Transmigrated As The Villainous Scumbag Wife Of A Disabled Tycoon - Chapter 85
85
The advantages of having power and wealth were vividly displayed at this moment.
Cheng Xing had never imagined that a closed amusement park would reopen just for her, nor had she thought that the dazzling fireworks over Jianggang at night would bloom solely for her.
All it took was a word from Cheng Xing, and Sister Zhou had meticulously arranged everything.
It was a somewhat willful act.
But she only had forty days left.
So, why not be willful?
Cheng Xing brought Jiang Ciyi to the amusement park. The moment they stepped through the entrance, the darkened park suddenly lit up.
The idle gears began to turn slowly.
The carousel played a warm melody, spinning tirelessly.
Many attractions were now waiting for their attention.
Jiang Ciyi didn’t ask why Cheng Xing suddenly wanted to come to the amusement park. Perhaps she saw the hidden emotions beneath those gentle eyes, so she quietly followed along.
Cheng Xing asked if she wanted to ride the carousel. Jiang Ciyi’s first reaction was to glance at her legs.
In her current condition, controlling her legs seemed difficult, and she could easily fall off the carousel.
Seeing her hesitation, Cheng Xing pushed her toward it. “Shall I carry you up?”
“I might fall,” Jiang Ciyi said.
Cheng Xing didn’t hesitate, scooping her up in a princess carry. After spending so much time together, her arms had grown stronger, effortlessly lifting Jiang Ciyi.
She placed Jiang Ciyi securely in front of a wooden horse that had stopped just for them, then leaped up to sit closely behind her.
One arm wrapped around Jiang Ciyi’s waist, the other gripped the pole in front.
Cheng Xing’s voice was low, tinged with a faint, imperceptible exhaustion. “I’ll keep you safe.”
As the carousel began to turn, the scenery shifted with their perspective, though it remained much the same.
The newly lit amusement park drew attention from passersby, but security kept everyone out.
Inside, it was just the two of them. The night breeze carried a coolness, yet neither spoke.
The carousel spun round after round, unthinking. Jiang Ciyi let go of the pole, leaning her weight against Cheng Xing behind her.
At some point, during one of the rotations, Cheng Xing rested her chin on Jiang Ciyi’s shoulder.
Time slipped away.
Cheng Xing seemed to be squandering what little time she had left.
Yet her heart finally found peace.
When the carousel stopped, Cheng Xing hopped down and extended a hand to Jiang Ciyi.
“I can’t jump,” Jiang Ciyi said, her expression serious.
This made Cheng Xing laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Jiang Ciyi asked.
Cheng Xing’s laughter didn’t stop. “You’re cute.”
Jiang Ciyi was puzzled. “Huh?”
Her brows furrowed into a small crease, then quickly relaxed, her questioning tone revealing her confusion.
Cheng Xing explained, “I know you can’t jump.”
Jiang Ciyi sat there quietly, her hair gently swaying in the night breeze. The distant light cast a glow on her flawless face, her expression subtly shifting, as if a deity had suddenly taken on human warmth.
The corners of her lips curved slightly, a small arc that hinted at her good mood.
Cheng Xing kept her hand extended, the other poised to assist. “I mean, try jumping.”
Jiang Ciyi assessed the gap and height between them, calculating the risk.
It seemed… a bit dangerous.
Cheng Xing opened her palm. “Hold my hand and jump. I’ll catch you.”
No sooner had she spoken than Jiang Ciyi leaped forward, like a butterfly just learning to fly.
Cheng Xing had expected it would take some convincing, but she hadn’t anticipated Jiang Ciyi’s decisiveness.
She seemed to trust her completely.
And Cheng Xing didn’t betray that trust, catching her deftly.
Though the sudden leap caused her legs to swing slightly, Jiang Ciyi landed unharmed in her arms.
So close, Cheng Xing could hear her heartbeat.
She pulled Jiang Ciyi closer, adjusting her to a more comfortable position, and asked softly, “You trust me that much? What if I didn’t catch you?”
“At worst, I’d fall,” Jiang Ciyi replied coolly, her tone flat. “It’s not like I haven’t fallen before.”
“When?” Cheng Xing set her in the wheelchair, asking casually, not treating it as a big deal.
It was just their everyday.
Jiang Ciyi’s disability wasn’t something to avoid discussing.
“Soon after my surgery,” Jiang Ciyi said. “For the first twenty-something years of my life, I could walk independently. No matter how tough life was, I had legs to carry me home, to anywhere I wanted to go. But suddenly, they were gone. It takes time to adjust, and falling is inevitable.”
“But you don’t have to fall anymore,” Cheng Xing said, her words carrying a deeper meaning.
Jiang Ciyi glanced up at her, her demeanor cool and composed, but different from their first meeting—she no longer carried that guarded edge.
“I chose you,” Jiang Ciyi said. “I calculate the worst outcomes. I can handle them, so I chose.”
Cheng Xing pushed her toward the Ferris wheel.
The massive disk radiated countless spokes, each tipped with a glowing light.
Jiang Ciyi’s gaze drifted to the highest point, as if piercing through the dark sky.
“I don’t have much to lose,” she said.
The Ferris wheel’s interior was simple, with two rows of seats. After they entered, the staff closed the door to prevent any falls.
At night, the Ferris wheel was usually packed, offering a view of Jianggang’s skyline.
High-rise buildings could offer similar views, but they were costly.
The Ferris wheel, however, was affordable—a few dozen yuan for this scenery.
And there was the viral legend: couples who kiss at the top of the Ferris wheel will stay together forever.
Who knows which marketing genius came up with that.
It had fooled plenty of people.
Over the years, countless couples tested the legend, only to disprove it.
Yet, couples still saw it as romantic, flocking to try it.
Cheng Xing didn’t believe in the legend.
But she loved amusement parks.
For many, amusement parks meant romance and innocence.
Not for Cheng Xing.
Growing up, there was an amusement park near her home, a must-visit for tourists in Jing City, yet she was never interested. She hadn’t gone until high school.
Her first visit was because of Wa Pian, her pen pal.
Wa Pian wrote that a new amusement park had opened where she lived, but she’d never been.
Her classmates went on a school-organized trip, but Wa Pian, strapped for cash, didn’t join.
When they returned, they had new stories to share, but she couldn’t join in.
She was always a loner.
Cheng Xing asked what was so great about amusement parks. Were they really that appealing?
Wa Pian replied: You can only judge something after experiencing it. Until then, you’ll always wonder.
So, Cheng Xing, for the first time, bought a ticket to Joyland.
Joyland wasn’t just for kids—it had thrilling rides. After the roller coaster, Cheng Xing hugged a trash can, vomiting endlessly.
Still, she tried many attractions and wrote a detailed letter to Wa Pian, like a review. She even included a week’s worth of her living expenses—two hundred yuan.
Wa Pian wrote back, saying she still hadn’t gone to the amusement park but would one day on her own terms. She returned the two hundred yuan in the letter.
They discussed the Ferris wheel legend and the park’s attractions.
They made a pact: if they ever fell in love, they’d bring their partner to the Ferris wheel to test the legend.
Their youthful, budding feelings flowed through their letters, unspoken but understood.
Back then, Cheng Xing didn’t have romantic feelings for Wa Pian.
She felt fondness, but not much more.
After all, they’d never met.
It was only after losing contact with Wa Pian that Cheng Xing realized how vital her pen pal had been in her dull life.
Now, her feelings for Wa Pian had faded.
Occasionally, in moments of sadness, she thought of writing to her—not really to Wa Pian, who couldn’t receive the letters, but to herself, as an outlet.
Now, she had someone she loved.
But soon, she might lose her.
Her first love was flawed, twisted, unrecognized.
Hidden beneath someone else’s shell.
She was here to complete a mission but fell for the target.
How foolish.
Perhaps she was just a foolish person.
Cheng Xing mocked herself.
The system’s words had shaken her deeply. In forty days, whether she completed the mission or not, Jiang Ciyi might vanish from her life.
She only had forty days to hold on to.
Moths to a flame were foolish, but the world was full of foolish moths.
What was wrong with that?
The flame was warm, bright—how could you not be drawn to it?
Cheng Xing didn’t bring Jiang Ciyi to the Ferris wheel to fulfill her pact with Wa Pian.
Wa Pian had planted a seed in her youth that had unexpectedly bloomed.
So, when she fell in love, her first instinct was to bring her beloved to the amusement park, to the Ferris wheel.
The Ferris wheel’s door closed, and it began to rise.
Cheng Xing mentioned the legend, asking Jiang Ciyi if she believed it.
Jiang Ciyi didn’t answer, instead asking, “Do you believe it?”
Cheng Xing shook her head. “I’ve seen someone try it with three girlfriends.”
Jiang Ciyi paused. “All at once?”
Cheng Xing: “…”
The atmosphere had been tense, and Cheng Xing’s mood was terrible, her words tinged with lingering sadness.
Jiang Ciyi’s unexpected question broke the melancholy.
Cheng Xing laughed. “Not like four people could ride together.”
Jiang Ciyi looked at her. “Was it you?”
Cheng Xing’s eyes widened. “No way!”
“Who knows?” Jiang Ciyi said. “The old you could’ve done it.”
The old Miss Cheng, bringing multiple women to the Ferris wheel, would’ve been par for the course.
Cheng Xing shook her head. “I’m different.”
Jiang Ciyi didn’t respond, silently agreeing.
Otherwise, she wouldn’t be here with her.
The Ferris wheel climbed higher, Jianggang’s lights resembling a star chart, buildings aglow, streets crisscrossing, the night’s beauty in full view.
The Ferris wheel paused at its peak.
Cheng Xing said, “I’m not great at telling stories, so just listen casually.”
“It’s fine,” Jiang Ciyi replied. “I’m good at piecing together the truth from fragments.”
Cheng Xing: “…”
True enough.
Cheng Xing didn’t tell the story of her transmigration from another world. No matter how she framed it, the system would detect it, warn her, and punish her.
She could only reveal her identity if the affection level reached 80%.
What she told was—
“Once, someone entered a game as a player, like a life simulation game. But her task was unique: she had to win over an NPC. Unlike other games with multiple NPCs, this one had only one. If the NPC disappeared, the game would shut down, and the player would die.”
“The player had three months to gain the NPC’s trust and affection. But after three months, she failed, the game ended, and the NPC vanished.”
“That wasn’t the end. The game would restart, optimized as version 2.0. The NPC remained the same, and the player had another three months to try again.”
“Each failure erased the player’s memories of past attempts, so every round felt new. The game kept upgrading—3.0, 4.0.”
Cheng Xing paused, asking, “Do you play games? Understand what I’m saying?”
She’d used gaming terms, worried Jiang Ciyi wouldn’t follow.
To her surprise, Jiang Ciyi calmly said, “I once dissected a gamer’s mind, so I tried his favorite games. I understand the basics.”
Cheng Xing: “…”
Very hardcore, very Jiang Ciyi.
Seeing no warning from the system, Cheng Xing continued, “But sadly, the player fell in love with the NPC. She didn’t know how many attempts she’d made or which version of the NPC she loved. She wasn’t even sure if she or the NPC were real. She seemed to mistake the virtual for reality, sinking deep.”
Cheng Xing stopped.
The story ended there.
She didn’t know what came next, what the ending would be.
Because she was starting to doubt the present.
Jiang Ciyi, unfazed, treated it as just a story. “And then?”
“There’s no ‘then,’” Cheng Xing exhaled. “The author abandoned it.”
Jiang Ciyi fell silent, seemingly analyzing the story’s logic.
After a long pause, she said, “If I were the player, I wouldn’t doubt the present.”
Cheng Xing froze. Jiang Ciyi had pierced through her heart, crumbling her defenses, leaving her teetering. “Why not?”
“Because every version of the NPC corresponds to that version’s player,” Jiang Ciyi said. “In the story’s logic, when the NPC is optimized, the player entering the game is a new player. Losing memories is like reformatting. Each player loves a unique NPC. Think of it as a world layer.”
Cheng Xing followed until “world layer.” “What?”
“Like playing a game,” Jiang Ciyi explained. “If I fail, the game ends, and the developers optimize it. Failed runs are archived. Zoom out, and we’re all NPCs in a universe where an invisible hand controls our world. If the player fails to win over the NPC, the game—and all its side characters—disappears, compressed into what I call a world layer, like a card in a deck.”
It was rare for Jiang Ciyi to speak so much, explaining in detail to ensure Cheng Xing understood.
Her logic was flawless.
But—
“Why do you think an invisible hand controls the universe?” Cheng Xing asked.
A mechanical voice suddenly sounded in her mind: [Awoo!]
Cheng Xing thought she’d touched a forbidden topic, bracing for the system’s warning or punishment.
But she’d said it, ready to face the consequences.
As long as the system didn’t rewind time.
Instead, Jiang Ciyi said, “Sci-fi novels often write this.”
Cheng Xing: “?”
“Many physicists spend their lives proving this,” Jiang Ciyi continued. “You can see it in nature. Aren’t humans part of nature?”
Cheng Xing nodded.
“Birds in the sky, creatures on land, fish in the sea—they’re all part of nature, right?”
“Yes.”
“We observe them, use them as samples, conduct experiments to explore the unknown, and build human civilization. So how can you be sure a higher civilization isn’t observing humans, using us as their samples?”
Cheng Xing’s eyes widened.
Not because the idea was novel—sci-fi often explored this.
But the words felt eerily familiar.
As a high schooler, she’d written almost the exact same words to Wa Pian in their letters, discussing this very idea.
To hear it from Jiang Ciyi years later was uncanny.
Could Jiang Ciyi be Wa Pian?
…Impossible.
Cheng Xing’s excitement lasted a second before she dismissed it.
The idea was too common.
And she and Jiang Ciyi weren’t even from the same world.
Before she could dwell on it, the mechanical voice in her head glitched: [Woo! Woo! Woo!]
It sounded like sobbing, then fizzled out, as if the system had crashed.
Cheng Xing: “…”
She couldn’t fathom the system’s behavior.
But her heart felt lighter, her mood noticeably improved.
As the Ferris wheel began to move again, Cheng Xing gazed at Jiang Ciyi. “You still haven’t said if you believe the legend.”
“What?”
“Kissing your loved one at the top of the Ferris wheel means you’ll be together forever.”
“I don’t believe it.”
As soon as she spoke, Cheng Xing leaned in, her lips meeting Jiang Ciyi’s.
The grapefruit-flavored lip balm carried a fresh scent.
The sudden kiss stunned Jiang Ciyi, her body stiffening. Her neck flushed, a vivid crimson outshining the sunset’s glow.
Cheng Xing had no intention of stopping there. She’d decided to be willful, so she’d go all in.
Finding a comfortable angle, she avoided bumping noses, lingering on Jiang Ciyi’s lips.
Her tongue brushed out, testing, seeking an opening.
She’d expected resistance, but after a few gentle traces, she found a gap.
Her tongue slipped in, softly, delicately, teasing Jiang Ciyi’s.
…
The Ferris wheel stopped. Cheng Xing’s forehead rested against Jiang Ciyi’s, their heavy breaths mingling.
She smiled, her lips curving beautifully, a strand of hair falling by her ear.
Light from afar illuminated half her body in light, half in shadow.
Yet she radiated gentleness.
Her fingers brushed Jiang Ciyi’s lips, wiping away the glossy sheen, then held her hand.
Their sticky palms met, and in that moment, Cheng Xing softly called, “A’Ci.”
Jiang Ciyi’s pinky hooked hers. “Mm?”
“I believe the legend now.” Cheng Xing said, her voice low but clear in the small space.
From now on, she had a weakness.
She pecked Jiang Ciyi’s lips again. “I really like you.”
As her words fell, fireworks exploded in the sky.
Brilliant colors lit up the dark night, fleeting but dazzling.
Jiang Ciyi’s fingers stiffened, her lips parting, but no words came.
Cheng Xing asked softly, “What about you?”
Jiang Ciyi looked at her, memories flashing through her mind.
Files, Luo Xi’s gaze, Luo Xi’s songs, and the time she locked herself in the attic.
It wasn’t long ago, yet Jiang Ciyi seemed to have forgotten that moment.
But Cheng Xing’s image from that day was etched into her soul.
So different from the Cheng Xing now.
She’d seen the old Cheng Xing with Su Manchun—arrogant, superior, even her affection feeling like charity.
But this Cheng Xing was different. Her eyes were gentle, bright, pure, like an untainted lake, brimming with sincere love.
Jiang Ciyi’s inner balance tipped.
Her lips parted. “I… too.”
“What?” The fireworks were too loud; Cheng Xing couldn’t hear.
Jiang Ciyi looked at her, emotion overpowering reason.
Like when she’d jumped from the carousel into her arms, she now chose to leap into Cheng Xing’s embrace.
If it was a trap, let it hurt. At worst, she’d face despair again.
She could bear it.
She was willing to bear it.
Jiang Ciyi’s other hand wrapped around Cheng Xing’s neck, pulling her close. “Xingxing, I like you too.”
Cheng Xing’s heart exploded like the fireworks above.
For the first time, she realized how thrilling it was to hear the person she loved say they loved her back.
Then Jiang Ciyi added, “If you betray me this time, I’ll kill you myself.”
Cheng Xing: “…”
Ruthless, very Jiang Ciyi.
She loved it.