The Movie Queen Always Wants to Kiss Me - Chapter 69 - Bonus Chapter (3) The Bizarre Proposal Journey

One morning, Tang Anhe awoke to a shocking discovery—she had turned into a balloon. Round, pink, her belly puffed with air.

With a soft whoosh, she floated upward, joining a cluster of other balloons drifting lazily in the sky.

Truth be told, the sensation of weightlessness was far from pleasant. Her body wobbled, trembling with fear, as she bobbed unsteadily among them.

The other balloons soon noticed her and began to laugh.

“Hey, look at this one—what a scaredy-cat.”

“Haha, yeah! She’s trembling like a leaf!”

“Poor thing. Doesn’t she know? If you don’t keep flying higher, the gas inside you runs out, and then—boom! You fall. And when you fall, the ending is never good.”

Their teasing gradually turned into gloomy stories.

A balloon with its belly stretched to the limit sighed heavily. “My sister didn’t fly high enough. She dropped halfway and was caught by some children. Cruel brats—they love stomping on balloons. Pop! That sound of us breaking… to them, it’s just fun. But to us, it’s our cry of pain.”

Another balloon, who had floated higher than most, joined in bitterly: “Exactly. Humans think they like us. They use us to decorate their celebrations, tying us up, showing us off. But when the party’s over, they toss us aside without a second thought. The worst ones… they crush us underfoot, laughing as if each pop is a victory.”

Tang Anhe listened in horror. Her heart sank, and she remembered the balloons she herself had once popped beneath her heel. Back then, she had never thought twice about it. But now—hearing their voices, seeing their fear—it felt like retribution.

Her string quivered as she trembled, hands clasping in a prayer-like gesture. “Th-then… what should I do? I don’t want to be stomped flat! I don’t want to die like that…”

The other balloons seemed to share her fear and tried to comfort her in unison.

“Don’t be afraid. We just need to fly farther. If we reach some remote corner, we’ll be safe.”

A heart-shaped fan balloon chimed in warmly: “My twin sister once drifted into a mountain village, so far away it felt forgotten by the world. The children there adored her as though she were candy, all scrambling to kiss her. One little angel took her home, washed her every day, and cherished her. When her life finally ended, that child cried until his eyes were swollen.”

A pink balloon tied in the middle, shaped like a gourd, sighed wistfully. “How I envy that… To be cared for, loved that way. Where could I ever find someone who cherishes me like that?”

Lost in their chatter, Tang Anhe suddenly felt a gust of wind seize her. Her body spun helplessly downward.

“Ahhhh!” She screamed in terror, the world tilting beneath her.

Around her, the balloons sighed mournfully: “She’s falling… Poor thing. Let us pray for her.”

“No—don’t! Don’t let me fall!” Anhe shrieked, her thin red string whipping wildly as she plummeted.

Below, the city bustled—traffic roaring, voices mingling.

A child’s delighted cry rang out: “Mommy, look! A balloon fell from the sky! It’s pink—it’s so cute!”

“If you like it, Mommy will pick it up for you. But you mustn’t pop it, alright?” The woman’s hand reached toward her.

“No! Don’t touch me!” Anhe panicked, yanking her string upward as she wobbled desperately into the air. “Don’t chase me—I need Muye! I must find Muye!”

The mother staggered after her, baffled, then stopped in her tracks. “Strange… That balloon seemed… alive. It dodged me.”

Escaping by a thread, Anhe drifted onward. But her journey was perilous—she nearly collided with a passing car, scraped against iron railings, and had her skin nearly torn by the sharp tips of tree branches.

By the time she floated back toward the Cheng residence, her breath came in frantic gasps. The moon hung high, stars scattered sparsely like dust across the night sky.

On the vast lawn below, she saw a familiar figure. Cheng Muye stood there, surrounded by a sea of heart-shaped balloons, carefully arranging a grand confession.

The balloons rustled together, voices brimming with admiration:

“Wow, what a handsome young lady.”

“I like her. She’s so gentle, always smiling.”

“She’s about to confess her love—to propose to the one she adores. That’s why she’s so radiant.”

“I hope her wish comes true. In my next life, I’d like to marry someone like her…”

The balloons chattered on, their voices overlapping like ten gossiping women. Yet to Tang Anhe, the sound was not noisy at all—it was delightful, sweet, like a chorus meant only for her. After all, this was Cheng Muye’s proposal scene. Her proposal. Her heart swelled, and happiness wrapped around her like a warm veil.

Overcome with joy, Tang Anhe closed her eyes and surrendered to the bliss.

But suddenly, a hoarse command ripped through her eardrums:

“Pack it up! Pack everything away—now!”

Pop! Pop! Pop!

The sharp cracks of bursting balloons jolted her awake. Her eyes flew open, just in time to see servants moving briskly, tearing down the decorations one by one. Their hushed voices carried fragments of complaint.

“Why are we clearing this again? Miss Tang spent the whole night decorating by herself. She worked so hard…”

“But Miss Tang doesn’t like it. And since our young mistress indulges her every whim, we have no choice but to follow orders.”

Another voice sighed, glancing at the remnants scattered across the ground.

“Such a pity. The balloons were so beautiful. And now—gone, just like that.”

The murmurs faded into silence.

Tang Anhe stood frozen, the realization washing over her in waves. Yes… now she remembered. Cheng Muye had painstakingly arranged this balloon confession, pouring her heart into it. And yet, with just one disapproving glance, she had brushed it all aside.

And now… she had condemned these balloons, too.

“Stop cleaning up! Stop cleaning up! I like it—I truly like it! I’ll accept this confession—this proposal—”

Squish—

Before she could finish, a massive hand pressed down, crushing her in an instant. A surge of unbearable pain coursed through her, and darkness swallowed her whole. Just before she lost consciousness, a sigh drifted past her ears—low, regretful, and almost mocking.

“The young mistress’s proposal has failed once more. How heartbreaking—this is the second time already.”

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When Tang Anhe woke up, the world was filled with chatter:

“Come quickly! Look at this oddity that’s appeared!”

“Strange… what sort of flower is that?”

“Ugly thing! How dare she grow beside us?”

Dazed, Tang Anhe forced her eyes open. Sunlight struck her face, or rather, her petals. She squinted—and froze. She was no longer herself.

She was in the Cheng residence’s peony garden, surrounded by blossoms in full, arrogant bloom. Yet she wasn’t one of them. She was a rose.

Having already endured the bizarre fate of becoming a balloon, the transformation itself didn’t shock her as much as it should have. Once she steadied her thoughts, she began to piece things together.

Her mind wandered back to three days ago. Cheng Muye had appeared before her with a diamond ring and a single rose in hand, ready to confess her love. But Tang Anhe’s temper had been short then—her period had just begun, leaving her irritable and restless. She’d dismissed the gesture as too simple, too plain, and turned her away. As for the rose, she had tossed it aside without a second thought.

Now, staring at her current form, she felt her chest tighten. Could it be… that very rose? Had Cheng Muye discarded it here after her rejection—and fate punished her by binding her soul to it?

If so, then she truly was reaping the bitter fruit of her own choices.

The neighboring peonies rustled, whispering to each other with cruel delight:

“That night, I heard the young mistress say her proposal was rejected. Then this flower appeared here.”

“Hmph, no wonder. Look at her—so plain, so common. If she had taken us along to propose, surely it would have succeeded.”

“Indeed. With those ugly leaves and cheap little petals? How could she compare to us? We are peonies—the queen of flowers!”

Their laughter rang in her ears, cutting sharper than thorns.

“I absolutely hate her! She made the young mistress so sad. She’s nothing but a curse—whoever touches her is doomed!”

“I’m so irritated with her! Why does she have to be here? And to make matters worse, she’s taking my spot—so annoying!”

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The peonies seethed with hostility, their roots tangling beneath the soil to tug cruelly at hers. Pain rippled through Tang Anhe’s body. She wanted to cry out, to beg them for mercy, yet as a rose she had no voice—only trembling petals that quivered pitifully in the moonlight.

At last, an aged peony unfurled its broad leaves, its voice steady with authority:

“Enough, all of you. Still yourselves. The young mistress will be here soon. We should hold our heads high and let our beauty console her sorrow.”

At this command, the other peonies stilled, each preening its blossoms and leaves, eager to outshine the rest.

Meanwhile, only Tang Anhe swayed at the garden’s edge, a lone rose amid the sea of peonies. She yearned desperately for Cheng Muye to notice her, to rescue her from this cruel fate.

She waited the entire night beneath the moon’s cold glow, her heart burning with hope. Yet Cheng Muye never came.

Was she still grieving? Had she fallen ill? Or was she simply too busy?

Her legs had only just healed—how could she bear to wear herself out again? Tang Anhe’s heart tangled with worry, longing, and dread. What if this was permanent? What if she remained a rose forever?

She shuddered at the thought. No… I don’t want to be a rose forever…

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Morning came and the sun’s scorching rays beat down relentlessly. By noon, whether from heat, hunger, or sheer exhaustion, her body began to droop. A harsh wind swept through the garden, nearly toppling her.

The elderly peony extended a branch to steady her and sighed softly.

“Poor child, you suffer through no fault of your own. Listen well, little rose: if you wish to endure, you must sink your roots deep. Only then can you stand tall against storm and sun.”

Half-conscious, Tang Anhe stirred at the gentle voice. A faint nod quivered through her petals. Bitterness welled in her heart, twined with regret. She had always been selfish, thoughtless of others’ feelings. But now, trapped in fragile petals and trembling leaves, she finally understood. Every living thing carried its own thoughts, its own pain. To trample them so carelessly was wrong.

She had been wrong. If heaven granted her even a sliver of a chance, she longed to atone.

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Night fell once more.

This time, Cheng Muye finally came. She settled beneath a towering peony, her face shrouded in shadow, her gaze bleak and sorrowful.

“She won’t speak to me,” she murmured, voice breaking into the quiet night.

“Ugh, I just don’t know how to confess to her.” Cheng Muye’s voice trembled faintly as she leaned against the peony. “She used to be so easygoing… why is she getting harder and harder to please now?”

Her melancholy pierced Tang Anhe’s heart. She shook her leaves desperately, straining with all her might. I won’t! I won’t cause trouble anymore! Muye, look at me—please, just look at me!

Perhaps her yearning was too strong, for Cheng Muye suddenly turned, her frown easing into a soft smile. Surprise lit her features.

“Oh! You survived! How incredible—you actually took root here.” She bent down, eyes shining. “You’re amazing.”

No, it’s me, Tang Anhe! Her petals quivered with tears. Muye, it’s Anhe. I’m sorry… forgive me for being spoiled and arrogant before.

But to Cheng Muye, her apologies were only the rustle of leaves in the night breeze. Even so, she spoke to her tenderly:

“You’re strong, little rose. No roots, hard soil, yet you flourished. How could I let myself fail when even you can endure? I won’t give up—I’ll succeed with my proposal. So, grow well, won’t you? You must be there to witness our wedding.”

Her voice was steady with resolve, but Tang Anhe’s heart shattered. No, I’m not just a flower… I’m Tang Anhe! Take me with you, please… don’t leave me behind! Dewdrops trembled on her petals like tears, shimmering faintly under the moon.

Cheng Muye glanced up at the starry sky, then rose to her feet. She brushed her fingertips gently across the rose’s soft bloom.

“I must return now. She’s been unwell these past days. I need to prepare warm soup for her… Well then, rest well.”

No! Don’t abandon me, Muye! Don’t leave me here—I’m afraid, I’m so afraid!

Tang Anhe cried out, her final plea breaking into sobs.

A sudden jolt—Cheng Muye’s eyes flew open.

The dream scattered like mist. She fumbled for the light and turned to the bed. There lay Tang Anhe, trembling, her brows knit as though still trapped in that nightmare.

With a sharp pang of heartache, Cheng Muye pulled her into her arms, whispering urgently against her ear, “It’s okay, it’s okay… It was just a dream. Anhe, I’m here. It’s me, Muye. Don’t be afraid—I’ll never abandon you.”

The warmth of her embrace was real, her heartbeat steady and strong.

Tang Anhe trembled, slowly opening her eyes. Meeting that gaze of tenderness and worry, her tears spilled over. She clung to Cheng Muye with all her strength, burying her face in her chest.

“Muye,” she sobbed, voice breaking, “I had a nightmare… I was so scared…”

“Don’t be afraid… I’m here. It was only a nightmare—things always turn out the other way,” Cheng Muye whispered.

“But it felt so real.”

The crushing pressure of being squeezed to bursting, the sharp pain, the suffocating sense of being trapped in the soil, and the searing torment of the blazing sun—all of it had felt frighteningly real.

“Muye… I’m scared.”

“Mm. I know. Don’t be afraid. I’m here.”

Cheng Muye held her tightly, one warm hand stroking her back, slow and steady. When Tang Anhe’s trembling began to subside, she slipped from the bed to fetch some water.

But Tang Anhe grabbed her nightgown and stumbled after her.

Cheng Muye glanced back, touched her head gently, and said, soft as a sigh, “I’m not leaving. I’m just getting you some water.”

“I want to go with you.”

“All right.”

“I want to marry you.”

“Hm?”

Cheng Muye, half-distracted as she poured the water, murmured an absent-minded response. But then the meaning sank in. She spun around just as the cup slipped from her fingers.

Clang!

The cup shattered on the floor, warm water splashing across her bare feet. She didn’t even flinch, her eyes locked on Tang Anhe. “Tang Anhe… what did you just say?”

Tang Anhe’s face lit up with a radiant, steady smile, her eyes clear with certainty. “I said I want to marry you.”

Joy flared in Cheng Muye’s gaze, but in the next instant, confusion clouded it.

“But I haven’t proposed to you yet.”

“It’s already been accepted.”

“When?”

“In my dream.”

Her brows knit. “What kind of dream?”

“A good dream.”

“You were so frightened just now. Wasn’t it a nightmare?”

Tang Anhe shook her head, still smiling. “No. I had a dream. A very good dream.”

Cheng Muye gave a small, helpless laugh. You’re making me confused. What did you dream?”

“I dreamed that you loved me so deeply.”

Silence fell over the room. Only their heartbeats filled the space—first quick and uneven, then gradually slowing, aligning, until they pulsed in perfect rhythm.

After a long silence, Cheng Muye stepped forward and drew her into an embrace. A gentle smile touched her lips, and warmth glimmered in her eyes.

“That really is a beautiful dream. And it’s real, too.”

A dream meant to last a lifetime.

Beginning with you and ending with you.