Two Faced Lover - Chapter 57

57: Tattoo

Nightmares were impossible—because sleep itself was impossible.

Half of Bo Mingyan’s body was pinned down by Meng Xuran’s domineering sleeping posture.

Her leg was sandwiched like bread in a baguette.

Meng Xuran loved wearing skirts in summer, her legs often the subject of office gossip—model-perfect, long, straight, slender… and bony.

Her sleeping habits were tyrannical. Somehow, her nightgown had ridden up into a makeshift top, the fabric crumpled in messy layers.

Her skin still carried the chill from outside.

Ice-cold legs.

Bo Mingyan mentally corrected her earlier impression: Not baguettes. Popsicles.

Perhaps because they were so cold, the contrast made everywhere else feel unbearably warm. Heat radiated relentlessly against her.

Her arm was trapped in Meng Xuran’s embrace, sinking into softness.

Her hand, too, was held—icy. Bo Mingyan, sensitive to cold, instinctively curled her fingers before threading them through Meng Xuran’s, interlacing tightly.

Warm breaths ghosted over her neck at irregular intervals, setting her skin ablaze as if roasted over flames.

Flames that kept flaring up.

Once Meng Xuran had warmed up, Bo Mingyan tried shifting her leg—only to find it numb. A twinge shot up when she moved, delayed but electric.

Her scalp prickled.

A soft hum sounded in her ear.

Meng Xuran tilted her head, her lips brushing Bo Mingyan’s earlobe—not retreating immediately, but lingering for four or five seconds.

Perhaps because Bo Mingyan didn’t pull away, temptation stirred.

Desires, long restrained, surged like weeds breaking through winter soil.

Meng Xuran’s lashes fluttered as she kissed the earlobe, tracing the shell with her lips, slow and deliberate as ink spreading on paper.

Each breath fanned the flames in Bo Mingyan’s chest, threatening to snap her last thread of restraint. She clenched her jaw, suppressing any sound, her closed eyelids trembling faintly.

When no reaction came, Meng Xuran finally withdrew. “Really asleep…?”

Before she finished, Bo Mingyan broke free, flipped her over, and captured her lips—nipping lightly before trailing to her ear to exhale.

Meng Xuran’s ears were sensitive. Less tolerant than Bo Mingyan, she immediately shrank back with a gasp, instinctively pushing away.

Bo Mingyan released her, retreating to her pillow. Putting distance between them, she studied Meng Xuran in the dark. “What kind of sleep assistance is this?”

“The world’s full of wonders.” Meng Xuran retorted.

Bo Mingyan scoffed. “With you like this, who could sleep?”

Meng Xuran’s eyes gleamed with interest. “Why not?”

Bo Mingyan’s voice roughened. “You tell me.”

The lights had been off since Meng Xuran climbed into bed. In the dimness, expressions were blurred, but their heated, restrained breaths were unmistakable.

Meng Xuran sat up abruptly. Staring at Bo Mingyan, she gradually discerned her features before leaning down to kiss her.

Her waterfall of hair spilled over Bo Mingyan’s hand. Bo Mingyan gathered a strand, twirling it around her finger before letting the silken lock slip free.

Her other hand brushed against actual silk—the hem of Meng Xuran’s nightgown. Her fingers flexed.

Meng Xuran cupped Bo Mingyan’s cheek, tracing her jawline to her ear, toying with the lobe.

Her kisses were meticulous. Methodical.

Like gentle rain tapping on thin ice.

The crack was almost audible.

The air filled with familiar scents—her body wash, her shampoo, yet altered by Bo Mingyan’s cool essence into something new.

Meng Xuran loved this fragrance.

Like flowers blooming under post-thaw sunlight.

She returned to Bo Mingyan’s lips, sucking gently. She knew she was taking advantage—Bo Mingyan was drunk, not her—but clarity warred with chaos. She understood the implications, yet couldn’t stop craving more.

Silken hair cascaded like moonlight through the window.

Meng Xuran pulled back slightly, her gaze dropping to Bo Mingyan’s eyes.

A shame the darkness hid those jewel-like jade irises.

And the natural crimson of her lips, now surely deeper.

Meng Xuran brushed Bo Mingyan’s eyelid, her thumb settling on those plush lips.

Bo Mingyan parted them slightly.

Kissing was addictive. Meng Xuran dipped down again, stealing breath until they gasped. Breaking away, she blindly pecked Bo Mingyan’s eyelids, nose, cheeks.

A masterpiece, every contour, every proportion—meticulously crafted.

Meng Xuran traced them worshipfully, as if memorizing the blueprint.

Suddenly, teeth sank into her.

Meng Xuran stiffened at the sharp pain, her hand clenching reflexively—

Bo Mingyan hissed.

Meng Xuran instantly released her, flustered, hugging Bo Mingyan apologetically.

In the dark, every sensation amplified.

Bo Mingyan’s head spun.

She couldn’t tell if the half-bottle of wine at dinner had left her tipsy or if the delayed kick had arrived. All she knew was that she used it as an excuse to numb her restraints.

Since childhood, Bo Mingyan had sensed the odd dynamic between her parents. Once, she’d even stumbled upon something—the memory itself blurred, but the nightmares lingered for days until a fever erased them. Yet the scars remained.

Aversion to men. Revulsion toward touch.

Even after realizing her orientation, she assumed she’d remain indifferent to intimacy.

But Meng Xuran was different.

She haunted Bo Mingyan’s dreams.

Now she was in her arms.

At twenty-eight, Bo Mingyan experienced this for the first time.

So this was the joy of skin against skin with someone you loved.

This was the ache of wanting more, closer, deeper.

In a flash, Bo Mingyan shuddered violently. She hauled Meng Xuran upright, tugging open her robe’s tie with her teeth, her palm sliding beneath—

Meng Xuran gasped, her legs instinctively wrapping around Bo Mingyan’s waist.

Recovering, she gripped Bo Mingyan’s collar, peeling it down over slender shoulders, the winged scapulae beneath.

As fabric pooled at Bo Mingyan’s wrists, Meng Xuran’s fingers grazed the scars on her left forearm—and froze.

The haze shattered.

Bo Mingyan sensed the shift instantly. Pausing, she nuzzled Meng Xuran’s chin like a cat. “Jiaojiao?”

A soft “Mm,” Meng Xuran’s fingertips trembled against Bo Mingyan’s back, unmoving.

The ridges of scars were unmistakable.

Bo Mingyan’s lashes fluttered as Meng Xuran traced them.

Silence stretched.

Exposed skin cooled in the air.

Worried Meng Xuran might catch cold, Bo Mingyan dragged the blanket over them. Playing drunk, she asked bluntly, “Not continuing?”

Long moments later, Meng Xuran let out a low, humorless laugh. “You must’ve infected me with alcohol.” She rested her forehead on Bo Mingyan’s shoulder. “I won’t take advantage, and if you wake up tomorrow with no memory, who’s losing out—you or me?”

Bo Mingyan stayed silent. She wanted to say I’m not drunk, but knew Meng Xuran wouldn’t believe her.

Last time I was drunk, I said the same thing.

As Bo Mingyan pondered, Meng Xuran redressed her, fumbling with buttons under the covers. Bo Mingyan adjusted Meng Xuran’s collar in turn, slowly tying the silk sash into a bow.

“When did you get that spider lily tattoo?” Meng Xuran asked abruptly.

Bo Mingyan was startled, she’d expected questions about the scars, not the ink.

So it really was her—the girl who helped me.

Bo Mingyan shut her eyes, “Chinese New Year’s Eve.”

After the stitches were removed, the marks remained. Though on her back, she couldn’t stop looking during showers—each glance resurrecting the past. So she’d gotten the tattoo.

“Why a spider lily?” Meng Xuran misbuttoned, redoing it. “Such ominous symbolism.”

“Ominous? I thought it was fitting. Spider lilies on the Yellow Spring Road guide lost souls to rebirth.” Bo Mingyan’s voice softened like flowing water. “After shattering into peace, I felt like I’d died once. So I got it on New Year’s Eve—out with the old.”

Meng Xuran went still, blinking slowly.

The fiery lily blooming from scars. The centipede-like stitches she’d glimpsed. Bo Mingyan’s intact wrist holding an IV bag. The unripe apple she’d split in half. A snowy Christmas Eve.

Slides overlapping in her mind.

Only now did she realize—

“Shattering into peace.”

Christmas Eve.

That night.

Moments after she’d left, Bo Mingyan had almost—

Almost—

Her heart convulsed, breath stolen by the pain. Eyes burned dry. She fisted Bo Mingyan’s collar, knuckles whitening, before suddenly biting her shoulder.

Bo Mingyan bore it silently as the force knocked her backward, her arms steady around Meng Xuran’s waist. She could feel the anguish.

Meng Xuran wasn’t crying.

But this hurt more than any tears.

Forehead pressed to Bo Mingyan’s shoulder, Meng Xuran struggled to steady herself. Emotions surged anew—she bit down again.

Not hard. Just enough to sting.

Bo Mingyan’s muffled groan confirmed she was here, real—not a dream. She’d survived.

Even if she wasn’t the same proud, untamed Bo Mingyan anymore.

Once the storm passed, Meng Xuran declared, “I’m getting one too!”

“Tattoos hurt.” Bo Mingyan warned.

Meng Xuran scoffed. “Don’t underestimate me. It’s just a tattoo—I’m not afraid of pain.”

“Little liar.” Bo Mingyan chuckled.

Furious, Meng Xuran bit her again.

Bo Mingyan hissed, then laughed low. “Get a puppy. You bite so much, never let anyone sleep—clearly a dog.”

Meng Xuran settled into her arms, grumbling. “Sleep, you have five minutes. Otherwise, I’ll show you what a real dog is like.”

“…” Bo Mingyan turned her head.

“What’s so funny?” Meng Xuran realized she’d insulted herself and clapped a hand over Bo Mingyan’s mouth. “No laughing! Two minutes gone!”

Bo Mingyan tried to stifle it, failing. “You’re the dog?”

“You’re impossible!” Meng Xuran rolled away. “Three minutes!”

Silence followed. After five minutes, she debated checking if Bo Mingyan slept—

Warmth pressed against her back.

Bo Mingyan wrapped an arm around her waist. “Meng Jiaojiao, show me your dog impression.”