The Movie Queen Always Wants to Kiss Me - Chapter 66 - Are You Using Her? (Grand Finale)

Strictly speaking, Shen Si shared no blood with Cheng Letian. Yet he had grown up in the Cheng household alongside his mother, He Lanxin, under Old Master Cheng’s watchful eye.

Cheng Letian was meticulous and domineering, but he was also a man of immense ability. In the business world, his word carried the weight of iron. Though Shen Si had never been particularly driven, he had still learned much under his guidance. With his own father absent, Shen Si had long regarded him as mentor, father, and friend all at once. To lose that pillar overnight—how could his heart not break?

He wept bitterly before the old man’s portrait, his sobs so raw they moved even the onlookers to tears.

Beside him knelt Yu Zhaoning, her body trembling as she wept uncontrollably. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Grandfather Cheng… it was my fault…” Her voice cracked with guilt as He Qi steadied her before she collapsed.

Her grief was not only sorrow, but the crushing weight of guilt. Old Master Cheng’s stroke had been spurred on by her defiance—by sending Cheng Muye away against his wishes.

Though she had not taken his life directly, she felt as though she had set the tragedy in motion. The weight of guilt throbbed relentlessly in her chest: I didn’t kill Cheng Letian, and yet… he died because of me. The burden pressed so heavily that it made each breath a struggle, intensifying the illness already gnawing at her from within.

At the funeral, Yu Zhaoning fainted. Her health deteriorated rapidly, and within two days she was sent overseas for treatment.

Tang Anhe and Cheng Muye went to the airport to see her off. Her head was bare, her face pale as paper, her body wasted thin. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but in the end could not even summon a smile.

“I’ll take good care of Muye,” Tang Anhe promised, holding her gaze. “I’ll be by her side.”

Life was unpredictable. Fortune and misfortune shifted like shadows, snatching lives in an instant. Tang Anhe had learned to cherish what remained. She clasped Yu Zhaoning’s frail hand firmly, her voice steady. “Don’t worry. Take care of yourself. Once things here are settled, Muye and I will come visit you.”

Cheng Muye nodded in agreement. “Anhe is right. Do exactly as the doctors in America instruct. Once the Cheng Group stabilizes, I’ll come see you myself.”

The transfer of ownership had already stirred unrest within the Cheng empire, and Muye had spent the last two days at the company headquarters, holding her ground against the storm.

Yu Zhaoning’s pale lips curved faintly, her fragile smile brimming with both sorrow and gentleness. Her eyes shimmered like fading starlight as she whispered, “I’m not afraid of death, Little wood. I’m not afraid of death.”

Muye’s brow furrowed at the word. “Silly girl, don’t say such things.”

But Yu Zhaoning only smiled again, her gaze warm as she looked at the two of them. “Little wood, I’ll be fine.”

Whether in life or in death, she would be fine.

She slipped a string of purple sandalwood prayer beads from her wrist and pressed it into Cheng Muye’s pale hand. Her smile remained serene, eyes bright as she whispered, “Little wood, I will be with you.”

Tears spilled down Muye’s cheeks before she could stop them. This silly girl…

Tang Anhe held her close, burying Muye’s trembling form against her shoulder, offering the only comfort she could.

This departure might be nothing more than a parting in life… or it might be farewell in death.

Yu Zhaoning was wheeled into the airport in her chair, her parents trailing close behind, eyes red as they whispered their goodbyes.

Cheng Muye tried to follow, but the guards barred her path. Tang Anhe caught her hand—so cold it felt lifeless. She held it tight, rubbing warmth into it.

“They’ve all left me,” Muye whispered, voice breaking. “Anhe, you’re all I have left.”

Tears blurred her lashes as she threw her arms around her.

Tang Anhe hugged her back, firm and steady. “Muye, I will never leave you.”

Fortune and misfortune twined together like vines. But for Muye, the spring of love destined for her would melt every trace of winter’s chill.

On their way back through the city center, neon screens blazed overhead with the latest entertainment news:

“Award-winning actress Tang Anhe falls from favor; agent Song Qiluo turns to greener pastures.”

“Superstar Gu Zixiao partners with Song Qiluo to establish New Anxin Studio.”

Everything that had once been hers—her family, her career—was slipping away, piece by piece.

And yet, she no longer cared.

Fame, that dazzling halo, was nothing but a tightening spell. The more she struggled, the more it cut into her.

So, Tang Anhe decided to face Gu Zixiao head-on. She arranged to meet her at an upscale café.

Instead of the usual piano, the soft strains of a guzheng filled the room. A young woman in a water-green qipao sat by the instrument. Twenty-nine at most, with a delicate face, pale skin, and long black hair cascading over her shoulders. She sat with quiet grace, every gesture refined—like a living reflection of the persona Tang Anhe herself had once spent years perfecting.

Everyone is an actor, she thought. Born actors.

Her gaze lingered. The girl seemed to sense it. She glanced up, startled, and plucked a wrong note. No one else noticed the slip, charmed instead by the fleeting beauty of the moment. She winked playfully, her eyes curling into crescent moons.

Tang Anhe found herself smiling back, not even knowing why.

But it was enough—that such a smile could exist in this world.

When Gu Zixiao finally appeared, she wore a crimson bodycon dress, every step glowing with sultry brilliance. She was radiant, seductive, as if wrapped in her own halo of light. The entire café turned to look.

A group of bold girls hurried forward, faces flushed, shyly asking for autographs. Gu Zixiao accepted with ease, pulling out a pen and signing with charm.

When they left, giddy with satisfaction, she swayed her hips and sauntered over to Tang Anhe’s table. By then, Anhe had already drained her coffee, the cup resting empty between her hands.

“The award-winning actress seems to be in a good mood today.”

Gu Zixiao dropped onto the sofa opposite, every syllable laced with hostility.

Seeing her like this, Tang Anhe was strangely calm. Perhaps she had grown up, or perhaps she had learned to let things go. She thought of Gu Zixiao as a proud, spirited rooster, always ready to launch some ridiculous, laughable attack.

Boring.

She lifted a hand, signaling the waiter for another coffee, and offered a faint smile. “I want to know about you and Sister Qiluo.”

She went straight to the point.

For a heartbeat, Gu Zixiao’s eyes widened, then she smirked coldly. “What do you think? That I’m dating her?”

“My sister has never liked anyone. And she certainly isn’t attracted to women.”

Gu Zixiao’s lips curved into a mocking arc. “Who knows? Before you met Cheng Muye, weren’t you swooning over Zheng Ye like some lovesick fool?”

The words stabbed, turning her youthful affection into a cheap punchline.

Tang Anhe’s eyes flickered, steel flashing for a moment before she smoothed it over with calm. “If you don’t want to talk about my sister, then let’s talk about us. From the very start of your career, you’ve been at odds with me. Yes, we play similar roles, but that alone doesn’t explain your constant hostility. So, tell me, Gu Zixiao—what exactly do you have against me?”

She had replayed their encounters more than once, searching for a cause. She’d always brushed it off as petty rivalry between women, but the more she thought about it, the less it seemed that simple.

And her instincts were right.

Gu Zixiao’s fingers tightened around her cup. She leaned forward, her smile sharp and venomous. “I thought your brain was mush. Seems you’ve got a bit of wit after all.”

Tang Anhe’s lips twitched, but she bit back a retort.

Gu Zixiao took a deliberate sip of coffee, then slowly set the cup down. Her eyes fixed on Anhe’s face—those clear, guileless eyes—and hatred twisted inside her.

Her voice dropped, cold and jagged.

“I’m not an only child. I have a brother. Our mother gave birth to both of us. He was my closest, dearest brother.”

At those words, a chill slid down Tang Anhe’s spine. A shadow of dread stirred, whispering that something she had never wanted to uncover was about to surface.

Gu Zixiao’s eyes reddened, her voice dropping to a whisper that trembled with rage and grief.

“He was your most devoted fan. So devoted—too devoted. He scrimped and saved to buy every product you endorsed. He queued for fourteen hours straight at your fan meets, day and night, just to catch a glimpse of you.”

Tang Anhe’s lips parted, her throat tight. “H-how did he…?”

“On his eighteenth birthday,” Gu Zixiao said, her voice cracking, “he rushed to one of your fan events. Afraid he’d miss the entry cut-off, he ran a red light. A speeding car struck him and sent his body flying ten meters across the road.”

Tang Anhe’s hands shot up to cover her eyes. Her voice trembled. “He… he died?”

Gu Zixiao shook her head, but her eyes were cold, heavy with sorrow. “No. He lived—a life worse than death.”

A chill shot through Tang Anhe. “What… what happened to him?”

Gu Zixiao’s hands lifted to her own face, covering her eyes as tears seeped through her fingers, dripping one by one onto the tabletop.

“He was only eighteen. Just eighteen, and in the prime of his life. But he lost both legs. In an instant, every dream, every hope for the future—shattered.”

Tang Anhe sat frozen, the revelation crashing over her like a tidal wave. She could hardly breathe.

Gu Zixiao’s voice trembled, but the words came relentless, like blades.

“That year was pure darkness. He wanted to end it all, but he clung to writing letters to you—just to stay alive. Twenty letters. He tore open his wounds again and again, pouring his misery onto the page, begging—begging—for you to see him, to acknowledge him. And what did he get?”

Her tear-drenched eyes lifted at last, bloodshot and burning with hatred.

“After his twentieth letter, you finally replied. One word. ‘Psycho.’”

Her voice shook as she spat the word like poison. “That word was a death sentence! You destroyed him. You ended his life with your carelessness.”

“I—I didn’t—” Tang Anhe’s voice cracked, her hands trembling.

“Of course you didn’t,” Gu Zixiao cut in bitterly. “Just like Yu Zhaoning didn’t kill Cheng Letian. But he died because of her, and my brother is dying every day because of you. Meanwhile, you go on—untouched. Shining bright as ever.”

Tears blurred Tang Anhe’s vision. “I didn’t—”

“I don’t resent my brother for loving you, or even for the accident that ruined his life,” Gu Zixiao said, her voice thick with grief. “What I hate—what I can never forgive—is how heartless you were. How you turned a blind eye to his desperate pleas. You crushed an innocent heart until it bled dry. You don’t deserve to be a star. You don’t deserve the worshipful gaze of others chasing after you.”

And so, she had appeared.

From the very moment Gu Zixiao stepped into the entertainment industry, she wore her carefully crafted mask, moving with one singular purpose: to strip Tang Anhe of every last shred of glory. She would drag her down from her pedestal and ensure she never rose again. Changing her Weibo name? That was the opening she seized, twisting public opinion with ruthless precision. The fan who had groped Tang Anhe in the mall? Her orchestration. Even the brutal hunting-dog attack—her scheme. And this scandal now, the one that painted Tang Anhe with forbidden desire? That was her masterpiece. Every step designed to make the public turn their backs in disgust.

Tang Anhe pieced it together at last, her voice trembling with realization. “It was you… you did all this?”

Gu Zixiao sneered, her cold smile cutting like a blade. “You deserved it.”

The weight of a ruined life pressed down on Tang Anhe, suffocating her. She could find no words of defense. After a long silence, she asked quietly, “And my sister? Making her leave me, forcing her to become your agent… was that part of your plan too?”

Gu Zixiao’s lips curled into a cruel smile, her voice a whisper of ice. “She and I… belong to the same world.”

Tang Anhe frowned. “You’re using her?”

Gu Zixiao let out a low laugh, lifting her coffee cup with mockery dancing in her eyes. “Who knows who’s using whom?”

Schemes.

That was all it ever was.

Feelings?

Nonsense.

Genuine sincerity was for fools. And Song Qiluo was not one of them.

Tang Anhe’s heart twisted with a mix of resentment and helplessness. Song Qiluo wasn’t stupid. If she chose to stay at Gu Zixiao’s side, she must have her own reasons. What right did she have to interfere? In the end, she had only herself to blame for letting her down.

Just as Cheng Muye had once said: birds of a feather flock together.

Tang Anhe no longer wanted to be caught in this endless cycle of vengeance. Her voice softened, weary and heavy. “Whether you believe me or not, I didn’t—” She broke off, struck by a sudden memory. Back then, her personal email hadn’t even been under her control; her aunt had managed it. If Gu Zixiao’s brother had sent those desperate messages, they would have passed through her aunt’s hands first. And that reply—the cruel, cutting word—was written in her aunt’s voice, with her aunt’s style.

Her aunt, who just happened to be Song Qiluo’s mother.

But what use was the truth now? What good were explanations when the damage was already done?

“I’m sorry.”

Tang Anhe rose to her feet. She gave a slight bow, picked up her handbag, and turned to leave. After a few steps, she hesitated, glanced back, and asked in a trembling whisper, “He… he really—?”

Gu Zixiao froze, her coffee cup suspended midair. A long silence stretched between them before she finally spoke, her voice flat, empty.

“Dead. All of them are dead.”

A year after the accident, Gu Zixiao’s older brother swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills. The doctors fought for eight long hours, but in the end, they couldn’t save him.

Her parents, crushed by grief, followed within two years.

A once-whole family was torn apart, leaving only ashes and resentment behind.

And so, the hatred burned…

Tang Anhe let out a long, heavy sigh. She said nothing more, only turned and continued toward the door. As she passed the guzheng girl, she paused for a heartbeat. The girl’s luminous black eyes lifted to hers, brimming with quiet charm. When she smiled, it was pure and guileless, the kind of smile that warmed even the coldest corners of the heart.

Tang Anhe found herself smiling back, a fragile warmth rising within her chest.

May you journey through half your life and return still a youth.

When she stepped out of the café, the sky stretched bright and cloudless above, a gentle breeze brushing across her face.

Just then, a sleek black car pulled up. The door opened, and Cheng Muye extended her hand with a soft smile.

“Anhe, I’m here to take you home…”