The Paranoid Film Queen Doesn’t Want to Remarry - Chapter 38

Chapter 38

 

They kissed for a while. It wasn’t part of the official shoot—their movements and expressions didn’t match the characters in the script.

 

But the kiss lingered, passionate and unwilling to end. Director Tao didn’t call “cut”; he waited until they naturally pulled apart before signaling the makeup artist to come and touch them up for another take.

 

Xu Weishuang couldn’t control her panting. Her chest rose and fell from the lack of oxygen. The makeup artist worked with focused professionalism, though her flushed cheeks betrayed the awkwardness of the moment.

 

Even as Xu Weishuang’s breathing slowly calmed, the yearning in her heart didn’t subside one bit. She couldn’t snap out of character—not when Yan Muyu still held her fingers tightly.

 

A heat burned hotter and fiercer inside her, as if she were melting completely in this sweetness. Perhaps this was the consequence of long-restrained desire suddenly unleashed. Like an addiction—withdrawn and then forced into abstinence—the craving returned in unbearable waves.

 

Xu Weishuang had previously reminded herself that such contact was wrong, that they shouldn’t go back to this. But using the guise of the script, using the pretext of the role, she no longer restrained herself.

 

Not only did she not pull her fingers away from Yan Muyu’s grasp, she even gently hooked her thumb around Yan Muyu’s in a gesture of deep affection.

 

Director Tao called for another take. This time, Xu Weishuang didn’t resist. Both of them performed well, and the scene was finally approved.

 

After finishing the kiss scene, the rest of the intimate scenes flowed more naturally. Xu Weishuang and Yan Muyu filmed continuously. Because their earlier state hadn’t been ideal, the day’s scheduled content stretched late into the night.

 

Assistant Xiao Shiyi drove them back to the hotel. Although she was Xu Weishuang’s assistant, Shi Yan hadn’t told her about the divorce. The fewer people who knew before the PR team was ready, the better.

 

It helped that Xu Weishuang had joined the crew and Yan Muyu was famously busy. After wrapping Her Actress, the fact that they hadn’t been seen together didn’t raise suspicions.

 

Xiao Shiyi drove steadily. She knew Xu Weishuang suffered from poor sleep and worked hard every day. By the time filming ended, she was always exhausted and often dozed off in the car. So Xiao Shiyi would deliberately drive slower and smoother to help her rest.

 

Tonight was no different. Shortly after getting in the car, Xu Weishuang dozed off. Xiao Shiyi saw through the rearview mirror that at first she leaned against the window, then slowly shifted toward Yan Muyu.

 

Yan Muyu lowered her head slightly and, perhaps wanting Xu Weishuang to sleep better, sat upright and gently supported her with her right hand.

 

Xiao Shiyi drove even more cautiously, not daring to disturb the two in the back seat.

 

By the time they arrived at the hotel’s underground parking, Xu Weishuang had just woken up. She realized she was leaning against Yan Muyu. Seeing Yan Muyu’s expressionless face, she quickly straightened up and furrowed her brows.

 

Xiao Shiyi, unaware of the subtle tension, simply parked the car and reminded them they had arrived. Even upon parting at the hotel, she didn’t notice anything unusual.

 

Of course, there was nothing “unusual.” Yan Muyu was good at hiding her emotions, and Xu Weishuang only needed to stay cold and silent. No one would suspect a thing.

 

But once they were indoors, away from others’ eyes, the distance between them immediately widened—colder than strangers.

 

It was Yan Muyu who distanced herself. Once inside, she stopped smiling, changed clothes, and went straight into the bathroom without saying a word.

 

Xu Weishuang took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled, trying to calm the storm in her heart.

 

It didn’t work. She stared in the direction of the running water, recalling how Yan Muyu had gently touched her cheek during the scene—how familiar and foreign that kiss had felt.

 

It had just been acting. She was just still in character.

 

Xu Weishuang used that excuse to rationalize the swirling emotions in her chest. Part of her wanted to indulge her feelings for Yan Muyu. Another part kept warning her that she couldn’t afford to anymore.

 

She wasn’t someone who used to get this tangled up in emotions. But ever since the divorce, she kept getting trapped in these internal conflicts.

 

When Yan Muyu came out of the bathroom, her body still slightly damp, the room’s warm light cast a soft glow on her. Her makeup was removed, and droplets of water lingered on her face. She looked like a stunning beauty walking out of water.

 

Her gentle eyes were softer than usual—like a clear mountain stream, pure and inviting, drawing one in irresistibly.

 

Xu Weishuang stared, her heart sinking deeper, harder to escape from.

 

But Yan Muyu didn’t glance at her. She silently walked over to the vanity, picked up the hairdryer, and began drying her hair.

 

Xu Weishuang softened her voice and walked behind her, gently placing her hand over Yan Muyu’s and said, “Let me help you.”

 

Yan Muyu paused but didn’t turn around. She looked at Xu Weishuang through the mirror—her gaze gentle yet piercing, as if seeing straight through her.

 

Xu Weishuang knew she shouldn’t do this. She shouldn’t approach. She shouldn’t touch Yan Muyu. She shouldn’t feel so restless to be close to her.

 

It was just the character’s influence. Her longing for Yan Muyu was just a byproduct of her role—something she couldn’t control.

 

“I… want to run through lines for tomorrow’s scene,” she said, giving herself an excuse—something to make it easier.

 

But Yan Muyu didn’t reply right away. She just stared. So long that Xu Weishuang froze, even held her breath.

 

Xu Weishuang had thought Yan Muyu might refuse. After all, Yan Muyu wasn’t someone who got easily stuck in character. She could always draw a clear line between fiction and reality.

 

She wouldn’t get caught up in the role. She wouldn’t cling to the past.

 

Xu Weishuang pressed her lips together and didn’t speak again. Her expression grew colder.

 

She couldn’t take the atmosphere any longer. She turned to leave—but Yan Muyu suddenly said, “Are you mad at me?”

 

In the mirror, Yan Muyu tilted her head slightly, a playful smile tugging at her lips and eyes, voice soft like a lover teasing.

 

Xu Weishuang’s breath caught. It took her a moment to realize it was a line from the script.

 

“How could I bear to be mad at you?” Xu Weishuang turned back, gently took the hairdryer from Yan Muyu, and her expression softened.

 

It was the expression of the female detective she played. Xu Weishuang rarely looked this tender. Her fingers slid carefully through Yan Muyu’s hair, more delicate than even her gaze.

 

Yan Muyu watched her through the mirror, unmoving, eyes fixed.

 

They continued their lines, full of emotion—or maybe just surface-level performance.

 

But when Xu Weishuang got to the line “I’ve missed you so much”, she suddenly stopped.

 

The pause was too abrupt—clearly not part of the act.

 

Yan Muyu noticed, of course.

 

She also stopped, not picking up the next line.

 

She looked at Xu Weishuang, who remained still for a while, then slowly lowered her head and buried her face in Yan Muyu’s now-dry hair, hiding her expression.

 

“I’ve missed you so much,” she repeated quietly, voice barely audible, but Yan Muyu, just inches away, heard it.

 

Yan Muyu’s eyes shut tightly. Her knuckles clenched, staying tense for a long time.

 

Xu Weishuang didn’t lift her head. Her shallow breaths tickled the strands of hair. It wasn’t much—but enough to make Yan Muyu acutely aware.

 

And yet she couldn’t tell—was it the character who missed her so much, or Xu Weishuang, who had kept pushing her away?

 

“If you missed me so much, why haven’t you kissed me yet?” Yan Muyu smiled.

 

Rehearsing lines—it really was a good excuse. She clenched her fingers, knuckles aching, yet she still wore her character’s smile, pretending everything was normal as she delivered the scripted line.

 

But Xu Weishuang didn’t reply this time. She straightened up, put down the hairdryer, and looked down.

 

“Your hair’s dry.”

 

“I’m going to wash up.” Without waiting for a reply, she picked up her pajamas and walked into the bathroom.

 

She had initiated the scene, then suddenly ended it.

 

Yan Muyu rubbed her eyes, exhausted, and lay down on the bed.

 

The bedding still carried Xu Weishuang’s scent, but it brought no comfort. She reached over and turned on the small lamp by the bed, staring dazedly at the warm light.

 

She’d discovered that Xu Weishuang needed a bit of light to sleep one month into their marriage. Yan Muyu had been working nonstop, and one rare night home, she didn’t want intimacy—just to hold her and sleep.

 

Yan Muyu didn’t like light while sleeping. Her eyes had been sensitive for a while.

 

She turned the light off, and Xu Weishuang didn’t say anything. But throughout the night, Xu Weishuang kept waking—checking if she was still there.

 

After that, Yan Muyu developed the same habit. But they had so few peaceful moments that maybe Xu Weishuang never noticed.

 

Yan Muyu smiled faintly. Hearing the bathroom door open, she quickly hid the smile.

 

She lay in bed, eyes closed. Even if she wasn’t asleep, she pretended to be.

 

That’s how it had to be between them now.

 

That night, the two said nothing more.

 

The following days were the same.

 

But as the script progressed, their scenes became more intimate—until eventually, it was time to film the bed scene.

 

The script had made it clear long ago.

 

Director Tao didn’t like explicit scenes. He didn’t want actors revealing too much skin either. His focus was on capturing the atmosphere. Xu Weishuang and Yan Muyu only needed to perform suggestive, ambiguous movements.

 

Still, they had to bare their upper bodies somewhat. Tao was very respectful—he kept the set clear and covered anything the camera wouldn’t capture.

 

They lay there in bed, upper bodies exposed except for discreet stickers, the camera pointed at them, but everyone else had cleared out. Still, the pressure on their skin—every inch of their softness pressed together under the sheets—felt undeniably intimate.

 

Director Tao had them simply lie facing each other. The scene required emotional depth rather than explicit action. Yet even this was a test of control.

 

Yan Muyu gently brushed Xu Weishuang’s hair away from her face, her fingertips barely grazing the warmth of her skin. A flash of wet breath—half real, half scripted—hovered between them. Xu Weishuang’s heart thundered so loud she thought the microphone might pick it up.

 

They held their positions, but time felt suspended. Yan Muyu’s voice, low and trembling, spoke her line: “I’ve been thinking about you.”

 

Xu Weishuang closed her eyes, letting her head tumble backward slightly, letting the moment wash over her truthfully—and yet, remaining in character. She could feel tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, but didn’t blink. She needed to hold it.

 

Then came the final lines.

 

Yan Muyu softly repeated: “I want you with me.” Her voice cracked beautifully, perfectly blending character and something more.

 

Xu Weishuang answered, her own voice raw: “I’m here.”

 

That was the take. The silence afterward was immense. Neither moved.

 

Director Tao quietly said, “That’s it.” Not “Cut,” but enough.

 

They stayed like that for a moment—breathing, trembling. Then, finally, Yan Muyu dipped closer and kissed Xu Weishuang softly one last time before gently pulling away.

 

Xu Weishuang opened her eyes. They gazed at each other, something unspoken between them—a residue of all the lines, all the past, all that had and hadn’t been.

 

No one applauded. Nor did anyone speak. Everything was said.

 

Xu Weishuang could hardly avoid it.

 

Yan Muyu was above her, breath falling against her neck. She was supposed to show a mix of unbearable pleasure and desire, but her mind was completely blank.

 

No.

 

This wasn’t right.

 

She couldn’t go on like this.

 

She and Yan Muyu—this entanglement had to stop.

 

She feared she would want to keep Yan Muyu again, just like she had once forcibly held onto Liu Yuebai.

 

She didn’t want Yan Muyu to turn into another Liu Yuebai—driven to madness.

 

She didn’t want to be abandoned again.

 

Her instincts urged her to resist, but Yan Muyu had her wrists pinned down, rendering her motionless.

 

“I don’t want to shoot this scene too many times,” Yan Muyu whispered in her ear.

 

Xu Weishuang couldn’t grasp the true meaning behind her words—was she saying she didn’t want to film such scenes at all, or that she didn’t want this particular contact with Xu Weishuang?

 

Then why had Yan Muyu accepted this role?

 

Why bring them both to such an awkward, unbearable place?

 

They’d promised not to meet again, not to touch again. That would have been better for both of them. So why had Yan Muyu come back?

 

Why kiss her, press their skin together—why did it leave only Xu Weishuang shaken and restless?

 

Why did Yan Muyu remain unaffected?

 

A surge of anger rose within Xu Weishuang. She tilted her head up and stared at Yan Muyu—who always wore that perfectly controlled, fake expression.

 

Everything in her face was a lie. The woman in front of her was not the real Yan Muyu.

 

She remembered that chaotic night, when a shaken Yan Muyu had asked, “What gives you the right to decide which version of me is real?”

 

Yan Muyu’s lips pressed down.

 

The camera captured their intimacy, but it couldn’t see what happened under the sheets—the parts of their bodies exposed, rubbing and igniting heat between them—that was what truly overwhelmed Xu Weishuang.

 

She could come up with a hundred reasons to reject Yan Muyu, but her body’s desires were brutally honest.

 

Just like six years ago, her longing hadn’t changed.

 

What was her excuse this time?

 

Xu Weishuang couldn’t enter the role. Or rather, she simply couldn’t act right now. Luckily, this scene didn’t require anything more than raw emotion. Just existing in the moment was enough.

 

In truth, their movements weren’t all that explicit compared to their past intimacy. But Xu Weishuang’s desire had been stirred, and she feared letting it take control.

 

She was trapped between craving and rejection, like a wind chime by the window—swaying helplessly with the breeze.

 

She was a puppet, completely at the mercy of Yan Muyu’s presence.

 

“Xiao Xu, I need you to show more desire. Muyu, be more intense,” Director Tao called out from behind the camera, clearly dissatisfied.

 

Xu Weishuang exhaled heavily, her expression turning pained. This wasn’t easy for her.

 

Beneath the covers, she tightly gripped Yan Muyu—clinging to her as if it were the only way to stay grounded. But after a moment, she let go, as if intentionally avoiding her.

 

Yan Muyu, being so close, could feel all of Xu Weishuang’s hesitation.

 

In the past, she might have guided her through it. But now, with no relationship between them, if she did anything more, Xu Weishuang would probably only flinch away in fear.

 

Let it end quickly.

 

Yan Muyu didn’t want to film this type of scene either. At this point, it was nothing but torment for both of them.

 

Director Tao called “Action” again. Yan Muyu immediately reset her emotions. Her movements became stronger, more forceful, just as instructed. Xu Weishuang, beneath her, looked even more uncertain—on the verge of breaking character.

 

But then, Xu Weishuang suddenly went limp.

 

She stopped resisting, completely relaxing.

 

She wrapped her arms around Yan Muyu and revealed an expression they hadn’t seen since the days of their passion—a look that once only appeared when they made love.

 

Her eyes were filled with desire, pure and utterly captivating.

 

Yan Muyu’s heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t expected this. Her long-suppressed emotions surged uncontrollably. Her touch on Xu Weishuang became heavier without her realizing it.

 

Then she heard Xu Weishuang let out a soft moan.

 

That single sound ignited them both.

 

Xu Weishuang no longer held anything back. Just like the countless times they’d been intimate before, she gave herself fully to the moment, letting all her hunger and longing show.

 

Faced with this version of Xu Weishuang, even Yan Muyu’s self-control crumbled. She had been doing her best to stick to the script, to follow Director Tao’s guidance without stepping over the line.

 

But Xu Weishuang’s unreserved passion shattered her defenses.

 

She couldn’t help but deepen her touch, lingering on Xu Weishuang’s skin, savoring her warmth.

 

She wanted to call her name, wanted the person in front of her to mean more than just a character in a role.

 

But Xu Weishuang had once said she didn’t like that—she said it was all an act. Yan Muyu had later realized those words might have been a lie.

 

But even if it was a lie, she still had to let her go.

 

What else could she do to make Xu Weishuang stay?

 

Director Tao finally called “Cut,” praising them for their performance—so intense and invested.

 

Yan Muyu looked up, realizing it had all been just another scene.

 

They had no future. She’d foolishly held onto hope for six years.

 

Letting go of Xu Weishuang, she sat at the edge of the prop bed, worn out. For the first time, she no longer wanted to maintain her long-held facade in front of others.

 

She was exhausted.

 

Since Xu Weishuang had asked for the divorce, Yan Muyu hadn’t had a moment of peace.

 

Maybe Xu Weishuang had been right all along—they were never meant to be. Neither could save the other.

 

They shot a few extra takes to wrap things up. With that, the day’s scenes were done. They had time off early, but Xu Weishuang couldn’t shake the intensity of what had just happened.

 

She’d seen the look in Yan Muyu’s eyes—not something scripted, but a raw possessiveness that belonged only to her.

 

That was what made her resist.

 

That was also what excited her.

 

She wasn’t the only one struggling—Yan Muyu was suffering too.

 

If she moved closer again, if they connected once more, would Yan Muyu’s breath be as ragged, her desire as uncontrollable?

 

Over six years, they’d barely spoken of love, yet their bodies seemed to be carved into each other’s memory.

 

Only after the divorce had Xu Weishuang realized how deep her yearning for Yan Muyu truly was.

 

She had tried to suppress it. But the past days of filming had stirred it back up—and today’s scene had completely unleashed it.

 

Xu Weishuang no longer wanted to run.

 

She returned to the hotel with Yan Muyu, to the place where it was just the two of them behind closed doors.

 

Silence.

 

No one would interrupt them now.

 

Xu Weishuang reached out, pulled Yan Muyu toward her, her gaze bold and intense. Her sudden assertiveness caught Yan Muyu off guard—but she quickly steadied herself.

 

Xu Weishuang’s look was honest, unflinching. She boldly took Yan Muyu’s hand and placed it on her chest.

 

Yan Muyu felt the softness beneath her palm, her breath caught, eyelashes trembling. Her mind blanked.

 

There was no time to think—Xu Weishuang was already pressing closer. Her heartbeat pounded wildly beneath Yan Muyu’s fingers.

 

Just like her own.

 

They were the same.

 

“You…” Yan Muyu knew she shouldn’t dare hope—but everything happening right now, the heat of Xu Weishuang’s body, made it impossible not to.

 

She couldn’t think. The only thing growing in her heart was the wild hope that maybe…

 

Their eyes met—Xu Weishuang’s gaze burned with desire.

 

Yan Muyu instinctively tightened her grip on Xu Weishuang’s hand, anxiously, nervously waiting for her next words.

 

Xu Weishuang said, “I’ve been thinking about you.”

 

Yan Muyu’s mind flooded with joy.

 

She clutched Xu Weishuang tightly, wanting to say it back, to confess that she had never stopped longing for her either.

 

But Xu Weishuang wasn’t finished.

 

“I kept thinking this feeling might fade with time—that one day I’d forget completely.” Xu Weishuang lowered her eyes, her cool face tinged with fragility. “But the longer it went on, the stronger my craving became.”

 

“I’ve suppressed it, searched for reasons to make everything seem normal, but the moment I saw you again, I realized—it was all in vain.”

 

“The marks you left on me, in my heart and on my body… just the sight of you, the scent of you, and I completely lose control.”

 

“Every day, every night, I search for traces of you just to ease the ache in my chest.”

 

“Yan Muyu.” She whispered her name, each word dripping with passion.

 

Her voice was like chilled liquor—cool to the throat but setting the body aflame.

 

Yan Muyu took it all in.

 

She couldn’t hold back anymore.

 

Her chest tightened until it hurt. All she wanted was to kiss Xu Weishuang senseless, to finally pour out all the love she’d never been able to say.

 

“Yan Muyu,” Xu Weishuang whispered again, eyes lowered, fragile as shattered ice.

 

“Teach me…”

 

Yan Muyu’s breath hitched.

 

“Teach me—how to erase all these marks you left behind.”

 

Yan Muyu: “…”

 

She heard the words clearly.

 

Her eye twitched.

 

Her mind went blank.

 

Suddenly, everything darkened.

 

Even Xu Weishuang blurred—turned into mist, into something she could no longer clearly see.