The Movie Queen Always Wants to Kiss Me - Chapter 62 - Women, the Fools of Love

At dinner in the Cheng residence, Cheng Muye too harbored dark thoughts. For a fleeting instant, she even imagined slipping rat poison into Cheng Letian’s rice bowl, ending his life once and for all.

But the thought vanished as quickly as it came.

Setting aside the fact that he was her grandfather, murder was still a crime. She couldn’t throw her life away for this vile man.

Cheng Muye buried her hatred deep inside and forced herself to finish dinner, each bite as tasteless as wax.

Suddenly, a servant’s voice cut through the silence.

“Master, Miss Yu has arrived.”

Miss Yu—Yu Zhaoning.

At the sound of her name, Cheng Muye’s heart lurched. The chopsticks in her hand froze midway, suspended above the rice.

Cheng Letian’s sharp eyes caught the subtle reaction. His brow furrowed as he snapped, “Send her home. A young lady wandering about at this hour—what kind of disgraceful conduct is that? Utterly improper!”

The servant flinched at his tone and hurried out.

Cheng Muye, watching the scene unfold, set down her chopsticks. Without a word, she wheeled herself toward the door.

“Stop!” Cheng Letian’s thunderous voice crashed down, halting her in her tracks. His eyes burned with authority as he barked, “Don’t pin your hopes on that girl Yu Zhaoning. As long as I live, you will not leave the Cheng household! If you’ve finished eating, return to your room and reflect on your behavior!”

He flicked his wrist. Two bodyguards immediately stepped forward, each gripping a corner of her wheelchair, lifting her as though she were nothing more than cargo. They carried her upstairs.

At the dining table, Cheng Sijin clenched his jaw, his face tightening in protest. He was just about to speak when, from the corner of his eye, he caught his mother’s subtle shake of the head. He swallowed his words. Still, his appetite was ruined. Claiming he wanted to read, he excused himself and left the hall.

But he didn’t return to his room.

Instead, his steps carried him across the tiled paths of the middle courtyard, where he nearly collided with the servant who had just returned.

“Has Sister Yu left yet?” Cheng Sijin asked.

The servant shook his head. “No, young master. Miss Yu said she had important matters to discuss with Old Master Cheng.”

Cheng Sijin nodded, letting him pass. Then, quickening his pace, he slipped through the front gate.

A sleek luxury car idled just outside. By its side stood a slender figure. Even from a distance, he could see that Yu Zhaoning had grown thinner than before.

“Sister Yu,” he called, jogging toward her, “what brings you here? Did something happen?”

Cheng Sijin spoke first, his impeccable upbringing prompting a slight bow of greeting.

Yu Zhaoning was smoking, her slender fingers wrapped around a thick cigar—the kind favored by foreigners. At the sound of his voice, she lifted her head. Under the dim glow of the night, her dark red eyes gleamed, weary and bloodshot, as though she hadn’t slept in days. A suffocating weight clung to her presence, the heaviness of exhaustion mingled with oppression.

“Ah Jin, what brings you here?” Yu Zhaoning leaned lazily against the car door, exhaling smoke as she spoke. Her sleek black bob brushed against her pale neck; on closer look, the ends were dry, brittle, tinged with yellow.

Cheng Sijin, too young to notice such details, asked earnestly, “Did you come to see my sister, Sister Yu?”

“Yes. How is she?”

Yu Zhaoning made no effort to conceal her intent. She had come for Cheng Muye—longing to snatch her from danger, to deliver her from despair like some unearthly savior. But Old Master Cheng had barred her path. No matter. She already had a plan.

“My sister’s leg injury worsened,” Cheng Sijin replied solemnly. “Today, Sister Tang was in danger. My sister grew frantic with worry, fought the family bodyguards, and tore her wound open. But the doctor treated her. She’s much better now. You don’t need to worry.”

“Mm. I understand.”

Yu Zhaoning turned away, pulled open the car door, and slipped into the driver’s seat.

Cheng Sijin was about to leave when her voice called him back. Yu Zhaoning rolled down the window, flicked the stub of her cigar into the night, and coughed twice. Her tone was low, steady, brimming with quiet conviction.

“Reassure your sister. In three days, I’ll secure her freedom.”

So confident?

Cheng Sijin’s eyes widened in shock. “Three days? Sister Yu… do you have a plan?”

Yu Zhaoning gave no answer. The engine roared to life, and the car glided into the darkness.

Three minutes later, her phone rang. He Qi’s furious voice exploded from the speaker.

“Have you lost your mind? The treatment had just reached a critical stage! How could you interrupt it like this? Do you want to die?”

Yu Zhaoning laughed coldly, a sneer curling her lips. “What is life worth, He Qi? There are things more important than life—things I must protect.”

“Is Cheng Muye the only one you see? Miss, I—”

“He Qi,” Yu Zhaoning cut him off, her voice hoarse yet steady, “if she doesn’t love me, then I’ll make sure she remembers me forever. Tell me—how selfish am I?”

On the other end, silence thickened, followed by a choked reply. “Miss, you’re being so foolish.”

Yu Zhaoning sneered, though her eyes shimmered with a sorrow that betrayed her composure. A bitter self-mockery escaped her lips. “Women… are always fools when they fall in love.”

She sighed and pressed harder on the accelerator. The luxury car sliced through the night, tires screeching against the pavement.

The horizon darkened further, the summer air carried a faint coolness—
yet no one in the world felt colder than she did.

Meanwhile, Song Qiluo’s sudden arrival brought Cheng Letian delight. When she brazenly demanded severance pay, he nearly agreed on the spot, eager to get rid of her.

“I had no idea Miss Cheng was the young lady of the Cheng family,” Song Qiluo began, her tone dripping with contrition. “I thought she was merely a bodyguard. Had I known her true identity, I would never have dared to hire her. Alas—it was my fault for failing to recognize a mountain when I saw one, and so I stumbled into this ill-fated entanglement. The blame rests entirely on me, Old Master Cheng. You are a magnanimous man—please, don’t hold it against me.”

She continued smoothly, her voice laced with just the right note of pathos.
“I came today for two reasons. First, to apologize. Second, to comply with your arrangements. I’ll take Anhe abroad immediately. As you know, her reputation here is ruined—she cannot survive in this country. Perhaps, with her figure, she might land roles in third-rate films overseas. But life abroad is harsh, let alone pursuing a career. Knowing your generosity, I’ve come to ask for some travel funds.”

Her words flowed with practiced eloquence—honeyed, yet edged with desperation.

Cheng Letian, who valued skill in both speech and deed, found himself disarmed. Her flattery and submission struck a chord. His stern face softened, his lips curving into a smile like the Maitreya Buddha. He even extended a warm invitation for her to stay for lunch.

Song Qiluo declined politely. Moments later, she departed with sixty million yuan in severance money. With the settlement secured, she wasted no time. Within two days, she packed up her affairs, arranged her mother’s discharge from the hospital, and—under the pretext of seeking treatment abroad—lured Tang Anhe overseas.

Yes, she’s immigrating abroad.

With so many matters, it only took her two busy days to wrap everything up.

Cheng Muye had no idea that the person she cared about had been tricked into going abroad; she was still fretting over Yu Zhaoning’s situation.

The night before last, Yu Zhaoning came to the Cheng residence and was turned away. The next day, she tried again—and was still refused. On the third attempt, she showed up with her parents. This time, Old Cheng couldn’t avoid seeing her. There was no saving face for the daughter, but at least the parents had to be shown some respect.

Cheng Letian met the Yu parents in the hall. After a few pleasantries, Yu Zhaoning suddenly swayed and collapsed to the floor. Her face drained of color, her breath shallow—almost gone.

The suddenness of it sent waves of panic through the room.

People rushed forward, lifting her, pressing at her chest, trying to rouse her. But no matter how they shook her, she didn’t stir. In the chaos, someone tugged at her hair—only for the glossy strands to come off in their hand.

A stunned silence followed.

“W–What? A wig?”

“H–How… how could she be bald?”

Gasps spread like wildfire. Before the shock could settle, the ambulance sirens wailed outside, carrying her swiftly away.

At the hospital, the truth could no longer be hidden. Tests revealed that Yu Zhaoning had been fighting breast cancer—for three long years.

Her parents, blindsided, broke down completely. Their wails echoed through the corridor, raw and unrestrained.

Cheng Letian received the news and hurried over. Though outwardly stern, he could not ignore the daughter of an old friend. What awaited him inside the ward struck him harder than he imagined.

Gone was the spirited girl he remembered. In her place lay a frail figure, swallowed by a loose, blue-striped hospital gown. Her sharp cheekbones jutted out, her thin arms resting weakly on the sheets.

The sight tightened something deep in his chest.

The attending physician—a breast cancer specialist—glanced at the visitors, then sighed heavily.

“The best treatment window has long passed. Chemotherapy might extend her life by a few years, but with her current condition… it may instead hasten the end.”

The weight of his words left the room in suffocating silence.

And faced with a girl so young, so close to death, who could refuse her anything?

Cheng Letian was no exception.

So when Yu Zhaoning requested that Cheng Muye stay by her side, he agreed. Perhaps it was pity, perhaps awe at the fragility of life. Whatever the reason, he relented—though he quietly dispatched men to monitor Muye, unwilling to be careless.

But Cheng Muye had no thoughts of escape. Her whole being was consumed with Zhaoning, her heart finally allowed to stay where it longed to be.

Lying in her hospital bed, Yu Zhaoning’s lips curved into a frail smile—her beauty delicate, fragile, like a blossom on the verge of wilting.

“Little wood,” she whispered, voice thin yet steady, “if I die… will you remember me forever?”

Little wood was the little green bamboo snake she had raised. She had cared for it, called its name over and over — yet in truth, each time she spoke, it was as if she were calling Cheng Muye, or perhaps even calling out to the loneliest part of herself.

A sharp, bitter ache welled in Cheng Muye’s chest. She shook her head fiercely and snapped, “Zhaoning, don’t say such ominous things! You’ll be fine.”

Yu Zhaoning only smiled, her lips curving with that quiet gentleness she had shown so often of late. She smiled so much these days, her eyes crinkling with joy—so achingly reminiscent of the woman Cheng Muye buried deep in memory. It turned out Zhaoning, too, had a tender side; when she smiled softly, she was just as delicate, just as captivating.

That sight pierced Cheng Muye deeper still. Her chest throbbed with an intermittent stabbing pain, almost unbearable. At length, she pressed her hands to her forehead, exhaled a shaky sigh, and whispered, “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you say you were ill?”

“I have been treating it all along.”

“Lies! You haven’t! You deceived everyone—including me!”

“I truly didn’t lie,” Yu Zhaoning murmured, still smiling faintly. “Little Wood, some said my illness was a demon’s curse, so I turned to Buddhism. Look—these prayer beads are still on my wrist. Others claimed it came from eating too much meat, so I gave it up, living as a vegetarian, avoiding even the slightest trace of grease or flesh.

“These past two years, I’ve traveled far and wide, seeking out every method I could find to cure breast cancer. Some said spiritual healing could conquer it—overcome it with sheer willpower. So, I told myself: I am healthy. Perfectly healthy. I kept wandering, refusing to settle, forcing myself to smile so melancholy could never take root. I refused to tell anyone I was sick, because I couldn’t bear to hear their pleas to send me to hospitals or doctors.

“See? I’ve been fighting to heal myself all along.”

But none of it mattered.

The disease raged on, relentless, unstoppable, consuming her inch by inch.