Miss Wheelchair - Chapter 8

“Tang Jia’an Shows Up at the Press Conference, Makes a Public Declaration for Gu Ci.”

“Tang Jia’an Arrives Holding a Bouquet — Proposal or Just a Public Confession?”

“Shock! The Aloof Gu Ci Actually Has a Childhood Friend?”

Tang Jia’an had come prepared. Almost the moment he appeared, the paid posters they’d arranged online went into overdrive. Multiple marketing accounts coordinated to refresh tags and push his name onto the trending list.

Netizens: gullible and quick to believe whatever they see online.

What made things worse was that this was a press conference — a dozen cameras were broadcasting him live from every angle.

If he finished his confession and literally put Gu Ci on the spot in front of millions of viewers, she’d have no choice but to accept him on air.

That way he’d not only harvest a wave of live-stream traffic, he might hitch a ride on Gu Ci’s fast-growing fame, land a multi-million investment, and finally revive his worthless company.

“Gu Ci, Gu Ci — don’t blame me. If there’s anyone to blame, blame that we grew up next door in elementary school.” He told himself. They might not be childhood sweethearts in any meaningful sense, but once you expose someone’s home address, their denials fall flat.

With that plan in mind, he made his way toward the podium.

Just as he was about to launch into his long-winded speech, the speakers were suddenly cut off.

The interruption came from a woman in a wheelchair.

She was thin, her neck long, her complexion waxy as if malnourished. Her right foot was in plaster; the wheelchair was battered and broken-looking; the clothes she wore looked like they cost less than a hundred yuan — shabby to the extreme, a stark contrast to his Italian-made suit.

“Sorry, I just got out of the hospital,” Tan Xin said. “I’m still weak. I can’t stand loud noises.”

She glanced at him sideways when she spoke. The corner of her eye was a willow-leaf-shaped blade — precise, cutting straight into what little dignity Tang Jia’an had left.

“Miss.” Tang Jia’an adopted an air of magnanimity. “My confession to Gu Ci is between the two of us. What business is it of yours to butt in?”

He’d done his homework — piano-deep, bubbly-cadence voice was in fashion. He’d paid 1,800 yuan for classes so every word could sound like textured bubble-speech.

The audience was mostly female; he was sure they’d swoon for his practiced rasp.

“Ugh, makes me want to vomit.”

A reporter muttered to the camera; whether intentional or not, that quiet comment didn’t reach Tang Jia’an’s ears, but it streamed through the live feed and spread across the web.

[Internet Detergent]: This guy is so greasy. Can’t he just talk normally?

[Greater Bay Area Reseller — Genuine or Double Backed]: Mainland guys and their affected voices — I’m so grossed out.

[Heilongjiang Mink]: This punk is embarrassing us old-timers! I declare, most of us men don’t talk like this.

[cos_want_tan]: That voice with that expression — deadly. He really thinks that’s charming?

[90yo_beauty]: Upstairs, I’m swooning. Hey, we might even be from the same place — should we meet?

[cos_want_tan]: DM’d you.

Back at the venue, Tang Jia’an’s confession continued; at one point he even quoted a poem by Su Shi and grew tearful during his delivery.

The poor-quality performance made everyone in the room uncomfortable; assistants wanted to call security to remove him, but Gu Ci raised a hand to stop them and signaled to watch what would happen.

Thinking his confession had a chance, Tang Jia’an grew more impassioned.

“Once you have seen the vast sea, no other waters will do; apart from Mount Wu no clouds are worthy,” he declaimed. “You are the lighthouse I pursue in life, you are the harbor for my wandering soul, you are”

The more manic the performance, the more it attracted a crowd.

What had been a five-million-person stream shot up to twenty million almost instantly and kept climbing. His trending tag rocketed to number one, even overtaking a new single released that day by a well-known male singer.

Tan Xin, however, could not simply watch. The farcical spectacle made her want to gag; she was on the verge of standing up and throwing him over her shoulder.

At that exact moment, the system intervened.

Ding!

A huge translucent screen appeared before her, patching her vision with grayish white — like a Photoshop overlay at twenty percent opacity. She could still make out vague human shapes through it.

But she couldn’t hear anything.

Through the blurred panel she watched Tang Jia’an circle and gesture, treating the stage like his own private theater.

No — Gu Ci was in trouble right now. She had to save her.

“Tan Xin, hello. Mission settlement is now available. Please click the ‘Confirm’ button to proceed with settlement.”

The system’s chime sounded; Tan Xin stamped her foot in frustration.

“Wait. Don’t move — you get down first.” She turned to look at Gu Ci, but through the foggy screen Gu Ci sat in her wheelchair, expression unreadable.

The system was a machine; it popped up whenever a task was complete.

“Mission settlement is in progress. Please click ‘Confirm,’” the system said.

Tan Xin fretted inwardly. “Can’t you see this is the crucial moment? Why are you so eager to settle now?”

She didn’t have to speak aloud — she and the system communicated by silent thought, which avoided alerting the system’s other NPCs.

“System settlements are real-time, unless the user forfeits the reward,” the machine replied in its cold, inflexible way.

“What do you mean real-time? You should choose a time that doesn’t interfere with my romancing plan. Right now you’re only sabotaging it!”

“The strategy plan is set by the user; the system does not sabotage.”

“You are sabotaging!”

“No.”

“You are!”

Tan Xin wasn’t great at arguing on the spot. She could recite any prepared script smoothly, but she couldn’t win a face-to-face tussle.

She couldn’t even beat a system in an argument.

“You need to exit now. I’m going to deal with this man.”

“Sorry. Without the settlement, the system cannot exit.”

“Then hurry up and settle — as fast as possible!”

“According to statistical data, the fastest mission settlement time is eight minutes and thirteen seconds.”

“Then just exit now. I’ll settle afterward!”

“Sorry. The system has no precedent for that.”

“Fine. What do you want, then?”

“Please proceed with mission settlement.”

Tan Xin tried saying no one way, no the other, but panic rising, she pressed the anger down into her dantian (cinnabar field ) and let out a roaring shout.

“Get out!”

That curse was no longer a thought in her head — she opened her throat and let the sound roll out from her chest in a raw, resonant bellow.

Beep!

The system suddenly glitched and dumped her back into clear vision.

The huge hall fell utterly silent. Everyone stared at the woman who had just exploded into a shout. Tang Jia’an — who had been trying to become the center of attention — froze, stunned by the outburst; the bouquet in his hand slipped and nearly fell.

“You—you, how can you yell at someone like that?” someone blurted.

At the side, watching from a distance, Gu Ci’s eyes twitched; she glanced at the flustered Tan Xin and the faintest hint of amusement flickered across her face.

Beep!

Green +5.

Too bad Tan Xin didn’t see it — that little indicator of pleasure would have been enough to buoy her spirits for a week.

Her single “Get out!” had been meant for the system, but by a strange twist it landed on Tang Jia’an as well.

Two birds with one stone.

But whether she’d offended the system or the system itself had simply bugged out, the moment after the roar her chest erupted in searing pain.

She clutched at her heart with one hand, trying to staunch it.

No. She couldn’t fail now.

Her wife — she had to protect her.

The pain was like knives twisting in her chest; Tan Xin gasped and sweat beaded on her forehead the size of soybeans. Shaky, she forced her finger to point at the pantomiming clown Tang Jia’an.

“Stay away from Gu Ci.”

No sooner had the words left her lips than her weakened body gave out — she collapsed.

Pandemonium.

“Oh my God! She fainted!”

“Quick — call 120!”

“Call 120? The hospital’s right downstairs! Get her to the ER!”

Cameras swarmed toward Tan Xin, then were shoved back by staff until medics carried her away on a stretcher.

Tang Jia’an, still clutching the bouquet, had been shoved to the fringes of the crowd; one of his dress shoes had been knocked off, his carefully coiffed hair mussed, looking ridiculous.

“Hey, don’t step on my foot!”

“I came here to confess — I’m the star of this event!”

“My watch is 580,000; my tie clip is 12,000 — aren’t you curious?! Hey!”

The scene slid toward farce, and the live stream surged past forty million viewers.

After this broadcast, Hongkang Private Hospital would be all over the news — and Gu Ci’s biotech company could ride the wave too.

But it wasn’t over.

Gu Ci’s lips curved faintly. No sensible businessperson would pass up free publicity.

She looked down at the flailing Tang Jia’an on the stage and spoke, her voice cold.

“Mr. Tang.”

Tang Jia’an, hearing himself addressed, assumed Gu Ci was willing to exploit the traffic spike — if she officially announced a relationship on the stream, it would be a win–win.

“Ah Ci,” he crooned in a melodramatic bass meant to make teeth ache. “I knew you wouldn’t walk away from me. With this many people and reporters, you wouldn’t let me lose face.”

Gu Ci shook her head in pity.

Perched on the podium, looking down at the bedraggled Tang Jia’an, she said with icy detachment:

“We held this press conference at our hospital today. Thank you for showing up uninvited and helping to publicize it.”

Uninvited — you were the one shamelessly crawling here, I didn’t invite you.

Helping to publicize — forget the confession; in exchange for the traffic you gave the hospital, I won’t make a fuss.

Tang Jia’an missed the double meaning and laughed magnanimously.

“No problem, that’s what I’m here for. After all, I’ll be your boyfriend soon.”

When he pushed his luck, Gu Ci’s smile turned to a sneer.

“As for your confession, I must decline. Mr. Tang, surely you know I’m attracted to women?”

“What? But you never said that before.” Tang Jia’an’s face turned pale.

“Everyone around me knows,” Gu Ci said. “You call yourself my childhood friend — how could you not know that?”

“You— I”

“Besides,” she continued, “this venue was rented and paid for by me for a press conference. You showed up uninvited, trespassed, and by putting on a scene here you scared one of my patients — now she is in critical condition. We’ll settle the bill for that.”

Tang Jia’an began to sweat. “How do you want to settle it?”

Gu Ci’s eyes narrowed. “My lawyer will contact you.”

Then she turned to the cameras, her gaze hardening with resolve.

“Everyone,” she said, “I promise that anyone who comes to Hongkang for treatment — I, Gu Ci — will be their unwavering support.”

Does she feel sorry for Tan Xin?

Maybe a little.

More important, that line — “unwavering support” — reads like a pledge to countless patients, and for Gu Ci it’s a gigantic business opportunity once in a decade.