Two Faced Lover - Chapter 89

89: Entwined

After returning home, from changing shoes in the entryway to filling Xiao Man’s food bowl, no matter where Bo Mingyan went or what she did, Meng Xuran silently trailed behind her—with Xiao Man trotting after Meng Xuran.

Bo Mingyan carried the large bag from Meng Yao into the kitchen. Standing at the counter, she methodically unpacked the items without expression.

Xiao Man meowed plaintively outside the closed door.

Glancing over, Bo Mingyan saw Meng Xuran leaning against the doorway, stealing occasional looks at her—just as she had while feeding the cat earlier.

She’d assumed Meng Xuran would tease her about crying once home. Yet after those initial probing questions met with Bo Mingyan’s reticence, Meng Xuran had dropped the subject.

One hesitant to ask, the other unwilling to speak—thus formed their delicate stalemate.

Bo Mingyan first unpacked the durian occupying most space.

“If the smell bothers you,” Meng Xuran offered, “I can peel it on the balcony and freeze the flesh to reduce the odor.”

“No need. I can handle it now.” Bo Mingyan recalled childhood memories. “Dad said I’d gag after every bite as a toddler. There’s video in my growth album, though I don’t remember—must’ve gotten used to it eventually.”

Imagining tiny Bo Mingyan suffering through durian, Meng Xuran laughed. “You never mentioned this! I want to see that album.”

Bo Mingyan’s hands stilled. “Too many embarrassing childhood moments. I haven’t even watched it myself.”

When packing to move, she’d tried viewing it—but hearing Bo Weize’s voice in the recordings overwhelmed her. She’d avoided them since.

“Let’s watch together?” Meng Xuran asked.

After hesitation, Bo Mingyan agreed. “I’ll find it.”

“What’s this?” Bo Mingyan lifted a pigeon carcass.

“Mom said refrigerate if eating tomorrow, otherwise freeze.” Meng Xuran relayed the instructions before asking, “How do you want yours prepared?”

“Either way. I can make you another pot of gastrodia pigeon soup.”

Meng Xuran pouted. “Why always cater to me? Don’t you have preferences? Like pepper-roasted pigeon?”

“I’m just less picky.” Bo Mingyan placed the peaches down. “And minimizing food waste.”

Indignantly, Meng Xuran muttered, “What waste?”

Bo Mingyan reminded her pointedly, “Who mourned a wasted chicken over the pot for an hour last time?”

During a brief culinary phase, Meng Xuran’s attempted Buddha Jumps Over the Wall had spectacularly failed.

Meng Xuran: “…”

At the mention of “crying,” their conversation lapsed again. Bo Mingyan slowly continued unpacking while Meng Xuran stared at the floor, lost in thought.

After putting everything away, Bo Mingyan went to fill the bathtub before tending to plants and fish—with Meng Xuran shadowing her every step.

Returning later to check the bathwater, Bo Mingyan paused abruptly at the door. Distracted, Meng Xuran collided with her back. “Oof!”

Turning, Bo Mingyan inspected Meng Xuran’s nose where she’d rubbed it. “Good thing it’s not crooked,” she teased.

“You think I’m wearing a prosthetic?” Meng Xuran glared. “Why’d you stop suddenly?”

“Had to open the door.” Bo Mingyan smirked. “Unless you’d prefer me marching in place to open it?”

The image made Meng Xuran’s lips twitch before she composed herself with a huff.

“Water should be ready. Stop following me around—go get pajamas.”

In the bathroom, Bo Mingyan turned off the faucet and tested the temperature. “Meng Jiaojiao, which bath bomb color?”

“That one—” Meng Xuran backtracked to peek around the doorway, gaze landing on Bo Mingyan bending to open the cabinet.

Her soft apricot knit sweater rode up, revealing pale skin where the peony tattoo’s stem disappeared beneath the fabric.

When no answer came, Bo Mingyan looked up, brushing aside fallen hair strands to meet Meng Xuran’s stare.

Eyes darkening, Meng Xuran grinned slyly. “Actually… plain water’s best~ Join me?”

Bo Mingyan: “…”

Steam curled in the bathroom as massage jets churned the water. Their soft splashes blended with the childhood videos playing on the wall-mounted TV—starting with one-year-old Bo Mingyan’s first object-grabbing ceremony.

The blurry footage showed a tiny blob grabbing a paintbrush.

“Little Manman will be an artist!” someone cheered—just before she scribbled on their shirt.

“No wonder you became a designer.” Meng Xuran giggled, overheating until she had to sit on the cooling ledge. “That shirt design was awful!”

Next came baby Bo Mingyan’s first words—this time a close-up.

Plump-cheeked with jewel-bright eyes and lashes like tiny fans, she resembled a living doll as she chirped “Mama” at the camera, sending Bo Weize into raptures.

“So precious…” Meng Xuran’s heart melted. “Dad’s adorable too—more excited than Mom!”

“He taught me.” Bo Mingyan explained, “I was a test-tube baby. Dad often said Mom suffered through the pregnancy, then postpartum depression and body image issues afterward. So he mostly raised me.”

His constant emphasis on Lin Huixin’s sacrifices had long prevented Bo Mingyan from fully letting go.

Meng Xuran nodded. “The pride of teaching success.”

Finally, the infamous durian footage played—baby Bo Mingyan taking tentative bites only to gag dramatically before bursting into tears.

As the screen showed her wailing, Meng Xuran howled with laughter, pausing to savor the frame until tears streamed down her face.

“Too cute!” She pinched Bo Mingyan’s cheek. “You’re hilarious~”

Her softness pressed against Bo Mingyan’s arm, red beans against snow—an intriguing sensation. Bo Mingyan retaliated by lightly tweaking one. “Who’s hilarious?”

Meng Xuran’s laughter died, face flushing as she whimpered, liquid eyes locked on Bo Mingyan while trailing fingers from the peony tattoo up to cup and knead.

“Meng Jiaojiao.”

Bo Mingyan’s submerged hands clenched in warning.

Unrepentant, Meng Xuran nuzzled her ear. “Say who’s hilarious~”

“You.”

With a shudder, Bo Mingyan turned to capture her lips, hands roaming downward.

Plucking winter plums amidst summer heat.

Beneath the water, Meng Xuran’s pink-polished toes curled tightly.

Sudden splashes echoed as Bo Mingyan shifted to her knees, bringing Meng Xuran fully into view. Though familiar with each other’s bodies, being scrutinized still sparked shyness.

Meng Xuran instinctively leaned back against the chilly tiles with a shiver. “Don’t… look at me like that.”

“How then?” Bo Mingyan’s fingertip circled lazily.

Overwhelmed, Meng Xuran covered Bo Mingyan’s eyes, pushing her away with a foot to the shoulder. “I can’t take it!”

Bo Mingyan caught her ankle, lifting it as she leaned in. “Now you can’t see my eyes.”

Cheater.

Sliding forward, Meng Xuran accidentally knocked the prepared peaches off the ledge.

One split open against the tub—half its sweet juice sucked away, the rest trickling into the water as Meng Xuran tangled fingers in Bo Mingyan’s hair, torn between pulling her closer or shoving her off.

“Manman…”

Bo Mingyan looked up, kneeling with one leg on the ledge, skin flushed pink from steam or exertion.

Dazed, Meng Xuran thought this version resembled the adorable toddler from the videos—prompting her to drag Bo Mingyan into an embrace.

Bo Mingyan braced backward. “I just kissed there.”

Meng Xuran nibbled her lip before releasing it with a pop, still tugging insistently. “How did it taste?”

Bo Mingyan’s gaze darkened as she yielded. “Want to find out?”

“Yes…” Meng Xuran arched up to capture her mouth.

Their tongues tangled like playful fish, stirring ripples across the water’s surface where Meng Xuran’s legs dangled.

Under dim lighting, the peonies on Bo Mingyan’s back burned vividly as steam wrapped their entwined figures.

Later in bed, a spent Meng Xuran lay face-down recovering while Bo Mingyan tidied the bathroom. Transferring the videos to the TV, she queued up where they’d left off.

Returning to find her durian meltdown frozen on screen—eliciting fresh giggles from Meng Xuran—Bo Mingyan checked the time. “Shouldn’t we sleep? It’s past eleven after today’s events, and work tomorrow.”

“Not tired yet.” Meng Xuran displayed the progress bar. “It’s short—we’ll finish it.”

As Bo Mingyan sat down, Meng Xuran eyed her phone before hitting play.

Post-durian, the videos showed no more tears—not when learning to bike left her legs bloodied, nor during first injections where she bit her lip raw, nor battling fevers where she whimpered “Dad… it hurts” with glassy eyes yet no crying.

Meng Xuran squeezed her hand. “Did you… cry much after childhood?”

“Rarely.” Bo Mingyan’s fingers twitched.

Young Bo Mingyan considered tears shameful—a weakness. Later, life taught her some pains surpassed even feigned strength.

Emotions could be bitten back.

Meng Xuran swallowed thickly, recognizing what those “rare” instances must have been. She changed tack: “So even injuries and shots didn’t make you cry?”

That should have been the most painful period.

Bo Mingyan confirmed.

Something lodged in Meng Xuran’s throat. She finally understood how her carefully designed ceiling mirrored Bo Mingyan’s trauma—how she’d unknowingly reopened wounds repeatedly.

Regret and heartbreak sliced through her with each word.

What had she done…

“Manman…” When Meng Xuran embraced her, Bo Mingyan stiffened momentarily before relaxing into arms that anchored her swirling thoughts. “I’ll… remove the ceiling tomorrow.”

Bo Mingyan circled Meng Xuran’s waist, breathing deeply until warmth softened her chest. She’d expected recounting these memories to hurt more.

Yet Meng Xuran’s sunlight effortlessly parted her inner shadows, restoring color where darkness lingered.

“Remove it?” Bo Mingyan teased. “But it’s quite… stimulating for you. Seems to make flooding easier.”

Meng Xuran blinked tears onto flushed cheeks, sputtering incoherently before attacking Bo Mingyan’s ribs.

“You’re just jealous, you little desert!” she finally retorted. “Can’t even produce water—just swallows it all!”

Bo Mingyan’s laughter tipped them sideways onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, Meng Xuran’s face buried against her neck.

Without asking about the other two times, Meng Xuran whispered, “Why did you cry today?”

Bo Mingyan stroked her hair, gaze drifting. “Because… I feared you wouldn’t come back.”

“But I said I’d return the day after.” Meng Xuran mumbled.

“The second time was when my father left.” Bo Mingyan’s voice roughened. “The third… my mother.”

Memories unfolded like a heavy curtain.

She vividly recalled the night before Bo Weize’s death—keeping vigil by his hospital bed as he urged her to rest, smiling: “Don’t visit tomorrow. After your exam, tell me the good news when I’m discharged.”

But he never heard her test results.

No one told her his sudden downturn during her exam. Rushing back through swirling phoenix tree pollen, she’d found his hand already cold.

She’d babbled incoherent “good news” through tears to someone who could no longer listen.

Afterward, good things grew scarce.

Later, Lin Huixin similarly promised: “Be good, Manman. In a few days, I’ll enroll you in First High’s dormitory—no need to see your brother.”

Though hating He Chencheng, Bo Mingyan complied for her mother’s sake.

Yet those “few days” ended with Lin Huixin personally depositing her at the airport abroad.

Watching her mother’s retreating back, Bo Mingyan felt abandoned by the world—her last lifeline slipping away.

In that moment, she remembered Bo Weize’s empty promises to wait for her, to recover soon, to go home together.

She’d clenched her jaw until her entire body shook, eyes bloodshot—but one blink unleashed what she couldn’t contain.

“They all said they wouldn’t leave… yet no one stayed.”

“So Meng Jiaojiao… I was afraid you’d be like them.”

A faint mist veiled Bo Mingyan’s eyes like morning forest fog. Tilting her chin up, she willed it away—only a damp redness lingering at her lash line.

It scorched Meng Xuran’s vision.

Heart fracturing, Meng Xuran kissed those tear tracks, tasting salt.

“I’m sorry… I won’t run again. I’ll never make you cry.”

She wept broken apologies before adding, “Except during… you know.”

Bo Mingyan’s lips curved at the qualifier—making this promise feel more genuine than any before.

“Though during those times,” Bo Mingyan mused, “your skills aren’t quite… tear-inducing yet.”

Meng Xuran’s head snapped up. “Are you insulting my technique?!”

Bo Mingyan’s silence confirmed it.

Outraged, Meng Xuran straddled her, disbelieving. After an indignant huff, she marched to the sink, meticulously washed her hands, and trimmed her nails.

Returning, she flipped the “sleeping” Bo Mingyan over. “You! Said! I’m! Bad! At! This!” Each word punctuated with a poke. “I won’t let you sleep until you cry!”

Bo Mingyan turned her head, fake-wiping tears. “Should I squeeze some out to help?”

“Bo Manman!” Meng Xuran nipped her shoulder.

“Trying to pain-cry me now?”

“Ugh! You’re impossible!”

Bo Mingyan’s laughter deepened.

…

When the final tide receded, Bo Mingyan glimpsed the starry reflection in Meng Xuran’s eyes—mirroring her own blissful surrender.

“I love you,” Meng Xuran whispered fiercely against her ear. “I’ll always stay with you, Manman.”

Exhausted but dry-eyed, Bo Mingyan drifted into dreams of Bo Weize’s cremation day—crouched under phoenix trees as rain masked her shattered weeping.

Until a yellow raincoat-clad figure appeared, holding an umbrella over her for hours before leaving it behind with a candy tin to brighten gray skies.

In her dream, the child glanced back—but before Bo Mingyan could see her face, the scene shifted to the airport departure lounge.

After vomiting from crying, she’d accepted tissues from a stranger whose backpack bore a floral charm.

“Thank you,” she’d murmured.

As the figure turned, passing travelers obscured the view—only a glimpse of wind-tossed hair remaining before—

Bo Mingyan startled awake to Meng Xuran nuzzling her neck, a leg thrown possessively across her hips.

“Manman… don’t cry…” Meng Xuran sleep-mumbled. “I’ll stay… candy…”

The quiet night amplified her heartbeat.

Opening her eyes, Bo Mingyan watched memories recede into light—realizing nothing was truly permanent, not even time itself.