After I Blocked the Matchmaker Customer Service, He Came for Door-to-door Service - Chapter 1
Chapter 1
I am twenty-nine years old this year, and the biggest problem in my life is that my blind dates have way too high a success rate.
Not because I want them to succeed.
It’s because every man who has gone on a blind date with me ends up hopelessly devoted to me within three days.
The first one said the moment he saw me, he thought of his first love.
The second one said my shadow had been appearing in his dreams all along.
The third was even more ridiculous. Twenty minutes after we met, he was already asking whose last name our future child would take.
At first, I thought I was just blessed in love.
Later, I realized that wasn’t it.
Those men weren’t falling in love with me.
They were falling in love with the good luck that had been forcibly split off from me.
I learned this from an account that claimed to be Matchmaker Customer Service.
Three months ago, at one in the morning, I received a text message.
[Dear User Jiang Mian, an abnormal diversion has been detected in your marriage fate thread. Would you like to apply for after-sales service?]
I thought it was a scam, so I replied with one word.
[Scram.]
The other party replied instantly.
[Customer service cannot scram. Customer service can only clock out.]
I cursed him out for three days.
He also sent me abnormality reports for three days.
The reports were very detailed.
My Red String had been connected into a “Supply-type Marriage Bond.”
Anyone who got close to me would temporarily receive a bit of good fortune, manifesting as a smoother career, reduced illness and pain, or the appearance of benefactors.
As for their “liking” me, that was merely a sense of attachment generated by the system to maintain the supply relationship.
To put it plainly:
I wasn’t some irresistible heartthrob.
I was a human power bank.
By that point, I finally started to believe it a little.
Because the more blind dates I went on, the more unlucky I became.
After my first blind date, I lost a major project.
After my second blind date, all the potted plants I’d raised for five years died.
After my twelfth blind date, I fell down the stairs, and my right foot swelled up like a steamed bun.
Customer service said that as long as I cooperated with the after-sales process, they could fix it.
I asked him how I was supposed to cooperate.
He said I had to avoid blind dates for seven days.
That very day, my mother happened to be shouting from the living room, “Jiang Mian, the PhD candidate Auntie Zhou introduced is free tomorrow night!”
I looked at my phone, sneered, and blocked customer service.
Now, he himself was standing at the restaurant entrance.
My blind date’s last name was Liang. He was the son of one of my mom’s friends, and every other sentence out of his mouth was about family planning.
When he saw Xie Chi, his brows furrowed.
“Is this your friend?”
I said, “We barely know each other.”
Xie Chi pushed the door open and came in.
The employee badge on him swayed, making him look like he belonged to a rather dubious property management company.
“We barely know each other, indeed.”
He placed a repair order on the table.
“After she was reported three times, the system sent me here as her offline after-sales support.”
Mr. Liang’s expression darkened.
“Is this how you young people hit on someone these days? By putting on an act?”
Xie Chi glanced at him.
“Liang Hong, thirty-two years old. Yesterday, you received an appointment as your company’s deputy general manager. The day before yesterday, your physical exam showed that your nodule had disappeared. Last week, you won five thousand yuan in the lottery.”
Liang Hong froze.
Xie Chi continued, “That isn’t smoke rising from your ancestors’ graves. That’s you consuming Jiang Mian’s luck.”
Liang Hong slammed the table and shot to his feet.
“What nonsense are you talking about?”
The moment he stood up, a small section of Red String suddenly fell from above his head.
The thread was as thin as a strand of hair, dangling over his shoulder. Only Xie Chi and I could see it.
Xie Chi reached out and yanked it.
Liang Hong’s legs went weak, and he sat back down in the chair.
At the same time, his phone rang.
A message from his company group chat popped up on the screen.
[Appointment temporarily suspended.]
The next second, a text message from the hospital arrived as well.
[Please return for a thyroid nodule reexamination.]
Liang Hong’s face turned pale.
He looked at me, the tenderness in his eyes turning into terror.
I lowered my head and took a sip of water.
“Still want to ask whose last name the child will take?”
Liang Hong grabbed his coat and ran.
Xie Chi sat down across from me and opened his toolbox.
There were no hammers or wrenches inside.
Only spools of Red String, a pair of silver scissors, and a tiny copper bell.
I asked, “Does your Yuelao department make house calls now?”
Xie Chi said, “Not usually.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“You filed too many complaints.”
“What did I complain about?”
He took out a form.
“Verbally abusing customer service twenty-one times, sending nine meme stickers, and questioning the legitimacy of our organization twelve times.”
I said, “Those weren’t complaints. That was reasonable communication.”
Xie Chi lifted his eyes.
“You also blocked me.”
His tone was perfectly even.
But for some reason, I heard a hint of grievance in it.
