Two Faced Lover - Chapter 80

80: Intersection

Meng Xuran knelt above Bo Mingyan, one arm draped over Bo Mingyan’s shoulder while the other hand desperately searched for support.

She had originally intended to reach for the door handle, but in the throes of passion, her hand missed and landed on the car window instead.

Her fair, delicate hand, with its well-proportioned knuckles, pressed against the darkened glass. The stark contrast between her pale skin and the dark window was striking. The back of her hand tensed, veins faintly visible, and at a certain moment, her fingers suddenly curled. The diamond-studded press-on nails scraped lightly against the window, the sound barely audible beneath the soft, wet noises and the muffled, melodic moans escaping her throat. Her fingertips slid downward, leaving a trail on the fogged-up glass.

Bo Mingyan pressed down on Meng Xuran’s shoulder.

As Meng Xuran lowered herself, she let out a choked sob, trembling. The tears that had pooled in her eyes now spilled over, streaking down her cheeks in broken lines. Her voice was thick with a nasal whimper: “…Too much.”

Bo Mingyan tilted her head up, capturing Meng Xuran’s lips. She could still faintly feel the bite marks she’d left earlier, so she kissed her gently, savoring the faint taste of plum wine on Meng Xuran’s tongue. “I’m sorry,” she murmured softly.

But her apology was utterly insincere, as she immediately demonstrated. Meng Xuran’s moans grew louder, barely restrained, until she was on the verge of crying out-

Bo Mingyan, one hand still busy between them, quickly covered Meng Xuran’s mouth with the other.

“Be good,” Bo Mingyan coaxed, her voice husky. “The car isn’t soundproof.” Worried she might be stifling her, she immediately loosened her grip.

Meng Xuran leaned forward, yanking open Bo Mingyan’s collar, and bit down on her shoulder.

The soft moan that escaped her throat sounded eerily like the little fox that had once nuzzled against Bo Mingyan’s hand in the courtyard many years ago.

Fluffy, warm, as if bathed in sunlight.

Fireworks bloomed brilliantly in the night sky, scattering like falling stars, their bright tails streaking across the darkness before vanishing into the rippling water below.

Meng Xuran had since shifted from Bo Mingyan’s lap to the seat, her waist pressed against the backrest as she lounged lazily, half-reclining. Bo Mingyan’s coat was draped over her, covering her down to her thighs. Her slender, porcelain legs were crossed and resting on Bo Mingyan’s lap, the pair of panties that had been deemed too troublesome earlier now dangling from her toes, swaying idly.

Bo Mingyan grabbed her ankle. “If you keep swinging them, they’ll fall. Put them on properly.”

Meng Xuran let out a soft hum, her voice hoarse when she spoke: “You were too rough earlier. I don’t have the strength to put them on.”

In those final moments, Meng Xuran had wanted to cry out but feared the car’s lack of soundproofing might attract unwanted attention.

She could only suppress her voice, whimpering softly, tears streaming down her face as she struggled to hold back. Seeing her like that-eyes wet with tears, lashes trembling, restraining herself so desperately-had only fueled Bo Mingyan’s desire, making it impossible for her to hold back.

Just thinking about what had happened a few minutes ago made Meng Xuran burn with both embarrassment and frustration. Embarrassed at how pliant she became when she bottomed, frustrated that when she topped, she’d been too lenient, giving Bo Mingyan the chance to turn the tables and wreck her.

Annoyed, she jerked her leg slightly, the panties on her toes nearly slipping to the floor before Bo Mingyan swiftly caught them.

Bo Mingyan, ever patient, helped her put them back on.

Though Meng Xuran was lazy and boneless, when it came to the final step, she was too shy to let Bo Mingyan see her like that and took care of it herself.

Bo Mingyan retrieved a bottle of water from the storage compartment, turned on the car light, unscrewed the cap, inserted a straw, and handed it to Meng Xuran. Then she bent down to pick up the clothes and pants that had fallen to the floor. When she spotted the crumpled finger cot, she paused, her ears warming slightly.

“When did you stock up on these?”

Meng Xuran sipped through the straw, answering without hesitation: “A long time ago.”

“A long time ago?” Bo Mingyan repeated, her voice shifting. “How long ago?”

Meng Xuran blinked. “I forgot.”

Bo Mingyan’s expression became indescribable. Meng Xuran unconsciously bit the straw. She didn’t know if Bo Mingyan had misunderstood—if she thought Meng Xuran had bought these to use with someone else. For a fleeting moment, she considered explaining.

But only for a moment.

Meng Xuran’s feelings were complicated. On one hand, she was certain Bo Mingyan wasn’t the type to jump to conclusions about others. On the other hand, she was certain Bo Mingyan wasn’t the type to jump to conclusions about others. On the other hand, she wanted Bo Mingyan to misunderstand, to feel jealous, to show how much she cared.

Her nails scraped against the plastic film on the bottle as she subtly observed Bo Mingyan’s reaction. But then she saw Bo Mingyan locate the finger cot’s packaging near the edge of the seat and check the expiration date.

Meng Xuran burst out laughing at the sight, realizing now what that earlier expression had been about. Amused and exasperated, she said, “They’re not expired! These things have a long shelf life.”

Indeed, they lasted three years, and the production date was July of last year.

Bo Mingyan was relieved.

Meng Xuran laughed so hard she nearly choked on her water. “Oh my god, Manman, you’re so cute. I thought you were jealous, wondering if I’d used these with someone else, but you were just worried they might expire!”

She laughed for a good while longer.

“I haven’t forgotten the headache of washing the sheets the other day,” Bo Mingyan remarked casually.

“…” Meng Xuran stopped laughing.

Just a few days ago, Meng Xuran had explicitly stated that apart from Bo Mingyan, she’d never been with anyone else, and that bleeding was normal for first-timers.

Had she bought the finger cots for her own use?

Bo Mingyan suddenly understood why Meng Xuran had such a high frequency in this regard—her needs in this area were simply greater.

Meanwhile, Meng Xuran placed the half-finished water bottle in the door’s storage compartment and began putting her clothes back on, piece by piece.

When she got to her bra, her hand slipped beneath the fabric as she leaned forward to adjust herself.

Bo Mingyan, bending down to pick up the discarded finger cots and tissues, caught a glimpse of snowy skin being pressed into soft curves from the corner of her eye. She averted her gaze, focusing instead on the finger cot pinched between her fingers.

The car was stuffy, the lingering scent still thick in the air.

The thought that Meng Xuran might have been pleasuring herself just a wall away reignited the heat Bo Mingyan had only just managed to suppress.

She wanted to roll down the window, but Meng Xuran wasn’t fully dressed yet. Her fingers curled around the finger cot, and after a few seconds of hesitation, she couldn’t resist asking:

“Meng Jiaojiao, can I ask you something?”

“Hmm? Go ahead~” Meng Xuran was pulling on her sweater, her voice muffled by the fabric. The water had restored some of the clarity to her tone, making it low and alluring.

Bo Mingyan licked her lips, suppressing the rising tide of embarrassment. “Is there… a big difference between doing it yourself and having me… do it?”

“Huh?” Meng Xuran’s eyes were blank as she tugged the sweater down, freeing her face. Her gaze inadvertently landed on the finger cot in Bo Mingyan’s hand, and realization dawned. Her face flushed crimson. “W-What are you thinking?! I-I’ve never done it myself!”

Bo Mingyan raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical.

Meng Xuran scrambled for an excuse. “I bought them out of curiosity, that’s all.”

It was obviously a lie. Bo Mingyan let out a meaningful “Oh,” but didn’t press further. She gathered the used finger cots and tissues into a trash bag.

Watching this, Meng Xuran felt her mouth go dry again. She put on her jacket, picked up the half-finished water bottle, and mumbled around the straw: “If it weren’t for you, why would I even buy these?”

At that moment, Bo Mingyan was tucking the finger cot box back into the storage compartment when she noticed a slip of paper tucked beneath it. She leaned closer for a better look.

Under the overhead car light, it was unmistakable-a delivery slip, likely accidentally brought into the compartment when Meng Xuran had retrieved the package.

Hearing Meng Xuran’s words, Bo Mingyan froze. She knew Meng Xuran had liked her for a long time, but she hadn’t realized those desires had existed for just as long.

With a teasing smile, Bo Mingyan said, “The delivery slip is from August. You were already craving me back then?”

Meng Xuran was rolling down the window when her fingers slipped from the button.

Perhaps it was the overwhelming amusement in Bo Mingyan’s voice that made Meng Xuran relax for a moment. She responded in a similarly playful tone, testing the waters: “What if it was even earlier than August? What if… I’d been craving you for much longer than that? Would you suddenly think… that I’m not as good as you thought, that I’m scheming, or… perverted, disgusting?”

Her voice grew quieter with each word, barely audible by the end. With every pause, her heartbeat grew louder.

The window was halfway down.

The orange-yellow streetlights and moonlight streamed through the gap, brushing against Meng Xuran’s profile and colliding with the car’s interior light, casting a dim glow. Yet Meng Xuran sat curled in the shadows.

She only looked up when she felt Bo Mingyan’s shadow envelop her. Bo Mingyan’s hand covered hers, warm and soft against her skin, and only then did Meng Xuran turn her head.

For a moment, Bo Mingyan was speechless. Staring into Meng Xuran’s eyes, she suddenly remembered all the places they’d visited today-each one tied to her past. Wutong Court, where she’d lived since birth; the route to Old Zhang’s Noodle Shop; the path to school.

The art room at the experimental elementary school.

The site of her old middle school.

She’d never told Meng Xuran about these places-she herself had nearly forgotten them. Yet Meng Xuran had quietly preserved them in her memory for years.

Meng Xuran’s peach-blossom eyes shimmered like pools of aged wine-clear, luminous, intoxicating.

Bo Mingyan felt herself being pulled in, as if traversing the fog of time to glimpse traces of Meng Xuran’s affection for her-traces that stretched back far earlier than she’d ever imagined.

No, it wasn’t just affection.

Her heartbeat grew erratic, her chest so full it ached, yet her mind was blank. In that moment, Bo Mingyan didn’t know how to articulate what she was feeling.

A breeze, carrying the cool dampness of the riverside, drifted in, dissipating the lingering heat and scent in the car.

Bo Mingyan’s voice, blending into the cool air, was soft and indistinct: “When I was studying abroad and interning at ME, some… unpleasant things happened to me. Like my landlord trying to break into my room at night… or my supervisor hinting at trading favors for career advancement…”

“When I first started interning at ME, my mentor was very kind to me. At first, I thought he was just a gentle, fatherly figure. Until he told me that to climb higher, I’d need to give more… like my body.”

Meng Xuran’s pupils trembled, as if gasping for air before finally finding her breath again.

Bo Mingyan closed her eyes. Even now, remembering that day made her skin crawl-the disgust of having compared that man to someone like Bo Weize.

“I really do hate it when people have those kinds of thoughts about me.”

Bo Mingyan’s voice was as cold as the wind.

Meng Xuran’s eyelashes fluttered rapidly. The fingers beneath Bo Mingyan’s palm curled tightly, mirroring the sudden clench in her chest.

Her throat felt blocked, as if something were stuck there. She opened her mouth, but no words came out-nothing she could say would suffice.

Until Bo Mingyan’s fingers intertwined with hers. When she spoke again, her voice was warm, infused with emotion.

“But you’re not just ‘people.”

“You have my favor. You’re the exception to all my rules.”

Perhaps because of the confined space, or because they were so close, Meng Xuran could almost feel Bo Mingyan’s steady heartbeat beneath her slightly heavy breaths-like the river miles away, its surface calm but its depths turbulent, its rhythm merging with her own.

Bo Mingyan continued, “I could never think less of you. You’re wonderful. Thank you for craving me for so long—it makes me feel wonderful too.”

Half an hour ago, Meng Xuran had wanted to exhaust Bo Mingyan so they wouldn’t have to go anywhere else.

Now, her anxious heart finally felt at ease.

She believed that the person she’d loved for so long could handle the full force of her-whether warm or scorching.

“Tomorrow, don’t be scared by my dark history,” Meng Xuran said, flipping her hand over to clasp Bo Mingyan’s tightly. “I’ve got you now.”

I’ve already caught you, so you can’t be scared. You’re not getting away.

Bo Mingyan chuckled and squeezed her hand in response.

The night wind was cool.

But their interlaced fingers radiated warmth, spreading from their fingertips to their hearts, filling every corner of their chests.

Over the next few days, Bo Mingyan followed Meng Xuran around most of Nanquan City.

Perhaps wanting her to gradually acclimate to the past, Meng Xuran started by showing her their current home before moving outward western-style villa, a classic example of olds Nanquan architecture. By the time Meng Xuran was born, her grandparents had already passed away.

“Now it’s just my grandmother,” Meng Xuran said, tapping her temple. “She’s getting on in years, and… well, she’s not all there. Says some pretty awful things, so I won’t take you inside for dinner. Maybe when Fu Junxue brings her wife over, we’ll tag along for the chaos~”

Clearly, she planned to use Fu Junxue as a shield while stoking the flames.

Bo Mingyan laughed. “You’re terrible.”

Meng Xuran arched a brow, unbothered by the critique. “In Nanquan, I only really go between my own place and the old house. If we ever fight and I don’t come home, I’m probably here. Remember the way so you can come fetch me, got it?”

Bo Mingyan blinked. “Would we fight?”

“Who knows?” Meng Xuran fiddled with the tassels on her clothes, her voice quiet. “Just in case. You have to come get me.”

Bo Mingyan hummed in agreement. After a moment of thought, she concluded that her own temperament wouldn’t provoke the little princess’s anger. “But what if you’re the one at fault? You’d still run back home?”

Meng Xuran didn’t hesitate. “It would never be my fault.”

“But what if?” Bo Mingyan pressed.

Meng Xuran glared at her, but when her eyes met Bo Mingyan’s, her lashes fluttered, and she quickly looked away, muttering, “There is no ‘what if’… Oh sh1t!”

Bo Mingyan followed her gaze. The gate of the old house had opened, and an elderly woman in a wheelchair was being pushed out by Meng Yao.

Meng Xuran flapped her hands like panicked chicken wings. “Go, go, go!”

Bo Mingyan stepped on the gas, driving off as planned toward the district where Nanquan No. 1 High School was located-the most affluent area of the city. They stopped at a restaurant for lunch before leisurely making their way to the school.

Nanquan No. 1 High School sat at the heart of the university district, flanked by Nanquan Art Institute to the front, Nanquan Normal University to the rear, Nanquan University of Finance and Economics to the left, and Nanquan Medical University to the right.

Meng Xuran said, “My mom wanted me to go to Nanquan Normal. Failing that, Finance and Economics. Or, if I was willing to suffer, Medical. With four schools right there, she figured I could just pick one blindly.”

“But you went to the UK instead,” Bo Mingyan said, her expression dimming slightly.

And she had gone to the U.S.

Meng Xuran pinched the webbing between Bo Mingyan’s thumb and index finger. “Yeah. I even wanted a private tutor, but someone was so afraid I’d steal her secrets, she bolted.”

Bo Mingyan’s lips twitched.

“People used to joke that Nanquan No. 1 was the darling of all these universities-that their labs and libraries were open to our students,” Meng Xuran said, changing the subject. “Did you ever hear that?”

Bo Mingyan nodded. “Someone even wrote a fanfic personifying the schools.”

“Right, that post! Total scam. ‘Darling’ my ass. Once you got in, you realized it was a prison. No mingling with the pretty art school girls, no access to the ‘vast’ university libraries-couldn’t even get a seat. The labs were open, sure, but only for tests and exams.”

Meng Xuran grumbled about the school’s draconian policies. “And the class system! Do poorly, and you got demoted. Even exam seating was by rank.”

Bo Mingyan asked curiously, “Were you ever demoted?”

“No,” Meng Xuran said, her eyes gleaming with pride. “I was always in Class 1, first seat~”

Even her bragging had layers. Bo Mingyan’s smile deepened as she feigned ignorance. “Oh, so you were dead last?”

“?!” Meng Xuran’s triumphant expression vanished, replaced by indignation. “First! As in, top of the class!”

Bo Mingyan laughed. “Wow, so impressive~”

“Of course. If they hadn’t stopped allowing grade-skipping, I could’ve graduated even sooner~” Meng Xuran lifted her chin, her invisible tail wagging proudly.

She wanted to see admiration in Bo Mingyan’s eyes.

Instead, she found Bo Mingyan biting her lip to suppress a smile.

Since she wasn’t wearing heels today, Meng Xuran stood on tiptoe and looped her arms around Bo Mingyan’s neck.

Bo Mingyan’s shoulders dipped under the sudden weight, stumbling a few steps before steadying herself with an arm around Meng Xuran’s waist. The school bell, which still rang during holidays, chimed softly in the distance-a brief, melodic tune.

The weather was perfect. Sunlight filtered through the trees, casting golden streaks across their path, carrying the quiet warmth of an early spring afternoon.

Bo Mingyan looked up, her gaze following the dappled light toward the school gates.

Bo Weize had mentioned this school to her.

Most parents in Nanquan shared the same mindset: attend the best high school, then blindly choose one of the four nearby universities-staying close to home.

If Bo Weize were still alive, she likely would’ve studied here then maybe attended Nanquan Art for fashion design, or discovered a new interest and gone to Medical.

She would’ve stayed in Nanquan.

And if that were the case, perhaps Meng Xuran would’ve caught up to her sooner. Perhaps their paths would’ve crossed much earlier.

“I thought you were actually praising me, but you were just laughing at me!”

Bo Mingyan turned at the sound of Meng Xuran’s bright voice.

Her smile was radiant-a vivid, living counterpoint to all the regrets and what-ifs.

The next day was Valentine’s Day. They spent the morning exploring Nanquan’s newer attractions places even Meng Xuran hadn’t visited before. Without her usual sense of direction, they wandered through streets and alleys, taking countless wrong turns.

They’d planned to catch a movie but realized they’d misread the dates. In the end, they settled for an animated film. Meng Xuran, with her low threshold for both tears and laughter, giggled uncontrollably alongside the children in the theater, collapsing into Bo Mingyan’s arms.

The movie was terrible, their seats were awful, and the kids were noisy. By all accounts, it should’ve been Bo Mingyan’s worst cinematic experience.

Instead, it became her favorite.

That night, they strolled along the moat with warm milk tea in hand. Bo Mingyan took countless photos.

Meng Xuran happily selected a few, already planning to have them printed on phone cases.

When their legs grew tired, they rented a boat. Bo Mingyan remembered that in her childhood, there hadn’t been boats here.

Her memories of Nanquan had been worn fuzzy by time.

Leaning against the railing, Bo Mingyan let the evening breeze tousle her hair, carrying with it a faint, familiar fragrance.

“Manman.” Meng Xuran raised her phone, calling her name.

Bo Mingyan looked up just as Meng Xuran snapped the photo.

In the frame, the city’s glowing skyline stretched behind them. Meng Xuran was looking at Bo Mingyan through the lens, her eyes curved into crescents, while Bo Mingyan gazed back, her smoke-gray eyes alight.

The joy of the entire day etched itself into Bo Mingyan’s memory.

On the third day, they circled back to the southern district.

Bo Mingyan had assumed Meng Xuran’s middle school would be closer to home, since by then, Meng Yao had already brought her back to the old house.

But Meng Xuran said, “I went to the same middle school as you. They merged right when I started.”

Meng Xuran had followed in Bo Mingyan’s footsteps-same elementary school, same middle school. But with a five-year age gap, even skipping grades couldn’t close the distance.

Since they’d already visited the Republic-era street the day before, Meng Xuran took her down a different route, which led to the foot of Nanquan’s Little Ling Mountain. Crossing it would bring them to her grandmother’s neighborhood.

“Who was your homeroom teacher?” Bo Mingyan asked offhandedly.

“I skipped a grade halfway through first year,” Meng Xuran said after a moment’s thought. She couldn’t recall the name, so she went with the nickname: “The Nun!”

Meng Xuran gestured to her forehead. “Her hairline was here. She always wore her hair in a bun, showcasing her shiny, reflective forehead. Mean as hell. Everyone called her that.”

Bo Mingyan laughed at the vivid description, but her smile soon faded.

“She made life hard for her students.” Bo Mingyan’s impression of the Nun was far from positive.

The teacher was deeply conservative, sexist, and elitist. Girls in her class weren’t allowed bangs, low-rise pants, or bras with visible lines.

Bo Mingyan remembered that after Bo Weize’s death, she’d been in such a daze that she’d gone to school with her hair half-done. A boy in the back row had yanked out her hair tie.

At that age, boys’ brains seemed to operate on some bizarre logic that bullying was how you showed affection.

Even though she was the victim, the Nun-returning from a meeting and only seeing Bo Mingyan trying to retrieve her hair tie-assumed she was fooling around with the boys. During literature class, she’d sneered, “The merchant’s daughter knows not the grief of a fallen nation, yet sings the backyard song across the river.”

The implication was clear: Your father’s dead, yet here you are, laughing with boys.

It had felt like a public slap. Bo Mingyan’s face burned with shame, her heart twisting painfully.

After class, she’d explained that the boy had taken her hair tie, but the Nun had retorted, “If your hair had been properly tied, why would he have taken it?”

That single, dismissive remark had carved itself into Bo Mingyan’s mind. For years afterward, whenever Lin Huixin chose to send her away, she’d think, If I were better, would she have kept me?

When rumors spread that she’d slept with her advisor, she’d think, If I’d kept my distance, would people still assume the worst?

When her supervisor leered at her legs and said they kept him up at night, she’d think, If I hadn’t worn a skirt, would he have dared?

It had taken countless books and revisiting Bo Weize’s lessons to unlearn those toxic thoughts.

And from that day forward, the rumors about Bo Mingyan had spread like wildfire-started by her own teacher, uttered with such conviction that they became inescapable.

Her life had split into two extremes from that moment on.

“It was only bad for half a year,” Meng Xuran said lightly, stepping on the fallen leaves covering the stone path. “She got fired.”

Bo Mingyan snapped out of her thoughts. “Why?”

“Private tutoring. If you didn’t pay, she’d punish you.”

Bo Mingyan was stunned. “The Nun physically punished students?”

In her memory, the Nun had been hypocritical pretending to oppose corporal punishment while cutting deeper with words. She’d once stopped an English teacher from using a ruler on students’ palms, only to follow up with remarks far more painful than any slap.

“A respectable teacher should be ‘virtuous without hypocrisy, kind without weakness, frank in speech, and consistent in action,” Meng Xuran said coldly. “Emotional abuse and enabling bullying are worse than physical punishment.”

Bo Mingyan’s throat tightened. “Were you bullied too?”

Meng Xuran shook her head. “With my looks, grades, and family background? No one dared.”

What she didn’t say was that back then, she’d been so withdrawn she barely spoke to anyone. It wasn’t that no one tried to bully her-she just hadn’t cared.

Bo Mingyan gave her an amused look. “Then why the impassioned speech?”

“Gu Miao.” Meng Xuran’s voice softened. “After her mom died of cancer, she was really depressed. Once, when I was in the faculty office, I overheard the Nun and other teachers gossiping about her. It was vile.”

What Meng Xuran would never forget was that the Nun had also mentioned Bo Mingyan-the person she loved and her best friend, both dismissed as morally corrupt trash.

“I was the one who reported her. I used-” Meng Xuran’s foot missed a step.

Bo Mingyan caught her by the waist, steadying her. “Careful.”

Falling would’ve hurt-badly. Meng Xuran took a steadying breath before finishing, “…a not-so-great method.”

Bo Mingyan was silent for a long moment. “What method?”

Meng Xuran didn’t answer.

“Is this part of your dark history?”

Meng Xuran clasped her hands behind her back, left gripping right, fingers twitching slightly. She nodded almost imperceptibly.

She’d promised not to let go, but now that the moment had come, she hesitated.

Bo Mingyan reached over, hooking her pinky around Meng Xuran’s teasing finger. “I wish you’d been older,” she said lightly.

Then maybe I wouldn’t have suffered so much.

Meng Xuran’s lashes fluttered. At the top of the steps, she turned to face Bo Mingyan, the midday sun warming her skin. Her eyes curved into crescents. “Call me sister.”

Bo Mingyan shot her a dry look, which only made Meng Xuran grin wider.

On the way down, pestered relentlessly, Bo Mingyan finally caved and murmured, “sister.”

Meng Xuran scrambled for her phone, demanding a repeat for recording purposes, but Bo Mingyan refused.

Later, as they walked through the lush mountain path, Bo Mingyan stopped suddenly and crooked a finger. When Meng Xuran eagerly handed over her phone, Bo Mingyan pulled her close and nipped at her ear.

“If you want to hear ‘sister’ again, I’ll make sure you’re screaming it all night.”

Bo Mingyan rarely flirted, but when she did, the effect was nuclear. Meng Xuran, all bark and no bite, knew Bo Mingyan delivered.

She immediately behaved.

At the foot of the mountain, they reached Heyong Lane.

Meng Xuran said, “My grandma used to live in Donghua Village.”

Bo Mingyan vaguely remembered Donghua Village.

It wasn’t exactly close to Wutong Court-they were on separate subway lines, requiring transfers-but not far either, just four streets and a twenty-minute walk.

But Bo Mingyan had rarely visited those old alleys.

There’d been news of a child kidnapped after school, prompting Bo Weize to warn her against going there.

Meng Xuran knew the story too. Pointing down an alley, she said, “Right there. I almost got taken. But I was smart-when the guy offered candy, I ran.”

Bo Mingyan studied Meng Xuran’s face. Usually, when boasting, Meng Xuran was all smug confidence. Now, her expression was blank, her gaze fixed on the alley’s depths before finally turning away.

“When I told my grandma, she panicked. The next day, she got a dog leash from a neighbor and tied me to her wherever she went. Dancing? Leashed to a tree. Playing mahjong? Leashed to her waist. Grocery shopping? Held like a dog. The kids here started calling me…” Meng Xuran swallowed hard. “…puppy pee-pee.”

Bo Mingyan’s brows furrowed deeply.

The cruel nickname dredged up her own memories.

On one of her rare visits to the area, Bo Mingyan had heard children chanting “puppy pee-pee” in a circle. A boy had bragged about walking his “dog” down the street to make it “pee-pee” in public.

Assuming they were tormenting an animal, Bo Mingyan had stormed over. “What are you doing?!”

The kids had scattered, revealing not a dog, but a small child curled into a ball. Furious, Bo Mingyan had demanded, “Who taught you to bully people like this?!”

Tall and sharp-featured, her threat to tell their parents had sent them fleeing.

The child—a little girl with a bowl cut, her face hidden except for teary, beautiful eyes-had stared at Bo Mingyan for a long moment.

Bo Mingyan had handed over the cake she was carrying. “When you’re sad, eat something sweet.”

The girl had reached out, then hesitated.

Bo Mingyan had pressed the cake into her arms before leaving.

Meng Xuran didn’t elaborate, stealing glances at Bo Mingyan as she traced patterns on her palm. “You…”

“So it was you I helped that day.” Bo Mingyan’s voice was soft. “Did they keep bullying you?”

Meng Xuran’s eyes shimmered, her lips curving into a smile. She shook her head. “No. After that day, they stopped. Why were you there?”

“A new cake shop had opened on Tongshan Road, selling those little basket cakes. My dad said they were delicious, but hardly any stores carried them anymore. When I heard they were available there, I wanted to buy some for him. But the line was long, and they sold out, so I got a different cake. On the way back, I took a shortcut through Heyong Lane. And then my cake ended up in someone else’s stomach.”

Meng Xuran huffed. “I didn’t make you give it to me.”

Bo Mingyan smiled. “I know. I wanted to.”

Meng Xuran muttered, “You got your basket cake eventually anyway.”

Bo Mingyan nodded. “I did.”

Then she paused. Something clicked.

How did Meng Xuran know that?

A sports car roared past, interrupting her thoughts.

They’d left Heyong Lane and were now on Tongshan Road, named for its position between Little Ling Mountain and Wutong Court. Rows of plane trees lined the street, their leaves half-green, half-gold, scattering with every breeze.

In summer, the entire stretch was breathtakingly green.

“Later, my dad took a day off, and we went early to get the basket cakes. That day, I saved a little girl on this road.”

It had been sweltering. While Bo Weize waited in line, Bo Mingyan hopscotch on the pavement. At some point, she’d noticed movement in a parked car—a child inside, drenched in sweat, her hair plastered to her pale face.

The girl had turned, lips moving soundlessly.

Sister, save me.

Or had she? Bo Mingyan couldn’t be sure. But the words had echoed in her mind.

Remembering Bo Weize’s warnings about heatstroke in closed vehicles, Bo Mingyan had grabbed a rock and, following his instructions, struck the window’s edge. When Bo Weize returned and saw her smashing the glass, he’d taken over without question, shattering it completely.

Bo Mingyan had climbed in, lifting the little girl out to Bo Weize.

She’d felt like a limp, soaked fish.

But they’d saved her.

“Before we left, I gave her my basket cake. So once again, my cake went to someone else.”

Bo Mingyan sighed. “And then the shop said the baker had quit…”

“I never got to eat that cake myself.”

“Do you regret it?” Meng Xuran’s voice was somewhat muffled by the wind. “If you hadn’t thought it was an accident, hadn’t gone to rescue, hadn’t left the cake behind, you could’ve eaten it.”

“A little,” Bo Mingyan replied. When she noticed Meng Xuran looking at her with an indescribable expression—somewhere between distress and shock—she smiled and continued, “Afterward, I regretted smashing the window a little. I thought maybe calling 119 would’ve been better? Then I wouldn’t have had to pay for the car window.”

“She made you pay for it?!” Meng Xuran exploded in anger.

“At first, yes. But later, she didn’t ask for it.” When Bo Mingyan heard the parent call to demand compensation, she truly regretted it. She felt like she hadn’t done a good deed but rather something wrong.

But at that time, Bo Weize patted her head and said:

“It’s not a big deal. Dad can afford it. Manman saved a life—Manman did great. If you’d been any later, that little sister might not have made it.”

When they reached the small park, Meng Xuran slowed her steps, and Bo Mingyan stopped alongside her.

Meng Xuran held Bo Mingyan’s hand tightly, so tightly.

Like a drowning person clinging to their only lifeline.

She exhaled almost imperceptibly:

“Thank you for leaving the cake for me—the best Bo Manman in the world.”

Thank you for using that little cake to draw the two most important strokes in my life.

Connecting them into the most important line.

And at the other end of that line—is you.