Two Faced Lover - Chapter 38

38: The Bet

Meng Xuran’s phone buzzed twice again on the sofa, the massage chair hummed to life, and though the fashion show’s background music on TV was kept low, it played on uninterrupted. At some point, Xiao Man had trotted over to his food bowl, crunching the kibble loudly.

The cacophony of sounds only accentuated the silence between them.

As the massage chair adjusted its pressure to Bo Mingyan’s body shape and reclined slowly, leveling with the sofa, Bo Mingyan’s gaze drifted sideways toward Meng Xuran.

The L-shaped sofa placed Meng Xuran in the corner closest to her. After replying to the sales director’s message, she picked up her Switch again.

Leaning back against the leather cushion, she stretched her legs out, crossing them lazily.

Her legs were beautifully shaped—slender, fair, perfectly proportioned. Her feet dangled over the sofa’s edge, the tops like smooth jade. The upper foot swayed idly, its pink-polished toes occasionally bumping against the lower one, making it twitch adorably.

Meng Xuran played half heartedly, messing up all the in-game orders. The Switch vibrated incessantly with error alerts, numbing her fingers—

But not as much as the tingling in her chest.

Her mind kept replaying that look Bo Mingyan had given her earlier—amused, tender, and then… unreadable.

Like a lake deep enough to drown in.

Only when her phone buzzed again did she snap out of it. Shooting the device a glare, she snatched it up irritably. Seeing yet another work-related mess demanding her attention late at night, her face flushed with anger as she typed furiously.

Bo Mingyan watched as Meng Xuran alternated between gaming and texting, occasionally propping her elbow on the armrest, lost in thought.

From Bo Mingyan’s angle, she could only see the back of Meng Xuran’s head when she turned. Facing forward again, she stared at the crystal chandelier on the ceiling.

Suddenly, even the eye-comfort lighting seemed too harsh.

As the massage session ended and the chair uprighted itself, Bo Mingyan stole a glance at Meng Xuran—still gaming, brows slightly furrowed in concentration, her fair cheeks tinged pink.

Having so much fun with that DJ? Excited enough to blush?

Bo Mingyan asked casually, “What game are you playing?”

Meng Xuransighed dramatically after another failed level. “Overcooked.”

Bo Mingyan stood, probing further, “With… that person?”

“That person? Who?” Meng Xuranlooked up, confused.

“Who else?” Bo Mingyan frowned, unable to recall the DJ’s name.

She assumed Meng Xuran would understand. If not, it meant her gaming circle extended beyond just that DJ—but given Meng Xuran’s personality, she’d have outright rejected the DJ’s friend request if she had plenty of gaming buddies.

Yet when Bo Mingyan circled the coffee table to pour water, she found Meng Xuranstill blinking at her blankly. Bo Mingyan’s eyebrow twitched. “Is there another who?”

Meng Xuran: “…Are we doing tongue twisters now?”

Bo Mingyan: “…No.”

They stared at each other, mutual bewilderment reflected in their eyes.

Then Meng Xuran brightened. “Oh! You mean Chen Feifei?”

Bo Mingyan frowned. “Who’s Chen Feifei?”

“The DJ from Sister Lu’s bar.”

“Ah.” Bo Mingyan said. “Yes, her.”

Meng Xuran huffed. “How do you not even remember her name?”

Made me brainstorm for ages.

“Need I?” Bo Mingyan lowered her lashes. “I’m not adding her to play games.”

Meng Xuran studied her thoughtfully.

Bo Mingyan hid behind her glass, already regretting her words—they’d sounded oddly tart.

Just as she chastised herself, Meng Xuran announced, “I deleted Chen Feifei.”

Bo Mingyan paused mid-sip. “Why?”

Meng Xuran pursed her lips. “She curses during games.”

Bo Mingyan’s brow creased.

“I mean, this game does get frustrating,” Meng Xuran touched her earlobe, tilting her chin up disdainfully. “But I can’t stand foul-mouthed people. My ears are too refined for that.”

That was only half the truth. What she didn’t mention was how Chen Feifei, after learning her sexuality, kept probing about her relationship with Bo Mingyan—like poking at an open wound. Annoyed, Meng Xuran had promptly blocked her.

Bo Mingyan’s expression softened, but she remained silent, gaze downcast.

The room lapsed into quiet again.

Meng Xuran, unnerved by her reaction—first questioning, now silence—felt a flicker of panic. Her haughty demeanor wavered. “Will deleting her cause issues for Sister Lu or you?”

“Hm?” Bo Mingyan didn’t follow. “What issues?”

Meng Xuran bit her lip. “She’s Sister Lu’s employee, and they seem close. If we hang out again, Sister Lu might get caught in the middle. And since you’re good friends with her, you’d be stuck too… then you wouldn’t bring me along anymore.”

Post-deletion, Meng Xuran had briefly regretted it—what if this meant no more outings with Bo Mingyan?

But pride prevailed. Unblocking Chen Feifei was out of the question.

Who’d have thought the aloof President Meng just wants to play? Amused, Bo Mingyan chuckled softly, teasing, “Even if I don’t bring you, you can play with others.”

“What others?” Meng Xuran muttered.

“Don’t you have other friends?”

“No.”

Bo Mingyan doubted it. “Hard to believe. People gravitate toward the exceptional—someone like you wouldn’t lack friends.”

In her eyes, Meng Xuran was stunning, accomplished, effortlessly charismatic—a natural magnet.

“Haven’t you heard?” Meng Xuran paused dramatically, waiting until Bo Mingyan looked over before singing cheerfully. (“How lonely~ it is to be invincible~”)

Bo Mingyan choked on her water, turning away to cough into her hand—hiding a smile.

“Besides,” Meng Xuran traced the cat-paw keycaps on her controller, her voice softening, “I only want to play with you.”

Bo Mingyan, just recovering, missed it. “Play what?”

“You.” Meng Xuran lifted her gaze, emotions surging dangerously close to the surface. Her throat felt dry from talking; she reached for the kettle, pouring water before adding, “What do you think?”

The pause was deliberate, lacing the air.

As the water filled the cup, Xiao Man—asleep on the TV console—rolled off with a thud. The cat landed gracefully, but the sound startled Bo Mingyan’s already racing heart.

Meng Xuran drank from her oversized mug, hiding half her face. “So? Will it cause trouble?”

Her voice came out muffled.

“No. It’s not your fault, and Sister Lu isn’t the type to drag third parties into disputes.” Bo Mingyan recalled Meng Xuran’s earlier concern and added, “Besides, I’m your employee. Our relationship is closer.”

By all logic, she’d side with Meng Xuran.

Setting the mug down, Meng Xuran shot her a watery glare, threatening weakly, “Exactly. Side with Chen Feifei, and I’ll make your work life hell.”

Bo Mingyan’s gaze swept over her. “Would you?”

Of course not. Meng Xuran had always prided herself on professionalism. “Tch,” she lied, “Try me and find out.”

The phrasing reminded Bo Mingyan of Meng Xuran’s earlier “How comfortable? Try and see.” She froze momentarily before heading to the kitchen to refill the kettle. Behind her, Meng Xuran called, “There’s a brown tea canister with aged tangerine peel tea on the snack shelf. Bring the teapot too.”

When Bo Mingyan returned, Meng Xuran was slicing the cake, humming a cheerful tune.

Without looking up, she said, “Come eat~”

The teapot bubbled with the citrusy aroma of aged tangerine peel blended with earthy pu’er. The cake, perfectly balanced in sweetness, paired wonderfully with the tea.

The variety show Meng Xuran had picked, however, was mediocre—so much so that Bo Mingyan actually agreed with her critiques.

Meng Xuran eyed her in surprise before setting her plate down. “Want to play with me?”

“I don’t know how.”

“It’s easy.”

Meng Xuran stood, wincing slightly—her right hip still ached from the fall, though bearably. She fetched two controllers from the TV console, handing one to Bo Mingyan. “I’ve got five main levels left. Help me?”

Bo Mingyan had gamed to cope during tough times. Curious about this one, she accepted. “How many levels total?”

“Six main levels, each with six sub-levels.”

“And this is ‘easy’?”

“It’s not hard.”

From “easy” to “not hard” in seconds.

Bo Mingyan suddenly found the controller uncomfortably warm—until Meng Xuran took it back to sync it, leaving her feeling oddly empty. Half a minute later, the controller was returned.

Her emotions had just ridden a roller coaster.

“Complete orders within the time limit. Solo’s tough, but with teamwork, it’s manageable.” Meng Xuran navigated the menu. “Pick a character—you’re blue.”

On-screen, two cartoon chefs (one red, one blue) stood in a food truck. Bo Mingyan cycled through avatars, first choosing a box-headed one.

Meng Xuran matched it. “Fitting. Square and stiff—just like you.”

“…” Bo Mingyan switched to a wheelchair user.

Meng Xuran followed suit. “Cooking with broken legs—such perseverance.”

“…” Next, a panda.

Meng Xuran: “Never thought our national treasure would be reduced to kitchen labor.”

Bo Mingyan exhaled sharply, scrolling until landing on a grandma avatar. Meng Xuran stayed silent. So she likes this one?

Thus, two little old ladies (one red, one blue) became their in-game selves.

The premise was simple: follow order prompts, gather ingredients, chop, cook (steam/boil/fry/bake), plate, and serve—all while washing limited dishes. Earn the target amount within the time limit to pass.

But coordination was everything.

Even their methodical natures couldn’t prevent chaos.

“Don’t come over—just toss the veggies across the river,” Meng Xuran instructed.

The moment Bo Mingyan’s blue granny threw the chopped veggies, she promptly walked into the water.

Meng Xuran: “…”

Bo Mingyan expertly threw another batch into the pan. “Watch the fire.”

Cue Meng Xuran’s red granny sprinting in circles: “AAAAH! FIRE EXTINGUISHER WHERE?!”

Bo Mingyan: “…”

As Bo Mingyan improved, Meng Xuran—exhausted from playing all afternoon—slowed down. Bo Mingyan took over most tasks: “I’ll handle this. You just fetch ingredients.”

Reduced to a fetch quest, Meng Xuran sulked, moving her avatar sluggishly.

When Bo Mingyan tried to deliver a completed dish, she collided with a despondent Meng Xuran, accidentally handing her the plate.

Cue Bo Mingyan’s granny spinning in confusion: “Where’s my dish?!”

“Getting dementia before you’re even old,” Meng Xuran quipped, serving the dish triumphantly before smirking at Bo Mingyan. “See? You need me, madam~”

In Nanquan dialect, “madam” could mean grandma—or wife.

Their eyes met.

The subtext hung heavy.

Bo Mingyan’s lashes fluttered before she turned away. “…We timed out.”

“…” Meng Xuran’s face fell instantly.

Bo Mingyan glanced at her, then laughed softly.

Pouting, Meng Xuran didn’t restart. The screen showed they’d earned 58 coins short of the goal.

Bo Mingyan sobered. “We do need you. We’d earn less otherwise.”

Meng Xuran perked up.

Before the next attempt, Bo Mingyan proposed, “Let’s make a bet.”

Meng Xuran, surprised that the reserved Bo Mingyan would suggest this, grinned. “On whether we’ll pass? Just 58 coins—we’ve got this.”

She paused. “Unless it’s not that simple?”

“On whether we’ll three-star it.”

“You think we can?”

“With motivation, yes.” Bo Mingyan pressed, “Bet or not?”

Meng Xuran’s eyes gleamed. “What’s the wager?”

Bo Mingyan had only suggested it to cheer her up. “Haven’t decided.”

“Tch.” Meng Xuran leaned in. “Won’t be motivating if it’s not exciting.”

“Then you pick.”

Meng Xuran tapped her chin thoughtfully.

Xiao Man, having napped somewhere, suddenly appeared, meowing and eyeing the leftover cake. Meng Xuran scooped him up while Bo Mingyan packed the cake away.

Deprived of dessert, Xiao Man pawed at the box before grumpily retreating to his kibble. Meng Xuran, exasperated by his complaints, opened a can of wet food.

Just as Bo Mingyan assumed the bet was forgotten, Meng Xuran returned, declaring, “I’ve got it.”

“Hm?”

Bo Mingyan looked up from her tea.

Meng Xuran sat close, her voice barely above a whisper. “Call me ‘Meng Jiaojiao’ again.”

Heat crawled up Bo Mingyan’s neck to her ears. Her grip on the teacup tightened—her palms were slightly damp from the game’s intensity.

The steaming tea fogged her vision.

“This doesn’t seem like a motivating wager for me,” she murmured.

Meng Xuran pressed her lips together before deflecting, “You told me to pick.”

“…” Bo Mingyan had no rebuttal.

Meng Xuran added fairly, “Then you name your terms too.”

Bo Mingyan studied her tea—the dark amber hue resembled Meng Xuran’s eyes, her own reflection floating on its surface. Slowly, she nodded. “Then you call me it too.”

“Huh?” Meng Xuran blinked. “Call you what?”

“Call me…” A cool breeze slipped through the half-open window, dissipating the warmth around them. Bo Mingyan shivered, snapping out of it. “…Sister.”

Meng Xuran beamed. “Deal.”

Bo Mingyan set her cup down, picking up the controller. The cool plastic soothed her heated fingertips, steadying her thoughts.

Passing was easy; three stars were brutal. Especially when Bo Mingyan struggled to focus. By the time she found her rhythm, Meng Xuran was hitting her limit—nauseous and ready to snap the game card in half if not for the tantalizing bet.

Their final attempt fell 12 coins short of three stars—thanks to Meng Xuran’s wrong order.

Her composure shattered. Tears spilled over like beads, streaking her cheeks as she bit her lip to stifle sobs, her nose reddening, shoulders shaking.

Bo Mingyan’s heart ached. “Let’s stop. We’ll try another time.”

“No! I’m not wasting these tears!” Meng Xuran sniffled, peering at her. “Are you too tired?”

It was 3 AM.

“No.” Bo Mingyan handed her tissues. “Dry your tears first if we continue.”

Meng Xuran dabbed at her face, grumbling, “Stupid game! Why’s it so hard?! You couldn’t have bet on two stars? And don’t call me ‘Jiaojiao’ now—it’s too late. I’m winning.”

Bo Mingyan: “I didn’t say anything.”

Meng Xuran glared, crying harder.

Under the warm lighting, her fluffy hair made her look like a disheveled lion cub.

Bo Mingyan’s fingers twitched with the urge to ruffle it. But Meng Xuran straightened abruptly. “Let’s go!”

Bo Mingyan sighed imperceptibly.

Meng Xuran had envisioned countless three-star victory scenarios—down to the exact tone she’d use to call Bo Mingyan “Sister.”

She never expected they’d play until 4 AM, her exhaustion and puffy eyes blurring reality. She couldn’t recall if Bo Mingyan had called her “Jiaojiao” multiple times—was it a dream?

The only clear memory was her throwing a tantrum, refusing to move from the sofa before passing out wrapped in a blanket.

Yet when she woke near noon, it was to the familiar ceiling of her own bedroom.

Meng Xuran stared blankly.

How did I get here?