The Movie Queen Always Wants to Kiss Me - Chapter 7 - Seems I’ve Made Trouble Again!

The movie queen Tang Anhe had changed her Weibo name!

Within three minutes, the internet exploded.

Private messages poured in one after another:

“Ahhh! Movie Queen, why did you suddenly change your username?”

“Sugar, were you hacked?”

“I loved Sugar-Coated Hawthorn! Sweet and sour, just like you!”

Those were the polite ones. The trolls in her comments cut straight to the point:

“Guess what the queen’s blowing in bed? This name’s making me think dirty thoughts!”

“Baby doesn’t want to talk. Baby throws a truckload of rotten eggs at you!”

“Why not just rename yourself Absurdity and be done with it? Such a vulgar username. Did shit fall on your head?”

“Hardly any celebrities stay pure these days. I thought Tang Anhe was one of the rare clean ones, but now? Ha! Instantly switching from fan to hater.”

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The barbs online only grew sharper, more vicious. Tang Anhe’s heart sank as she read them. Panicking, she clutched at Cheng Muye’s sleeve.

“Brother, brother, it’s bad… I think I’ve caused trouble again.”

For once, she wasn’t wrong.

The next moment.

Bang!

The door swung open.

Song Qiluo strode in, her face icy, eyes sharp and severe. Her voice cracked like a whip.

“Tang Anhe, what stupid thing have you done this time?”

Tang Anhe’s heart shriveled to the size of a bean. She immediately curled up, hiding behind Cheng Muye.

Although Cheng Muye found Tang Anhe’s foolish antics tiresome, her little pleas for protection were strangely endearing. She straightened, expression calm, voice even.
“Sister Song, what happened?”

Song Qiluo didn’t see her as just a bodyguard. In fact, she had even sent people to verify her identity. Until the results came back, she didn’t want to offend her. Hearing Cheng Muye’s question, she softened her tone slightly.

“That stupid girl changed her Weibo name without permission. Changing it would’ve been fine, but she picked a name that practically begged to be roasted online. The whole internet is criticizing her.”

Cheng Muye had anticipated this outcome and had already devised a solution. She reached out and patted the little figure peeking from behind her. Those sparkling, curious, shy eyes were irresistibly adorable, like a tiny creature you couldn’t help but protect. A pang of affection stirred within her, and unwilling to let anyone speak ill of Tang Anhe, she said calmly, “Afraid of what? Change it once, change it again. A third time, a fourth… six or seven times, and people will start seeing it differently.”

Changing once is impulsive.

Changing twice carries meaning.

Changing three times is deliberate hype.

But six or seven? That might look like a hacked account or sabotage.

The internet’s imagination is limitless, and in the process, the truth drifts further and further away.

Song Qiluo quickly caught on, murmuring, “Take the opposite approach?”

Cheng Muye nodded, her voice calm but calculating. “Rather than suppress it, let it be. Don’t block—guide. And when things reach their worst, they often turn for the better.”

Everyone knows that when things are pushed to the extreme, they inevitably backfire.

Seeing that Song Qiluo had grasped the idea, Cheng Muye continued: “Deliberately steering things is not necessarily a bad thing.”

Song Qiluo’s face lit up with delight at the insight. She grabbed Cheng Muye’s hand warmly. “You’re right. You’re quick-thinking. Mr. Cheng, thank you so much.”

“No need,” Cheng Muye replied lightly, almost indifferent. “As a bodyguard, I protect not only Tang Anhe’s safety but also her reputation. Sister Song, that is my duty.”

The statement carried a subtle weight of expertise.

Song Qiluo immediately praised her: “You are the most responsible bodyguard I’ve ever seen.”

A faint curve lifted Cheng Muye’s lips, a flicker of calculation in her eyes. Her tone softened just slightly. “Sister Song, if you trust me, let me handle this matter.”

“You?”

“Yes.”

“One day.”

Her voice was decisive, leaving no room for refusal.

Song Qiluo nodded and glanced at the girl behind her. “Tang Anhe, cooperate with Mr. Cheng and listen to her.”

Tang Anhe nodded obediently. Once the lounge door closed, she clutched Cheng Muye’s thigh. “Brother Cheng, you’re amazing! So cool, so handsome!”

Cheng Muye curved her lips slightly, accepting the compliment.

Curious about her solution, and seeing that she was in a good mood, Tang Anhe pulled her onto the bed, draping her arms around Cheng Muye like a doting little sibling.

“Hey, Brother Cheng, how are you going to solve this?”

Cheng Muye didn’t speak, her gaze lingering on the arms draped over her shoulders—slender, fair, and smooth, bringing to mind the classic verse: “Slender, fair, and smooth, her arms were like frost and snow, and her presence, like the moon by the wine jar.”

A beauty like the moon… she was meant to belong to her.

In short, Cheng Muye was drawn to her in every way. Every curve, every detail seemed perfectly made for her, as if heaven itself had crafted her as a treasure meant to be hers.

Tang Anhe, unaware of her thoughts, noticed Cheng Muye staring and felt shy, lowering her head. “Why aren’t you saying anything?” she murmured. “I know I’m beautiful, but your gaze… it’s so intense, it makes me embarrassed!”

Cheng Muye: “…Yes, you’re beautiful.”

Tang Anhe beamed, the unease from earlier troubles dissolving like clouds. She felt safe with Cheng Muye and didn’t hide her dependence. “So, Brother Cheng, you have to be the hero here who rescues the beauty! What should I do about my Weibo name?”

Cheng Muye didn’t answer, instead shifting the topic. “Tang Anhe, I’ve only been here less than a day. Aren’t you being a bit too familiar?”

“Am I?” Tang Anhe tilted her head, thinking for a moment before answering. “Maybe I’m just naturally familiar with all handsome guys?”

“So, that means you’d act the same with any other handsome guy?” Cheng Muye’s voice instantly turned cold.

Still oblivious, Tang Anhe nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes, if he’s more handsome than you!”

As she spoke, her eyes drifted to Cheng Muye’s thin lips, bright and shiny, and she swallowed nervously.

She was still coveting those lips. She even wanted to kiss her.

Those hints made Cheng Muye ignore her previous whining and say coldly:
“You wanted a Weibo name? Keep going—come up with a few even more… risqué ones.”

Risque?

What does that mean?

Tang Anhe frowned, displeased.

“Brother Cheng, ‘Blowing Flutes in Tang Dynasty’ was your idea too! Others say it’s risqué, but why are you saying it now? Their minds are dirty. You shouldn’t follow them. It’s wrong.”

Cheng Muye felt her chatter increasingly irritating, making her want to snap at her any minute. Frowning, her patience thinned. “Enough. Stop nagging. Hurry and think of a more… ‘risqué’ name.”

Tang Anhe, stubborn as ever, pouted.

“You called it risqué! You’re really cruel! You’ve killed my enthusiasm and blocked my inspiration. I can’t think of anything!”

Even she had to admit, that was a good excuse.

Cheng Muye massaged her temples, holding back her irritation. “Then what do you want to do? I don’t have the leisure to come up with a name for you.”

Tang Anhe didn’t dare insist. She smiled instead. “Then Brother Cheng, take me out for a walk. Maybe if I’m happy, inspiration will strike.”

So, she just wanted to go out and have fun!

Still so childlike!

Wait—could it be that she had planned this all along, and everything was part of her scheme?

A chill ran through Cheng Muye’s chest, her eyes sharp and dark as she turned to look.

Fortunately, Tang Anhe had already spun around, hopping barefoot to the floor, oblivious to the glance. She ran happily to the clothes rack in search of casual outfits for going out—but with so many qipaos, long and short, summer and autumn styles, she barely managed to pick out a single pair of denim shorts from the dozens of garments.

She didn’t even notice when they had been tucked away, hidden among the neatly hung qipaos.

With the shorts in hand, she now faced a dilemma: what to wear on top?

All qipaos—how could she pair them with shorts?

Tang Anhe pursed her lips, one hand holding the shorts, the other supporting her chin as she pondered.

Cheng Muye watched silently, judging her foolishness. No clothes to wear? Go buy some outside! If worst came to worst, so what if she wore a qipao? Why the grave, life-or-death expression over a minor outfit problem?

Clearly, she was overthinking.

If Tang Anhe were clever enough to pretend to be naive in order to trick others, it would be nothing short of a miracle.

Finally, Cheng Muye spoke. “If you don’t have clothes, go buy some at the mall.”

Tang Anhe instantly lit up, practically bouncing with excitement. “What? Did I hear that right? Brother Cheng, you’re taking me out?!”

She didn’t wait for a response, hopping on the spot. “Awesome! Brother Cheng, you’re amazing! Let’s go, let’s go shopping… hurry, hurry!”

She slipped on her white heeled shoes, grabbed the black handbag from the vanity, and tugged Cheng Muye toward the door.

Outside the lounge, while waiting for the elevator, they ran into Zhang Ting from the restroom. She stopped Tang Anhe. “Anhe, you look so happy. Did you get a love letter?”

Tang Anhe’s self-written love letters, and her habit of showing them off, had long been a running joke in the studio. Anyone who saw them couldn’t help but chuckle. Most had grown up with her there and shared a deep bond, so Tang Anhe didn’t dare flaunt her celebrity status. All she could do was smile along with everyone else.

Still, she felt wronged. Heaven knew she hadn’t actually written that letter.

No one believed her, and the more she tried to explain, the more it seemed like she was hiding something, so she eventually stayed silent. That “beautiful misunderstanding” had persisted until now and would likely continue.

After smiling it off, she whispered to Cheng Muye, “When I get into a relationship, my boyfriend has to write me a hundred love letters. Then I’ll show them all, one by one, and silence everyone!”

A boyfriend, huh?

She really couldn’t go three sentences without thinking about men—a hopeless, love-struck girl.

Cheng Muye frowned, her hand in her sleeve unconsciously clenching into a fist.