The Movie Queen Always Wants to Kiss Me - Chapter 50 - Her Heart Belongs to Me

A captivating beauty is the hardest to dislodge, clinging not only to the body but to the heart as well.

Yet Cheng Muye regarded the woman before her with nothing but boredom. “Miss Liu, it’s the things hard-won that people truly treasure. Understand?”

The implication was clear. Cheap goods like her held no value in her eyes.

Liu Wei’s face flushed crimson as she retorted, unwilling to accept rejection. “Didn’t you even consider using me to provoke Tang Anhe?”

“No.”

Nothing could have been more humiliating.

Her fists clenched in frustration as she stormed off, leaving Cheng Muye entirely unmoved. Head bowed, eyes steady and still, her fingers tapped lightly on her knees. Her thoughts, instead, turned to Tang Anhe’s aunt, whether her fainting had been genuine or feigned, she needed to see for herself.

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Inside Changqing Central Hospital.

An Shanghua lay back in her hospital bed, her kind eyes fixed on the tear-streaked face before her.

“I’m fine now, don’t worry,” she reassured.

Tang Anhe’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, her voice thick with guilt. “I’m sorry. I didn’t take good care of you.”

“It’s not your fault. I’m just getting old. When people age, they become fragile.”

Her words carried a profound weariness that made Tang Anhe’s own tears spill over.

In truth, An Shanghua was far from old. Among her peers in the entertainment industry, women her age still looked no older than thirty. But illness had ravaged her body. In just two short years, stomach cancer had reduced her to a frail, withered shadow of herself.

“You’re not old, Auntie. Not old at all,” Tang Anhe whispered, kneeling by her bedside, her voice firm with stubborn resolve. “Auntie, you have to get better. You absolutely must get better.”

She was the only elder left in Tang Anhe’s life.

Having lost her parents at a young age, Tang Anhe had spent more than two decades under the care of this woman, her foster mother, her aunt, a rare source of warmth and stability in her otherwise turbulent world. Fearful of losing her, Tang Anhe’s voice trembled through tear-streaked cheeks. “Auntie, can we go abroad for treatment? I’ve heard the medical care is better overseas. Please… let’s try it.”

“Silly child,” An Shanghua murmured gently, her frailty evident, “your aunt is too old for such a journey. If we traveled abroad, I might not even make it halfway. Each person has their own fate. One cannot force what cannot be.”

At this stage of her illness, any lingering desire or impatience could only invite frustration and hasten her decline. Over the past two years, she had learned to find peace, to release her grip, and to accept the inevitable.

But this patience did not extend to Tang Anhe’s personal life.

Upon learning that Tang Anhe might be courting the Cheng family’s daughter, she could no longer maintain composure.

An Shanghua gazed sorrowfully at the girl before her. Tang Anhe possessed the same innocence, kindness, and tender heart as her late mother, An Hewa.

An irresistible radiance that drew admiration from both men and women alike. Yet her mother had never been drawn to women. Even after suffering the capricious affections of countless men, she had clung to hope for love from the opposite sex.

How, then, could Tang Anhe be attracted to women? Could genetics truly be rewritten by circumstance?

She whispered softly, almost to herself, “Anhe… when I look at you, I think of your mother. Do you know that? Your mother was so obedient, so sensible… she always listened to me.”

Tang Anhe had rarely heard her aunt speak of her mother. Presumably, the topic had been avoided to shield her from grief. Now, hearing her mention her mother so suddenly felt strange, almost alien.

“My mom… she… she must have been very close to you, Auntie, right?”

“Of course,” An Shanghua replied, a faint glimmer of nostalgia lighting her deep-set eyes. “We’ve never been apart. From elementary school through middle school, all the way through college.”

An Shanghua’s deep-set eyes shimmered with a trace of nostalgia, and a faint warmth seemed to touch her pale, worn face.

“I married before your mother did,” she began softly. “Back then, she cried so hard she soaked my wedding gown.”

Tang Anhe blinked, her lips curving into a small, tentative smile. “My mother… she must have been reluctant to let go, right? Or maybe… it was tears of joy. She was happy for you.”

An Shanghua didn’t answer directly. Instead, her eyes gradually cooled, and her voice grew distant and faint. “When I was carrying Qiluo, she said that once she had her child, if it was a boy, they would be brothers; if a girl, sisters. But if it were a boy and a girl… we would arrange a betrothal.”

Tang Anhe listened, a bemused smile tugging at her lips. Arranged betrothals between cousins? Was that… really acceptable?

Nearby, Song Qiluo shifted uncomfortably. Had her mother lost her mind? It was the twenty-first century, who arranged marriages between cousins anymore? She glanced around impatiently, struggling to make sense of her mother’s cryptic words. Wasn’t she just trying to clarify Tang Anhe’s orientation? Why go about it in such a roundabout way?

Finally, An Shanghua reached the heart of the story. “Back then, Qiluo was already six years old, and your mother still hadn’t married. The family grew anxious and started pressuring her. Naturally, she refused. After countless arranged meetings… she finally came out. Your mother… she likes women.”

Tang Anhe froze, the revelation hitting her like a lightning bolt.

“Huh?” Her voice was barely a whisper, disbelief etched into every syllable. “What… my mom? She likes women?”

An Shanghua nodded, her voice heavy with melancholy. “When your mother came out, it shook the family to its core. Your grandmother fainted on the spot, and your grandfather was so enraged he kicked her out. But she was still his flesh and blood, he couldn’t simply abandon her. By chance, your mother’s lover appeared at the door, swearing she would take care of her. Your grandparents, soft-hearted as they were, eventually agreed.

“But barely two years later, word spread that the lover had achieved success and wanted to leave your mother. She refused to let go, but in the end, she couldn’t hold on. Heartbroken, she married your father. Later, when that lover returned seeking reconciliation, your father, truly devoted to your mother, refused. Her henchmen retaliated brutally, and he was beaten so severely he later died in the hospital.

“Unaware of the details, your mother, after your father’s death, reconciled with that lover as if nothing had happened. But that lover came to resent you, seeing you as living proof of your mother’s betrayal. With no other choice, your mother left you in my care. Then, on your third birthday, she was in a car accident while bringing you a birthday cake…”

Tang Anhe sat in stunned silence. So, this was her mother’s story.

No wonder Auntie had never spoken of it.

A sharp ache gripped Tang Anhe’s chest, half for the woman who had suffered so much for love, half for herself, abandoned at such a tender age.

For a fleeting moment, she felt a pang of resentment toward her mother. If only she hadn’t been entangled with that lover, perhaps Tang Anhe could have grown up with a warm, happy family of her own.

An Shanghua kept her head bowed, but Tang Anhe caught the quiet pain and unease flickering in her eyes. “So, my dear child,” she continued softly, “don’t follow in your mother’s footsteps. Look at the world today. How many same-sex couples truly end up happy? Your aunt hopes you’ll live a smooth life, marry, have children, and become a good wife and mother.”

Tang Anhe finally grasped her meaning. So, this was her intention all along. She already knew about her relationship with Cheng Muye. This speech was meant as a warning.

But dragging her mother into it. How dare she?

Anger surged through Tang Anhe, though she wasn’t entirely sure why. Perhaps it was because her aunt had insulted her mother, or maybe because she was challenging her choice to be with Cheng Muye.

The disapproval was clear enough, even without being explicitly stated.

“Auntie, what exactly are you trying to say?” Tang Anhe stood, her earlier innocence replaced by sharp resolve.

An Shanghua glanced up, her smile softening even more. “Your auntie wants you to live well. To have a career, to love, and to enjoy a quiet, fulfilling life. Of course,” she added gently, “it would be even better if that life didn’t include the young lady from the Cheng family.”

Tang Anhe understood. Her aunt wasn’t in favor of her growing overly familiar with Cheng Muye.

She took a steadying breath and shook her head, her voice firm and earnest. “Auntie, Cheng Muye is a wonderful person. She cares for me, protects me, and is genuinely sincere. I’m not stupid. I know she truly means well.”

Her words were full of conviction, her gaze unwavering.

Song Qiluo, standing nearby, scowled. Her tone was sharp as she snapped, “Tang Anhe, that’s going too far! Just because Cheng Muye is kind to you, does that mean we aren’t?”

Tang Anhe blinked, startled by the sudden outburst. After a moment of stunned silence, she shook her head, her tone patient but firm. “Sis, you know that’s not what I meant.”

Song Qiluo’s long-held resentment simmered beneath her words, tinged with accusation. “What do you mean? You stand at my mother’s bedside, talking about how others treat you so well. Do you think we’re dead? If it weren’t for you, would my mother even be hospitalized? Would she have fallen ill so young?”

Does this count as emotional blackmail within the family?

Every conflict seemed to circle back to their sacrifices, as if without Tang Anhe, they would be the happiest family alive.

Tang Anhe’s restraint finally snapped. Tears spilled over as she cried, “I know you’ve sacrificed so much! But must you remind me constantly? What do you want from me? Do you think I don’t worry about Auntie? That I’m not terrified? What can I do? Should I give her my stomach instead?”

Her voice trembled with anger and helplessness, the careful composure she’d maintained all these years shattering at last.

She wiped her tears and, choking on her sobs, faced the stunned mother and daughter. “Cheng Muye got hurt for me too, but she never complained once. She didn’t dwell on it. Protecting me, caring for me, that’s just her duty. That’s why I like her, why I want to be close to her. I don’t know exactly what I feel for her, but I hate it when others dismiss her. The thought that you see her differently because she’s a lesbian… it breaks my heart. Cheng Muye hasn’t done anything wrong!”

Her voice rang out, fierce and unyielding.

Before anyone could respond, she bolted from the hospital room.

Outside the ward, Cheng Muye sat in her wheelchair, quietly watching Tang Anhe’s retreating figure. Softly, she called, “Anhe—”

Tang Anhe froze, then turned around, her wide, red-rimmed eyes as vulnerable and endearing as a startled rabbit’s. “What are you doing here?” she gasped.

Cheng Muye sat in her wheelchair, and Lin Yue pushed her toward her. In the sunlight, her eyes were full of warmth.

“I was worried about you, so I came to check on you.”

Tears welled up in Tang Anhe again, slipping through her fingers even as she tried to cover her face.

A pang of heartache tugged at Cheng Muye. She moved as if to reach out, to brush a strand of hair from Tang Anhe’s tear-streaked face, but before she could, Tang Anhe murmured, “You always worry about me. Cheng Muye, you’re so kind.”

Cheng Muye’s lips curved slightly. “I’m not kind. If I were good to you, I wouldn’t have ulterior motives.”

Tang Anhe shook her head gently, sniffling. “But at least you’re straightforward. Cheng Muye, you’re direct and honest.”

Her words, so simple yet sincere, made Cheng Muye feel a faint warmth blossom in her chest, a quiet sense that perhaps, by some small miracle, she might unexpectedly get blessed.