The Movie Queen Always Wants to Kiss Me - Chapter 45 - You’re Deliberately Making Things Difficult for Me!

Unaware of her own charm, the little devil scowled as she focused on memorizing her phone number.

First, she read it, then wrote it down, and finally recited it aloud. But she couldn’t get it all at once, so she changed her strategy—memorizing four digits at a time, then another four, until all thirteen numbers were etched in her mind. It took her only half an hour to succeed.

Cheng Muye, naturally entertained, watched her the entire time. Seeing her diligently commit the numbers to memory, she picked up a book from the bedside and began flipping through it. It was the one Yu Zhaoning had brought her that night to keep her occupied. She had read most of it before, not merely for amusement; the author’s wisdom seemed to flow from every line.

So absorbed in the book, she didn’t notice Tang Anhe crawling over and snatching it.

“What book is it? I want to read it too!” Tang Anhe exclaimed.

Cheng Muye was startled and about to scold her, but she held back. She had plenty of ways to discipline her, so instead she asked, “Did you remember it?”

Tang Anhe smiled smugly. “I remember it. 187—”

She recited the entire phone number fluently, without a single mistake.

Cheng Muye chuckled softly, raising an eyebrow. “Who said I wanted you to recite it normally? Recite it backwards.”

“Why?” Tang Anhe blinked in confusion.

“Just recite it backwards.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Don’t make me repeat myself. Recite it backwards.”

Tang Anhe shook her head, eyes blazing. “You’re cheating! You’re deliberately making things difficult for me!”

She was just throwing a tantrum!

But who said she couldn’t throw a tantrum?

And she was doing it brilliantly.

Cheng Muye took the book, pinched her nose gently, and smiled. “Be good. Recite it backwards, and I’ll give you a reward.”

Tang Anhe, unfamiliar with the trick of promising a reward to coax her into compliance, immediately forgot all her complaints. Her watery eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Brother Cheng, what’s the reward?”

“A secret.”

“What secret? Don’t be so teasing!”

“Stop wasting time. Just recite it.”

“Tell me first!”

Tang Anhe immediately switched into her most coquettish, playful mode, shaking her little arms and blinking her watery eyes. “Please, tell me! Just this once… won’t you satisfy my curiosity?”

Cheng Muye, nearly exasperated, waved her hand sharply and muttered, “Focus on your task. Memorize it first.”

But Tang Anhe simply couldn’t concentrate. She hadn’t written so many words since leaving school, and her fingers were practically aching from exhaustion.

On top of that, being spoiled made the effort of memorization even more unbearable, making her head throb and her patience wear thin. Still, she dared not outright refuse, so she pleaded in her most charming tone, “Please let me rest for a moment. I already wrote it a hundred times… my hands are nearly crippled. Good Brother, give me a massage.”

As she spoke, she stretched out her pale, delicate fingers.

Her right index finger was already red from gripping the pen so tightly, leaving marks that betrayed her effort.

Cheng Muye frowned, feeling a twinge of guilt, but eventually softened her tone. “Alright, let’s take a short break.”

“Okay!” Tang Anhe responded eagerly, dragging her little legs over to sit beside her.

The two of them sat side by side on the bed, leaning slightly together as they read the book.

Like a curious child, Tang Anhe glanced between the pages and Cheng Muye. “Brother Cheng, is this book any good? What’s it about?”

Cheng Muye, engrossed in her own reading, replied after a moment, “Yes, it’s not bad. Quite interesting.”

Tang Anhe, growing more curious, turned her attention to the title: Beyond Death: Grace and Grit. The title didn’t appeal to her, and she couldn’t hide her confusion. “What’s it about? Why does it feel like one of those inspirational, heartwarming books?”

She frowned slightly, feeling utterly puzzled.

Cheng Muye felt Tang Anhe’s literary taste could use some guidance. She closed the book and spoke with quiet seriousness, “This book is by Ken Wilber, a renowned American psychologist and philosopher. Though it recounts his personal emotional journey, it’s full of depth and philosophical insight.

The story begins when, at thirty-four, Wilber meets a thirty-six-year-old woman named Treya. They fall in love at first sight and decide to marry. But on the eve of their wedding, the intelligent and beautiful Treya is diagnosed with breast cancer. What began as a romantic love story transforms into a tale of two people confronting illness together.

For five years, they endure hardship and struggle, but the disease worsens, and she eventually passes away. Yet, despite the tragedy, the mutual support and shared trials they experience provide Wilber with profound understanding and enlightenment. Through meditation and spiritual practice, they are able to transcend hurt, anger, and resentment, ultimately transforming their pain into compassion and wisdom about life and fate…”

After hearing so much, Tang Anhe was utterly bewildered. All she managed to catch were two words: breast and cancer.

The term wasn’t entirely unfamiliar. She had heard Gu Zixiao mention it at the cocktail party, commenting that large breasts were a burden and prone to illness. Growing increasingly anxious, she hurriedly asked, “Hey, Brother Cheng, are the heroine’s breasts in this book… particularly large?”

Cheng Muye didn’t think much of it and nodded, “Yeah, seems so.”

Flipping through the book, Tang Anhe saw wedding photos of the author and Treya.

She was breathtakingly beautiful, with an incredibly voluptuous figure. Her breasts were even larger than Tang Anhe’s, if not more.

Tang Anhe’s face went pale, and panic crept into her voice. “Brother Cheng, are large breasts more prone to that disease? I… I’m a little scared. Should we… make them smaller? Like, liposuction?”

What?

Make it smaller?

Liposuction?

Cheng Muye could no longer contain herself. She scolded firmly, “What nonsense are you talking about? Why would you even think of that? Who gave you such a wild imagination?”

Tang Anhe, undeterred by the scolding, still looked fearful and aggrieved. “I heard that big breasts are more likely to get that disease…”

Cheng Muye shook her head, exasperated. “That’s just hearsay. How reliable do you think hearsay is?”

“But I’m scared,” Tang Anhe admitted.

“What are you afraid of?” Cheng Muye asked, glancing at her voluptuous figure.

Her heart warmed, yet her eyes betrayed a hint of desire. She had always preferred women with full figures, and Tang Anhe was the one who satisfied her most—but even now, she hadn’t had enough. Hearing that Tang Anhe wanted smaller breasts made her inwardly furious.

It was her own soft-heartedness that had allowed this moment to slip by. She should have given her a little encouragement long ago, let her know that big breasts had advantages beyond just looking good in clothes. The thought stirred her body unconsciously. Desire surged, making her want to turn and devour Tang Anhe right there.

Tang Anhe, oblivious to the fire in her eyes, frowned and spoke in a low, troubled voice. “Brother Cheng, I’m really scared. Didn’t an actress die from this disease not long ago? Her breasts were big, but not as big as mine. I… I secretly compared them…”

Secretly compared?

She really seems to have nothing better to do.

Cheng Muye wanted to scold her for such a thought, but the words caught in her throat. Tang Anhe’s fear made her vulnerable and perfectly exploitable.

She pondered for a moment, her mind racing, until an idea struck her. Straightening her expression, she said, “This condition isn’t determined by breast size. There are many causes, and I won’t go through them all. But I do know some ways to prevent it.”

“What methods?” Tang Anhe asked, her curiosity and eagerness apparent.

Cheng Muye’s lips curved into a soft smile, and she chuckled quietly. “Come closer to my ear.”

Tang Anhe hurried over. Being this close, she practically leaned against Cheng Muye’s shoulder.

Cheng Muye’s heart stirred at the proximity. She brushed her lips against Tang Anhe’s earlobe and whispered, “I’ll help activate your chest meridians to prevent it.”

“What?” Tang Anhe’s voice faltered.

“Activate the meridians,” Cheng Muye repeated calmly.

Tang Anhe’s face was already flushed, her eyes a mix of shyness, timidity, and an inexplicable sense of embarrassment. She had rarely touched that area herself in all her life, and yet… she had actually—

Cheng Muye remained serious, giving her a sidelong glance as she said matter-of-factly, “I’m thinking of what’s best for you.”

With that, Tang Anhe had no retort. To argue further would just make her seem ungrateful.

But Tang Anhe still had some sense. Blushing and timid, she asked, “Brother Cheng, how did you learn this method?”

Cheng Muye had anticipated the question. Lifting the book in her hand, she answered with solemn authority, “What I’ve learned is all here—see for yourself if you don’t believe me.”

Her words were cunning. She claimed insight rather than mere reading, leaving Tang Anhe no opening to ask exactly where she had learned it.

Tang Anhe was caught in a dilemma, but Cheng Muye didn’t let her linger there. Having already captured her heart, she now moved decisively forward, beginning her assault on the body.

The next moment, Cheng Muye pulled Tang Anhe onto her lap, covering her mouth to stifle her surprised scream. A faint, commanding smile curved her lips. “Good Anhe, you better behave. If you touch my injured leg, there will be consequences.”

Tang Anhe was naturally worried about her injured leg, but the awkward position left her feeling both embarrassed and uneasy.

She squirmed slightly, her eyes flicking to Cheng Muye’s face as it gradually flushed, her gaze narrowed slightly, sharp and intense in a way she couldn’t quite comprehend.

“Brother Cheng?” she whispered.

“Hmm?” she replied softly.

When Tang Anhe lifted her eyes to hers, the usual calm intelligence had vanished. Her gaze was bright and burning, and the heat of her breath made her chest tighten. Tang Anhe felt an unfamiliar pull toward her, a subtle urge to kiss, to surrender, and yet a thrill of fear coursed through her. She had always admired her lips, but in that moment, she found herself drawn into the depths of her eyes.

Her dress had slipped down to her shoulders, and her long hair cascaded freely, spilling over her porcelain-white shoulders and collarbones.

Cheng Muye’s hands moved slowly over her shoulders, spreading warmth and pressure with deliberate care.

Tang Anhe felt that Cheng Muye’s eyes could mesmerize anyone. Otherwise, how could she have ended up sprawled on the bed without even realizing it? She slowly closed her eyes, feeling those hands flow over her body like water… She gripped the bedsheet tightly, its silk cool against her skin, yet her own body was ablaze.

“Thud!”

The lazy table toppled to the floor, scattering the notebook and pen. The pages lay open, filled with a string of numbers and rows of small characters. Cheng Muye, Cheng Muye, Cheng Muye…

I wish to spend the rest of my life writing your name.