The Movie Queen Always Wants to Kiss Me - Chapter 47 - You Don't Care About Me at All

In the end they never finished the movie. It was not that Cheng Muye had softened. The interruption came when her phone began to ring.

The caller was Yu Zhaoning.

Uncle Xiang had told her that Cheng Muye’s leg wound had started bleeding again and she could not stop worrying. She called at once.

“Your leg is bleeding again. What happened Cheng Muye? Are you incapable of taking care of yourself? Do you want to lose your leg?” Her voice crackled with frantic anger.

Cheng Muye frowned at the onslaught. “It is not that serious. It has stopped now.”

“You keep saying you’re fine, but do you have to lose a limb before you see how serious this is?”

“Enough! I know what I am doing.”

“Of course, you do! I heard Tang Anhe came over too. What were you two doing that made your leg bleed?”

The moment those words slipped out, whatever goodwill had remained was squandered.

Blinded by jealousy, Yu Zhaoning forgot entirely that she had called out of concern for Cheng Muye’s injury. All she could picture was Cheng Muye, wounded yet still keeping Tang Anhe by her side in the villa. Bitterness swelled in her chest, twisting reason into something darker. Before she could rein herself in, cutting words tumbled out—words that wounded not only Cheng Muye, but herself as well.

“You don’t care about me at all anymore. Cheng Muye, you have no idea what I’ve been through, or how terrified I’ve felt inside.”

She nearly shouted the words, her voice shaking with raw emotion.

Cheng Muye felt the change in tone and paused. “What happened”

“Nothing’s wrong. Can’t you just show me a little more concern?”

“Don’t be unreasonable, Yu Zhaoning. You’re not a child anymore. A little distance will only do you good. And if you send people to watch me again, I’ll have no choice but to leave this villa.”

By the end, her voice had turned sharp, her tone edged with reproach, almost cold.

“Muye, I didn’t mean—”

“I don’t want to hear another empty apology.”

To her, if she could not give Yu Zhaoning love, then she could not give her hope either.

It looked heartless, but in truth it was a kind of mercy. She simply refused to let Zhaoning sink deeper.

Unfortunately, Yu Zhaoning could not understand. Her voice quivered, thick with tears. “Muye, I’m scared.”

Cheng Muye’s brow furrowed, irritation flickering in her eyes. “Where are you now?”

“America.”

“For work?”

“What else do you think?”

She clearly had no intention of being honest.

Suppressing her rising anger, Cheng Muye asked again, “When are you coming back? I’ll pick you up.”

“I don’t know.”

“Stop messing around. When are you coming back? This is the last time I’ll ask.”

The sobs on the other end grew sharper, more broken, wails and sniffles as if she were suffering the deepest injustice. A flicker of unease stirred in Cheng Muye’s chest.

Yu Zhaoning had always been the tomboy who roughhoused with her since childhood; fragile tears were rare, and the only time she had ever seen her like this was when Zhaoning’s mother died of cancer.

What had happened to reduce her to this state?

An indistinct worry crept into Cheng Muye’s heart. Her voice softened. “Zhaoning, what’s wrong?”

But Yu Zhaoning only cried harder, her words scattered and confused. “Muye, I thought we’d always be together. But I was wrong. So wrong… Maybe this is better. I can’t bear to see you with someone else… I’m sorry…”

Frustration flared hot in Cheng Muye’s chest. “Yu Zhaoning, have you lost your mind?” she snapped.

It was late at night, and she had no patience for such rambling nonsense.

And yet, even in her tears, Yu Zhaoning let out a broken smile, a smile drenched in loneliness. “If I do, do you have the cure? Haha… you’re not the cure. No—you are the cure, and still, you refuse to save me.”

Her words grew more and more incoherent, a tangle of grief and longing.

Cheng Muye no longer had the will to deal with someone clearly unhinged. Without hesitation, she hung up. Cold. Final.

Her mood soured, she had no heart left to tease Tang Anhe. She stretched out an arm, pulled the girl close, and flicked off the light switch.

Darkness swallowed the room in an instant. Tang Anhe sensed her gloom and dared not complain, even though the dark made her uneasy. She shrank against Cheng Muye, clutching tightly at the hem of her nightgown, her face buried against her chest.

Cheng Muye did not push Tang Anhe away. She allowed the closeness, though the warmth of Tang Anhe’s breath against her skin sent waves of tingling discomfort through her body. With her leg injured, she could not release the tension, and the frustration gnawed at her. When had she ever been forced to endure so much restraint?

Her pulse raced, restless, and Tang Anhe was no better. Each time she closed her eyes, fragments of the film replayed in her mind. That vivid body, those intoxicating images, every detail lingered, shaking her more deeply.

“Brother Cheng, I can’t sleep.”

Nearly half an hour later, Tang Anhe tugged at her arm, her voice fragile, almost wounded.

Cheng Muye had not fallen asleep either. Tang Anhe was pressed too close, her breath scorching against her skin. And Yu Zhaoning’s erratic words still weighed heavily on her mind.

Thus, without saying it aloud, the two of them lay awake, sharing the silence of a sleepless night.

Cheng Muye’s thoughts grew tangled. Had her leg not been injured, the timing, the setting, the atmosphere, everything, was perfect. She could have easily drawn Tang Anhe into her arms, guided her past hesitation, and conquered her completely.

Instead, she was left to wrestle with restraint, her wound forcing her to weigh every move with painstaking care.

“Then try counting sheep,” Cheng Muye suggested lightly.

“I’m not a child. I’m not playing some silly little game like that.” Tang Anhe rejected the idea outright, feeling as if her intelligence had been insulted.

Cheng Muye had no patience for coaxing. She closed her eyes and muttered, “Then stay awake if you want. I’m going to sleep.”

Watching her drift off, Tang Anhe’s chest tightened. Her tone turned stubborn and spoiled. “No way. You can’t sleep if I’m not asleep yet. That’s called sharing the burden.”

She was being completely unreasonable.

But instead of losing her temper, Cheng Muye chuckled, laying a trap with practiced ease. “Then tell me, what comes before that?”

Tang Anhe, trusting her without hesitation, blurted out, “Sharing blessings together!”

“Very good,” Cheng Muye said with a low laugh. “And you… you’re so round and rosy, brimming with blessings. Come, let me share in a little of that.” With those words, she leaned in to kiss her.

Tang Anhe quickly turned her head aside. The darkness concealed the crimson blooming on her cheeks, but the shyness trembling in her eyes could not be hidden.

“Why are you always trying to take advantage of me?” she whispered.

Cheng Muye smirked faintly. “Do you even know what ‘taking advantage’ means?”

“Anyway, you’re not allowed to kiss me without my permission.”

“Funny,” Cheng Muye replied lazily. “A moment ago you were talking about sharing blessings. Doesn’t it sting to slap yourself in the face like that, Tang Anhe?”

Realizing she couldn’t win against her quick tongue, Tang Anhe clamped her lips shut and rolled over, showing her back in silent protest.

Cheng Muye knew she was sulking again, but instead of coaxing her, she simply closed her eyes and let sleep take her.

A few minutes later, Tang Anhe quietly turned back. Tugging at the hem of her nightgown, she whispered, “Brother Cheng… Brother Cheng, are you asleep?”

Cheng Muye kept her breathing steady, feigning slumber.

Convinced she really was asleep, Tang Anhe stopped calling. She only inched closer, seeking her warmth.

The summer night breeze stirred the curtains, carrying in threads of moonlight. Though the room remained dim, the pale glow traced out their entwined figures, two shadows resting quietly in each other’s arms.

Tang Anhe tossed and turned, unable to sleep. The moonlight spilled across Cheng Muye’s face, softening her sharp features—long lashes casting delicate shadows, a straight nose bridge, thin lips curved in a faint line. The sight was devastatingly beautiful, stirring something reckless inside her.

She fought down the urge to lean closer and steal a kiss, but her mind betrayed her. What if she took the initiative? What if her fingers trailed down that body, coaxing out shivers? What if she mimicked the women on screen, using her hands to bring pleasure to those most secret places, would Cheng Muye wear that same dazed, ecstatic expression, trembling on the edge of collapse?

The thoughts alone made her pulse race faster than any touch Cheng Muye had given her. Heat coursed through her, dizzying and unbearable.

She was losing her mind. She was definitely losing her mind.

With a frustrated groan, Tang Anhe tugged at her hair, as if pain could drive away the shameful images. But they had already lodged themselves deep within her, impossible to shake.

This night, she was doomed to sleeplessness.

Yet Cheng Muye hardly slept better. Feeling Tang Anhe’s burning gaze linger on her so brazenly filled her with a giddy, secret delight. To be so openly desired by the one she loved, it was intoxicating.

Still, she had to keep up the act.

With flawless composure, she continued feigning sleep until well past midnight. Only when sheer exhaustion won out, somewhere around two or three in the morning, did her breathing finally even out.

The next morning—

A gentle breeze stirred the curtains, and soft sunlight spilled across the room.

Cheng Muye rubbed the sleep from her eyes. When she noticed the empty space beside her, she jolted upright in alarm. Could that little minx have gotten so upset over last night’s quarrel that she had slipped away without a word?

“Tang Anhe! Tang Anhe—” Her voice carried a faint panic as she hurriedly slipped into her wheelchair, still dressed in her nightgown, and wheeled herself out to search.

But Tang Anhe hadn’t gone far. She was outside, making a phone call. In the middle of the night, thoughts of her aunt back home had stirred her guilt. She hadn’t returned, nor had she even called. The remorse had weighed on her until morning, when she finally asked Uncle Xiang to unlock the luxury car so she could retrieve her handbag and phone.

Song Qiluo said nothing about her belated return, only passing her the phone.

An Shanghua, on the other hand, had been displeased, though she didn’t allow it to show. Her voice was as gentle as ever. “Anhe, you’re grown now, with a mind of your own. I understand. But remember, especially for a young woman, purity is precious. Only when you respect yourself will others treat you with respect. Do you understand?”

Tang Anhe answered obediently, “I’m looking after Cheng… Cheng Muye. She was injured because of me, and she needs someone to take care of her.”

She didn’t dare call her Brother Cheng here, worried her aunt might think she was speaking of a man and misunderstand.

But would An Shanghua really misunderstand?

Once her agent, she had been deeply familiar with the undercurrents of Changqing City’s wealthy circles, its old families, and powerful clans. The Cheng family was no ordinary household, especially with a figure as legendary as Cheng Letian at its head. She knew much about the lineage. She had even attended the funeral of Cheng Xiu, the family’s sole heir who had taken his own life years ago, and had met Cheng Muye, Cheng Xiu’s daughter, on several occasions. The girl, then only twelve or thirteen, had been cold and aloof, the kind who kept others at arm’s length.

How could Tang Anhe possibly be connected to her?

Qiluo had claimed she was working as a bodyguard, yet what reason would a pampered young lady have to cast aside her privileged life and become a bodyguard for Anhe?

That motive was truly intriguing.

As An Shanghua turned this over in her mind, she shifted the subject. “You come back today—”

But before she could finish, a frantic voice cut through the line. “Tang Anhe! Tang Anhe—”

The tone was sharp with panic.

Tang Anhe heard it too. She whipped her head toward the bedroom and whispered quickly, “Auntie, I have something to do. I’ll call you back later—”

Before she could hang up, Cheng Muye wheeled herself out of the room. The instant she caught sight of Tang Anhe, she scolded, her voice tight with reproach, “Where did you run off to? When I woke up this morning and you weren’t there, I thought you had left.”

The chastising words carried clearly through the phone, then the line went dead with a series of beeps.

Tang Anhe had already hung up. Her hurried tone, her evasive air, it was as if she were hiding something.

An Shanghua lowered the phone slowly. Her brow creased, and her pale face hardened into a severe, unreadable mask.