The Movie Queen Always Wants to Kiss Me - Chapter 63 - Bone-Deep Longing

Yu Zhaoning did not linger on self-pity. Instead, she shifted the conversation and revealed the plan she had carefully prepared.

“Little wood, don’t worry. My illness won’t take me anytime soon. But what about you? Have you ever thought about going abroad?”

“Huh? Why would you ask that?”

“I’ve already spoken to Song Qiluo. She will take Tang Anhe overseas first, and then I’ll find a way to get you out as well. Old Master Cheng may hold power here, but his influence doesn’t reach across the ocean. The two of you can live freely abroad.”

It wasn’t a bad idea, yet Cheng Muye had no intention of agreeing. Running away had never suited her nature. To flee overseas felt too much like cowardice. Most of all, she could not leave Yu Zhaoning behind.

“You need to rest,” Cheng Muye said gently. “Don’t trouble yourself with these things.”

“I’m fine, Little wood. I just want you to be with the one you love, living free and unbound. Old Master Cheng is stubborn and relentless—if you keep clashing with him, you’ll only be the one to suffer.” Yu Zhaoning’s gaze fell to Muye’s injured leg, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “If I remember correctly, that injury has lingered far too long, and instead of healing, it only worsens. Do you want to cripple yourself?”

Cheng Muye’s expression hardened. She didn’t want to hear this. “It was only an accident. Back then, I was too worried about Anhe, and that’s why I quarreled with the bodyguard. It won’t happen again.”

Yu Zhaoning did not believe her. She knew Cheng Muye too well. Calm and composed most of the time, but once anger flared, she would throw herself in with reckless courage, consequences be damned.

How could she feel at ease?

Her voice grew urgent, pleading, “Shen Si isn’t here now. If he were, do you think Old Master Cheng wouldn’t simply throw you into his bed? What then? I can protect you for now, but if I collapse and can’t even stand, what will you do?”

“I won’t let that happen.”

Cheng Muye spoke with unwavering certainty. After all, Shen Si had long been exiled by her, left to rot like a wild man on a deserted island. She had no plans of letting him return.

Yu Zhaoning, unaware of the full situation, frowned and said, “But from what I’ve heard, Song Qiluo has already taken Tang Anhe abroad.”

“What?” Cheng Muye’s composure shattered, her voice sharp with urgency. “When did this happen?”

“They should be boarding their flight to America right about now. Little wood, are you really not going after them? Do you honestly trust Tang Anhe’s safety in Song Qiluo’s hands?”

Not at all.

Cheng Muye’s heart was far from at ease.

These past few days, Cheng Muye had quietly asked Cheng Sijin to investigate Anxin Studio. The findings were grim—Tang Anhe had been blacklisted, and Anxin Studio had collapsed under crushing debts. A cold thought gnawed at her heart. Could that vulture really have set his sights on Anhe to use her as repayment?

As Cheng Muye’s frown deepened and her face darkened, Yu Zhaoning knew she was wavering. She pressed on softly, “I’ve already made the arrangements. Later, someone will come posing as you while I’m taken for a chest CT scan. When the time comes, you’ll enter the CT room in my place. Once inside, just follow the instructions of my attending physician…”

Cheng Muye stared at her, torn between shock and relief. “You bribed the doctor? But what about your illness?”

Had she never been sick at all? Was the illness only a façade to deceive Cheng Letian?

“My illness is under control,” Yu Zhaoning replied calmly.

That single line silenced all of Cheng Muye’s doubts.

She was sick. The body did not lie—Yu Zhaoning truly bore the weight of her disease.

A dull ache spread in Cheng Muye’s chest. Her voice trembled as she whispered, “Zhaoning… you’ll be alright, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Yu Zhaoning answered without hesitation.

No sooner had the words left her lips than the ward door slid open. He Qi entered, disguised as a nurse, and gave a respectful bow. “Miss, everything is prepared.”

“Mm.” Yu Zhaoning rose from the bed and helped He Qi lift Cheng Muye onto it.

From her medical kit, He Qi took out a set of clothes identical to Cheng Muye’s. She slipped into them with practiced ease, then placed a short wig, styled just like Muye’s hair, over her head before settling into the wheelchair.

Cheng Muye remained silent, watching the plan take shape before her eyes.

Yu Zhaoning then removed the wig from her own head and carefully placed it on Cheng Muye. Tugging the bedsheet upward, she drew it over Muye’s face, concealing her features beneath the soft folds of fabric.

Soon, the attending physician arrived with a line of nurses trailing behind. They carefully lifted Cheng Muye onto a stretcher and wheeled her out of the ward.

Outside, several bodyguards in black loitered nearby, seemingly aimless yet their gazes never strayed far from the ward door. They caught sight of “Cheng Muye” seated in a wheelchair with her back to them. Moments later, they saw someone being wheeled out and heard the doctor instruct the nurses to take her to the CT room. With nothing appearing amiss, the bodyguards continued their patrol.

The CT room was on the first floor. The doctor led his team down the stairs, slipping past the bodyguards’ watchful eyes. Everything unfolded as planned.

In advance, the physician had arranged another wheelchair and instructed someone to escort Cheng Muye straight to the underground parking garage. Once there, he drew a passport and a plane ticket from his coat pocket, pressing them into her hands. His voice lowered, almost solemn. “Miss Cheng, I wish you a safe journey.”

Cheng Muye settled into the car, fingers closing around the documents. Her voice trembled as she asked, “Doctor… what is Zhaoning’s true condition?”

The physician’s lips curved faintly. “Miss Cheng, you need not worry. Once you’re abroad, Miss Yu will also be transferred to the United States for treatment. Their medical technology is far more advanced. I believe… there is hope.”

Hope. Even the faintest spark was better than the abyss of despair.

Some of the weight on her chest lifted, and Cheng Muye let out a breath. “Please… thank her for me.”

“I will.”

The doctor gave a small nod before turning away. The car door shut, and with a smooth roll of the wheels, Cheng Muye was gone.

Half an hour later, she boarded her flight to the United States. The moment the plane lifted off the runway, her heart seemed to soar with it. The suffocating gloom of the Cheng household finally loosened its grip, leaving her almost giddy with relief. Freedom was sweet, but the thought of Tang Anhe waiting for her made it even sweeter. This time, no one would be able to tear them apart. How wonderful it would be.

If Tang Anhe stood by her side, if Yu Zhaoning’s illness could be held at bay, then her life would be complete.

Imagination is wonderfully beautiful. And reality, too, has its fleeting moments of grace.

She had never imagined Tang Anhe would be the one waiting when she stepped off the plane.

The girl she longed for stood at the arrival gate, arms open wide in welcome.

“Cheng Muye! Cheng Muye—!” Tang Anhe’s voice rang out, urgent and trembling with bone-deep longing.

It had only been four days since their separation.

Yet the ache of longing had gnawed at Cheng Muye relentlessly, swelling the instant they saw each other again.

She pulled Tang Anhe into her arms, inhaling the delicate fragrance of her hair, her warmth pressed tightly against her chest. Her voice broke with tenderness as she murmured, “Anhe… Tang Anhe…”

She murmured her name under her breath, her hand tightening its grip again and again.

At last, she was holding her again. Alive. Real. Warm.

But Tang Anhe winced faintly under the force of that embrace. She struggled a little, only for Muye to hold her tighter still. Perhaps only now did she truly sense the depth of Cheng Muye’s feelings—vast and unyielding, like the sea itself.

“Are you alright, Muye—” Her eyes dropped to Muye’s legs. With trembling fingers, she tugged up the hem of her beige skirt, revealing the calf wrapped tightly in white gauze.

“It’s been so long, and it still hasn’t healed,” she murmured, her eyes reddening.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” Muye reassured softly.

“It must have hurt terribly. Your brother told me the wound reopened.”

“It’s fine now.”

Her smile was gentle, as if nothing could shake her composure.

Tang Anhe forced her own smile, pushing Cheng Muye’s wheelchair toward Song Qiluo. “Sis, let’s go home.”

Song Qiluo’s gaze flickered. She had never liked Cheng Muye, yet the thought of squeezing sixty million from Cheng Letian to erase her debts stirred a wicked thrill. Would that old man faint on the spot if he realized he’d been deceived so thoroughly?

Meanwhile, Cheng Letian had already fainted from rage.

When news came that Cheng Muye had escaped the hospital, fled the country, and even eloped with Tang Anhe, his fury erupted—and his body gave way. At his old age, such an outburst was disastrous. He collapsed, unconscious for days. And when he finally awoke, the doctors confirmed what everyone feared: a stroke.

The medical team fought to stabilize him, but despite their best efforts, one side of his body remained paralyzed.

Having been unyielding all his life, Cheng Letian could not stomach the pity in others’ eyes. From that day forward, he refused all visitors. Only doctors and Feng Gui were allowed at his bedside. Ironically, that same stubbornness kept Cheng Group’s stock steady, untouched by scandal.

Yet beneath the calm surface, storms were already gathering.

Cheng Letian tossed and turned through the night, his mind a restless storm. The blood pressure medication dulled the pounding in his temples, but could not touch the gnawing panic inside him. What unsettled him most was not his own failing health, but the terror that the Cheng empire—built brick by brick with his own hands—would crumble the moment he was gone. Without an heir, everything would be reduced to dust.

Cheng Sijin was far too young. How could a twelve-year-old child shoulder the weight of an empire? For years, he had comforted himself with the thought that he could live long enough to see Sijin come of age. Now he saw how foolish that belief had been. His thoughts circled back again and again to Cheng Muye.

But why would she even spare him a glance?

Desperation finally drove him to track down her number overseas. When she answered, he spoke in veiled hints about his failing health, asking if she would temporarily take over the Cheng Group.

Cheng Muye’s laugh was cold and sharp. “Find someone else.”

He could not bring himself to beg. Rage surged through him, and with a trembling hand, he slammed the phone down. Breathless, he tried to push himself from the bed, but his limbs betrayed him. His body, once strong, felt like lead. The slightest shift sent him crashing to the floor, his forehead striking the bedpost with a sickening thud. A large bruise swelled almost instantly.

“Feng Gui! Feng Gui!” His voice was hoarse, desperate.

His long-time assistant rushed in to find him sprawled on the floor. Feng Gui tried to lift him, but Cheng Letian was tall, heavy, and utterly paralyzed—an impossible weight. At last, the bodyguards were called in to carry him back to bed.

That humiliation, the act of being carried like a child, stabbed deeper than the bruise on his head.

It was then he fully grasped the truth: this was no minor ailment. His body had betrayed him completely. Even the simplest acts, relieving himself, washing, were beyond him. Such helplessness felt like a death sentence.

For days, despair consumed him. His face hollowed, his frame thinned. Company affairs faltered, and whispers among the shareholders began to stir.

Summoning the last of his strength, Cheng Letian wheeled himself into the boardroom, forcing his voice steady enough to reassure the veteran shareholders. Yet once he returned home, the exhaustion pressed down like a crushing weight, leaving him barely able to breathe.

In the days that followed, he lay paralyzed in his hospital bed, still attempting to direct company matters. But his mind dulled with each passing day. Memory slipped through his grasp, thoughts grew muddled, and even his vision dimmed. His body declined at a frightening pace.

During that decline, he began drafting a farewell letter. Every day, he redoubled his efforts to guide Cheng Sijin.

The child was dutiful. Despite his tender age, he tended to his needs himself, never once showing disgust. His small hands were steady, his eyes clear. His devotion pierced him with both pride and unbearable sorrow.

He remembered then—he had once had a son. A dutiful boy, obedient in all things. The only time he had defied him was in choosing a wife he had disapproved of. If only he hadn’t… But then again, had he not been so harsh, this grandson would never have been born.

Cheng Letian squinted at Cheng Sijin seated beside him, listening to the secretary’s report on company affairs. The child sat upright, notebook in hand, diligently scribbling down every key point. A faint blur clouded his vision. He reached for the reading glasses on the table, but even after putting them on, the lines of text and shapes around him remained indistinct.

A sharp breath escaped his lips as dread settled in. The drug had already corroded his eyes. He was nearly blind.

“Feng Gui, contact Muye. Try again.” His voice was heavy with fatigue, his eyes sliding shut as if in surrender.