The Movie Queen Always Wants to Kiss Me - Chapter 44 - Brother Cheng, Don’t Dislike Me

Tang Anhe froze, too startled to speak.

She pursed her lips, occasionally making faces as Cheng Muye massaged her ankle with the ointment, but she didn’t dare let a sound slip out.

Noticing her forced restraint, Cheng Muye’s lips curved faintly, and she deliberately pressed harder.

“Ah~ ah~!”

Her voice was delicate and lingering.

The sound was so intoxicating that Cheng Muye’s bones nearly softened. Her heart skipped a beat, her palms dampened with sweat, and her whole body flushed with heat.

Just a few breathless gasps from Tang Anhe were enough to set her ablaze, a passion only Tang Anhe could stir within her. How much must she love this girl, that even the smallest sounds could unravel her so completely?

With that thought, she couldn’t help but lift her gaze, her eyes shimmering with a heat she couldn’t hide. “Tang Anhe?”

Startled, Tang Anhe glanced at her. “Hmm? Brother Cheng?”

Her eyes glistened with a misty sheen, and perhaps it was only her imagination, but she thought she saw a tenderness flowing there, gentle and fluid as water.

Cheng Muye didn’t reply. She only lowered her head again, her touch softening as she continued massaging the injured ankle.

After a pause, Tang Anhe whispered, “Brother Cheng… just now, did you press harder on purpose?”

Oh, her reaction time was so slow, as if she’d taken a trip to outer space before finally coming back.

Cheng Muye didn’t answer. Instead, she sighed inwardly. Oh well… she’s so simple, so foolish. How could I not worry if I left her on her own? Life is short—why not enjoy it while I can? There’s no need to overthink. Since I like her, why should I make things harder on myself?

The more she thought about it, the gentler her touch became, until her movements were so light that Tang Anhe drifted off to sleep. Curled into a fetal position, her pale chest pressed against the fabric of her dress, threatening to spill free.

Eager to see her face, Cheng Muye set the tray aside on the dressing table and wheeled herself closer. Slowly, she sat onto the bed and carefully adjusted Tang Anhe’s sleeping posture.

Half-awake, Tang Anhe fluttered her eyes open. “Brother Cheng, what are you doing?”

Her gaze was hazy, like misty rain, and Cheng Muye’s heart skipped. For a moment, it felt as though her thoughts were caught in a snare. There was no room for pretense.

“If I said I wanted to kiss you… would you let me?”

Perhaps not expecting such candid words, Tang Anhe gave a soft, confused “Huh?” Her slightly parted rosy lips seemed made for a kiss.

“Even if you won’t let me, I’ll still kiss you.”

Before the words had faded, Cheng Muye pressed her lips against the ones she had longed for so long. Soft, sweet—sweeter even than the cotton candy her mother once bought her.

“Mmm—”

Tang Anhe suddenly snapped awake, her eyes widening at the handsome face hovering so close. Instinctively, she tried to push against Cheng Muye’s shoulder, but the pressure of her weight and the force of her presence left her powerless to move.

The kiss lingered—deep, consuming, a tangle that reached to the very bones.

Her resistance gradually weakened, her pushing turning tentative, almost playful. At one point, she even flicked out her tongue in a teasing reply. When Cheng Muye finally drew back, Tang Anhe was still dazed, her eyes misty, her lips flushed and glistening like dew-soaked petals.

“Um, Cheng… Brother Cheng—”

Before she could continue, Cheng Muye rubbed her own lips, frowning with feigned irritation. “Go rinse your mouth. You’ve got sand all over it.”

“Huh? Oh… right.”

Still dizzy from the kiss, Tang Anhe hurried to get up, but her injured ankle betrayed her. She nearly collapsed, only to be caught in Cheng Muye’s quick grasp. With one firm pull, she was back on the bed.

“Careful! Why are you so reckless? Did you hurt yourself?”

“No, no,” she stammered.

“Look at you. You said you came to take care of me, but you’ve only managed to cause trouble.”

“I—I didn’t mean to. Brother Cheng, please don’t dislike me.”

Of course, Cheng Muye didn’t resent her. She only wanted to divert the girl’s thoughts. Yet seeing Tang Anhe’s sluggish reaction, not even mentioning the kiss, left her oddly unsettled.

That fleeting expression just now had carried no hint of rejection, but still, she couldn’t shake the worry that Tang Anhe was simply too young, untouched by such things, and that the shock of novelty had drowned out any resistance.

Clearing her throat, Cheng Muye forced a light cough and asked offhandedly, “So… how was that kiss?”

Tang Anhe’s cheeks burned instantly, her heart thundering even harder than it had during the kiss itself.

What a shame!

She wanted to curse herself.

She couldn’t possibly know the tangle in Cheng Muye’s heart, because she felt it too. She had secretly longed for those lips for so long, but when the kiss came, it had been so sudden and frightening that her mind went utterly blank, leaving no memory of the taste, only the shock.

Now she sat there filled with regret, torn by the urge to lean in and try again, just once, to feel it properly. But the courage to act on it was nowhere to be found.

Cheng Muye waited for her reply, but when Tang Anhe’s slow reactions showed no sign of catching up, she finally gave up.

Shifting slightly, she sat at the edge of the bed near the water dispenser, reaching over to pour herself a glass of water, anything to douse the restless fire inside.

Tang Anhe, however, was still lost in the memory of the kiss and the countless unspeakable thoughts it had stirred. She could still feel the lingering heat of Cheng Muye’s hand pressing against her inner thigh when she’d pinned her down. So, when Cheng Muye suddenly moved, she instinctively shrank back to the side.

Cheng Muye’s brows knitted. “What are you flinching for? I’m not going to eat you.”

“I—I’m not scared.”

Her lips curved faintly. “So, you say. But sooner or later, you will be.”

Tang Anhe blinked. “Huh?”

“I’ll deal with you when this leg of mine heals.”

By then, Cheng Muye had already filled a glass, took two small sips, then passed it over. “Want some?”

“You already drank from it…”

“What? Do you dislike it?”

“N-no, of course not.”

Tang Anhe didn’t dare show even a trace of distaste. She quickly accepted the glass and obediently took a sip.

Cheng Muye, satisfied for now, stopped teasing her and took out her phone to call Yu Zhaoning. She dialed twice, but no one picked up. Guessing she must be busy, she simply left a message.

 [Contact me when you’re free.]

While Tang Anhe sipped from her glass, she noticed Cheng Muye fiddling with her phone. Curiosity itched at her like a cat scratching—she couldn’t help wanting to know who she was calling. But asking outright felt awkward, so instead she said,

“Brother Cheng, lend me your phone. I want to call my sister.”

Cheng Muye narrowed her eyes. “You’re going home?”

“No.”

“You’ve already slept in my bed. It won’t be easy for you to leave now.”

“No, I just want your phone.”

“Where’s yours?”

“In my bag.”

“And your bag?”

“I left it in your car.”

Cheng Muye arched a brow. “With memory like yours, why didn’t you leave yourself in the car too?”

Tang Anhe suddenly felt she was turning into Tang Monk, endlessly nagging. Seeing that she didn’t seem displeased, she reached out and snatched the phone.

She first checked the call log and saw she’d just called someone saved as “Zhao Ning.”

Smug at how normal and proper that looked, she scrolled down to find her own number. Yet after searching for a while, she still couldn’t see it.

A minute later, she cried out, “Brother Cheng, you didn’t save my number, did you?”

Cheng Muye, long used to her strange little questions, answered absentmindedly, “Of course I did.”

“Then where is it? I don’t see it.”

“Look carefully.”

“No, it’s not there! If you don’t believe me, see for yourself—”

Cheng Muye nearly choked at her brilliance. Did she think she would forget her own number? Was she mistaking her for some scatterbrained fool?

Full of exasperation, she snatched the phone back, flipped through the contacts, and pointed at an entry labeled “ah.c.”

“See? I saved it.”

Tang Anhe perked up instantly and leaned in, only to find it was just a jumble of English letters. She pouted, accusing, “Don’t try to trick me! That’s not my name.”

“Who told you to stare at the name… Wait—Tang Anhe, don’t tell me you don’t even remember your own phone number?”

Tang Anhe didn’t dare answer, her eyes darting away guiltily.

Cheng Muye caught it instantly and frowned. “If you can’t even remember your own number, how could you remember anyone else’s? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten mine, too?”

Tang Anhe hung her head, refusing to reply.

Cheng Muye rubbed her temples with a sigh, her voice low and weary. “One-eight-seven… That’s my number. Can you at least remember that?”

But Tang Anhe was hopeless with numbers… hopeless with most things, really. She mouthed it to herself a few times, trying to carve it into her memory, but within moments, it slipped away again.

Cheng Muye’s frown deepened. “It’s just thirteen digits. How hard can it be?”

Tang Anhe nodded vigorously. “It is really hard!”

Then, as if pleading her case, she muttered, “I honestly can’t remember. My sister tried to teach me before, but she gave up on me later.”

That didn’t soothe Cheng Muye at all. Instead, unease crept into her chest. “What if something happens when you’re outside and you don’t have your phone?”

Tang Anhe thought for a moment, then declared brightly, “I can still call China’s emergency police number! I remember those three digits.”

Fine! She gave up.

Furious, Cheng Muye seized the cup, filled it with water, and drained it in one go. Her chest ached; ever since she had met Tang Anhe, peace had eluded her.

Tang Anhe didn’t grasp her concerns, only stared back in a daze, her gaze carrying an almost sultry softness.

Cheng Muye’s lips glistened like wet rubies, and from the corner of her mouth, droplets slipped free, trailing down her slender neck, brushing over her delicate collarbone, before vanishing into the blue shirt clinging to her body.

Tang Anhe swallowed unconsciously, her own throat parched. She snatched up the remaining water and gulped it down as well.

Cheng Muye ignored her subtle reactions, her gaze steady, her voice low but firm.

“Tang Anhe, I want you to think of me first when you’re in trouble. I want to be the first one to reach you when you’re in danger. Do you understand?”

Hearing those words was truly touching.

Tang Anhe was genuinely moved, yet something in the tone felt off. She lifted her head, as if bracing for what was coming, and asked, “So?”

Cheng Muye’s expression hardened in an instant. She gave a sharp snort. “So, you’ll write my number down a hundred times. I refuse to believe you can’t memorize a handful of digits.”

Tang Anhe’s face crumpled in misery. “Brother Cheng, please… please stop. Doing it so many times will ruin my hands.”

Cheng Muye was unyielding. Her voice cut through with a hint of menace. “A hundred times is the conservative estimate. If you can’t remember it, you’ll still have to recite it from memory. And I’ll be checking. Three times a day: morning, noon, and evening.”

Tang Anhe’s eyes welled up.

She had dug a hole for herself!

If only she had known earlier, she would never have been so compulsive as to touch Cheng Muye’s phone. But now, regret was pointless.

After lunch, Cheng Muye set Tang Anhe’s phone-number memorization task firmly on the agenda.

Since walking was difficult for both of them, she had Uncle Xiang bring a small, low table to the bed, placing paper and pens on it.

They sat opposite each other, like elementary school students doing homework.

Cheng Muye soon noticed Tang Anhe’s childish habit: biting the tip of her pen while writing. Her rosy lips sucked, bit, and licked the pen, leaving faint smacks and traces of saliva. Cheng Muye’s irritation flared, and she swore inwardly, “Damn it! What a devil!”