Two Faced Lover - Chapter 76

76: Overlay

On New Year’s Eve, the sky was overcast. Bo Mingyan had thought the next day would clear up, but instead, it rained again—and continued for three straight days.

Raindrops pattered against the window, blown by the wind, their trails merging into a watery curtain that blurred the view outside.

Bo Mingyan sat on the hanging chair on the balcony, listening to the sound of the rain as she passed the time by cutting paper. She waited for Meng Xuran, who stubbornly refused to let her into the kitchen, claiming to be a “future culinary god” who needed no guidance, to finish preparing their dinner.

Ever since tasting the “forbidden fruit” a couple of days ago, Meng Xuran had become utterly insatiable—both in feeding Bo Mingyan’s two appetites and in being “fed” in return.

Bo Mingyan wasn’t overly conservative in this regard. Despite the terrifying scene she had witnessed as a child, as an adult, she understood that this kind of seasoning was necessary in a romantic relationship.

She was also more than happy to indulge Meng Xuran.

Being with Meng Xuran felt like that one time she had gone traveling and lain on a soft beach, the sea breeze brushing her face as the tide rolled in.

It washed away the dust and impurities lingering in her memories.

Above her, the sky was a brilliant blue, the sunlight blazing and dazzling. The warmth of the sun left her whole body languid, her mind and body in a state of utter relaxation—an unparalleled satisfaction.

Meng Xuran, the little crybaby, was delicate and spoiled. If things didn’t go her way, she’d sniffle and sob, gasping for breath as she tearfully complained that Bo Mingyan wasn’t listening to her.

But when Bo Mingyan steeled her rationality and obeyed, coaxing her gently and patiently, Meng Xuran would stop crying—only to break down again minutes later, whimpering and pleading for Bo Mingyan not to leave.

No matter what, it was always her way. She was impossibly demanding.

At times like these, Bo Mingyan would recall what Lu Shan had said in the “Eight Immortals Crossing the Sea” group chat about Meng Xuran’s business trip to Beijing—how the wealthy socialites there had looked down on everyone, yet Meng Xuran had remained composed, her aura towering at eight hundred meters, embodying the phrase “it’s lonely at the top.”

Even from the secretly recorded video Lu Shan had shared, one could sense Meng Xuran’s chill. Though her posture was relaxed and her tone languid, she somehow seemed even more aloof than the socialites across from her.

Her attitude was unmistakably: “If you don’t like it, find someone else.”

But now, curled in Bo Mingyan’s arms like a little fox, she actively pressed her ears to Bo Mingyan’s lips, letting her warm breath seep in—only to gasp softly, her breathing turning shallow, then using it to tease Bo Mingyan right back.

And once Bo Mingyan took the bait, Meng Xuran would melt into a tender, seductive whisper: “Can you… go a little… faster?” She’d pinch her fingers together for emphasis, only to immediately cover her face in shyness before Bo Mingyan could even respond.

The contrast was too much. Bo Mingyan couldn’t help but laugh.

The little fox was proud. If she was laughed at, no matter the situation, she’d immediately pounce in retaliation.

Once she got the hang of things, Meng Xuran became downright wicked.

Bo Mingyan belonged to the silent faction. She preferred immersing herself fully in the sensations, feeling that speaking—no matter the words—would shatter the warm atmosphere.

But Meng Xuran was the complete opposite. She had perfected the art of “talking” love—never vulgar, always civilized yet unrestrained, bold but never crude.

Even though she’d blush furiously after saying such things, she’d still express herself in the most candid, straightforward ways possible.

When she was on the receiving end, she’d turn passivity into initiative, suppressing her shyness to calmly say to Bo Mingyan: “Don’t you want to get to know me even deeper?”

Or she’d tease mischievously:

“Manman, your hands are as honest as your mouth.”

“Am I the most perfect work these skillful hands of Designer Bo have ever touched?”

Sometimes, she’d issue commands or ask outright: “There—knead it again.”

“I want to try from behind.”

“Should we move to the sofa?”

Other times, she’d offer affirmations: “Manman, you’re amazing.”

When she took the lead, Meng Xuran often phrased things as questions:

“Manman, do you want to?”

“Manman, do you prefer my hands or my mouth?”

Or she’d encourage: “Manman, you have to say it out loud. How else will I know what you like?”

Sometimes, her requests sounded more like orders:

“I want you from behind.”

“Manman, do you like it?”

If Bo Mingyan stayed silent, Meng Xuran would wheedle and coax until she made a sound—even if it was just fragmented whimpers.

There was no denying that Meng Xuran’s habits in this regard intensified the already intoxicating atmosphere, hitting Bo Mingyan with an overwhelming impact, making her lose control to the point where she couldn’t even process Meng Xuran’s tearful pleas.

It also made her heart race, her pulse wild, as she surrendered to Meng Xuran’s words and actions.

Bo Mingyan felt as if she’d been split in two—one half still trapped in the thick, accumulated shell of years past, unable to break free, while the other half had already escaped, recklessly indulging in the freedom to reveal her true self to the person she loved.

Yet this state—neither fully liberated nor fully restrained—along with Meng Xuran’s seemingly boundless youthful energy and enthusiasm, occasionally left Bo Mingyan with a flicker of anxiety.

Was she getting too old to keep up with the younger generation?

The tips of her cat-paw slippers tapped the ground, bringing the rocking chair to a stop. When she lifted them, the chair swayed again.

By the time Meng Xuran came out from the kitchen, this was the scene she saw: Bo Mingyan sitting in the hanging chair, swaying idly, scissors in hand as she cut paper, her long hair draped over one shoulder, framing her delicate jawline. The room was filled with greenery and flowers, while outside the window, mist swirled and rain fell in sheets.

Meng Xuran’s gaze landed on the scissors, then flicked to Bo Mingyan’s wristwatch. Her heart skipped a beat.

“Manman.”

Bo Mingyan turned at the sound of her voice.

The moment her green eyes met Meng Xuran’s, it was as if an ethereal, otherworldly fairy had been touched by the warmth of the mortal realm.

“Finished cooking?” Bo Mingyan asked.

“Mhm.” Meng Xuran scratched the tip of her nose, a little embarrassed. “But one of the dishes might be… a dark cuisine now.”

Bo Mingyan processed this, then zeroed in on the key point, teasing: “Might? Too scared to taste it?”

Meng Xuran, lacking confidence, defended: “It just looks a little dark!” The flavor was… passable, at least to her.

Bo Mingyan hummed thoughtfully, drawing out an “Ohhh—”

“It tastes fine!” Meng Xuran insisted.

Bo Mingyan’s lips curled, and she let out another drawn-out “Mmm~”

Meng Xuran glared. Bo Mingyan obediently pressed her lips together, stifling her smile. Meng Xuran’s gaze drifted from the corner of her eye back to the red paper cutouts in Bo Mingyan’s hands—though she couldn’t quite make out what they were.

“What are you cutting?” Meng Xuran asked.

Bo Mingyan handed her the lower one—a flower. Yesterday, it had been fabric flowers; the day before, origami.

Meng Xuran admired it for a moment, carefully setting it aside, then pointed at the little figure in Bo Mingyan’s hand. “And this?”

“A sunshine doll.”

“Aren’t those usually cloth-wrapped heads?” Meng Xuran settled onto the hanging chair beside Bo Mingyan, tilting her head for a closer look.

The paper-cut figure wore a little dress and held a broom.

“That’s the Japanese version,” Bo Mingyan explained, handing the cutout to Meng Xuran. “This is the Chinese one—also called the ‘Rain-Sweeping Maiden.’ Hang her under the eaves during rainy days, and she’ll sweep away the gloom and bring sunshine.”

“I only knew about the Japanese one,” Meng Xuran mused. “And that creepy nursery rhyme.”

“‘If you don’t bring sunshine, I’ll cut your head off’?” Bo Mingyan supplied.

“Ugh, don’t say it out loud!” Meng Xuran shivered. “If I have to go to the bathroom tonight, I’m dragging you with me!”

Bo Mingyan chuckled. “You’ve done that before.”

Just the other night, after watching a horror-themed variety show, Meng Xuran had buried herself in Bo Mingyan’s arms, crying in fear. Bo Mingyan had comforted her, thinking it was over—only for Meng Xuran to wake her up later, too scared to go to the bathroom alone.

“You could’ve just woken me up,” Bo Mingyan had said, amused.

And from then on, Meng Xuran made a habit of it.

“Hmph.” Meng Xuran decided to drop the spooky topic. Carefully lifting the paper-cut, she admired it, her voice dripping with adoration. “Wow, this is so pretty! Whose hands are this skillful? Ohhh—my girlfriend’s!”

At the end, she turned, her gleaming brown eyes meeting Bo Mingyan’s, her tone syrupy sweet: “Manman, you’re so amazing~ How are you so good at everything~?”

It instantly reminded Bo Mingyan of last night, when those same words had been gasped against her neck, hips lifting—

Bo Mingyan’s ears burned at the shameless praise. She lowered her head slightly, letting her hair curtain her embarrassment.

“My dad taught me when I was little,” she said, shifting her gaze to the paper-cut in Meng Xuran’s hands. “Do you know the old southern district? I used to live there.”

Most locals in Nanquan City lived in the southern part of town.

Meng Xuran nodded. She’d stayed there with her grandmother as a child—and later, she’d visited often.

“Two streets from my house, in Yangtong Alley, there was an old noodle shop run by a couple named Zhang. Every time it rained, they’d hang a Rain-Sweeping Maiden under their eaves. I was curious, but the owners were always too busy to answer me. Then one day, my dad told me what it was and taught me how to make one.” Bo Mingyan paused. “You don’t see them much anymore.”

No more Rain-Sweeping Maidens. No more Old Zhang’s Noodle Shop. And no more Bo Weize.

Meng Xuran’s fingers twitched. Bo Mingyan laughed lightly, forcing a playful tone. “Don’t crush it.”

“…” Meng Xuran muttered, “I’m not some brute.”

Bo Mingyan reached out. “Give it here. I’ll hang it up.”

“I’ll get the thread.” Meng Xuran placed the paper-cut in her palm, then hopped off the chair, shuffling in her slippers to fetch needle and thread from the bedroom. Once threaded, she hurried back and handed it to Bo Mingyan, watching as she carefully looped it through the figure’s topknot. Pointing at the shelf holding the hanging ferns, she asked, “Can we hang it there?”

Bo Mingyan measured the distance. “Sure.”

“Why the sudden wish for sunshine?” Meng Xuran guessed, “Want to go out?”

Bo Mingyan hummed in agreement.

Meng Xuran, the vain little princess, hated going out in the rain. The dampness made her shoes dirty, her clothes clammy, and her hair a windblown mess. The gloomy skies depressed her, and she’d rather stay cozied up at home.

Luckily, the groceries Bo Mingyan had bought before the New Year and the holiday treats Meng Yao had sent were more than enough. For the first three days, apart from taking out the trash, they hadn’t stepped outside.

Not that staying in was bad. They’d cleaned, watched movies, played games, sketched designs—even made clothes for Meng Xuran’s teddy bear using whatever materials they had at home.

But their sleep schedules had gone haywire. Late-night escapades led to waking up at noon or even afternoon, leaving their days and nights a blur.

Bo Mingyan thought they needed to go out—if only to burn off some of that little vixen’s energy.

“We can still go out, even if the weather’s bad. As long as it’s with you, I can make peace with the rain.” Meng Xuran wrapped her arms around Bo Mingyan from behind, delighting in the slight stiffening before Bo Mingyan relaxed. Gazing up at the newly hung Rain-Sweeping Maiden, she suggested, “Starting tomorrow, how about I show you around Nanquan? The city’s changed a lot. You haven’t had the chance to explore since coming back, right?”

Bo Mingyan nodded. After returning, she’d been too busy finding a place to live and a job to properly see the new Nanquan.

Meng Xuran clasped Bo Mingyan’s hands from behind, whispering in her ear:

“Let’s overlay the past with the present, Manman.”

Not replace.

Layer over.

The light words landed in Bo Mingyan’s heart like a weight, sending ripples through her.

“Okay.”