Two Faced Lover - Chapter 37

37: Closer

Bo Mingyan wore a set of pure black loungewear—a shirt-style top made of soft, draping cotton that subtly outlined her figure despite its loose fit. Her hair had grown much longer, now past her shoulders, resting against the curve of her back, the ends still slightly damp and darkening the fabric beneath.

Meng Xuran glanced over and reminded her, “If you don’t dry your hair properly, you’ll get a headache.”

“It’s fine. I don’t get headaches. It’ll dry soon.”

Bo Mingyan bent down to set the glass in her hand on the table, then picked up the kettle to pour water into it. The collar of her shirt shifted, revealing a glimpse of smooth, snow-white skin beneath her collarbones, almost dazzlingly pale.

Without her glasses, her sharp, delicate features stood out even more against her fair, slightly flushed complexion—heart-stoppingly so.

Meng Xuran stared for a few seconds before slowly looking away, murmuring, “So nice.”

“What’s nice?” Bo Mingyan asked, baffled. She straightened up, sipping from her glass. “Do you get headaches if you don’t dry your hair?”

Meng Xuran sat up, sweeping the disheveled hair from her chest over her shoulders. “Mhm,” she said, then began counting off on her fingers, “Not drying my hair, sudden weather changes, skipping meals, not eating enough, and…”

She paused, staring at her fingers as if trying to recall more, then added, “Extreme heat or humidity can also trigger it. At its worst, I can’t even get out of bed.”

Not only did she have the temperament of a princess, but her body was just as delicate. Bo Mingyan was starting to think the nickname “Jiaojiao” (娇娇, “delicate”) suited her perfectly.

“Is it the kind of pain where you feel like your nerves are throbbing?” Bo Mingyan asked.

“Yes, exactly!” Meng Xuran eyed her curiously. “I thought you said you don’t get headaches. How’d you describe it so accurately?”

“I only get them when I have a fever. It feels like my head’s being crushed, my brain stuffed with lead, nerves pulsing—it’s awful.” Bo Mingyan paused, taking another sip of water before continuing nostalgically, “When I was little, the pain would make me cry. My dad, this big, rough man, would panic seeing me like that.”

Thinking of those memories, the usual sharpness in Bo Mingyan’s smoky gray eyes softened, as if veiled in a light mist.

She remembered how frail she’d been as a child, falling ill every winter. Back then, both Bo Weize and Lin Huixin would stay by her side, worried. When the pain became unbearable, she’d wail in bed, and Bo Weize would patiently soothe her, gently massaging her head, pressing the fleshy part between her thumb and index finger, even singing off-key lullabies.

Even Lin Huixin, during those times, would indulge her cravings, asking the housekeeper to buy whatever she wanted, brewing ginger tea and coaxing her to drink it softly.

Once she recovered, Bo Weize would personally stew her pigeon soup with gastrodia elata, make her desserts, and when she was fully well, the three of them would go to the amusement park together…

So, while her father was alive, being sick meant being doted on by both parents, the whole family happy together. When the sweetness outweighed the bitterness, only the sweetness lingered in memory.

But later, she endured it all alone, gritting her teeth until she grew accustomed. And in that process, the pain—mixed with helplessness—felt magnified tenfold, carving itself deeper into her mind with each recurrence.

“I can’t even imagine what you look like crying.” Meng Xuran said, watching the faint smile fade from Bo Mingyan’s eyes. A needle-like ache pricked her heart. She tightened her grip on the Switch. “Probably pretty ugly. You look much better when you smile.”

Bo Mingyan: “…”

This was the first time someone had called her ugly. The novelty of it left her torn between amusement and exasperation. An involuntary sound escaped her—a mix of a scoff and a soft laugh.

Meng Xuran’s ears perked up. She immediately turned, catching the faint curve of Bo Mingyan’s lips, and exclaimed like she’d discovered a new continent, “See! So beautiful~”

Bo Mingyan blinked slowly, lowering her head as more laughter crept into her eyes.

“Meow~” Xiao Man stretched, chiming in with a drawn-out, almost musical cry.

Meng Xuran scratched the cat’s head, her own smile brightening. “See? Even Xiao Man thinks you’re beautiful when you smile.”

“…”

“Beautiful” wasn’t new to her ears, but coming from Meng Xuran, it carried the same odd weight as “ugly” had earlier—as if the word was trying to burrow past her ears and into her heart, leaving a faint itch.

Bo Mingyan tucked a loose strand behind her ear, fingertips brushing the shell lightly. She tilted her head back for another sip of water, the warmth soothing her dry throat before steering the conversation back. “Have you seen a doctor about the headaches?”

“Yeah. It’s cranial nerve spasms. The only ‘cure’ is cracking my skull open, but the success rate’s too low.” Meng Xuran shrugged, fiddling with her Switch. “And my head’s too pretty to risk messing up. I’m used to it anyway.”

The more nonchalant she sounded, the more Bo Mingyan knew the suffering behind it. She was all too familiar with that state—so much so that she couldn’t tell if the sudden ache in her chest was for herself or for Meng Xuran.

Thinking of a college roommate who’d had hereditary migraines, Bo Mingyan asked, “Is it genetic?”

“No. When I was little—” Meng Xuran’s brows twitched, but before she could continue, her phone vibrated twice on the table.

Snapping out of her thoughts, she picked it up. A message from the marketing director.

Bo Mingyan traced the hammered texture on her glass, watching Meng Xuran type a reply. Earlier, she’d noticed how Meng Xuran had immediately set her phone aside to grab the Switch when she entered the room, only to abandon the game again for her phone now. It reminded her of the female DJ from Lu Yo’s bar inviting Meng Xuran to play games yesterday.

The interruption cooled the earlier warmth between them.

The water in her glass had gone lukewarm. Bo Mingyan drained the last of it in one go.

After replying to the message, Meng Xuran didn’t return to their previous topic, and Bo Mingyan didn’t press. She refilled the kettle, and when she returned, Meng Xuran had set the Switch aside, leaning over the arm of the sofa to pat the massage chair beside her. “Didn’t you want to use this? I’ll show you the controls.”

Bo Mingyan plugged the kettle back in and took a seat in the massage chair.

Meng Xuran left her Switch and phone nearby, shifting her entire upper body over the sofa arm to get closer. She reached for the remote tucked into the side of the chair.

Her robe, already loosely tied, gaped further with the movement, the silky black hair spilling over her chest doing little to hide the soft curves beneath.

Bo Mingyan’s throat, still chilled from the cold water, tingled faintly. She swallowed twice, her long lashes fluttering as she averted her gaze—only for it to land on Meng Xuran’s Switch. Her brows furrowed slightly.

“Come closer.” Meng Xuran suddenly said.

Bo Mingyan obliged, leaning sideways over the armrest to narrow the distance between them.

Meng Xuran handed her the remote.

The top had the power button and a small screen, followed by rows of buttons. The middle section had clearly labeled modes, but the icons below were crammed together, the text tiny.

Meng Xuran pointed to each, explaining, “This row’s for massage styles—kneading, tapping, kneading-tapping combo, acupressure, shiatsu. I prefer kneading at medium intensity; it’s perfect. Shiatsu’s too painful. Below that’s intensity, speed, and air pressure adjustment. You can target specific areas or choose a range—just check the screen. Air pressure can focus on shoulders, arms, or legs. The bottom buttons adjust intensity, and there’s heating for legs and lower back.”

As she spoke, both of them—Bo Mingyan to see better, Meng Xuran to demonstrate—leaned in unconsciously, their proximity shrinking with each word.

By the time she reached the heating function, Meng Xuran was practically whispering, “After all that skating yesterday, you should try the leg heating. Lower back too. Promotes circulation—so comfortable~”

She drew out the last word, her voice like a babbling brook, so enticing it made the experience sound heavenly.

It was a bit much.

Bo Mingyan smirked. “How comfortable?”

Her tone dripped with skepticism.

The massage chair and sofa were at different heights. As Bo Mingyan turned slightly toward Meng Xuran, her gaze inadvertently met hers—

Like a spring breeze carrying peach blossoms, mesmerizing.

The air stilled for a second.

The kettle clicked off, the water boiled.

“How comfortable…” Meng Xuran’s eyes burned with something deep and thick, her usually clear voice dropping lower. “You’ll know when you try.”

The last syllable faded softly, leaving a suggestive aftertaste.

“……” Bo Mingyan straightened up and gave an “Mmm” in response, facing forward without glancing sideways.

“Are you trying to activate the massage chair with your mind?”

Meng Xuran propped herself up, leaned closer, and pressed the remote into Bo Mingyan’s hand.

As their hands brushed against each other, Meng Xuran’s fingertips slowly grazed her palm—warm, tingling, fleeting. Clutching the remote, Bo Mingyan stayed silent. Only after a long pause did she press the start button.

Author’s Note:

Meng Xuran: Actually, my wife looks beautiful when she cries too!

Bo Mingyan: You’ve seen me cry?

Meng Xuran: Not yet, but… wouldn’t it be nice to find out?