Miss Wheelchair - Chapter 7

The press conference, arranged by the PR department, unfolded in an orderly manner.

First, to dispel rumors of shady dealings within the hospital.

Second, to address the truth behind Tan Xin’s fall from the rooftop.

On stage, Tan Xin and Gu Ci sat side by side, each with a microphone in hand.

Below them, folding chairs were neatly arranged in a grid pattern. Reporters from forty-two media outlets sat in their assigned seats, according to their respective organizations.

At the start, it was Gu Ci who took the lead, calmly clarifying one outlandish rumor after another.

Seated in her wheelchair, she faced the reporters with composure, her tone steady and precise.

“Recently, several incidents at our hospital have drawn widespread attention. Many of you are curious about what really happened, and the online chatter has been rampant. Today, I will clarify everything once and for all.”

From Tan Xin’s angle, she could clearly see Gu Ci’s profile.

She noticed that Gu Ci’s nose was especially beautiful. Not in the exaggeratedly high-bridged way of certain ethnic features, but in a gentle, sculpted arc—neither too high nor too low, perfectly balanced, the lines flowing smoothly and lending her profile a three-dimensional grace without seeming abrupt.

Tan Xin wondered what it would feel like to press the pad of her finger against that nose, sliding from the bridge down to the tip, then back again—skin brushing against the fine contours.

The thought made her heart itch. She instinctively scratched the tip of her own finger, but the itch lingered.

Whatever Gu Ci was saying, Tan Xin didn’t hear a single word. All she knew was that beauty was right before her eyes—how could she not savor it?

When the first part ended, the host smoothly moved the process forward:

“Now that President Gu has given her explanation, I believe our friends in the media have a clearer understanding of the situation. Next is the Q&A segment. We will take six questions in total, so please manage your time accordingly.”

Reporters excel at stirring the pot during Q&A sessions. While Gu Ci was already under scrutiny, pressing harder would generate greater buzz, endless traffic flooding in like waves.

A male reporter in the corner was the first to rise. Taking the microphone from the staff, he asked:

“President Gu, as far as I know, your hospital has always promoted its orthopedics department. Yet the recovery rate remains low. Many in the industry say that if you, as a disabled person, cannot heal your own legs, then how can anyone trust the hospital’s orthopedics? What do you say to that?”

His words dripped with malice. Not only did he cast doubt on the hospital’s recovery rate, he dragged Gu Ci’s disability into it—doubling the controversy, doubling the traffic.

Tan Xin’s heart ached. No one wants their disability paraded before the public, least of all someone as proud as Gu Ci.

Just as she worried, Gu Ci leaned forward slightly, speaking into the microphone:

“The recovery rate of orthopedics at Hongkang Private Hospital is 5% higher than that of other top-tier hospitals nationwide. This data is publicly available in annual medical journals. In addition, our bone tumor division is internationally renowned, with many foreign patients traveling thousands of miles to seek treatment here. As a reporter, I trust you’ve heard of this.”

She laid out the data, then the cases—proving the hospital’s expertise from both angles.

At the same time, she neatly sidestepped the disability issue.

The reporter, of course, already knew Hongkang’s orthopedics ranked among the best. But his goal wasn’t an answer—it was to force Gu Ci to lay bare her own scars.

“President Gu, I think you’re dodging the real issue. Regarding your personal disability and its treatment, you haven’t explained anything.”

Gu Ci’s expression turned to ice.

“A reporter is allowed one question. I’ve already answered yours.”

The man opened his mouth again, but before he could continue, Tan Xin, fiercely protective, leaned closer to her microphone and snapped:

“You’re a professional reporter. Please mind the quality of your questions.”

Quality of questions.

In moments of urgency, Tan Xin sometimes blurted out phrases she herself didn’t expect—yet somehow, they always sounded convincing.

Seeing her speak, the reporter visibly brightened. Compared to Gu Ci, who was impervious to attack, this mentally unstable girl who had just jumped off a building seemed far easier to manipulate.

“Miss Tan, I know who you are. Just days ago you shouted ‘Refund!’ before jumping. We all believe you suffered great injustice at Hongkang. Today, with all the media present, if you have grievances, tell us—we’ll report everything truthfully.”

Tan Xin stared at him. “Really?”

He nodded with absolute confidence. “Of course. I swear on my press credentials—every word you say from now on, I will report. No power, no influence, will be able to suppress it.”

“Good.”

That was all she needed. Pointing toward the cameras in the back, she said:

“Can you zoom in on me? Give me a close-up.”

No one was allowed to film her delicate, fragile wife beside her—online trolls would dissect every detail under a magnifying glass.

Six cameras zoomed in simultaneously, capturing Tan Xin from every angle, head to toe.

The entire internet was watching live.

“I came here today to make a few things clear:

First, I didn’t jump because of heartbreak or coercion. It was simply an accident—I slipped on the rooftop and fell.

Second, that cry of ‘Refund’ wasn’t about some so-called financial dispute with Gu Ci. It stemmed from issues in my original family. The details are personal, and I won’t elaborate, but it has nothing to do with Gu Ci. She was dragged into this and is, in fact, a victim.

Third, Gu Ci is a wonderful person. During my heart surgery here at Hongkang, when she learned I couldn’t cover the follow-up costs, she voluntarily waived my medical fees.

So I ask all media outlets and netizens: stop your baseless speculation. Gu Ci is a highly successful entrepreneur—capable, beautiful, and compassionate. She founded this hospital to help more patients. Please don’t distort her intentions with malice.”

Her speech flowed smoothly—unsurprising, since she’d rehearsed it a dozen times the night before.

Still unsatisfied, she leaned in again to add:

“And about the photo circulating online of me falling—yes, it happened, but it wasn’t Gu Ci who pushed me. I fell on my own. She just happened to be nearby. She may be used to slander and won’t be angered by it, but that doesn’t give anyone the right to assume the worst of her.”

The words came from the heart, carrying an intensity she hadn’t expected.

When she finally realized how much she’d said, the reporter stood frozen, gripping the microphone in shock.

Not just him—the entire audience of reporters and staff sat wide-eyed, stunned.

How could someone who had just attempted suicide, supposedly unstable, speak so eloquently?

Above their heads, colors flared like stock market tickers:

Red +10

Blue +5

Black +10

Each emotion surged upward, flickering wildly enough to make one’s eyes ache.

Only then did Tan Xin realize—she might have said too much.

She wasn’t sure if what she’d just said was right, or if it had even hit the mark.

These people—always a hundred different emotions, impossible to read.

But Gu Ci?

What was she thinking?

A soft “beep” sounded beside her—the system notification of a shift in Gu Ci’s emotional value.

Tan Xin subconsciously pressed her lips together. She wanted to glance at Gu Ci’s expression, but her eyes darted away before she dared.

The cameras were trained on her right now. If she turned her head, they would inevitably follow.

Hold it in. Wait until this is over—then she could look all she wanted.

Tan Xin’s response had been sharp and forceful, and through the live broadcast, it spread across the internet. Many of the onlookers who had come to watch the spectacle were finally forced to see the truth.

【Jiangnan Pig Factory：Told you, it’s 2025—who even believes in “lovers’ suicide” anymore?】

【[Guan Ni Pease：Some people were even saying Gu Ci pushed her off to kill her. Please. We live in a society ruled by law.】

【Yan Huang Zisun：Didn’t I say so? Beauty is justice. Someone as stunning as Gu Ci could never be a villain.】

【Cupid Price：Am I the only one who noticed Tan Xin’s gaze lingering? Does she maybe like Gu Ci?】

【Sun Wukong：Come on, with Gu Ci’s level of beauty, who wouldn’t linger?】

The clarification quickly gained traction online, and even at the venue, most reporters expressed they would write the truth as it was and publish the same day.

Rumors clarified, scoop secured—the excitement in the room reached its peak.

And yet, someone else chose this exact moment to seize the unprecedented wave of traffic.

“Friends from the media, please don’t leave just yet.”

As the press conference was about to wrap up, a man in a tailored suit stepped in from the side door.

He held a microphone in one hand and a bouquet in the other, his hair slicked back with gel to perfection. To top it off, confetti bits clung to his head like cheap glitter.

The glint of confetti made Tan Xin’s eyes sting. Was this guy lost on his way to a runway show?

The reporters, however, instantly smelled blood in the water. All cameras swiveled toward the newcomer.

“It’s Mr. Tang.”

“Mr. Tang, we heard you grew up with President Gu—are you here to support her?”

“You even brought flowers! Do you have some good news to share with us?”

A flurry of noisy questions buzzed in the air like flies over a latrine. But Tan Xin only caught two words.

Childhood sweethearts.

Damn. This wave was aimed straight at her.

Before she could think of a counter, Tang Jia’an delivered his bombshell:

“I’m here today to confess my love.”

Tan Xin’s vision went black. She pinched her philtrum hard to steady herself.

“Confess?”

“To President Gu?”

“Mr. Tang, look this way—yes, into the camera!”

Clutching the roses, Tang Jia’an strode forward and stopped at the podium, lifting his gaze to Gu Ci. His voice rang out, loud and clear:

“Gu Ci, I’ve liked you ever since we were children. And today, on this special occasion, I’ve decided to bare my heart.”

He raised his voice to a dramatic shout:

“I Like you!”

Tan Xin’s chest tightened in frustration.

Wrong system, buddy.

The heterosexual romance genre is next door.

And Gu Ci? With him?

Childhood sweethearts?

Gu Ci was breathtaking. He was shifty-eyed and rat-faced.

Gu Ci’s smile could put every beauty in the palace to shame. His smile could bring the mountains crashing down.

What kind of “sweetheart” was that?

A pig?

Beep!

Another emotional shift sounded above Gu Ci.

Red +20.

Excellent. Even more furious than when Tan Xin dirtied her wheelchair.

Gu Ci said nothing, but her eyes were frozen steel. Tang Jia’an, oblivious, pressed on with his performance.

His company had been struggling lately. Without a publicity stunt to leech traffic, bankruptcy loomed.

So he shouted even louder:

“Do you remember when we were ten, and we climbed to the rooftop to watch the fireworks? Back then, I swore that one day, I would marry—”

His declaration broke off in a screech of static, followed by dead silence.

The microphone had cut out.

Confused murmurs rippled through the crowd. Everyone turned toward the sound system.

Only to see Tan Xin, sitting in her barely functional wheelchair, having yanked the plug from the outlet.

“Apologies,” she said calmly. “I just got out of the hospital. My body’s still weak. I can’t tolerate loud noise.”