Two Faced Lover - Chapter 8
8: Midnight Snack
Bo Mingyan had prepped the vegetables in advance, setting aside half to stir-fry the next morning. She cooked the rice and scooped half a bowl’s worth into a Lock & Lock container.
The leftover rice was boiled with water, then mixed with chopped greens and lean pork. Soon, the aroma of green vegetable and pork congee filled the air.
Meng Xuran sat in the study, staring at her computer screen, her mind involuntarily replaying the scene in the kitchen earlier.
She tossed aside her mouse, thumped her head on the desk, and sighed.
Why did I have to say I wasn’t hungry? If I’d just agreed, I wouldn’t have been so awkward just now. We could’ve eaten together… God, I’ve even dreamed about it…
Suddenly, the image of Bo Mingyan when she first arrived home flashed through her mind.
Like the river outside the neighborhood that connected to the larger waterway—calm and unruffled on the surface, but concealing countless undercurrents beneath.
Meng Xuran closed her eyes, feeling restless. She straightened up and picked up the enamel mug beside her, only to find it empty.
After a moment’s hesitation, she carried the mug out of the study. As soon as she stepped out, the faint fragrance of congee wafted over.
Following the scent, Meng Xuran slowly made her way to the kitchen door.
Inside, steam curled in the air. Bo Mingyan wore soft, loose loungewear, her shoulder-length hair tied back with a scrunchie. Without her glasses, her features appeared even more striking. She seemed lost in thought.
Despite doing something as mundane as cooking, she exuded an untouchable coolness—a stark contrast to the gentle demeanor she displayed at work.
Meng Xuran curled her fingers slightly. The enamel mug clinked against the doorframe, snapping her out of her daze. She stepped inside.
Hearing the noise, Bo Mingyan turned off the stove and turned around. They stood face-to-face, suddenly very close. Meng Xuran froze mid-step, tilting her head slightly. Bo Mingyan instinctively leaned back, her waist pressing against the cold countertop.
Behind her, steam rose lazily from the enamel pot.
Meng Xuran switched from holding the mug with one hand to cradling it with both. Bo Mingyan lowered her gaze, her eyes skimming over Meng Xuran’s slightly open collar before settling on the enamel mug.
Under that scrutinizing look, Meng Xuran inexplicably felt like she was here to beg for food. She quickly explained, “I just came to get water.”
Bo Mingyan turned her face away, steadying herself before picking up the enamel pot and leaving the kitchen, tossing back, “I didn’t say anything.”
Eating alone was lonely. Though Bo Mingyan was used to it, she didn’t like the feeling.
Her gaze drifted unconsciously toward the kitchen, where Meng Xuran still stood in the doorway—watching her.
Had she just looked over, or had she been staring for a while?
The moment their eyes met, Meng Xuran ducked back into the kitchen. Bo Mingyan glanced thoughtfully at the congee in the pot. When she looked up again, Meng Xuran peeked out halfway, locked eyes with her, then retreated again.
Bo Mingyan: “…”
When Meng Xuran peeked out a second time, Bo Mingyan tilted her head slightly. Her striking, smoky-gray eyes widened slightly, locking onto her.
Meng Xuran was reminded of her Bombay cat at home, the one that loved playing peekaboo.
Meanwhile, Bo Mingyan was thinking of a greedy little fox she’d encountered in England—one that had inched closer step by step, peeking and hiding, before finally sneaking into the yard to share the chicken she’d cooked with the stray cats.
Bo Mingyan’s gaze softened. “Want to come have some?”
“Well… maybe just a little.” Meng Xuran lifted her chin with an air of noble pride and walked over gracefully.
She plopped her oversized enamel mug on the table, pulled out a chair, and sat across from Bo Mingyan without a hint of politeness. “Half a mug, thanks.”
Bo Mingyan found it amusing. The Meng Xuran who sat behind her desk discussing work was mature and composed.
But now, with her chin propped in her hands as she waited for the congee, her pride carried a hint of spoiled charm—completely devoid of the aloof aura she had at the office.
Instead, there was a warmth that invited closeness.
“I thought you came for water?” Bo Mingyan ladled congee into the empty mug. “Truly, the essence of humanity is—”
“—the ‘true fragrance’ phenomenon.” Meng Xuran cut in.
Their eyes met. Meng Xuran instinctively covered her flushed cheeks, her fingers squishing her face into roundness. Her long lashes fluttered twice.
She looked both innocent and adorable.
Bo Mingyan swallowed the words “self-contradiction” and glanced at Meng Xuran. A few seconds later, she glanced again before sliding the mug over. “Go ahead and turn on the AC.”
Meng Xuran: “Are you hot?”
Bo Mingyan lowered her lashes, pressing her lips together. “A little.”
“Tough. You got caught in the rain earlier.”
Meng Xuran stood and walked around Bo Mingyan to open the living room window.
A strand of hair slipped loose. Bo Mingyan tucked it behind her ear. Meng Xuran’s gaze followed her fingers, landing on the exposed ear.
Her mixed-race skin was exceptionally fair. Under the light, Bo Mingyan’s ear appeared almost translucent, the veins faintly visible. Near the lobe was a tiny mole.
“Are you half-British?” Meng Xuran asked as she returned to her seat.
They sat down simultaneously. Bo Mingyan replied, “Not entirely. My grandfather was German, my grandmother was British.”
“No wonder you’re so pretty.” Meng Xuran stirred the steaming congee in her mug.
The compliment sounded grudgingly given, which somehow made it feel more sincere.
Bo Mingyan: “But I prefer your looks.”
Meng Xuran’s features were the epitome of Eastern beauty—striking the perfect balance where any addition would seem gaudy, and any subtraction would feel lacking. Just enough to appear ethereal when still and lively when animated.
“Are we doing mutual flattery now?” Amusement glimmered in Meng Xuran’s warm eyes as she shamelessly praised herself, “But I do have a good face. When I was studying abroad, foreigners loved it.”
Bo Mingyan couldn’t help but smile, her usually sharp and cool features softening.
The pearl-white enamel pot beside her accentuated her vivid beauty, lending her an unusual charm.
The unfamiliar distance between them seemed to shrink gradually. Bo Mingyan’s gaze at Meng Xuran was gentle.
Her smoky-gray irises shimmered like colored glass, mesmerizing. Meng Xuran felt as if she might fall into them. She lowered her face and scooped a spoonful of congee. “Are your eyes like your father’s?”
“My grandfather’s. My dad had blue eyes—much prettier.”
As she spoke, Bo Mingyan’s mind flashed to Bo Weize’s eyes—deep and gentle as the ocean.
As a child, she’d often throw tantrums over her eye color, convinced she looked nothing like him. She’d also heard whispers that Lin Huixin had cheated.
Given Lin Huixin’s fluctuating attitude toward Bo Weize and herself, Bo Mingyan had half-believed those rumors.
But later, on their anniversary, Bo Weize publicly declared his love for Lin Huixin, defending her reputation. He’d also said he adored Bo Mingyan’s eyes because their smoky-gray hue was identical to those of the person he respected most.
Everyone knew that person was his father. Though the old man had left no photographs, it was generally accepted that Bo Mingyan took after her grandfather.
“Thinking about your dad?” Meng Xuran suddenly asked.
Bo Mingyan snapped out of her thoughts, realizing she’d been holding an empty spoon in silence for a while. Meanwhile, the congee in Meng Xuran’s mug had visibly decreased, and the spoonful she’d just taken disappeared between her pink lips.
Outside, the night was deep, and a light rain pattered. The air was damp and stifling.
“Mm.” Bo Mingyan set down her spoon and changed the subject. “Does it suit your taste?”
“It’s good.” Meng Xuran gave a proper evaluation. “Not too thick or thin, perfectly seasoned. The pork isn’t gamey, and the greens aren’t overcooked.”
A faint smile touched Bo Mingyan’s lips as she lowered her head and ate slowly.
Meng Xuran: “Are you planning to bring homemade meals to work from now on?”
“Mm.” Bo Mingyan paused. “When I have the energy.”
Given her workload, “having the energy” would probably be rare.
Meng Xuran nodded. After a moment, she abruptly asked, “Earlier, you mentioned transferring money for the pot and bowls, right?”
Bo Mingyan: “Calculate it, and I’ll send it to you.”
“The pot’s expensive. It’d be unfair to make you pay. How about this?” Meng Xuran grinned. “When you cook, make an extra portion for me?”
Bo Mingyan blinked. “How expensive is the pot?”
“The enamel pot was over 5,000. Half would be 2,500. The chopsticks were 580. The Lock & Lock set was cheap—just over 200. I’ll give you a 1% discount.” Meng Xuran tapped away on her phone calculator. “Call it 3,200 total.”
More expensive than rent! Bo Mingyan’s eyes widened slightly. After a long pause, she asked, “Any dietary restrictions?”
Meng Xuran’s eyes curved happily. “I dislike hardship. Otherwise, I’m easy.”
The words reminded Bo Mingyan of the princess’s picky palate. “Never mind. I’ll transfer the money.”
Meng Xuran: “I only accept cash.”
Bo Mingyan: “I don’t have cash.”
Meng Xuran: “Then win over my stomach.”
Bo Mingyan’s heart skipped a beat. Her lashes fluttered, but she didn’t look up.
After a long silence, she said, “I’ll bring some tomorrow.”
The light in Meng Xuran’s eyes dimmed. “Oh.”
Her disappointment was unmistakable.
Bo Mingyan felt like she’d bullied her. After a beat, she said stiffly, “I’m worried it won’t suit your taste. Wouldn’t want to waste it.”
“I’m not picky.” Meng Xuran’s tone lifted with renewed enthusiasm.
Bo Mingyan arched a brow. “Not picky?”
Her skepticism was palpable.
Meng Xuran’s metaphorical hackles rose instantly. “What misconceptions do you have about me? Why do you think I’m picky?”
Remembering the office gossip, she added, “Did someone badmouth me?”
“You said it yourself.” Bo Mingyan reminded her, “When I first got home, you were on the phone.”
Meng Xuran’s face burned.
Talk about shooting yourself in the foot!
“That wasn’t me being picky—it was genuinely bad.” Meng Xuran rubbed the spoon handle with her thumb. “If you don’t believe I’m not picky, cook for me a couple of times and see.”
Cooking for herself was one thing, but cooking for someone else meant accommodating their tastes—a hassle.
But paying $3,200? Ouch.
After a brief internal struggle, Bo Mingyan relented. “Fine, we’ll try it.”
A soft chuckle came from across the table.
Meng Xuran’s voice had a unique texture—even her breathy laughter made ears tingle. Bo Mingyan lowered her head, rubbing her ear, avoiding the triumphant smile of her capitalist oppressor.
She also missed the smoldering heat that flickered in Meng Xuran’s eyes as she smiled.
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