Two Faced Lover - Chapter 87

87: Reconciliation

On her way to find Meng Xuran, Bo Mingyan received a call from Lu Yo, who had seen the Weibo controversy and wanted to check on her. Truthfully, Bo Mingyan wasn’t overly bothered by attacks from strangers.

Having been through this once before, she understood—if even her birth mother wouldn’t steadfastly stand by her side, why expect strangers to?

No matter how one lives, there will always be critics.

Some gossip behind backs, others confront openly like today.

In this vast world where everyone only passes through once, why trap oneself in the judgments of irrelevant people? Pleasing others is far less important than cultivating one’s own peace.

Eat what you crave, see who you miss, do what you desire.

What truly concerned her was Meng Xuran—yet they had fought.

Lu Yo asked, “How did you end up arguing?”

“She’s upset I didn’t tell her immediately. I thought I could handle it myself and didn’t want something solvable to affect both our moods or make her worry. I planned to tell her after returning home.”

Bo Mingyan’s voice was soft, laced with faint confusion. She’d been focused on making up with Meng Xuran without deeply examining the root cause of their conflict.

Meng Xuran’s words had made sense, yet not completely.

Lu Yo pondered, “But Manman, by not telling her upfront—whether she finds out herself or hears it from you later—it hurts more knowing she wasn’t there when you needed her most. If you don’t share, how can she even ask?”

Bo Mingyan fell silent, finally grasping Meng Xuran’s meaning.

“Learning things through third parties inflicts far deeper wounds than hearing them directly,” Lu Yo added after a pause, exhaling. “Go make up quickly.”

Only then did Bo Mingyan find her voice again. “How?”

“…”

Before hanging up, Lu Yo sighed. “Ironically, I’ve forgotten how to coax someone too.”

Bo Mingyan stared at her phone, the screen frozen on her chat with Meng Xuran. The input box held an unsent message from when she’d first gotten in the car: [Did you arrive?]

Above it, the “Eight Immortals Crossing the Sea” group chat buzzed incessantly.

[Hu Liuri: OMG OMG my goddesses are together QAQ How is Director Meng so dashing!! She pursued sister Mingyan! I can’t even— [pokes fingers] I’m still recovering]

[Liu Yang: Didn’t Xiao Yan say she was the one pursuing?]

[Ava: Do you even understand dom/sub dynamics? Hu Liuri, you might have the roles reversed.]

[Hu Liuri: !!! Oo]

[Zhou Wenlin: What’s dom/sub?]

Bo Mingyan suddenly recalled when she’d still been pursuing Meng Xuran. One evening while cooking, with Meng Xuran sketching beside her, her phone kept vibrating on the counter.

Thinking it was a call, Meng Xuran checked only to find the group chat. “You all chat so much privately!”

“Not sure.” Bo Mingyan glanced at the phone while stir-frying. She rarely participated.

Meng Xuran hadn’t intended to pry, but when Ava mentioned Bo Mingyan, she couldn’t resist peeking.

“Wow, Liu Yang barely lifts his head around me yet gossips so much here. His jokes are ancient.”

“And Ava—she bolts every time she sees me like I’m some man-eating tigress. Do I look that fierce?”

Bo Mingyan paused, finding the question absurd. To her, Meng Xuran’s features were the epitome of comfort—as if the creator had played favorites, every contour and curve meticulously polished to gentle perfection.

If Meng Xuran counted as fierce, her own sharp features must be lethal.

Yet Meng Xuran’s workplace aura was undeniable despite her deceivingly soft appearance.

After consideration, Bo Mingyan offered, “Not really.”

“‘Not really’?” Meng Xuran huffed. “So you think I am a tigress too.”

How did “not really” equate to that?

Amused by her leap in logic, Bo Mingyan explained, “You’re more like a little fox.”

The red one from English gardens—fluffy, sometimes aloof and proud, other times tender and playful.

Only then did Meng Xuran preen, radiating smugness. Watching her peacock-like display, Bo Mingyan couldn’t resist teasing: “The fox who borrows the tiger’s ferocity.”

“…”

Meng Xuran’s eyes narrowed threateningly as she reached for Bo Mingyan’s slender waist. “Rephrase that.”

Bo Mingyan lifted her spatula. “The food will burn.”

“You started it,” Meng Xuran grumbled, baring her teeth but relenting for the sake of dinner. “But I’m in a good mood today, so I’ll let it slide~ Next time, hmph, I’ll really get mad—the kind that can’t be coaxed.”

Bo Mingyan studied her intently.

After returning the phone to its stand, Meng Xuran caught her gaze. “What are you thinking, staring at me like that?” She waved a hand. “The food’s burning!”

Bo Mingyan refocused on the pan. “Nothing.”

At the time, occupied with serving the meal, she’d avoided elaboration. Later, noticing the slightly charred eggs, Meng Xuran asked, “What were you really thinking earlier?”

Bo Mingyan admitted, “Wondering what you look like angry.”

She’d seen Meng Xuran’s icy, intimidating work persona and her tearful, childlike vulnerability when upset. Most often, those bright eyes sparkled with mischief, scheming new ways to tease her.

But she’d never witnessed Meng Xuran truly angry.

Standing under the softened fluorescent kitchen lights, Bo Mingyan had admired her exquisitely Eastern features, struggling to imagine them twisted in rage.

Meng Xuran pondered around a mouthful of rice. “I’m very reasonable—rarely angry. When I am, I’m not fierce. Not a tigress. I don’t bite…” She grinned wickedly. “I devour!”

With clawed hands, she playfully growled, “Rawr!”

Indeed not fierce—no tigress.

More like an injured cub, whimpering pitifully, eyes rimmed red.

She didn’t bite, but the pain cut deep nonetheless.

The group chat quieted. Hovering over the keyboard, Bo Mingyan eventually deleted her drafted message.

Twenty-six letters on the keypad, yet she couldn’t string together the right words. Leaning back, she closed her eyes, regretting—

Why hadn’t she asked back then: If you do get angry, how should I coax you?

The cab reeked of gasoline and sun-baked plastic, churning her stomach—whether from skipping dinner or running earlier, the nausea intensified.

The discomfort spread strangely from her gut to her chest, congested and stifling.

Approaching the old residence, Bo Mingyan stumbled out, gulping fresh air. After steadying herself, she checked her phone repeatedly—

Then saw “Typing…” appear atop the chat. Her heart leapt as she straightened anxiously.

The indicator vanished after seconds, reappeared briefly, then disappeared again—cycling without any message arriving. Restless, Bo Mingyan finally called.

The familiar ringtone echoed through the silent night, carried by the wind from somewhere ahead.

Under dim streetlights, her shadow stretched long across the pavement, its endpoint dissolving into the thick darkness.

At that shadow’s tip, beneath the hanging moon, its glow cascaded over a profile—the world’s softest masterpiece.

The person occupying her thoughts stood illuminated, setting her eyes alight.

She’d told Lu Yo she didn’t know how to begin apologizing, what words could bridge the gap. She’d lingered on a high threshold, unsure how to descend or build steps for the other to meet her halfway—or if they even would.

But Meng Xuran had already laid the steps long ago.

“When did you buy these?”

Clutching the bouquet, Meng Xuran still held that unlit cigarette between her fingers—now damp with palm sweat, crumpled beyond recognition.

Bo Mingyan said, “While waiting for you, collecting spring’s colors.”

Meng Xuran’s lashes fluttered, parting the floral-scented breeze, slicing through memories into another fragrance.

Seeing Bo Mingyan transported her back to last year—rushing home fearing misunderstandings, counting nervous heartbeats on the flowerbed.

Just like then, Bo Mingyan’s name had flashed on her screen, startling her. Just like then, she’d spoken first. Just like then, she’d heard the voice both through the phone and from nearby.

Autumn had carried osmanthus then; now spring nights bore roses.

Turning to find her beloved in view, saying, “I came to bring you home.”

This time, Bo Mingyan said she’d come to take her home.

The words rippled across her heart’s surface.

Meng Xuran nudged a pebble with her toe before looking up, eyes glistening like dew-kissed glass beads.

Her voice thick, grievance spilling through: “I waited so long. Who takes this long to fetch their wife? Since when are you so slow?”

Pulse steadying, Bo Mingyan brushed her thumb over Meng Xuran’s reddened eyelid. “My fault.”

“What were you doing when I texted?” The reminder reignited Meng Xuran’s pout as she wiped her own tears. “Some ‘promise not to ignore me’—look at this!”

She pulled up their call log. “56 minutes and 32 seconds of radio silence!”

The precise calculation tugged Bo Mingyan’s lips upward. “Chasing after you. Didn’t catch up.”

Meng Xuran’s breath hitched—she hadn’t expected Bo Mingyan to follow immediately. Warmth flooded her chest, though she maintained the act: “Couldn’t you have called first? Maybe I was waiting right outside the neighborhood!”

Bo Mingyan froze—she’d stopped at the security booth. After a beat: “Won’t happen next time.”

Meng Xuran’s eyes flashed. “There won’t be a next time!”

“Wouldn’t want one.” Bo Mingyan amended swiftly.

Meng Xuran’s gaze softened as she fiddled with the flowers. “Since you remembered to pick me up, I’ll reluctantly forgive the wait.”

The scene catapulted Bo Mingyan back to when Meng Xuran had gifted her autumn’s hues. As the streetlight flickered, her heart skipped.

Even now, déjà vu could still make it a race.

“Well? How does it feel having such a generous, gentle girlfriend wait for you?” Meng Xuran hid the bouquet behind her back, tilting her chin up with a smile, eyes curving into shimmering crescents.

Bo Mingyan’s expression wavered in the night breeze. Tucking wind-tousled hair behind Meng Xuran’s ear, she cupped her jaw and kissed her.

In over twenty years of stumbling through life, losing things along the way—some gone forever, others never the same upon return—this was her first taste of being neither abandoned nor kept waiting.

The flavor was soft, damp, salty—

Overwhelming enough to fill her completely.

[She had learned how vicious the world could be, yet also discovered its tenderness and beauty—all stemming from one who anchored her soul.]