The Movie Queen Always Wants to Kiss Me - Chapter 61 - Here Lies My Heart

Cheng Muye collapsed in agony, fainting on the spot. Fortunately, Cheng Sijin was behind her and caught her in time.

“Grandfather! Sister fainted from the pain! Quick, call the doctor! Hurry!” Cheng Sijin’s voice shook with panic, tears welling in his eyes.

Cheng Letian frowned at the sight and barked coldly, “Why are you crying? Such a fuss over nothing!”

Though his affection for Cheng Sijin was genuine, he could not bear to see the grandson he had carefully raised turn out so weak. The boy didn’t possess even half of Cheng Muye’s fiery resolve.

That thought deepened his scowl. Leaning on his silver cane, he turned to ascend the stairs once more. Just before disappearing from sight, he instructed the bodyguards to summon the doctor.

The Cheng residence had its own medical team, and within minutes, the staff arrived in full force. They carried the unconscious Cheng Muye into her bedroom and swiftly transformed it into a makeshift operating room.

Her leg wound had torn open badly at the site of the previous injury. Immediate measures were required to stop the bleeding and stitch it again.

The lead surgeon’s brow furrowed when he saw the inflammation surrounding the wound. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple. This was going to be difficult.

Outside the Bedroom.

Cheng Sijin waited anxiously in the corridor. Lady He Lanxin returned from her outing, and when she heard the news, she immediately went upstairs.

She saw her younger son’s pale face and trembling lips and sighed inwardly. If Old Master Cheng witnessed such timidity, he would never approve.

Yet she held her tongue. Having lost his father at birth, Cheng Sijin had grown up tender-hearted and gentle by nature. He too would one day need to face the harsher realities of the world.

“Don’t worry,” she said softly. “Your sister will be fine.”

But how could she possibly be fine?

Cheng Sijin’s chest tightened as his sister’s anguished cries pierced through the door. His heart twisted with pain, and he shouted furiously, “Give her anesthetic! What are you waiting for, you quacks?”

He Lanxin reached out to steady him, but he shook her off. His voice cracked as he cried out, “This is all Grandfather’s fault! Mom, why is Grandfather doing this to Sister? He sent people to beat her until she bled like this!”

Deep inside, resentment toward his grandfather burned fiercely, though he dared not say it aloud. Again and again, the image of Cheng Letian’s silver cane striking down flashed before his eyes. For the first time, disgust stirred within him. How could Grandfather be so ruthless? That was his own granddaughter—yet he had stood there cold and unfeeling as she collapsed unconscious.

Was this truly the loving grandfather he had once believed in?

The bond between the grandfather and grandson had fractured in that moment. By the time Cheng Letian realized it, the damage was already done.

Two Hours Later

The bedroom door creaked open, and the attending physician stepped out. He was a man in his forties, with neatly combed hair that lent him a precise and meticulous air. After two hours of suturing, his forehead glistened with sweat, and his expression carried the weariness of exertion.

“Madam,” he reported solemnly, “the young lady is out of danger. In the coming days, please see to it that she receives proper care. Also, the wound is showing early signs of infection. If she develops a fever, contact me immediately.”

He Lanxin nodded, then turned to the two nurses standing behind her. “You two will stay and tend to Muye. As girls yourselves, it will be easier.”

The nurses exchanged a glance and answered in unison, “Yes, madam.”

Impatient with the formalities, Cheng Sijin had already slipped inside.

On the wide bed, Cheng Muye lay unconscious, her face pale, her forehead beaded with sweat. She had endured the procedure without reacting to the anesthetic, bearing the pain in silence until her body could no longer withstand it, and she fainted from sheer agony.

Cheng Sijin sat by her bedside, imitating an adult as he gently wiped the perspiration from her brow with a damp towel. The injury had weakened her greatly in recent weeks—her weight had dropped, and her complexion had grown ghostly pale. Now, in her fragile state, the faint crease between her brows seemed to gather like a veil of springtime sorrow, making her appear softer.

This was his sister. His only sister. The very sister he had longed to embrace when he was still a child.

She was no longer the cold and distant figure he once remembered. Now, she seemed gentler, more vulnerable—and his heart ached all the more for her.

In that moment, Cheng Sijin made up his mind. He would help her, even if it meant defying Grandfather’s will.

So, when Cheng Muye finally stirred awake, he leaned close and whispered a startling vow.

“Sister, I’m going to help you. Tell me what you need. If it’s within my power, I’ll do it.”

From the bed, Cheng Muye’s voice came weak and frail. “Why? Why do you want to help me?”

“Because you’re my sister.”

“Huh? Just that simple?”

“What else could it be?”

His counterquestion carried nothing but the purest innocence.

Cheng Muye gave a faint, bitter smile. She must have been delirious—how could she mistake this boy for Shen Si? He was only twelve, still just a child.

Yet Cheng Sijin was a child who kept his word. If he promised to help her, he would.

For instance, after leaving the room, he immediately searched for his phone and called Feng Gui. “Uncle Feng, my sister asked me to check on Tang Anhe. Where is she?”

Feng Gui avoided the question and replied, “Tell the young lady she’s fine. Just a concussion. Miss Song is with her now, taking care of her.”

Cheng Sijin faithfully repeated the words. Cheng Muye merely nodded, her expression unreadable.

“Sis, don’t you believe me?” he asked anxiously.

Cheng Muye’s voice was faint and weary. “Believe it or not, I can’t go see for myself.”

“Then I’ll go see her?” he offered quickly. “I heard she’s a big star. I really want to meet her. I’ve never seen a real celebrity before.”

His words brimmed with childish excitement.

Cheng Muye could only relent, letting him call Song Qiluo. After obtaining the address, he eagerly went to take a look.

Once Cheng Sijin left, she lay on her bed, staring blankly out the window. Two days had passed since she last saw Tang Anhe, and her heart throbbed as though scratched raw by claws.

From Uncle Feng’s words, it seemed Tang Anhe was in danger. She had no idea what her condition was now, or how her health held up. The helplessness gnawed at her—she couldn’t even protect the one person she wanted to shield.

Tears pricked her eyes. One moment she despised her own weakness; the next, she burned with hatred for Cheng Letian’s cold indifference. Yet blaming others was the coward’s path. In the end, she could only blame herself.

At that moment, He Lanxin entered with a cup of water and anti-inflammatory medicine. “Muye, it’s time for your medicine.”

Cheng Muye lifted her head slightly, her brows knitting, though she said nothing. Without expression, she accepted the cup and pills. Just as she swallowed them, He Lanxin sat down beside the bed, her gaze soft and steady. “Muye, are you feeling any discomfort?”

“I’m fine. No need to worry,” she replied curtly.

He Lanxin remained gentle, her voice calm. “I know you dislike staying here, but with your injuries and limited mobility, you must focus on recovery first. Old Master Cheng may keep you confined for now, but not forever.”

Her words, though kind, could not soothe Cheng Muye’s hostility, especially with her mood so sour. Her tone was sharp, filled with resentment. “Why pretend to care? If it weren’t for your son sabotaging me at every turn, would I be in this state?”

He Lanxin’s expression never faltered; her smile remained warm and composed. “Speaking of Ah Si, I’ve been thinking of him. Muye, do you know where he’s been lately?”

Of course she knew.

But she would never say it aloud.

Cheng Muye’s expression stayed cold as she gave a sharp snort. “Why ask me? I have nothing to do with him!”

He Lanxin’s smile remained gentle. “I know you want no part of him, but he has admired you since childhood. His feelings are sincere.”

“There are plenty who feel sincere about me. He’s nowhere near the top of that list.”

At that, He Lanxin could only fall silent. She knew Cheng Muye was fond of a woman and had once dismissed it as nothing more than youthful folly. Yet seeing her attitude now, she realized that even if Cheng Muye had no attraction to women, she would never accept Shen Si. Perhaps this was simply fate.

Having endured two failed marriages—especially after her second husband’s suicide—He Lanxin had long grown detached from worldly entanglements. With a soft sigh, she said, “Since you don’t like Si, I won’t pressure you as Old Master Cheng did. But love is never an easy road, even for those in ordinary relationships. For same-sex love, the difficulties will be far greater. Take care of yourself.”

She would, of course, take care of herself.

And Tang Anhe would do the same.

When Tang Anhe woke in the hospital, she listened as the twelve-year-old boy described Cheng Muye’s condition. Concern weighed heavily on her heart, yet it only deepened her resolve.

She could not let Cheng Muye down.

“Sister Tang, you must take good care of yourself!” the boy urged.

Tang Anhe nodded gently, then signaled Song Qiluo to bring her paper and brush. She wrote down the lines of love poetry that lingered in her mind.

You came to this world once.

You must see the sun.

You must walk the streets

With the one you love.

She believed Cheng Muye would understand the feelings woven into every line.

And indeed, Cheng Muye did. Not long after, she sent back her reply in a short love poem.

This place was barren,

Not a blade of grass grew.

Then you came and walked here once,

And miraculously, all things grew.

This place— Is my heart.

There were no sweeter words of love than these.

Nourished by Cheng Muye’s reply, Tang Anhe soon left the hospital. Yet it was only after stepping outside that reality struck—she was unemployed.

That’s right. She was blacklisted. With just a single command from Cheng Letian, her once-bright acting career had been driven straight into the ground.

Angry?

Resentful?

To her own surprise, Tang Anhe felt neither. Instead, she experienced an odd calmness, even a fleeting sense of liberation. For too long she had been confined to the entertainment industry, draining herself day after day to satisfy the demands of fans and advertisers alike. Deep down, she had longed for escape—a different space, a different life.

But that was nothing more than wishful thinking.

With her prized money-maker gone and the studio teetering on the edge of bankruptcy, Song Qiluo had shed all pretense of composure. The strong, decisive woman she once seemed had all but vanished. In her place stood a woman quick to anger, prone to sharp outbursts. At times her voice rose in shrill hysteria.

“Can’t the bank wait? I’m already raising funds! Useless! All of you are useless!”

Tang Anhe paused at the office door, hand raised to knock. But when she heard the furious shouts within, she instinctively stepped back. Just as she lowered her hand, the door flung open.

Song Qiluo stormed out, and the moment her gaze landed on Tang Anhe, her anger flared anew.

“Happy now? Anxin Studio is finished! Are you satisfied? From now on, we’ll be living on nothing but thin air! No—forget that—we’re drowning in thirty million in debt! Thirty million! We’ll never pay it back, not in this lifetime!”

Tang Anhe spoke softly. “Sis, don’t get so worked up.”

“Of course you’re calm,” Song Qiluo snapped, her voice sharp with despair. “You eat your fill while the rest of us starve! Only I’m left to carry everything—my sick mother, and my father who bleeds me dry with his endless demands.”

Both of Song Qiluo’s parents were relentless burdens. Her mother, An Shanghua, required costly care for her illness; her father, Song Xian, a useless wastrel, demanded hundreds of thousands every month. Without Anxin Studio, how was she supposed to shoulder all of this?

The crushing weight of obligation left her heart restless and her thoughts darker by the day.