Two Faced Lover - Chapter 5

5: Crybaby

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‎After showering, Bo Mingyan tossed her clothes into the washer-dryer combo, browsed fashion updates in her room until the cycle finished, then stepped out.
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‎A wave of cool air hit her—even chillier than indoors.
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‎Muffled voices drifted from the living room.
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‎”They’re deliberately making things hard for me, thinking I’m easy to push around… I didn’t even get dinner, they ate all the good stuff without me, wuu…”
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‎The nasal drawl carried thick sobs.
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‎To avoid awkwardness, Bo Mingyan pivoted toward the kitchen.
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‎In the living room, Meng Xuran sat at the dining table with instant noodles, wearing headphones.
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‎Fu Junxue’s coaxing voice came through: “Stop crying, I’ll treat you to dinner this weekend.”
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‎”I don’t want dinner, I want proper dishes.”
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‎”…”
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‎Hanging up, Meng Xuran instinctively glanced toward the kitchen.
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‎Noticing the removed headphones, Bo Mingyan emerged with a water glass.
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‎Under the light, tear tracks glistened on Meng Xuran’s fair cheeks, her eyes rimmed red.
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‎When their gazes met, Meng Xuran hiccuped.
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‎The sound was unmistakable in the quiet apartment.
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‎The same person who remained stern-faced at work now whimpered pitifully to family at home.
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‎Even crying herself into hiccups.
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‎Amused but too polite to show it, Bo Mingyan kept her expression neutral.
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‎Meng Xuran’s round eyes glared. “What? Never seen someone cry or hiccup before—”
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‎Another hiccup cut her off.
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‎Fair-skinned, her flush stood out vividly from collarbones to earlobes. Bo Mingyan fought harder not to laugh.
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‎The sharp tone dissolved her restraint. “Never seen someone hiccup from crying.” she answered bluntly.
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‎”…”
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‎Meng Xuran opened her mouth to retort—interrupted by another hiccup. She thumped her chest in frustration.
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‎Teetering between anger and fresh tears.
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‎Bo Mingyan extended her glass. “New cup. Unused.”
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‎Meng Xuran looked up, temper barely leashed, managing between hiccups: “Thanks. No.”
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‎Rejected, Bo Mingyan drank it herself.
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‎As she tilted her head back, Meng Xuran’s hand twitched upward before dropping.
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‎Setting the glass down, Bo Mingyan met Meng Xuran’s stare. “There’s more in the fridge if you want some.”
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‎”I don’t drink cold—hic!”
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‎Meng Xuran snapped her mouth shut.
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‎So fussy. Bo Mingyan nodded. “The kettle just boiled.”
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‎”Not thirst—hic!”
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‎Meng Xuran pressed her lips into a line.
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‎Given their half-stranger dynamic, Bo Mingyan had no grounds to insist. She smiled faintly and headed to the laundry room.
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‎Seeing the empty hammered-glass cup on the table, Meng Xuran exhaled slowly.
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‎Anger had even stopped her hiccups.
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‎By the time Bo Mingyan finished folding clothes, the living room was empty.
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‎Lights off, arms full of laundry, she passed the kitchen.
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‎”Bo Mingyan.” Meng Xuran’s voice called from within.
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‎”Hmm?” She turned.
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‎Meng Xuran stood by the counter in a silk slip dress. ‎Bare legs gleaming under the hem. ‎Compared to Bo Mingyan’s long sleeves and pants, they might as well inhabit different seasons.
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‎”Earlier in the living room, what you saw and heard…” Meng Xuran trailed off, choosing words.
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‎”What?” Bo Mingyan’s gaze landed on the enamel mug—bigger than a face—in her hands.
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‎Minutes ago she’d refused cold water, claimed not to be thirsty. Now gulping from that tankard. ‎Meng Xuran’s pinky finger curled self-consciously.
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‎”I don’t want office gossip about me crying at home.”
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‎Backlit in the doorway, Bo Mingyan’s expression stayed shadowed. Meng Xuran set the mug down and added, “Some people just have low tear thresholds. Can’t help it.” ‎The resigned tone pretended she wasn’t among “some people.”
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‎”I keep work and personal separate.” Bo Mingyan replied coolly. “Anything else?”
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‎Meng Xuran: “No.”
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‎Nodding, Bo Mingyan left.
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‎In bed, exhaustion couldn’t override insomnia. She scrolled through a fabric supplier’s new samples on her phone.
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‎Then paused.
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‎Right on schedule, Lin Huixin had posted:
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‎[Mom: Happy birthday to my handsome boy!]
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‎The photo showed Lin Huixin and her second husband He Ying flanking his son He Chenchen, all radiant smiles. Stabbing brightness.
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‎Bo Mingyan swiped down.
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‎A new post appeared:
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‎[Still Had to Add Me: My treasure mug arrived two days ago. Just saw it today. Love it.]
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‎Below: an enamel cup printed with wheat stalks.
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‎With all that crying, a mug that size really is a treasure.
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‎”Some people just have low tear thresholds. Can’t help it.”
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‎Meng Xuran’s kitchen declaration replayed in her mind.
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‎She’d always been like this—crying when wronged, demanding comfort outright, boasting when proud, defending herself even if it meant third-person awkwardness.
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‎Always expressing her emotions.
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‎Unlike herself.
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‎Shaking off the thought, Bo Mingyan edited Meng Xuran’s contact name: “Crybaby.”
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‎”Still Had to Add Me”—what an infuriating username.
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‎Drowsy, it struck her: she’d discarded the sticky note with Meng Xuran’s WeChat ID, yet renting forced them together.
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‎Even without that, joining the company would’ve connected them.
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‎Meng Xuran’s chosen alias was depressingly accurate.
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‎…
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‎Dawn.
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‎The alarm’s shrieking dragged Bo Mingyan awake.
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‎Dressed and ready, she locked her room and entered the kitchen. Meng Xuran stood at the stove in pajamas.
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‎”I made congee. Want some?”
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‎Habitual refusal: “No, thanks.”
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‎Taking a water bottle from the cabinet, she heard: “How are you getting to work?”
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‎”Subway.”
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‎Silence. Then the stove knob twisted violently.
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‎Blue flames lashed the pot bottom.
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‎The heat felt oppressive. Bo Mingyan drank deeply before leaving.
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‎The packed subway pressed her near two schoolgirls.
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‎”I made noodles for breakfast.” said the ponytailed one.
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‎”You? The ten-fingers-never-touched-water princess can cook?”
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‎Memories surfaced.
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‎During her second year abroad, Bo Mingyan learned cooking to save money. By the time she roomed with Fu Junxue, her skills were polished.
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‎She remembered Fu Junxue’s first compliment—and subsequent roast of Meng Xuran:
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‎”Our whole family sucks at cooking, but my sister takes the cake—microwaving durian? Legendary!”
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‎That same day, Meng Xuran had called. Fu Junxue, dishwashing, passed the phone.
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‎The excited voice still echoed: “Sis! I made coffee congee! Smells amazing!”
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‎And the abrupt hangup when Bo Mingyan asked “Is it edible?”
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‎That night, Fu Junxue sent a screenshot:
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‎[Meng Xuran: Send this to your roommate.]
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‎Followed by a photo of brown sludge-like gruel.
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‎Then three smiley emojis.
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‎Bo Mingyan wondered if today’s pot held normal congee. Maybe she should’ve accepted to see.
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‎At the office before nine, Ava greeted her: “Morning~”
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‎”Morning.” Bo Mingyan booted her computer.
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‎As she adjusted her chair, menswear designer Liu Yang offered a sandwich: “Want half?”
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‎She recoiled instinctively.
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‎Liu Yang froze. Smoothing her hair, Bo Mingyan smiled. “Thanks, I ate.”
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‎He withdrew the food.
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‎Ava teased: “So stingy when I ask, but shoving it at Mingyan? Typical.”
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‎”If you were half as pretty, I’d offer too.” Liu Yang shot back.
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‎”Certified looks-obsessed hypocrite.” Ava’s tone shifted. “Director Meng dresses so impeccably every day.”
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‎Bo Mingyan looked up—only catching a swish of fabric as Meng Xuran entered her office.
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‎”She was just staring at us.” Ava muttered. “There’s no rule against breakfast at desks. Why the glare?”
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‎Her phone buzzed.
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‎[Crybaby: Come to my office.]
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‎Likely about the proposal. Pocketing her phone, Bo Mingyan knocked on the director’s door.
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‎”Enter.”
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‎Behind the desk, Meng Xuran wore a moon-white qipio-inspired dress with sheer overlays.
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‎Ethereally beautiful, untouchably refined.
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‎‎A far cry from last night’s hiccuping mess.
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‎”Sit.” Meng Xuran slid forward a thick folder. “Starting today, you’re transferred to haute couture for the film costume project. Review these materials.”

‎Last quarter, Meng Xuran’s “Four Seasons” collection put the Moment brand on the map, attracting numerous collaborative project proposals—among them, a costume design project for film and television. To further expand the brand’s visibility, Meng Xuran chose to collaborate on the movie Assassination, as its aesthetic aligned more closely with Moment’s design style.

Bo Mingyan slowed her movement as she sat down, taking a moment to process Meng Xuran’s words before asking, “Then what about the project Manager Sun assigned me yesterday?”

That was the spring-summer collection for next year’s online sales.

“I’ll inform Manager Sun to have another designer take over.” Meng Xuran pressed her index finger against a file and slid it toward Bo Mingyan. “I’ve reviewed your resume—with your caliber, you’re more than qualified for the haute couture team. So–”

She paused, lifting her gaze to meet Bo Mingyan’s eyes, then continued leisurely:

“Just follow me.”