Two Faced Lover - Chapter 56

56: Lull to Sleep

After her shower, Bo Mingyan suddenly realized a serious problem—

This was the bathroom in Meng Xuran’s room, and she hadn’t brought a change of clothes. Just in case something happened while she was bathing, Meng Xuran had left the door to the sink area open after Bo Mingyan entered, while her discarded clothes remained outside.

Thus, Bo Mingyan found herself staring at the frosted glass sliding door in deep contemplation.

She had a bit of a cleanliness quirk—once she’d showered, she didn’t want to put on outside clothes again.

But if she asked Meng Xuran to fetch clothes from her room, even if she skipped the bra, she’d still need underwear…

How utterly mortifying! Bo Mingyan frowned, chewing her lip as she looked down at her toes, which were curling in distress.

Just as she was racking her brain for a solution, the frosted glass door slid open from the outside.

Bo Mingyan whirled around.

Steam swirled in the air, thick with moisture and an intoxicating fragrance, painting a blush across her vision.

There, blooming across the once-ugly scar of stitched flesh on her back, was a spider lily—crimson as flames, its curled petals clawing defiantly against Bo Mingyan’s snow-white skin.

Her dark hair, damp with moisture, clung to her shoulders. Further up, the sharp line of her jaw, features carved like jade—until Meng Xuran’s gaze locked with Bo Mingyan’s wide, panicked eyes.

Snap. The door shut again.

Meng Xuran stood frozen outside, her entire face burning. The image burned into her mind refused to fade. After a long moment, she fanned her cheeks with one hand while the other pressed against her chest—where ten thousand rabbits seemed to be throwing a rave.

On the other side of the door, Bo Mingyan finally remembered to breathe, inhaling deeply.

She’d been facing away. Besides two pale cheeks, there wasn’t much to see.

Even if there had been, so what? She’d seen Meng Xuran’s too. Tit for tat. And sooner or later, they’d see everything anyway.

Her self-comfort veered wildly off course.

Must be the alcohol from the bath amplifying the buzz. Bo Mingyan pressed her palms to her scalding cheeks, exhaling slowly, when Meng Xuran’s stammering voice came through the door: “I—I didn’t mean to! You were so quiet, I thought you’d passed out in there.”

Having justified herself, Meng Xuran instantly regained her boldness. “What were you doing? Meditating? Finished showering but won’t come out.”

“I didn’t bring clean clothes,” Bo Mingyan admitted, biting her lip as she pushed damp strands from her forehead. “Not even a towel.”

Someone had dropped the ball on preparations.

Meng Xuran snorted. “Look up. Top shelf, waterproof bag—new towel, sterilized.”

Bo Mingyan followed the directions, spotting the bulging waterproof bag. As she reached for it, Meng Xuran added, “I’ll get your clothes. Pajamas… and underwear. Which drawer?”

“Right wardrobe. Left side, second drawer.”

The wardrobe was part of the room’s furnishings, so Meng Xuran understood immediately. With a hum, she headed to Bo Mingyan’s room.

This was her first time inside. Last time, she’d only peered from the doorway.

Six months ago, it had been empty. Now, as she’d hoped, it brimmed with life—her life. The woman she longed for.

The room’s palette was cold, especially under the stark white light. In winter, it looked downright freezing—especially the bed, a concentrated study in cool tones. Yet somehow, it seemed soft, like its owner: cool porcelain skin hiding warmth beneath.

The memory of that fiery spider lily blooming across Bo Mingyan’s back reignited Meng Xuran’s cheeks. She patted them, inhaling sharply. No fantasizing.

Then she opened the drawer.

Neatly folded underwear stared back. As her fingertips hooked a pair, her imagination took flight.

Unlike her own frilly, lace-trimmed selections, Bo Mingyan’s were simple—no mesh, no ribbons, not even a bow. Just muted pastels: sky blue, white.

“Tch. So plain,” Meng Xuran muttered, propping her chin on her hand. “What a waste. You’re a designer, for heaven’s sake.”

Such a shame.

Those peach-like curves deserved better.

She clapped a hand over her face. A muffled “Ugh” and self-reproach—”Meng Xuran, you’re hopeless”—escaped between her fingers.

Not wanting to keep Bo Mingyan waiting, she reined in her thoughts, eyeing the row of bras.

Post-shower means freedom.

Besides, Bo Mingyan hadn’t specified bras.

Smirking, Meng Xuran shut the drawer without taking one.

Inside the bathroom, Bo Mingyan had towel-dried her hair to dampness when Meng Xuran’s voice floated in: “Clothes are here. Heated the vanity area too.”

“Thanks.”

At the sound of the door closing, Bo Mingyan stepped out.

The clothes lay folded on the rack beside the sink. As her fingers brushed the underwear, she could almost feel Meng Xuran’s touch lingering on the fabric. The mirror reflected her blush—from head to toe.

Outside, Meng Xuran leaned against the wall, restless. “Done yet?”

“Can you dress yourself?”

“Need help, Your Highness?”

“I told you where the towel was before your shower. Standing there dumbly, no clothes—hurry up before you catch cold.”

The door opened. “You never mentioned the towel.”

Meng Xuran immediately countered: “I did.”

Bo Mingyan’s pajamas weren’t fully buttoned—the top two undone, her fingers poised at the third. The open collar revealed collarbones like wings amidst clouds of pink-tinged skin.

Was the shirt too loose, or was Bo Mingyan just that slender?

Button secured, Bo Mingyan still couldn’t recall any towel instructions. “When?”

After a pause, Meng Xuran checked her watch and adopted a robotic tone: “Beep—Rewinding to 32 minutes and 17 seconds ago. Location: Shower. Subjects: Forgetful Drunk Bo and Magnanimous Princess Meng Jiaojiao.”

“…”

In all her years, Bo Mingyan had never met someone as confidently audacious as Meng Xuran.

Meng Xuran stepped closer, glaring. “Don’t laugh! I’m seriously retrieving memory files.”

Bo Mingyan coughed into her fist, nodding solemnly.

Back in the shower, Meng Xuran faced the tub, tilting her head. In her normal voice: “You want to be covered in my scent?”

Then she turned, back against the tub, deadpan: “Yes.”

Finally, she returned to her original position, covering her face as she walked out, mimicking herself: “New towel’s on the shelf.”

Trailing behind, Bo Mingyan frowned, lips quirking. “I don’t remember that last part.”

“You were drunk, what do you—” Meng Xuran spun—and collided with Bo Mingyan. Her hands, just lowered from her face, landed squarely on Bo Mingyan’s chest.

Through the thin cotton, the soft curves were unmistakable.

Even the peaks seemed to be… responding.

Meng Xuran’s gaze lifted in time to see scarlet flood Bo Mingyan’s neck, her throat bobbing. Meng Xuran’s face burned lobster-red.

Silence thickened, laced with awkward tension, diffusing through the steam-scented warmth.

Oddly, where embarrassment should’ve reigned, Bo Mingyan found none—not when even thick-skinned Meng Xuran was red to the ears. Emboldened by the alcohol, mischief stirred. She wanted to tease, to see Meng Xuran even more flustered.

“Even if I’m drunk, you can’t just grope me, Princess Meng Jiaojiao.” Bo Mingyan broke the silence. “How much longer?”

Most people would’ve recoiled, scrambling for an escape.

But Meng Xuran defied norms.

The redder her face, the bolder her actions.

She lifted her chin, meeting Bo Mingyan’s gaze with sparkling eyes. “After all my hard work, isn’t some interest fair?”

“What hard work?” Bo Mingyan asked.

Meng Xuran pondered. Right. None. “Then consider it a thank-you gift.”

Her hands didn’t budge.

Bo Mingyan chuckled but didn’t push her away. “The flowers at the entryway were your thank-you.”

“Those are daily. Doesn’t count.”

“Morning’s are daily. These are evening’s.”

“…” Unimpressed, Meng Xuran grumbled, “Boring. And fake.”

Bo Mingyan softened. “Xiaoman’s allergic to lilies.”

“I don’t care. This is my thank-you.” Meng Xuran dug in.

“You’ve already taken it. Can you—ah—”

Bo Mingyan’s voice hitched, a gasp slipping out. Her eyes, like disturbed water, rippled.

Knowing when to quit—and not wanting to fully take advantage—Meng Xuran released her, stepping back.

Unless… had they gotten firmer?

Bo Mingyan turned away, arms crossing.

Meng Xuran flexed her fingers. “I’ll clean up in here. You… go rest.”

Bo Mingyan hummed, moving to the sink. She picked up her watch from the marble counter, fogged with condensation, and absently wiped it with a tissue.

The tub was already spotless. As Meng Xuran eyed the used disinfectant, a thought struck—

Was Bo Mingyan actually sober?

But no. If she were, she’d never have allowed that.

Exiting the shower, Meng Xuran found Bo Mingyan drying her watch. Her gaze dropped to the left wrist—and all flirtation vanished. “Manman, did you… cut your wrist?”

Bo Mingyan crumpled the tissue, instinctively twisting her arm to hide the scar. After a beat, she denied it. “No. Just glass.”

Liar.

Meng Xuran swallowed. “When?”

“Years ago. Christmas Eve. A window shattered.” Bo Mingyan’s tone was calm. “Some international students joked it meant eternal peace.”

“A broken window wouldn’t slash your wrist.” Meng Xuran laughed—a brittle, wet sound. “That glass must’ve flown.”

Mocking words, lilting tone, voice thick with tears. Bo Mingyan turned to find Meng Xuran biting her lip raw.

With a sigh, Bo Mingyan pushed the memories away. Lightly, she said, “It was impressive. Scary, really. Now I’ll have nightmares—your fault, Meng Jiaojiao.”

“My fault?” Meng Xuran swiped at her eyes.

“You brought it up. It’s over now.” The last words were gentle, soothing.

Meng Xuran stayed silent, lip trapped between her teeth.

“Don’t cry.” Bo Mingyan stepped closer, ruffling Meng Xuran’s hair like she always did to Bo Mingyan. “Just think how to make it up to me.”

“How?” Meng Xuran sniffled, too upset to think.

“Sing me to sleep.”

Meng Xuran smoothed her hair, blinking. “Oh.” Her mood visibly lifted. “Let me shower first. Go lie down.”

Bo Mingyan blinked back. I fall asleep fast—won’t take long. But she said nothing, obediently retreating to wait. She even arranged a plush armchair by the bed with a fresh blanket for Meng Xuran.

Twenty minutes later, Bo Mingyan lay staring as Meng Xuran—clad in a sheer silk nightgown—marched in, yanked back the covers, and slid in beside her.

“Scoot over. It’s freezing—why’s the AC off?”

Bo Mingyan froze.

Meng Xuran coiled around her, icy limbs seeking warmth. “There. Sleep. With me here, no nightmares.”

Author’s Note:

Bo Manman: I meant coaxing me to sleep.

Meng Xuran who misheard: This is what I call coaxing through physical action!