xin’s gloom.

Tan Xin waved a hand.

“I’m fine.”

In front of her wife, she could never afford to look embarrassed. So she flashed a careless smile:

“You go on ahead, I’ll catch up right away.”

Gu Ci gave a simple nod and left—decisive, straightforward.

No hesitation, no fuss.

If this had been Zhang Huaiqin instead, she would’ve ripped into Gu Ci: I told you to go, and you actually went? What about basic courtesy? What about a shred of decency?

But Tan Xin wasn’t like that. She only thought that her posture sprawled on the floor must have looked like a piece of trash by the roadside. Trash didn’t deserve a second glance. Truly, that was Gu Ci.

And Tan Xin loved her all the more for it.

The incident was over quickly, but by the time Tan Xin—helped back into her chair by staff—caught up with Gu Ci, the internet had already blown up.

Someone had snapped photos of her fall.

In the picture, she was sprawled face-down on the ground while Gu Ci sat calmly nearby in her wheelchair.

Caption:

[My grandma always said Zhao Zilong had it coming: Didn’t I tell you Tan Xin must’ve offended Gu Ci? Look—she deliberately pushed her down. And then walked off without a care!]

Huh?

Tan Xin stared at the characters on the phone screen. She recognized each word, but strung together, they made absolutely no sense.

“Nonsense.”

She tossed the phone onto the table and turned to Gu Ci’s assistant:

“Isn’t this defamation? Grab a screenshot, preserve the evidence, and sue them for slander.”

The assistant, clearly used to this sort of thing, sneaked a look at Gu Ci. Her expression was as calm as a still lake, unruffled:

“Third-rate media always do this. You’ll get used to it.”

Tan Xin blinked. “You’re not angry?”

Gu Ci spared her a glance. “What’s there to be angry about?”

Tan Xin studied her closely, making sure she didn’t spot any angry red text floating above her head. Satisfied, she nodded.

“Alright then, not angry.”

Her little act caught Gu Ci’s attention. She scrutinized her for a few seconds, as if trying to see whether something was written across her face. Finally, she asked:

“Can you read minds?”

Tan Xin instinctively wanted to deny it, but then remembered—she could see NPCs’ emotional values. And since she had vowed to always be honest with her wife, she admitted:

“Mm, just a little.”

“Where did you learn that?” Gu Ci asked.

“From novels. Ones about micro-expression analysis.”

She couldn’t reveal her system’s buffs, and she wouldn’t lie to Gu Ci. So she sidestepped the emotional-value thing and picked another explanation. It wasn’t entirely false—she had read them, even if nothing had stuck.

Unexpectedly, Gu Ci only dismissed it, her tone laced with disdain:

“Novelists who can’t even afford rent are supposed to teach you mind-reading?”

Tan Xin stiffened.

“That was kind of harsh.”