Two Faced Lover - Chapter 47

47: Teaching

Bo Mingyan seemed to ignore Meng Xuran’s request as she shuffled slowly to the kitchen in her ugly slippers, casually placing her phone on the countertop.

All Meng Xuran could see was the stark white ceiling, the flower-shaped lampshade, and the blindingly bright light.

Before long, she heard the sound of water filling a cup, along with some faint rustling noises, though she couldn’t quite make out what was happening.

Meng Xuran felt a pang of regret. She should have installed cameras in every corner of the house.

Another series of crisp, tinkling sounds followed, like a spoon clinking against the sides of a cup. Unable to hold back, Meng Xuran spoke up: “Kitty, you—”

Before she could finish, Bo Mingyan cut her off: “You want me to meow, and I just should? Who do you think you are?”

If not for this remark, Meng Xuran might have thought Bo Mingyan had already forgotten about it. She had been waiting for Bo Mingyan to say something, waiting as the woman leisurely went about doing who-knows-what.

The little princess had spent half her lifetime’s patience just on this.

And what did she get in return? A flat-out refusal.

Meng Xuran laughed in exasperation: “Who do you think I am?”

Bo Mingyan stirred the water in her cup unhurriedly with a spoon, glanced at the phone on the counter, and picked it up. When she saw Meng Xuran’s face on the screen, a flicker of surprise and disbelief crossed her eyes, as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She abruptly brought the phone closer.

The chain on her glasses swayed as if it might slap Meng Xuran through the screen. Even at this close, unflattering angle, Bo Mingyan’s striking features remained undiminished—her cat-like eyes, high nose bridge, and full, crimson lips.

Meng Xuran lifted her gaze to meet Bo Mingyan’s, slowly blinking once.

“Meng… Jiaojiao…” Bo Mingyan paused ever so slightly.

The trailing tone seemed to linger on the tip of her tongue, wrapped in a warmth so tender it seeped through the faint static, burning into Meng Xuran’s ears and scorching her heart.

Meng Xuran’s heart skipped a beat.

“Have you been drinking too? Your face is so red.” Bo Mingyan raised the cup to the camera and asked, “Honey water, it sobers you up. You won’t have a headache tomorrow.”

So that’s what she had been making earlier.

For a moment, Meng Xuran almost doubted whether Bo Mingyan was actually drunk. After all, her steps weren’t unsteady, she held the phone perfectly still, and she even knew to make honey water to counter the alcohol.

But the next second, Bo Mingyan pressed the cup against the phone screen, tilting it slowly toward Meng Xuran’s lips.

Meng Xuran thought she was just showing off the honey water and played along: “I see it, I see it. Any more and it’ll spill.”

To her surprise, Bo Mingyan frowned, adopting a tone like a boss giving orders: “What good is just seeing it? Open your mouth. Drink!”

“…”

Meng Xuran inhaled sharply. Watching as the woman was about to pour honey water onto the screen, she couldn’t help but laugh helplessly: “I didn’t drink. You have it.”

Bo Mingyan paused, her frown deepening as she chided irritably: “Should’ve said so earlier.”

Meng Xuran stared silently at the screen, relieved as Bo Mingyan finally righted the cup. Under her breath, she murmured: “You really are drunk.”

“Am not.” Bo Mingyan’s ears were sharp.

She sipped her water leisurely, her gaze flickering up to the camera before drifting away, no longer looking directly at it.

From Meng Xuran’s perspective, Bo Mingyan’s face was slightly tilted, her jawline exquisitely defined. Her high nose bridge was half-hidden behind the hammered-glass cup, her eyes half-lidded, her gaze fixed on some distant point. A faint, cold aloofness clung to her features, the kind that felt untouchable, as if she were worlds away from the warmth of ordinary life.

Even drunk, she walked steadily and denied being intoxicated—because a woman alone must always be on guard, never revealing vulnerability that others might exploit. Even drunk, she knew to make honey water for herself—because no one else would take such meticulous care of her.

The thought sent a sharp pang through Meng Xuran’s heart. Her fingers clenched unconsciously, nails digging into her palms.

After finishing the honey water, Bo Mingyan carried the phone to the living room and settled onto the sofa. Finding it tiresome to hold the phone, she retrieved a phone stand from the coffee table drawer and propped it up.

The stand belonged to Meng Xuran, who used it during video calls with her family. The pampered princess couldn’t be bothered to hold her phone for long, so she’d bought an adjustable stand. Bo Mingyan had seen her take it out twice.

Once the phone was secured, Bo Mingyan curled up on the sofa, pulling a cushion into her arms.

Just as she adjusted her position to ensure Meng Xuran could see her clearly, Xiaoman leaped onto the back of the sofa, carefully maneuvering into the narrow space between Bo Mingyan’s shoulder and the couch. Its fluffy tail draped over her shoulder like a luxurious fur stole, the deep black accentuating the fairness of her neck.

Bo Mingyan buried half her face in the cushion, leaving only her eyes visible, which narrowed slightly. Beside her cheek, Xiaoman’s tail occasionally twitched, swaying slowly in the air with a tantalizing rhythm.

At this moment, Bo Mingyan resembled a bewitching, tamed cat—languid, alluring, and unexpectedly docile.

It made Meng Xuran want to tease her.

Softly, she coaxed: “Kitty, meow for me again, won’t you?”

Bo Mingyan’s thin eyelids lifted slightly, her deep gaze peering through her lashes at the camera. “Alright.”

Even her voice carried a lazy lilt.

“Meow~”

This sound didn’t come from Bo Mingyan—it was Xiaoman, perched behind her.

Meng Xuran bit her lower lip, shooting a glare at Xiaoman through the screen. If not for the fact that you keep Manman company, I’d lock you up!

Just as the thought crossed her mind, Bo Mingyan’s low voice asked: “Why aren’t you meowing yet?”

Meng Xuran froze, her eyes snapping back to Bo Mingyan’s face. “What?”

“Didn’t you want to meow?” Bo Mingyan met her gaze briefly before lowering her eyes again, her slender fingers idly poking the cushion. “I’ve been waiting forever.”

“Me? You…” Meng Xuran couldn’t keep up with the drunken Bo Mingyan’s train of thought. “You’re waiting for me? To meow what?”

Bo Mingyan seemed stumped by the question, tilting her head in thought.

Meng Xuran wasn’t in a hurry, patiently waiting.

After a long pause, Bo Mingyan let out a soft “Ah.” She flipped the cushion onto her lap, leaned forward, propped her elbows on it, and rested her cheek in her palm, staring intently at Meng Xuran on the screen.

“Bed.”

At the same time, Xiaoman—dislodged from her shoulder by the movement—landed on the sofa with a series of indignant meows.

Meng Xuran didn’t catch the word Bo Mingyan had uttered. Judging by her lips, it seemed improbable. “…What did you say?”

Bo Mingyan was about to repeat herself when it suddenly struck her that the term wasn’t elegant enough for the refined, delicate Meng Xuran.

So the two words rolled on her tongue and slipped past her lips with a different phrasing: “A moan.”

“…”

Alcohol made one thirsty. After speaking, Bo Mingyan instinctively licked her dry lips.

The combination of those words and the sight of her tongue gliding over her lips instantly suffused the air with an indecent ambiguity.

Meng Xuran’s eyes absorbed it all, her ears burned, and her face flushed crimson.

Even through the screen, it was unmistakable.

Bo Mingyan blinked slowly. Though alcohol didn’t redden her face, she couldn’t stop the blush creeping up her neck. She leaned back, lifting the cushion to cover her entire face.

So cute!

Seeing Bo Mingyan like this was rare. Meng Xuran, momentarily forgetting her own embarrassment, stared wide-eyed.

“Bo Manman, are you really drunk?” Meng Xuran murmured.

If she weren’t drunk, how could she say such things with a straight face?

If she were drunk, why was she still shy, still hiding behind a cushion?

Bo Mingyan tugged the cushion down just enough to reveal her beautiful, deep eyes. Meeting Meng Xuran’s gaze, she countered: “Are you sure you didn’t drink?”

As if to prove her point, she added, “You’re tipsy.”

“…” Meng Xuran enunciated each word: “No. I’m. Not. And that’s not called being tipsy—it’s called blushing.”

Bo Mingyan let out an “Oh,” as if filing away the information. After a pause, she said: “I have, but I don’t blush.”

“I can tell you have, I was the one who asked you to meow.” Meng Xuran grumbled. “But here you are, turning the tables.”

Bo Mingyan drew out another “Ohhh.” Propping her cheek on one hand, she furrowed her brows, deep in thought. “I don’t know how.”

She’d meowed so effortlessly earlier—now she suddenly didn’t know how? Before Meng Xuran could call her out, Bo Mingyan’s eyes flicked back to the camera.

“Will you teach me?”

Bo Mingyan’s husky voice was like a wind slipping through the corridor.

The words plucked at Meng Xuran’s thoughts, and she suddenly realized—Bo Mingyan wasn’t on the same page. While Meng Xuran meant a cat’s meow, Bo Mingyan was still stuck on moaning.

Meng Xuran rubbed her increasingly warm cheeks, then grabbed the teacup beside her and gulped down two large mouthfuls of cold water.

It was water, not wine.

Water doesn’t intoxicate—people intoxicate themselves.

She was truly on the verge of losing her head.

A bold idea flashed through Meng Xuran’s mind—

She suddenly wanted to cast aside all embarrassment and moan for Bo Mingyan again. This time, they weren’t in a bar, and there were no bystanders—just the two of them.

She wanted to see how the utterly honest, drunken Bo Mingyan would react. Would she be enticed? Would she, even for a moment, let her icy exterior crack and reveal a hint of infatuation or loss of control?

She also wanted to take advantage of Bo Mingyan’s drunkenness, consequences be damned.

Right now, she would coax Bo Mingyan into learning, into showing her more facets, into producing even more mesmerizing sounds.

The more she suppressed the urge, the wilder it grew.

“Jiaojiao, you’re so good at it.” Bo Mingyan drawled. “Won’t you really teach me?”

Meng Xuran felt the thread of her sanity snap. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, her amber eyes brimmed with unconcealed longing. “Then bring the phone closer.”

Bo Mingyan obediently lifted the phone from the stand, shifting to lie on her stomach on the sofa, a cushion tucked under her chest. She held the phone up to her face. “Done.”

Staring at Bo Mingyan’s face, now impossibly close on the screen, Meng Xuran opened her mouth—then deflated.

Though she wasn’t a reserved person, the intensity of their locked gazes made shame surge from the depths of her bones.

Meng Xuran pressed her lips together. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“…” Bo Mingyan closed her eyes.

An indeterminable length of time passed—maybe seconds, maybe minutes. Just as Bo Mingyan was about to open her eyes, the quiet room was pierced by a soft, breathy moan:

“Haah… Mmnn… Manman—”

Every pore in her body tingled uncontrollably. Her heart pounded like a drum, each beat faster and hotter than the last, as if it might burn through her chest and leap out—

Bo Mingyan’s eyes flew open, the gray-green in them darkening.

Meng Xuran, caught off guard, was instantly swamped by embarrassment. All the flirtatious words she’d prepared vanished. With a short gasp, she buried her face in her arms, completely forgetting her plan to observe Bo Mingyan’s reaction.

Neither spoke. They listened to each other’s heartbeats.

The silence stretched.

Meng Xuran’s muffled voice finally broke it: “You promised not to look.”

Bo Mingyan was quiet for a moment before relaxing, resting her chin on her forearm. “It was beautiful.”

“…” Meng Xuran felt her face burning. She lifted her head slightly, her eyes shimmering, the corners tinged pink like blooming peach blossoms. “I taught you, did you learn?”

Bo Mingyan let out a soft “Mmm.”

Meng Xuran raised her face further. “Then let me hear how well you’ve learned.”

Bo Mingyan rolled onto her side, lounging lazily, propping her head on one hand. Her gaze slanted toward the camera with a queenly air.

The phone shifted with her movement. On the screen, Meng Xuran saw the faintest curl of Bo Mingyan’s lips—a look of sheer seduction.

“You want to hear it?” Her voice was soft, as if drowsy, barely there yet drawn out. “I only perform in person.”

Meng Xuran wanted to throw her phone.

“Come back soon, Jiaojiao.”

Author’s Note: You two really know how to play.