Two Faced Lover - Chapter 86

86: The Argument

Back when Sun Haoqi’s scandal first erupted within the company, it was exposed to the public.

Online, videos of Sun Haoqi passionately kissing someone in a parking lot, photos of him walking with Bo Mingyan in a parking lot, and clips of his wife causing a scene at the company were being widely shared. The hot search kept climbing higher.

The person who posted the videos had ulterior motives. Through clever editing, they only released the segment where Sun Haoqi’s wife and the middle-aged woman accompanying her raised their hands as if to strike Bo Mingyan, misleading uninformed netizens into believing that Bo Mingyan was the other woman in Sun Haoqi’s affair.

Although the post’s caption targeted Sun Haoqi word for word, Bo Mingyan’s face was clearly visible in the video.

Not long ago, Bo Mingyan had gained a considerable following due to Gu Miao’s videos, bringing her into the public eye.

Fame attracts trouble, and when the wall falls, everyone pushes. Rumors began circulating that Bo Mingyan had seduced her advisor during graduate school and had inappropriate relationships with superiors while working at ME.

An old post from her graduate days, accusing her of seducing her advisor, resurfaced from who-knows-where and spread like wildfire across the internet.

Society always seems to hold women to harsher standards. Despite Sun Haoqi being exposed for numerous scandals, the public largely ignored him, directing their criticism squarely at Bo Mingyan.

Just days ago, netizens had hailed Bo Mingyan as the “aloof goddess.” Now, she was dragged off her pedestal by a horde of keyboard warriors.

The same people who had once showered her with praise now hurled the filthiest insults her way.

One malicious comment after another became associated with “Bo Mingyan.” Searching her name brought up derogatory terms like “slut,” “homewrecker,” and “seductress.”

Bo Mingyan only had that little-known Weibo account, so the self-righteous trolls flooded Moment’s official website, demanding that the company fire her—or else they’d return their purchases.

Even some high-end custom clients requested a change of designer.

You can’t hide fire with paper. Despite her colleagues’ efforts to shield her from Weibo, Bo Mingyan inevitably saw the cancellation requests from clients.

High-end clients were relatively polite in their wording, but their messages still felt like icy, blunt knives, chipping away at Bo Mingyan’s confidence and grinding her self-respect into dust through the screen.

Bo Mingyan stared at her computer, scrolling with her fingertips. After just a couple of clicks, she closed the webpage.

She thought she should have been used to this kind of situation by now, but the hurtful words still left her feeling cold all over.

One complex Chinese character after another swirled together like a dark abyss, threatening to swallow her whole.

Until pairs of colorful hands reached out, pulling her from the void.

The first hand belonged to Zhou Wenlin, the head of the haute couture team. She handed Bo Mingyan a cup of water: “Miya, those of us who’ve worked with you believe in you. Don’t take strangers’ words to heart. Don’t punish yourself for others’ mistakes—it’s not worth it.”

Bo Mingyan’s long lashes trembled slightly. Softly, she replied, “I’m fine. Thank you, Sister Zhou.”

“Yeah, exactly!” Ava chimed in angrily. “Those people online are just mindless idiots who follow the crowd!”

Liu Yang rolled up his sleeves as if ready for a fight, furiously typing back at the trolls while cursing: “Such ‘high-class’ women, huh? Even their insults are so ‘refined.’ Calling them idiots is an insult to actual idiots—they’re just a bunch of stupid assholes who only know how to bark online. If they ever get their brains checked, the doctors will send them straight to the proctology department!”

The two assistants nearby burst out laughing at Liu Yang’s last remark, lightening the tense atmosphere in the office a little.

“What about your orders? You have to tell Little Director Meng, right?”

Ava had been subtly watching Bo Mingyan’s expression. Bo Mingyan continued typing, her face as calm and unreadable as ever.

She seemed composed, like a taut but not overly strained string—until Ava mentioned Meng Xuran. Only then did she show a flicker of emotion.

“She’s probably on a plane right now.” Bo Mingyan paused her typing and glanced at her phone.

Their last chat was Meng Xuran’s message:

“So tired from shopping~~ My phone’s about to die. Still need to buy Mom’s perfume. After that, I’m heading straight to the airport~ Might not have time to check my phone. Sent you the flight details~ Come pick me up if you’re free. If you’re too busy, just let me know, and I’ll get back on my own~”

The night before, they had stayed up until past 3 a.m. talking. Bo Mingyan had even promised to finish work early today to pick Meng Xuran up and bring her home.

“She didn’t get much rest last night. Let’s not tell her yet.” Bo Mingyan removed her glasses and rubbed her temples. “And don’t get involved either. I can handle this myself.”

She remembered all too clearly the old forum posts where those who defended her were mobbed and attacked.

Bo Mingyan knew exactly how savage online trolls could be—they’d even tear into innocent bystanders.

After compiling the videos, photos, and a clarifying statement to post, Bo Mingyan asked Ava, “Do you remember the account that first posted the expose on Sun Haoqi?”

Ava poked Liu Yang with her pen: “He was the first one to see the post.”

Liu Yang sent her the account details. Through the company’s legal team, Bo Mingyan urgently contacted a notary office to preserve evidence.

The Nanquan Notary Office quickly dispatched two notaries and professional videographers to the scene for documentation.

Hu Jingjing moved away from her desk to make room for the professionals. As she stepped back, she accidentally stepped on Liu Yang’s foot. Liu Yang winced at his new shoes and teased, “Such a country bumpkin. Act your age.”

Hu Jingjing retorted, “Have you ever seen anything like this before, Liu Yang?”

“Nope,” Liu Yang admitted, wiping the shoe print off. “I didn’t even know webpages could be notarized. Hey, Ava, did you know?”

When Ava didn’t answer, Liu Yang looked up and saw her staring thoughtfully at Bo Mingyan, who was assisting with the notarization. He waved a hand in front of her face: “What’s on your mind?”

Ava brushed his hand away. “At first, I thought Little Bo was just pretending to be calm because she was scared. When she told us not to get involved and that she could handle it herself, the first part made me think she was genuinely cold, and the second part sounded like she was just humoring us.”

“But she really is handling it well,” Hu Jingjing chimed in.

Liu Yang counted off on his fingers: “Politely negotiating with clients who want to cancel, organizing the key points from the videos and photos, drafting a clear and logical statement, notarizing the evidence—damn, how is she so methodical step by step?”

“Because she’s been through this before,” Ava murmured, looking down at the screenshot of the old post on her phone. “School bullying. Cyberbullying.”

Hu Jingjing bit her fingernail and swallowed hard. She suddenly remembered that after Sun Haoqi resigned, someone in the company had leaked that the woman he’d had an affair with was the new designer hired after Bo Mingyan transferred to the haute couture team. Back then, gossip ran rampant, and Hu Jingjing, always on the frontlines of office chatter, had even remarked, “Who’d have thought someone who looks so prim and proper would be like that?”

At the time, Bo Mingyan had gently told her, “Don’t judge what you don’t fully understand.”

Even now, in her clarification, Bo Mingyan hadn’t disclosed any information about the girl Sun Haoqi had deceived into being his mistress.

Ava’s voice trailed off, as faint as the steam rising from the cup of water Zhou Wenlin had given Bo Mingyan—thin and lingering.

Just like Bo Mingyan herself.

Hu Jingjing had always felt that despite Bo Mingyan’s gentle tone, she wasn’t easy to get close to.

The glimpses they caught from her words were just the tip of the iceberg. No one knew how Bo Mingyan had survived back then.

Nor could they imagine how she had become the person she was now.

Her aloofness was self-protection. Her gentleness was compassion for others.

Meng Xuran didn’t suffer from airsickness, and her ears had stopped ringing shortly after takeoff. She’d slept like a log on the plane and was still groggy after landing. She yawned and scanned the arrival gate, confirming that Bo Mingyan wasn’t there.

As she wheeled her luggage toward the parking lot, checking her phone, she figured she’d walk a little farther so Bo Mingyan wouldn’t have to—so they could see each other sooner.

Noticing that Lu Shan was still following her, Meng Xuran said, “You can go ahead.”

“I’ll stay with you. I don’t have anything to do at home anyway. I’ll leave once Designer Bo picks you up~” Lu Shan, worried Meng Xuran might be upset, made excuses for Bo Mingyan. “She probably just got caught up with work and lost track of time.”

For designers, forgetting to eat or sleep was par for the course.

Meng Xuran wasn’t angry—just sour at the thought that Bo Mingyan could get so absorbed in someone else’s design that she’d forget about her. She checked WeChat first, where several unread messages waited.

Twenty minutes ago, Bo Mingyan had sent: [Something came up. Might be late. Call me after you land.]

Ten minutes before that, Gu Miao had messaged: [Something’s happened!]

Followed by: [My wife says it’s fine now.]

And then: [No, I still think something’s wrong.]

Baffled, Meng Xuran replied with three question marks: [???]

Opening the sales director’s chat, she found similarly erratic messages jumping between “something’s wrong,” “resolved,” and “something’s wrong again,” as if infected by Gu Miao’s energy.

Meng Xuran replied: [?]

After sending it, she called Bo Mingyan.

The phone rang for a long time with no answer.

Meng Xuran wasn’t the type to bombard someone with calls. Usually, Bo Mingyan would check her phone as soon as she was free and reply immediately. Meng Xuran sent her current location to Bo Mingyan, then opened her moments.

As she scrolled, she came across a post from Sun Haoqi—a long, rambling rant:

“Forget about someone trying to ruin you—take a piss and look at your reflection. You really think you’re that handsome, you sissy? With your IQ, dreaming of breaking into entertainment? Wake up. If you had even half a brain, you’d know that if I had that kind of power, I wouldn’t just blacklist you from every company—I’d make sure everyone spits on you!”

The post ended with an orange emoji and a knife with bl00d.

Meng Xuran’s heart sank abruptly, a bad feeling washing over her.

“Holy sh1t.” Lu Shan gasped beside her, unable to hold back the curse.

Meng Xuran had chosen Lu Shan as her assistant precisely because she remained unflappable no matter how shocking the situation.

Puzzled, Meng Xuran asked, “What’s wrong?”

Lu Shan’s eyes darted around nervously. She tugged at her hair anxiously before reluctantly handing her phone to Meng Xuran under Meng Xuran’s insistent gaze.

The moment Meng Xuran saw the three words “Bo Mingyan” and “scandal,” her scalp prickled. She stared at the screen, hardly believing her eyes, and took Lu Shan’s phone.

Bo Mingyan’s clarification post had gone viral, with colleagues from both the haute couture team and other departments helping to share it.

Word spread quickly, pushing it to the top of the hot search.

Some people believed her, but others clung to the narrative first implanted in their minds, judging her based on their own assumptions.

One of Bo Mingyan’s fans dug up the video of her publicly coming out, hoping to prove she had no interest in men.

But then, Lu Shan’s boyfriend—whom she’d mistakenly trusted—leaked the photos she’d shared with him.

One was from the airport: Bo Mingyan holding Meng Xuran in her arms as Meng Xuran kissed her cheek. It was a backshot, so their faces weren’t visible, but netizens identified them based on their outfits, watches, and the pearl hair tie.

New hashtags soon overtook the old ones:

#MomentDesignDirectorIsGay

#MengXuranIsGay

#BoMingyanIsBisexualAndEvenSeducedHerFemaleBoss

By the time Bo Mingyan requested platform intervention with notarized evidence, these topics had been taken down. What Meng Xuran saw now were real-time updates from Hu Jingjing to Lu Shan.

Scrolling through the chat logs, Meng Xuran found Bo Mingyan’s clarifying Weibo post. She blinked slowly, her eyes stinging.

The nine-grid collage of long images—each one a scar Bo Mingyan had willingly exposed to the world—burned Meng Xuran’s eyes.

“I really didn’t know my boyfriend would post that photo. I sent it to him saying I wanted something like that—I never thought he’d share it online. I’m sorry, Director Meng.”

Lu Shan’s voice grew quieter, her words like bloodied arrows piercing Meng Xuran’s chest, draining the color from her face.

“Go home,” Meng Xuran said, returning the phone.

“…Okay.” Lu Shan bit her lip, her voice choked with tears. “I’m sorry, Director Meng.”

Meng Xuran didn’t even look up, staying silent. Lu Shan sighed and left, texting her now-ex-boyfriend on the way out.

On WeChat, Gu Miao had sent three voice messages.

The first, a minute long, explained the situation. At the end, Gu Miao said:

“She told Ava not to tell you—that she could handle it herself. Your Manman’s amazing. She tackled everything step by step. Even legal department was impressed—”

“But before she could fully resolve things, someone dragged you into it. Some idiot posted your photo online—”

“Wait, she still hasn’t told you? Weren’t you done with work yesterday? Why’d you only come back today—”

The parking lot was open-air. The evening wind was strong, as if a storm was coming. Nanquan’s lingering spring chill felt more like winter, the cold persisting well into April. Meng Xuran stood in the wind, her hair fluttering. She stiffly hovered her fingers over the screen, listening to only half of each message. With every word, she bit her lip harder, as if the pain could suppress the rising bitterness.

But by the last message, her mind went blank. She couldn’t hold it back anymore.

The cold wind carried a damp, impending storm, making her feel submerged in icy water, trembling uncontrollably, her chest frozen.

What had she been doing while Bo Mingyan was going through all this?

Shopping and splurging with Lu Shan, happily mailing packages at the post office, napping on the way to the airport.

Since childhood, Meng Xuran had worked hard to climb as high as possible, to live as brightly as she could.

She thought that would let her stand beside Bo Mingyan, to protect her, to be her safe harbor, her eternal sanctuary.

That she could stand radiantly before her, pull her into the sunlight, and have the confidence to make Bo Mingyan trust her completely—to rely on her as a solid shield.

For over twenty years, sheltered by her parents, Meng Xuran had faced no major setbacks. She’d thought herself invincible.

But in the end, she was just as powerless as she’d been long ago.

Meng Xuran sat on the steps, her coat covering her legs. Clutching her phone, she searched every hashtag like a form of self-harm.

It was absurd.

Behind their screens, faceless people stood on moral high grounds, typing away with language that should have been profound and uplifting—using it to cut deep.

Needles aren’t big, but they hurt the most. Tongues have no bones, but they wound the deepest.

Her fingers trembled violently, as if every keystroke drained her strength.

Her phone buzzed incessantly, her palm going numb. She flipped it over, glanced at the screen, closed her eyes, then lifted it to her ear. “Hello.”

Hearing the subdued tone in Meng Xuran’s voice, Bo Mingyan asked softly, “Are you still at the location you sent?”

Meng Xuran hummed in acknowledgment.

Bo Mingyan said, “Wait for me. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

Meng Xuran grunted and hung up.

Bo Mingyan adjusted her bluetooth headset, confirming that Meng Xuran had indeed ended the call. She paused, then sped up.

About six minutes later, Bo Mingyan arrived at the steps where Meng Xuran sat. Meng Xuran barely glanced up before lowering her eyes again, picking at her nails.

Her index finger had a deep red mark where she’d dug her thumbnail in.

Bo Mingyan got out of the car, crouched down, and gently took her hand. “Will you be happy if you draw bl00d?”

It stung. Meng Xuran curled her fingers, frowning slightly. She couldn’t bring herself to ignore Bo Mingyan. “No.”

And she’d been too sharp-tongued. Serves me right, she thought.

Bo Mingyan had already been so good to her. Not telling her was to spare her pain. Bo Mingyan had borne so much today—she was the one who’d suffered the most. Yet here Meng Xuran was, throwing a tantrum.

She’d stormed off with such conviction, only to regret it now.

“Did you get the perfume for Auntie?” Bo Mingyan asked, trying to lighten the mood.

Meng Xuran stiffened, then forced out a quiet “Yeah.”

Bo Mingyan tried again. “Did you buy anything else?”

“No.” Meng Xuran answered tersely.

The conversation limped along. Bo Mingyan asked, “Did you visit Yellowstone? Has it changed much?”

“…Not much.” Meng Xuran thought Bo Mingyan was too good at picking topics—every one stabbed right at her guilt.

Bo Mingyan brought up a few more subjects, but Meng Xuran responded with single words or silence.

The usually chatty, fiery Meng Xuran had gone cold. Even the most oblivious person would notice.

Meng Xuran seemed disinterested—or, more accurately, like she didn’t want to talk to Bo Mingyan but was forcing herself to. Bo Mingyan finally grew uneasy.

Had Meng Xuran seen the Weibo posts?

You can’t hide fire with paper. What’s public will eventually come out. But Bo Mingyan had hoped to keep it hidden until she could fix things.

“Actually, something else happened today.” Bo Mingyan admitted.

Meng Xuran played along. “What?”

Bo Mingyan couldn’t tell if Meng Xuran’s indifference was because of the posts.

She summarized the events, downplaying them, making it sound like no big deal.

At a red light, Meng Xuran glanced over. Bo Mingyan’s smoky eyes, heavy with emotion, met hers. Meng Xuran listened to her calm voice and felt like she was drowning—tangled in weeds, suffocated by algae.

Meng Xuran took a shaky breath. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

Bo Mingyan explained gently, “I could handle it myself. I didn’t want to upset you over something trivial.”

“The entire internet was slandering you, and you call that trivial?” Meng Xuran’s chest ached with anger. Her grip on the steering wheel tightened, her palms damp but her hands icy. “Then what counts as serious? Letting people bully you until you can’t take it anymore and do something stupid? Is that serious enough?!”

Bo Mingyan’s eyelashes fluttered violently. Instinctively, she grabbed her left wrist, her watch pressing into the scar that no longer hurt. “I wouldn’t—”

A car’s high beams flashed into their eyes. The glare stung Meng Xuran’s eyes, making them water. She couldn’t drive anymore and pulled over abruptly. The seatbelt jerked Bo Mingyan forward, digging into her shoulders.

They parked on a side road near their neighborhood, the complex’s lights faint in the dark.

Meng Xuran gripped the wheel, her knuckles white. She took a few steadying breaths, forcing back tears, then yanked the handbrake. “Then why tell me now?”

Bo Mingyan answered honestly, “I thought you were upset because of this.”

Meng Xuran laughed bitterly. “So if I’d been laughing and joking like usual, you wouldn’t have said anything?”

Bo Mingyan closed her eyes, nails biting into her palms. “Once it was resolved and the buzz died down, the impact wouldn’t have been as bad. I didn’t want you to suffer for my mistakes.”

Silence stretched between them.

When Meng Xuran finally spoke, her voice was hoarse, her words laced with a humorless smile:

“So in your eyes, our relationship is only for good times, not bad?”

“I get why you did it. But do you get me?”

“Did it ever occur to you that finding out on my own—whether I asked you directly or heard it from you later—would hurt more than hearing it from you first?”

“What does that make me?” Meng Xuran’s voice cracked. “Forcing you to… lay yourself bare in front of me.”

Bo Mingyan met Meng Xuran’s tear-filled eyes, her heart twisting. Needles of pain pricked her chest. She opened her mouth, but the words stuck in her throat. Any explanation felt hollow.

Seeing her like this, Meng Xuran’s anger warred with guilt. She didn’t know what she was doing anymore. It felt like, in that moment, she was no different from those online trolls—hurting the person she loved most.

She took a deep breath, started the car, and drove home in silence.

They didn’t speak the entire way.

Back at their building, Meng Xuran unlocked the car doors and got out without a word.

Bo Mingyan unbuckled her seatbelt and followed.

Still, neither spoke.

As the elevator arrived, Bo Mingyan stepped inside. Just as the doors began to close, Meng Xuran said, “Forgot something in the car. Go up without me.”

Before Bo Mingyan could react, the doors shut.

Bo Mingyan blinked, her eyes burning. She texted Meng Xuran:

[I’ll wait for you.]

No reply.

Just as the elevator reached the 27th floor, Bo Mingyan received a screenshot from Ava.

While waiting in the parking lot, Meng Xuran had posted on Weibo:

“I was the one who pursued Bo Mingyan. For a long time.”

Ava added: [Liu Yang says the girl he’s been arguing with all night reposted Little Director Meng’s post with a comment: ‘OMG I SHIP THEM’ lol.]

Bo Mingyan’s lips twitched upward—until Meng Xuran’s text came through:

[Don’t wait. I’m staying at my parents’ for a couple of days. Back the day after. Get some rest.]

Bo Mingyan froze. By the time she processed it, the elevator had returned to the lobby. She stared blankly at the empty parking spot, then sprinted toward the complex’s entrance.

Meng Xuran’s words echoed in her mind:

“Then what counts as serious? Letting people bully you until you can’t take it anymore and do something stupid? Is that serious enough?!”

Years ago, she’d pushed away someone who’d tried desperately to clear her name:

[“Stay out of my business.”]

Later, that person replied: [“Okay.”] And never appeared again.

When Meng Xuran had tricked her into going home first, Bo Mingyan had felt abandoned.

But really, she was the one who kept pushing people away.

At fifteen, she’d gone abroad alone, losing her parents’ protection, severed from her homeland. She’d learned to survive on her own. Everyone she’d met had taught her the same lesson: Share the joy, but bear the sorrow alone.

So she’d shouldered everything herself—never a burden, never an inconvenience.

It had become second nature.

Only now, after all these years, did she realize: When life and love intertwine, it’s no longer just about one person.

And Meng Xuran wasn’t just anyone.

Bo Mingyan slowed to a stop.

The security guard in his booth, watching a show on his tablet, glanced up and greeted her: “Heading out too? Why not go with the one who just left?”

Before he finished, he saw Bo Mingyan bend over, hands on her knees, breathing heavily, her hair obscuring her face.

She looked like someone who’d just run a marathon.

“Wouldn’t a taxi be faster than walking?” the guard joked. “Did you two fight? Did she refuse you a ride?”

The air felt thick and suffocating.

The guard stood, leaning out the window. He saw Bo Mingyan’s hands clenched into fists, her knuckles white.

Must’ve been a bad fight. He often saw Bo Mingyan and Meng Xuran together—clearly close. “Good friends are hard to come by. Young people shouldn’t be so stubborn. Work it out. Nothing’s unforgivable.”

Bo Mingyan remembered evenings strolling through the complex with Meng Xuran.

Meng Xuran had complained she walked too slowly; Bo Mingyan had said Meng Xuran walked too fast. After a few nights, they’d found their rhythm.

That night, Meng Xuran had bounced happily: “You know what’s the best part of being together?”

“Buying cola?” Bo Mingyan had teased.

“Ahhh, Manman, you’ve gotten so cheeky!” Meng Xuran had covered her face, pretending to be shy.

Then, seriously: “Sharing joy, working through the mundane, healing each other’s wounds, easing each other’s burdens—that’s what happens when two souls collide.”

“I love, love, love becoming part of your life~”

The night’s oppressive loneliness threatened to swallow her whole.

Her vision blurred. Tears dripped to the ground.

The guard continued, “If you fought, just apologize. Meet halfway. Compromise leads to harmony.”

Fight…

Bo Mingyan had never imagined she and Meng Xuran would fight.

They’d navigated everyday friction effortlessly. But her life wasn’t just about the ordinary.

Meng Xuran had once worried about her own dark past. Bo Mingyan had said she didn’t care—she’d wanted Meng Xuran to tell her in her own time. She knew that apart from Meng Xuran herself, nothing else mattered.

But people were strange. When it came to herself, suddenly everything mattered.

“Remember the way. If we ever fight, come get me.”

Bo Mingyan suddenly recalled Meng Xuran’s words when she’d taken her to the Meng family home.

The guard was still rambling life advice.

Bo Mingyan nodded, turned, and walked back inside. The guard watched her enter the building before sitting back down.

Five minutes later, as the guard hummed along to his show’s ending theme, he spotted Bo Mingyan again. This time, she got into a taxi.

The air carried a faint, sweet fragrance, drifting on the wind.

After leaving the complex, Meng Xuran had reapplied her makeup before returning to the Meng family home. She handed out souvenirs to Meng Yao and the elderly Mrs. Meng. The old lady, easily swayed by gifts, stopped her nagging once she got hers.

“You came back just for this?” Meng Yao chided. “Making a fuss so late.”

Meng Xuran replied, “My car got dented. Came to borrow one. Lend me your grocery car for a couple of days~”

Meng Yao adored her grocery car and quickly deflected: “Your sister just bought a G-Class. Her old Wrangler’s sitting in the garage. Take that.”

Meng Xuran considered it. The Wrangler actually suited Bo Mingyan. “Fine.”

Meng Yao pulled her into the kitchen, away from Mrs. Meng, and asked, “That stuff online about Mingyan being some kind of… homewrecker—”

“It’s all lies! Slander!” Meng Xuran couldn’t stand hearing those words. “You should trust your daughter’s impeccable taste, not strangers’ gossip!”

Meng Yao laughed at her daughter’s shameless self-praise. “Good. She didn’t seem the type.”

“If anything, she’s the one who gets hit on,” Meng Xuran grumbled. “Some clients even ordered millions in gowns just to chat with her longer.”

Meng Yao tossed eight lemons into a bag for her to take home. “No need to be jealous. You’re not so bad yourself. Someone once offered your dad an island to marry you.”

Meng Xuran’s eye twitched. “…That’s not the point. I was jealous. You’re just being competitive.”

Meng Yao laughed. “Well, this saves your dad the trouble of making excuses. Coming out and announcing your relationship in one go.”

Meng Xuran scoffed, then hesitantly asked, “How did Dad take it?”

Meng Yao went to the pantry, pinched her nose, and pulled out the durian Fu Changqing had bought that evening. She handed it to Meng Xuran. “This is his answer.”

Fu Changqing hated durian’s smell, but Meng Xuran and Fu Junxue loved it. Whenever they craved it, he’d buy it without complaint.

He couldn’t stand it personally, but he always respected his daughters’ preferences.

Meng Xuran’s eyes softened.

“Does Mingyan like durian?” Meng Yao wondered aloud. “It’s so smelly. If she doesn’t, you shouldn’t take it back.”

Meng Xuran paused.

Half an hour ago, she’d accused Bo Mingyan of not understanding her. Now she realized she didn’t fully understand Bo Mingyan either.

Bo Mingyan always deferred to her tastes in food, in activities—her preferences as faint as a wisp of smoke.

“…Probably,” Meng Xuran said uncertainly.

Hearing her hesitation, Meng Yao rolled her eyes. “You don’t even know what your girlfriend likes to eat? What kind of girlfriend are you?”

Meng Xuran had no retort.

Meng Yao nudged her. “Just text her and ask!”

Meng Xuran hummed, pretending to open WeChat. Seeing that Bo Mingyan hadn’t replied since her “going back to my parents’” text, she felt a pang of irritation. She closed the app. “She does.”

If she doesn’t, I’ll suffocate her with it!

Meng Yao added, “There’s also a box of peaches here—super juicy. Does Mingyan like those? Oh, and two pigeons. Take them back.”

“Tell Mingyan to stew one with gastrodia elata for you—helps with migraines. Learn how to cook the other yourself. You can’t always rely on her.”

Meng Xuran poked at the durian’s spikes.

“I skimmed a few of those awful comments online. Even I felt sick. How could that poor girl handle it?” Meng Yao said. “Be extra sweet to her, okay? Don’t be stubborn.”

“Ow—” Meng Xuran yanked her finger back, staring at the tiny bead of bl00d on her fingertip. Her lips trembled.

Meng Yao smirked. “Serves you right for poking it.”

And for mouthing off, Meng Xuran added silently. Totally deserved.

Bo Mingyan had already been so good to her. Not telling her was to spare her pain. Bo Mingyan had suffered the most today—yet here she was, throwing a tantrum.

She’d stormed off so dramatically, only to regret it now.

“And those vile posts online—have you dealt with them?” Meng Yao asked. “Especially the original poster. Disgusting. Sue them! People these days won’t learn unless you hit them where it hurts.”

Meng Xuran nodded. “I’ll gather evidence.”

No holding back this time.

Meng Yao walked her out, offering more advice like “You two take care of each other.”

Meng Xuran opened her mouth to say they’d fought and she’d be staying for two nights, but Meng Yao kept talking, shooing her away: “Go home early. Keep her company.”

“Bring her over for dinner sometime.”

“You can’t have kids this way. Maybe adopt? I’ve got too much free time.”

“???” Where did that come from?

Meng Xuran deflected. “If you’re so free, take my car to the shop tomorrow.”

Meng Yao: “…”

Meng Xuran transferred her things from the old car to the new one. When she found the box of finger cots in the glove compartment, she froze.

The night before, she’d struggled to take a sexy selfie in her hotel room.

Three buttons undone, collar slipped off one shoulder, cleavage barely concealed, shirt barely covering her thighs, kneeling on the bed, fingers teasing the last button.

She’d sent it to Bo Mingyan, who hadn’t replied for several minutes.

Her first message: [Are you wearing anything underneath?]

Meng Xuran had teased: [Top or bottom?]

Bo Mingyan: [Top.]

So during their video call, Meng Xuran had slowly undone two more buttons, biting her lip, eyes smoldering. The shirt fell open to her flat stomach—no marks.

She hadn’t been wearing anything.

On screen, Bo Mingyan’s lashes had fluttered. Then she’d asked: [Bottom?]

Meng Xuran had played with the last button, nearly undoing it, watching Bo Mingyan’s neck turn red before hanging up.

[Come check for yourself~] she’d texted, adding a seductive sticker.

Bo Mingyan, frustrated, ignored her. When Meng Xuran asked what she was doing, Bo Mingyan replied after three minutes: [Washing my hands.]

Not showering. Not washing her face. Just hands.

Meng Xuran’s imagination ran wild. She’d rushed to the bathroom to wash her face—and her hands. As she touched herself, she remembered how Bo Mingyan had thought the finger cots were for her own use. After finishing, she’d texted Bo Mingyan angrily:

[I’m going to use every single one of these on you!]

Bo Mingyan retaliated with a “come here” emoji.

Meng Xuran lost it. She’d recorded an audio clip of herself finishing and sent it.

In return, Bo Mingyan sent a selfie—not as revealing as hers, just a hand tugging her collar aside.

That was all it took for Meng Xuran to bury her face in the pillow, overwhelmed.

She’d started the teasing, but Bo Mingyan had ended it.

Now, back home, not a single finger cot had been used. Instead, they’d achieved their first “fight.”

She’d been the one to sulk, to feel wronged, to struggle with apologizing first.

Meng Yao urged her to leave. Meng Xuran tossed the finger cots into the glove compartment and drove to the roadside near their complex.

Streetlight spilled onto the passenger seat. Meng Xuran’s gaze lingered before she looked away. The unfamiliar car lacked Bo Mingyan’s presence.

The cramped space felt stifling.

So annoying…

The bitterness she’d briefly suppressed at home surged back.

In the glove compartment, she found a pack of cigarettes—probably Fu Junxue’s—menthol flavored. She took one, lit it, then remembered Bo Mingyan plucking a cigarette from her lips once.

What’s Manman doing now?

Is she hurting? Missing me? Or indifferent?

Is she smoking too? Or already asleep?

The flame never touched the tobacco. Meng Xuran turned off the lighter, spinning it in her fingers, then ran a hand through her hair irritably. She pulled out her phone and typed:

[…] Deleted.

[.] Deleted.

Type, delete, repeat—until Bo Mingyan’s caller ID flashed on screen, startling her so badly she nearly dropped her phone.

The call disconnected after a few rings. Meng Xuran hesitated, then redialed. Bo Mingyan picked up immediately. Neither spoke.

Meng Xuran pursed her lips. Her pride flared. She took the cigarette from her mouth. “You called me but didn’t say anything?!”

“You’re the one who called me,” Bo Mingyan pointed out.

Meng Xuran froze. Then she noticed something odd—Bo Mingyan’s voice sounded half in her ear, half nearby. She turned and saw Bo Mingyan standing just beyond the streetlight’s glow, holding a bouquet.

Slowly, Meng Xuran lowered the phone and hung up. She walked over, finally seeing the flowers clearly.

Yellow roses, accented with baby’s breath.

Twenty-eight blooms—one for each day of their twenty-six-day separation, plus the day she left and today. All accounted for.

Yellow roses symbolized remorse and apology.

Meng Xuran accepted the bouquet, biting her lip, her nose tingling, her lips fighting a smile. She forced her voice steady. “Why’d you come here?”

Bo Mingyan answered simply, “To bring you home.”

She paused, then added with a soft laugh, “Weren’t you staying at your parents’? Why are you out here?”

Meng Xuran stroked a rose petal, its softness mirroring her heart settling back into place.

“Waiting for you to take me home.”