Two Faced Lover - Chapter 67

67: Shadows

Illness strikes like a collapsing mountain—its discomfort descends as abruptly as a summer downpour. Bo Mingyan felt her head heavy, as if filled with water, stifling and dull. Her throat was parched, burning like fire, while her body alternated between chills and fever. Leaning back on the sofa with a cup in hand, she caught sight of the redness in Meng Xuran’s eyes and weakly reassured her, “It’s not serious. I’ll sweat it out.”

Meng Xuran stared at her fixedly, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “And if sweating it out doesn’t work?”

Bo Mingyan blinked slowly, her dry lips parting slightly. “Drinking more hot water will help.”

“You think hot water is some kind of miracle cure?” Meng Xuran was furious. “Or that you’re invincible?”

Bo Mingyan licked her chapped lips. “If that doesn’t work, there’s always medicine.”

Meng Xuran scoffed. “Glad you remembered that much.”

The night before their trip, while packing, Bo Mingyan had reminded Meng Xuran to bring common medications. Yet when she herself fell ill, her first instinct was the same ingrained habit from years of enduring sickness—to tough it out and only take medicine as a last resort.

Meng Xuran picked up the portable kettle on the coffee table and checked it. Its small capacity meant it could only hold enough for two cups at most. She had drunk one, Bo Mingyan the other, leaving only a meager amount at the bottom. Staring at the dregs, Meng Xuran felt a lump in her throat at Bo Mingyan’s indifferent response. She turned and asked sharply, “Do you always tough it out like this when you’re sick?”

Bo Mingyan didn’t answer, silently meeting her gaze.

Perhaps due to her illness, her complexion was unnaturally pale, her usual composed aura entirely absent. Her smoke-gray eyes, lighter than usual and tinged with exhaustion, held a quiet resignation—as if pitying herself.

Meng Xuran’s heart ached, softening instantly. Pressing her lips together, she decided not to press further for now. She rinsed the kettle’s filter under the tap, refilled it, and plugged it in to boil.

When she returned to the sofa, Bo Mingyan was curled up, arms wrapped around her knees, head bowed slightly. Her chin rested on her folded arms, eyes closed, strands of hair obscuring her furrowed brow.

Hearing Meng Xuran’s footsteps, Bo Mingyan relaxed her expression and opened her eyes. Watching Meng Xuran plug in the kettle, she rasped, “Go eat.”

Meng Xuran: “???”

Bo Mingyan added, “I’ll take medicine once the water boils.”

Meng Xuran snorted. “Sweat it out, take medicine—then what do you need a girlfriend for?”

“A girlfriend is for doing, not bossing around.”

Dizzy and feverish, Bo Mingyan spoke without thinking. The moment the words left her mouth, she froze, her body cycling between chills and heat.

Meng Xuran also stiffened, as if ignited, her face burning. She cleared her throat. “Are you delirious from the fever?”

Bo Mingyan: “…Probably not.”

Meng Xuran felt like she was the one with a fever, about to combust. She stepped closer, bending down to meet Bo Mingyan’s lake-deep eyes before her gaze dropped to those cracked lips.

If Bo Mingyan weren’t sick, she would’ve kissed that shocking mouth thoroughly.

Perhaps her stare was too blatant, because Bo Mingyan leaned back against the sofa, putting distance between them. Her voice was hoarse as she warned, “It might be from getting too cold. Fever from a cold is contagious—don’t get too close.”

“I’m not as delicate as you.” Meng Xuran had clearly forgotten her own history of colds.

The portable kettle boiled quickly, beeping to signal it was done. Meng Xuran straightened, pouring a cup and setting the kettle to keep warm. “If it’s a cold, you shouldn’t sleep on the sofa. Go lie down in bed.”

When she turned back, Bo Mingyan was still on the sofa. Rolling up her sleeves, Meng Xuran moved as if to carry her. “I’ll take you up.”

“…”

Bo Mingyan set her feet down and slowly made her way upstairs.

The movement worsened her dizziness and nausea. Instead of lying down immediately, she sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the discomfort to pass.

Downstairs, Meng Xuran rummaged through their luggage for the medicine kit.

It was stocked with painkillers for bruises and migraines, ginger tea sachets, and cold prevention pills—but no fever reducers.

Taking out the ginger tea, Meng Xuran searched for nearby pharmacies while mixing the powder into hot water.

Minutes later, she returned upstairs with the cup. “Drink your miracle cure first. The medicine you packed somehow missed fever reducers. I found a pharmacy nearby—I’ll get some and a thermometer. If the fever doesn’t break by tonight, we’re going to the hospital.”

Bo Mingyan frowned but drank the ginger tea. As she handed the cup back, she paused. “Don’t bother. Go eat. I’ll be fine after sleeping.”

Meng Xuran set the cup down hard on the nightstand with a thud.

The same person who had been flushed and intimate with her earlier was now pale with illness, strands of hair clinging to her face, her smoke-gray eyes unnervingly calm. The more Bo Mingyan acted like nothing was wrong, the more it gnawed at Meng Xuran.

“If you keep nagging me about eating, I’ll eat you instead!”

“…”

Meng Xuran glared, then tugged at Bo Mingyan’s jacket. “No medicine? Just sleep it off? Fine. Forget about infecting me—I’ll hold you, sweat it out together. Maybe something stimulating will make you sweat faster.”

“…”

“When I get sick, you better take care of me the same way. Let’s see if we can build immunity together!”

Her words tumbled faster, trembling at the edges, nearly breaking into tears—yet laced with defiance.

Bo Mingyan looked up at the glistening in Meng Xuran’s eyes, equal parts helpless and tender. Catching Meng Xuran’s wrist with one hand and covering a cough with the other, she surrendered. “I was wrong.”

“…” Meng Xuran’s anger evaporated.

Only after watching Bo Mingyan settle under the covers did she leave to buy medicine.

“Rest until I’m back.”

The door clicked softly behind her, the sound like a switch being flipped. The lively energy between them dissipated into silence.

Bo Mingyan was drowsy but fought sleep, replaying the day’s events—Meng Xuran’s radiant smile in the snow, the teasing in the hot spring, the charged intimacy in their room, and now her relentless care. For the first time, someone had stepped into her life, shaping her days and stirring her emotions.

The once-beautiful starry sky outside now seemed oppressively dark. The room was utterly still. Closing her eyes, Bo Mingyan ached all over, the weight of the blankets and extra clothes Meng Xuran had piled on her lending a rare sense of security.

Yet something inside her felt hollow.

She had thought herself accustomed to solitude.

Only now did she realize—she simply hadn’t met someone she could lean on.

Meng Xuran, having always been the one receiving care, had little experience tending to others. Averse to medicine herself, she usually relied on her mother or Fu Junxue when ill.

Her knowledge in this area was practically nonexistent.

After texting Lu Shan to order congee, she called Fu Junxue—but got no answer. Impatient, she asked the front desk for Fu Junxue’s room number, then dialed Meng Yao instead.

Meng Yao assumed she was sick, fretting over her for minutes before Meng Xuran cut in: “It’s not me.”

“Oh…” Meng Yao caught on instantly. “Your girlfriend?”

“Mn.”

“My daughter learns to care for someone only after getting a girlfriend. As a mother, I don’t know whether to be proud you’ve grown up or lament that a daughter in love is like spilled water.”

“…” Meng Xuran replied flatly, “How do you reduce a fever?”

Meng Yao laughed before relenting. “How high is it?”

“Don’t know. Buying a thermometer now.” A pause. “She’s burning up.”

“Below 38°C, wipe her down with warm water and hydrate. Above 38°C, give ibuprofen or acetaminophen. You can also use alcohol swabs on her forehead and neck to cool her.”

At the pharmacy entrance, Meng Xuran muttered acknowledgments before abruptly hanging up with a “Gotta go.”

On the other end, Meng Yao mused, “Actually, I’ll bring Manman over in a few days—” She stopped, realizing the call had ended. Smiling wryly at her phone, she muttered, “If you won’t send photos, I’ll see for myself.”

Meng Xuran bought everything Meng Yao mentioned, along with groceries next door.

When she returned, Bo Mingyan had fallen asleep propped against the pillow—as if waiting for her before succumbing.

Half her face was buried in the blankets, her phone still clutched in one hand, hair strewn messily across the pillow. A faint sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead from the fever.

Setting the supplies down, Meng Xuran knelt beside the bed, brushing stray hairs away and wiping the dampness with her thumb.

Still too warm.

Bo Mingyan slept fitfully, her head throbbing, nerves twitching as if compressed into a pitch-black cabinet. She curled inside, unsure how long she waited—or what for.

Muffled noises outside blurred into oppressive murmurs.

Pushing the cabinet door open, she recognized the apartment Lin Huixin used as a dance studio—the place she retreated to during arguments with Bo Weize.

Many children in their complex attended extracurricular classes. Unsure of Bo Mingyan’s interests, Bo Weize had her try everything. When she briefly took dance lessons, Lin Huixin brought her here a few times. The wall-length mirror reflected her mother’s graceful movements, supple as silk.

But Bo Mingyan had no passion for dance. After a few visits, she stopped going.

Climbing out, her foot knocked over a crayon drawing—a family portrait meant as a birthday gift for Lin Huixin after a recent fight between her parents.

Bo Weize had brought her here earlier, leaving her to wait for Lin Huixin while he returned to work, promising to bring cake that evening.

Hours passed with no sign of her mother. Remembering the soft rug inside the guest room closet from her last visit, Bo Mingyan had curled up inside to wait.

And fell asleep.

Now, dream-Bo Mingyan felt detached from her body, an instinctive dread keeping her from stepping out.

Yet the dream forced her forward. Picking up the drawing, she followed the sounds—a stifled, agonized whimper mixed with something disturbingly euphoric.

At the hallway’s end, she froze.

A door creaked open. Clutching the drawing, barefoot on the cold floor, she instinctively shrank back.

Behind her, thunder rumbled, casting the apartment in gloom.

In the mirror, she saw her own horrified reflection—and Lin Huixin tangled in an incomprehensible embrace with a man.

The man looked up, as if meeting her gaze. Patting Lin Huixin’s back, he said, “You have a daughter.”

“That was his lie!” Lin Huixin gasped, her voice fraying. “She was an accident…”

Bo Mingyan didn’t understand who the two “ta” referred to. The man’s face in the dream was blurred, featureless.

But she remembered with perfect clarity—it wasn’t Bo Weize.