The Movie Queen Always Wants to Kiss Me - Chapter 68 - Bonus Chapter (2) — I Love You, Tang Anhe

The annual Peony Festival at the Cheng residence had begun once more, this time under Cheng Muye’s hand. She wore a crisp stand-collar shirt and tailored black trousers, her figure straight and elegant, carrying herself with effortless grace and quiet handsomeness.

Tang Anhe stood gracefully at Cheng Muye’s side. Perhaps from spending so much time together, she too had grown fond of a stylish, androgynous flair. Today she wore a candy-colored suit, its tailored lines highlighting her figure elegantly. A beige lace-sleeved blouse peeked from beneath, paired with slim jeans that gave her an effortlessly chic, sweet charm.

Together, the two women shone like twin stars, drawing gazes from every guest who passed.

Among the onlookers was Liu Wei. A flicker of envy crossed her heart, chased swiftly by admiration. These two had weathered so many storms, and now stood side by side in harmony—a happiness few could ever achieve.

Wine glass in hand, Liu Wei approached. “President Cheng, Miss Tang.”

Tang Anhe’s eyes narrowed slightly. She still remembered Liu Wei as a rival, and her voice carried a touch of hostility. “Miss Liu, it’s been ages.”

Liu Wei caught the thorn in her tone and smiled sweetly. “Yes, it has. I’ve missed you terribly.” Her gaze slid deliberately toward Cheng Muye as she lingered on that last word.

Tang Anhe felt a pang of displeasure in her heart: Damn it! There’s a hidden meaning in that! She must be trying to steal my man!

“What exactly did you miss?” she retorted with a saccharine smile. “Everything’s come true now, hasn’t it? You once said you wanted to attend the peony festival. Well, here it is. How does it feel to have that wish fulfilled?”

“Wonderful,” Liu Wei replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Though seeing President Cheng is even better. To borrow a line from that popular TV drama—‘One glance at Muye ruins your life; not seeing Muye ruins your life forever.’”

She really is here to steal her away!

Very well then. If Liu Wei wanted to play the rival, she would treat her as one—and rivals deserved to be swept aside like fallen leaves.

Descending a step gracefully, Tang Anhe slipped her arm through Liu Wei’s and laughed affectionately. “What nonsense! What ‘ruined life’? How dull! Missing the poetry contest at the peony festival—that would be the true regret of a lifetime.”

“Poetry contest?” Liu Wei blinked in confusion.

What game is this?

She turned toward Cheng Muye, who had followed them calmly. “President Cheng, what exactly is this poetry contest?”

Cheng Muye’s lips curved. Instead of answering, she glanced at Tang Anhe, who was signaling slyly with her eyes. Understanding her meaning, she smiled with quiet indulgence. “Just a little game. Given how well-read and clever you are, Miss Liu, I’m sure you’ll perform brilliantly.”

With such praise heaped upon her, Liu Wei found it impossible to back down.

A poetry contest? Why did it matter? She refused to believe that she—an alumna of Tsinghua—would lose to some washed-up actress who only knew how to smile for the camera.

She lifted her chin and accepted readily. “A poetry contest? That sounds rather interesting.”

Seeing her take the bait, Tang Anhe’s lips curved in quiet satisfaction. “It is indeed most interesting.”

Without loosening her grip, she led Liu Wei toward a round table already encircled by familiar figures—Song Qiluo, Gu Zixiao, Shen Si, and Yu Zhaoning, who had recently returned from abroad. The group was already deep in thought, trading verses on the theme of peonies.

One by one, they recited. If someone faltered, they were free to compose their own line to match the rhythm of the verse before.

Yu Zhaoning, well versed in the rules, naturally took on the role of host. She began with a clear, ringing voice:

“Only the peony truly embodies the nation’s beauty;

When it blooms, it stirs the capital city.”

Her words fell with quiet grace. She then lifted her teacup, using fragrant tea in place of wine, and smiled. “Ladies and gentlemen, please.”

Shen Si, seated at her side, responded without hesitation:

“In March, peonies display their splendid grace;

Magnificent spectacle in the men’s spring world.”

Next came Song Qiluo. She tapped her fingers against her cup and, as expected, her thoughts circled back to profit even in poetry:

“In Yangzhou these days, none can match its price;

A single blossom could fetch a thousand in white jade.”

The others chuckled—true to form, her mind was tethered to silver even here.

Beside her, Gu Zixiao merely raised her cup in silence, letting the tea slide down her throat instead of offering a verse.

The circle turned once more to Yu Zhaoning. Catching sight of Cheng Muye in the distance, her face lit up. She waved eagerly. “At last, you’re here! Come, come—we’ve just reached the most exciting part.”

During Yu Zhaoning’s long days in the hospital, Tang Anhe had often kept her company. Their friendship was close, so she hurried forward with a warm smile and took the seat beside her. “Sister Yu, how’s your health?”

Chemotherapy had eased her illness somewhat, though not cured it. Yet Yu Zhaoning’s spirit never dimmed. She straightened her back and declared cheerfully, “I’m fine. I’ll live to be a hundred, just watch me.”

Her exaggeration drew soft laughter, but her optimism lifted the heaviness from everyone’s hearts.

Cheng Muye, allergic to alcohol, took her seat and lifted a porcelain cup of tea instead. “Allow me to toast you all. Thank you for gracing the Cheng residence with your presence.”

After the toast, she gestured toward Liu Wei, who was seated at Tang Anhe’s side. “This is Miss Liu Wei. She would also like to try her hand at our poetry duel. Please, do guide her generously.”

One more participant meant greater difficulty, but also far more exciting.

Tang Anhe leaned forward, her tone light yet edged with mischief. “Here’s the rule—if you fail to answer, you’ll drink three cups as punishment.”

Her very first words had to do with alcohol. Clearly, she intended to drown Liu Wei with it until the woman could no longer recognized herself.

At her side, Cheng Muye’s brows knit together. She disliked Tang Anhe’s indulgence. “Drink less,” she admonished softly.

Before Anhe could answer, Song Qiluo laughed, fanning the flames. “Drink less? Impossible. She’s a little drunkard! The best part is, once she’s drunk, she’s so obedient—does whatever you tell her. And when she wakes, she doesn’t remember a thing.”

Tang Anhe shot her an annoyed glance. “Sister, you can praise my tolerance, but must you claim I forget everything? That’s going too far.”

Song Qiluo smirked. “Oh? Then it sounds like you’re challenging the rest of us to get you drunk. Everyone, don’t hold back—make sure she’s tipsy before the night ends.”

Anhe narrowed her eyes, but her lips curved. “Ah, Sister, you truly are my dearest.”

“Of course. The one and only—no duplicates.”

Their playful exchange dissolved into laughter, and the circle shifted back to the poetry duel.

The rule remained unchanged: each verse must include the word peony.

Yu Zhaoning raised her cup and began, her voice strong despite the illness shadowing her body:

“Unmatched beauty—only Xi Zi;

Among all blooms—only the peony.”

Her words rang clear, setting the rhythm.

Seated between Yu Zhaoning and Shen Si, Liu Wei quickly seized her chance to shine. Possessing some literary foundation, she replied without hesitation:

“Once a cloud-scented official;

Thrice have witnessed peonies bloom.”

Her response earned murmurs of approval, though truthfully, fine five-character quatrains on peonies were rare and few carried lasting brilliance.

Shen Si, who had some talent in verse, found himself at a loss under the strict five-character form. With a rueful smile, he lifted his cup and drank instead of speaking.

Gu Zixiao, ever taciturn, followed suit—silent, merely drinking with calm detachment.

Song Qiluo, sharp and quick-witted, carried the thread onward:

“Peonies boast splendid hues,

Blooming late to outshine all flowers.”

Then the turn came to Tang Anhe. She rose lightly to her feet, her eyes sweeping the table before she offered her couplet with a smile that was both elegant and challenging:

“Unmatched in beauty across the world;

The peony reigns supreme in fragrance.”

That poem was no coincidence. Tang Anhe’s words struck directly at Liu Wei, echoing her own verse with a sharper edge.

Liu Wei’s fingers curled into a fist beneath the table. After a pause, she forced a smile and countered smoothly:

“When peonies bloom in full splendor;

Only then does boundless joy begin.”

Tang Anhe did not hesitate. Her lips curved in challenge as she fired back:

“Luoyang’s peonies flourish in abundance;

Yet their first blossoms seem almost demonic.”

Their lines clashed in the air like blades, and soon the two were caught in a fierce duel of words.

The onlookers were delighted, egging them on, laughter and cheers rippling through the gathering.

Song Qiluo, ever eager to stir mischief, leaned in with a sly grin. “This is getting dull. Let’s raise the stakes—six-character verses only.”

Liu Wei lifted her chin and recited without missing a beat:

 “Who could resist the noble peony;

Its beauty crowns all grace and splendor.”

Tang Anhe’s reply came swift as a drawn sword:

“Among flowers, the peony reigns supreme;

Year after year, claims spring’s splendor.”

Back and forth they went, their verses striking like duelists’ parries. Neither yielded, each striving to outshine the other.

Song Qiluo clapped her hands and laughed in delight. “Anhe, you’re quite the scholar! So many verses tucked away—you must have studied hard for this.”

Liu Wei’s smile stiffened. At last, the truth dawned on her. This wasn’t improvisation—it was a tradition. Tang Anhe had clearly prepared for this, memorizing peony poems in advance. No wonder she recited so smoothly, as if the lines had been carved into her bones.

Refusing to let herself be cornered, Liu Wei quickly shifted tactics. “How dull this is! Shall we play word puzzles instead?”

As the newcomer, her suggestion was met with indulgent nods.

She seized the chance to take the lead. “In the capital, in October, two strangers meet. What character is it?” After asking, she pointed to Tang Anhe. “Anhe, earlier you were brimming with talent, speaking poetry as easily as breathing—I truly admired you. Now, why don’t you try to guess this character?”

This time, Tang Anhe faltered. She frowned, turning the words over in her mind, but no matter how she tried, she couldn’t decipher it.

Her eyes drifted instinctively to Cheng Muye, seeking help. But Muye, though desperate to rescue her, felt the weight of Liu Wei’s watchful stare. She dared not move, dared not speak.

Liu Wei’s lips curved triumphantly. “Since you can’t guess it, I’ll make it easier. The answer is written on my back. Care to try?”

Tang Anhe bit her lip, frustration flashing across her face. Still, she had no answer.

At last, Liu Wei leaned closer, her voice dripping with feigned sweetness. “Spring begins in two days, doesn’t it?”

Tang Anhe shook her head, her mood sinking. She lifted her cup and drained it in one go.

One riddle after another—Liu Wei kept them coming, and Anhe had no answers. Each failure was met with another drink. Before long, she was utterly drunk, so drunk she could no longer tell one person from another.

Contrary to Song Qiluo’s claim that she became obedient when tipsy, this time her drunkenness made her wild and nonsensical. She tugged at Cheng Muye insistently, demanding to see the peonies.

Anhe had been living at the Cheng residence for nearly a year. During peony season she had visited the garden almost daily, until the blossoms lost their initial wonder. But through the haze of drink, the flowers transformed. Bathed in silver moonlight, every bloom gleamed like dawn’s first fire—so bright, so intoxicating, they stole her breath.

Liu Wei’s mocking words drifted back to her through the fog: “Who could resist the noble peony; Its beauty crowns all grace and splendor.”

Anhe staggered forward, plunging headlong into the thicket of flowers, laughing as she cried out:

“Under peonies, even death is sweet; As a ghost, I’ll still be charming!”

The reckless words seemed to awaken something darker inside Cheng Muye. She followed, watching her drunk lover clutch a blossom, muttering nonsense through hiccuping giggles.

“Heh… under peonies, even death is sweet! I win, you stinking rival—don’t you dare try to steal my man!”

Her laughter was foolish and endearing, chasing away Muye’s irritation. With a sigh, she sank down beside her, nudging her arm gently. “Are you done now? Anhe, wake up—you’re hugging the wrong person.”

“Huh? Don’t bother me. I’m hugging someone. Good Ah Ye, I love you best.”

With that, she planted a loud kiss on the poor flower.

Muye couldn’t help a helpless smile. “Yes, yes, I know. But the person you want is over here.” She tapped her forehead softly against Anhe’s, her voice laced with indulgence. “Silly little drunk kitten, you never stop causing trouble, even in the middle of the night.”

But Anhe wasn’t finished. The alcohol burned through her veins, making her restless. Her lips parted, red and damp, as she whispered hoarsely, “Thirsty… so thirsty… Muye… Muye, water…”

Muye glanced around the moonlit garden. At such an hour, where could she possibly find water for her?

Cheng Muye tried to rise and fetch water, but Tang Anhe seemed to sense her departure. In an instant, she pulled her back down, clinging tightly. Her body was warm and pliant, a stark contrast to Muye’s cool skin. Not only did she refuse to let go, but she began pressing against her with drunken boldness.

“Mmm… these are Ah Ye’s abs… one, two, three…” Her eyes stayed shut as her lips brushed and licked playfully, as though savoring each imagined line.

Heat flared in Muye’s chest. Desire stirred, threatening to drown out reason. Making love beneath blooming peonies sounded like a scene plucked straight from a poem. But the night air was sharp and cold—she couldn’t bear the thought of Anhe falling ill.

“Anhe, stop fooling around. Get up—the ground is cold.”

The word cold seemed to cut through Anhe’s haze. Her muddled mind seized on it, and she suddenly pushed Muye away, dropping to her knees and crawling toward the earth.

“Stop crawling! The ground’s dirty—you’ll ruin your clothes.”

“Huh? Treasure?”

Tang Anhe, too tipsy to make sense of Cheng Muye’s warning, grabbed handfuls of soil and started digging with reckless glee. The earth was damp and soft, and she dug as if possessed, like a tiny motor running at full speed.

“Oh! Digging for treasure! Digging for treasure! Hey, hey, come dig for treasure with me!”

Muye pressed her palm to her forehead, torn between laughter and exasperation. Drunk people truly did have ridiculous strength—she couldn’t pry her away. At last, she gave in with a sigh. “Fine, fine. Stop digging, silly. The treasure’s on me. The treasure is on me. If you must dig, then dig here.”

Song Qiluo had said one thing right: Tang Anhe, when drunk, could be obedient.

And so, she listened. But her “digging” wasn’t with soil—it was with hands tugging eagerly at Muye’s clothing. Fingers brushed bare skin; her warmth pressed closer, lips searching hungrily until they captured hers in a fiery kiss.

“Ah Ye… Ah Ye…” she breathed in a desperate murmur, her voice trembling.

“I’m here. I’m right here.” Muye’s reply was low and steady as she caught Anhe’s wandering hand and guided it to her chest. Her gaze softened, her voice dropping to a tender whisper. “See? You found it, Tang Anhe… my heart.”

Tang Anhe blinked, her wide, watery eyes hazy with confusion.

“The treasure you’ve been digging for—my heart,” Cheng Muye whispered, her voice low and steady. “It’s yours. All of it belongs to you, along with my love… and my soul.”

“Mm?” Tang Anhe tilted her head, still dazed, her thoughts sluggish as if her mind couldn’t catch up to the weight of those words.

Muye steadied her trembling frame, then bent down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I love you, Tang Anhe.”

A silly smile spread across Anhe’s lips, her head nodding unconsciously like a child.

Then suddenly, Muye’s body lowered over hers, pinning her to the earth. The weight was real, but the tenderness even more so. Through the veil of drunken fog, Anhe lifted her gaze and saw the moon framed by blooming peonies.

And in Cheng Muye’s eyes, those blossoms glowed even brighter, radiant as fire.

At that moment, no verse could describe it better—Only the peony truly embodies the nation’s beauty; When it blooms, it stirs the capital city.