The Movie Queen Always Wants to Kiss Me - Chapter 65 - Cheng Muye, You’ve Broken My Heart

The moment Anhe spoke, Song Qiluo’s face hardened. “What nonsense are you spouting? If anyone’s blinded by lust, it’s you! Otherwise, why would we have fled abroad? Why would Anxin Studio have collapsed?”

But just because she didn’t voice these complaints didn’t mean she wasn’t quietly resentful.

Ever since arriving in this foreign land, the smallest details of life—food, clothing, daily expenses—had weighed heavily on her. Ever since Tang Anhe had risen to stardom, the entire family’s circumstances had transformed. In truth, she herself had grown accustomed to a life of luxury. Yet now, stripped of that glory, she found herself starting over in middle age. Who could accept such a fall without resentment?

Song Qiluo was too proud, too strong-willed to submit to such a life. She wanted her stage back. Her fame. Her power. And to grasp them again, she had chosen to ally herself with Gu Zixiao, even becoming her agent. Past grievances meant little in the face of profit. In the end, enemies and allies were merely roles to be switched when convenient.

“You’re not a child anymore, control that temper of yours.” Her reprimand was sharp, but her attention shifted almost immediately. Turning to Cheng Muye, she added smoothly, “Muye, I just heard from Zixiao that Old Master Cheng is seriously ill. Don’t you think you should return to China to see him?”

The words were wrapped in concern, but her mind was already racing.

If Cheng Muye inherited the Cheng Group, with Cheng Sijin still a minor, the entire empire would fall into her hands. A fortune worth trillions. The mere thought of it made her pulse quicken with greed.

Cheng Muye saw straight through the scheming in her eyes and forced a faint smile. “I understand. What do you think, Sister Song?”

Song Qiluo immediately returned the smile. “Old Master Cheng’s health is failing. As his granddaughter, it’s only right that you stay by his side and bring him some comfort.”

“Oh? Sister Song is truly magnanimous—so quick to forget how your studio was persecuted not long ago?”

The mocking edge in her voice made Song Qiluo’s expression stiffen. After a brief pause, she replied, “Let’s keep matters separate. One thing at a time.”

“Sister Song is indeed forgiving.”

“You flatter me.”

Her shameless composure left Cheng Muye momentarily speechless. She simply took Tang Anhe’s hand and led her back to the bedroom. Seeing how upset she was, Cheng Muye gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t let her get to you. Birds of a feather flock together.”

Tang Anhe frowned, unable to calm her anger. “I just don’t understand why she would choose to be with the person I hate most. Gu Zixiao must have an ulterior motive for getting close to her.”

“Even so, it’s her choice,” Cheng Muye said quietly. Everyone must bear the weight of their own decisions.

After much consideration, Cheng Muye decided to return home to take a look. Naturally, Tang Anhe went with her, and when Song Qiluo found out, she happily joined as well. The three of them had barely been abroad a week before they returned in a grand, triumphant procession, making their previous “escape” seem like nothing more than a farce.

Of course, no one paid any attention to this little farce.

At the airport, Cheng Sijin came to meet them. His eyes turned red as he rushed forward. “Sis, you’re finally back.”

Cheng Muye reached out to ruffle his hair, her voice steady with comfort. “Don’t be afraid. Sis is here.”

Only now did Cheng Muye truly acknowledge him as family—her half-brother, bound by half the same blood.

The bodyguards stepped forward, bowing slightly as they opened the car door. “Miss, please get in.”

Cheng Muye waved them off, and got into the luxury car with the help of Tang Anhe and Cheng Sijin. Song Qiluo remained outside, her gaze lingering on Tang Anhe. “Muye’s leg hasn’t fully healed. You should accompany her.”

It was a deliberate push—sending her straight into Cheng Muye’s orbit.

Tang Anhe faltered, startled by the suggestion, but without further hesitation she climbed into the car. The moment she sat down, Cheng Muye drew her close, her arms wrapping around her as she whispered, “I’ll take you to the Cheng residence. The ten-mile stretch of peonies should still be waiting for you.”

Tang Anhe’s face warmed. “But… isn’t peony season already over?”

Cheng Muye’s lips curved into a faint smile. “There’s something more beautiful than peonies. Would you like to see it?”

Her blush deepened. A memory surfaced—back in America, Cheng Muye had once revealed a peony tattoo inked just above her lower abdomen. That flower lingered in Tang Anhe’s mind, blooming with quiet temptation. She found herself asking softly, “Why did you choose a peony for a tattoo?”

Cheng Muye’s hand came to rest gently on her shoulder, her voice low and tender. “Peonies stand for wealth and nobility. You, Anhe… are the same.”

Tang Anhe blinked. “Hm?”

“I’ll protect you,” Cheng Muye promised, her tone steady, reassuring. “At the Cheng residence, don’t be afraid. I’ll always be beside you.”

She was always the gentlest, the most considerate.

Tang Anhe nodded, her answer firm. “Mm.”

The rest of the ride passed in silence. Half an hour later, the car rolled to a stop before the grand gates of the Cheng residence.

A servant stepped forward, guiding Tang Anhe into the parlor and serving tea with careful courtesy. Meanwhile, Cheng Muye allowed herself to be escorted toward Old Master Cheng’s chambers.

When word reached him of his granddaughter’s return, Cheng Letian fixed his gaze on the door. The moment it opened, he craned forward, voice trembling with urgency. “Is that you, Muye? Has Muye come back?”

Cheng Muye’s heart skipped a beat at the longing in his tone. She quickened her pace and stepped into the room.

Inside, Cheng Letian lay sunken against the sickbed, his figure frail and wasted away. Though only a few days had passed since she last saw him, his complexion had turned waxy and sallow, dark shadows weighing heavily beneath his eyes. When the door creaked open, he squinted hard, but still could not see clearly.

“Is that you, Muye?”

“Mm.”

Her reply was soft, steady, as she stepped closer.

The moment her voice reached him, Cheng Letian’s tense shoulders eased. He sagged back against the pillows, his breath uneven. “I’m just… glad you’re back.”

With a weary sigh, he motioned to Feng Gui at his bedside. The steward quickly passed her a stack of neatly prepared documents.

Cheng Muye accepted them. They were all vital papers concerning the Cheng Group—including an inheritance distribution agreement. Forty percent of the Group’s seventy percent stake was given to Cheng Sijin, and thirty percent to her. He hadn’t kept a single share for himself—he had divided everything cleanly and decisively.

Her brows furrowed as she scanned the text. “What is this supposed to mean?”

“I know you’re a good child. You won’t treat Ah Jin unfairly. And this thirty percent… it’s more than enough to ensure you’ll never want for anything.”

“I don’t care about these things,” she murmured.

“I know,” he said, his voice heavy with fatigue. “Just like your father, you’ve never been tempted by money. But, Muye, think of this as Grandfather’s compensation to you.” His tone softened, almost wistful. “These past days, I’ve been reflecting. Truly, I’ve failed our family. If I had another chance—if there were another life…” He broke off with a bitter smile. “But someone like me has no right to speak of another life.”

A sudden ache pressed against Cheng Muye’s chest. “Don’t talk like that. Medicine is advanced now. You’ll recover soon.”

Cheng Letian only shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “No. Grandfather has committed too many mistakes.” He paused, his gaze distant. “Muye, do you remember your grandmother?”

Grandmother…

That stubborn old woman.

She had passed away six years ago, and ever since, her sudden death had been a forbidden topic within the family.

“Six years ago, I was gravely ill and barely pulled through. Do you know, before that illness struck, I had a dream? In it, I fell into the water with your grandmother. She tried to save me, but instead, she drowned. When I woke, I was already in the hospital—and that very night, your grandmother passed away. Muye, it was as if she took the misfortune meant for me.”

“That’s feudal thinking. Grandmother died of a cerebral hemorrhage…”

Cheng Letian shook his head slowly. “No. It was fate.”

Cheng Muye recognized that familiar stubbornness and knew it was pointless to argue. She let it pass and, instead, spoke with him about many things—her parents, Cheng Sijin, Shen Si, and even Tang Anhe.

Both Grandfather and granddaughter talked deep into the night. By the time the clock struck half past two, exhaustion from her long flight weighed heavily on Muye, and she drifted into sleep.

When she awoke, Cheng Letian was gone.

He had passed quietly in the night, without so much as a stir. The man who had once held the reins of power, the man celebrated with accolades, the man who had built the Cheng empire with his own hands—had departed the world without fanfare, slipping away unnoticed.

Muye reached out and touched his chest. It was cold. Tears blurred her vision as her lips trembled. “Grandfather—”

Deep sorrow makes no sound.

She sank to her knees before the bed, clutching his stiff, icy hand. Sobs shook her frame uncontrollably. Even now, as she searched her memories, not a single warm moment between them surfaced. And yet grief consumed her. From this day forward, no one would scold her, chastise her, or strike her again.

Her grandfather, Cheng Letian, was gone.

Feng Gui came to her side, supporting her arm. His voice was low, thick with grief. “Miss… don’t cry too much. Don’t dampen his journey to the afterlife.”

Tang Anhe knelt beside her, her own voice trembling. “Please, stop crying. Your tears are killing me.”

She had never seen Muye cry before. To her, Cheng Muye had always been the unyielding one—bleeding without complaint, never shedding tears. But now, watching her silently endure, the sight was enough to break Tang Anhe’s heart. She pulled her into her arms, patting her back with gentle strokes, her warmth a fragile comfort.

Muye wept for ten long minutes before her sobs finally subsided. She listened numbly as Feng Gui began to explain the funeral arrangements. “Before Old Master Cheng passed, he instructed that he be buried beside Young Master Xiu. He even left behind the words for his epitaph.”

Her lashes quivered. “And what did he say?”

“This was the most legendary and heroic life.”

Even at the very end, he clung to his conviction, stubbornly believing he had done no wrong. Muye whispered the words to herself, and once more tears welled up and slipped down her cheeks. In life, she had never truly understood him. The tragedy was that only in his death did a faint understanding begin to take root.

The next day, mourners filled the Cheng residence, coming one after another to pay their respects.

Prominent figures from business and politics filled the room—alongside the director of an orphanage and a few fledgling entrepreneurs. Cheng Letian’s reputation had always been paradoxical: ruthless within, outwardly tolerant. He was generous to others and unforgiving with himself, forever using his power to help the weak. Only now did Muye remember that he had once been named one of Changqing’s Ten Most Charitable Businesspeople.

“Old Master Cheng died so suddenly. What a cruel fate.”

“I still remember we promised to visit the nursing home together. Who would have thought he’d be taken so abruptly?”

“I heard he was bedridden, paralyzed on one side—completely dependent.”

“That must have been hell for someone as proud as Old Master Cheng. No wonder he left so suddenly—how could he endure that?”

Their whispers washed over Cheng Muye like cold water. Her eyes burned again as she thought of the epitaph. “Indeed,” she murmured to herself. “His life was legendary, and even his death had to be heroic.”

Then, without warning, a violent shove sent her forward. The world tilted and she hit the floor.

Shen Si—long absent, now appeared like a revenant—pinned her down and drove a blow into her stomach. His eyes were bloodshot, his voice raw with fury. “Cheng Muye, you fucking bitch!”

How dare she abandon him on that deserted island for so long, he seemed to spit with each word.

He had nearly gone mad—loneliness, isolation, fear—an entire month of torment. He blamed her for every frantic hour and every frayed nerve. To him, the one who had caused that suffering was the only person he had loved.

“Why?” Shen Si demanded, hatred scorching his voice. “Why did you do this to me? I only loved you, Cheng Muye! You trampled my true feelings into the dirt!”

Cheng Muye shoved his hand away. “Enough,” she snapped. “Don’t you know what kind of place is this? Aren’t you ashamed?”

She had only agreed to let him see her because of Old Master Cheng’s death—out of respect for his dying wish. Mercy, she realized now, had been a mistake. The instant this man had been released, trouble followed.

“Tell me!” Shen Si roared. “If Old Master Cheng hadn’t died, how long would you have kept me locked up? Answer me, Cheng Muye!”

Her palm rose and landed across his face in a hard backhand. “Yes—if Old Cheng hadn’t asked about you, if he hadn’t ordered me to find you, no one in their right mind would have set you free. Shen Si, I’d gladly lock you up until the day you die!”

Each word pierced like a dagger.

Shen Si staggered to his feet, towering unsteadily over her. Covering his face with one hand, he sobbed hoarsely, “How dare you! How dare you! I loved you so much!”

Cheng Muye met his grief with a cold sneer. “And now? Do you still love me?”

His shoulders shook. “No… not anymore. Cheng Muye, you broke my heart.”

“Then that’s good.”

He could only stand there, hollow and silent, before dragging himself toward Cheng Letian’s coffin. With a heavy thud, he dropped to his knees and clutched at the polished wood, wailing in anguish, “Grandfather… Grandfather, I’m sorry. I came too late…”