Shen Mucheng’s figure disappeared behind the heavy drapes of the terrace, and with his departure, the suffocating low pressure that had hung over the banquet hall seemed to ease—if only temporarily.

Song Xingran let out a long breath. Her rigid spine finally relaxed, and only then did she realize her back was drenched in cold sweat, clinging unpleasantly to the lining of her gown. She cradled the cup of honey lemon water Gu Xingzhou had handed her, as if it were the only source of warmth in this icy arena of fame and status. Her fingers had gone pale from gripping it too tightly.

“Did that scare you?”

Gu Xingzhou’s voice sounded beside her—gentle, clear, unmistakably concerned. Like a breeze brushing across piano strings, it soothed her frayed nerves with ease.

Song Xingran snapped back to herself and shook her head awkwardly, forcing a small smile.
“N-no… I just feel like Teacher Shen isn’t in a very good mood tonight. His presence was a little… overwhelming.”

“His mood usually depends on whether the frequency is right, doesn’t it?” Gu Xingzhou chuckled, his peach-blossom eyes filled with warmth. “It’s too noisy here. Let’s go sit over there for a bit. You’ve been standing in heels for a long time—your feet must hurt.”

That small detail made her heart soften.

Shen Mucheng would only complain that she walked too slowly in heels, or simply scoop her up without warning—an act that made her heart race, yes, but he never once asked if she was in pain. Gu Xingzhou, on the other hand, noticed the faint tremor in her calves and quietly led her toward a place to rest.

This was the gentleness of 90 BPM.

Not intense. Not oppressive. Never forcing her to match his rhythm—only slowing down to wait for her.

A spring breeze.

Gu Xingzhou guided her to a velvet sofa in the corner of the hall, far from the noisy main stage. The lighting above was softer here, warmer. Song Xingran sank into the cushions, and the ache in her legs finally eased. Gu Xingzhou didn’t sit beside her; instead, he leaned casually against the armrest, maintaining a distance that felt close yet respectful.

He raised his champagne glass, gazing through the golden liquid toward the terrace, his voice tinged with sincere admiration.

“Honestly, I’ve always respected Senior Shen.”

“Hm?” Song Xingran looked up, surprised by the shift in topic.

“He’s a genius. A true genius.” Gu Xingzhou lowered his glass and looked at her seriously. “In this industry, only his voice can reach the absolute limits of human hearing. That deep-sea-low frequency, that grainy resonance that shakes the soul… it’s both a gift and a curse.”

“A curse?” she asked, confused.

“Because he’s too sensitive. He can’t tolerate even a grain of sand.”

Gu Xingzhou gave a small, bitter smile. “In his world, everything must be precise, perfect, controlled. Any hint of noise is torture to him. That’s why he’s so strict—so emotionally distant.”

He leaned in slightly, his gaze gentle but searching.

“Living under that kind of pressure… must be exhausting, right?”

Her heart was struck hard.

Exhausting?

Of course it was.

Every second she spent with Shen Mucheng, she was tense to the core—controlling her breathing, her heartbeat, her volume, even her bodily reactions. She felt like an overstretched rubber band, constantly testing the brink of snapping.

That extreme pleasure always came hand in hand with extreme repression and fear. She had never truly relaxed in that relationship.

Seeing the dimness in her eyes, Gu Xingzhou smiled—a smile like sunlight breaking through clouds, bright enough to sting.

“That’s why you need to come out and breathe once in a while.”

He took out his phone, pulled up an audio interface, and handed it to her.

“This is a theme song I’ve been recording for a radio drama recently. It’s a lighter style. Want to hear it?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Okay.”

He didn’t put earphones on her—an act that belonged exclusively to Shen Mucheng, heavy with control. Instead, he simply pressed play, letting the sound flow naturally from the speaker. The volume was set just right, audible to the two of them without disturbing anyone else.

A lively piano intro spilled out, like a skipping stream.

Then came Gu Xingzhou’s voice—clear, youthful.

It carried sunshine, hope, the scent of grass. No suffocating pull into the deep sea. No bone-softening low frequencies. Just pure joy—something that made you want to hum along.

90 BPM.

A normal heartbeat. Running under the sun. Easy laughter.

A world she once knew, but had gradually forgotten after meeting Shen Mucheng.

Her shoulders slowly relaxed. The crease between her brows smoothed out. A genuine smile curved her lips.

“It sounds really good,” she said honestly. “It sounds… happy.”

“Right?” His eyes lit up like a boy praised for a sweet. “I think this style suits you better. When you smile, your frequency is like this—warm and comforting.”

He leaned closer and made an offer.

“There’s still a female harmony part missing. I think your voice would be perfect.”

“Me?” She pointed to herself, flustered. “But I’m not a professional… I can’t even control my breathing properly…”

“You don’t need technique. You don’t need control,” he interrupted firmly.
“You just need something clean. Unpolluted. Natural.”

He slipped a business card from his pocket and placed it gently in her palm.

“Are you free this weekend? Come hang out at my studio.”

His gaze was open and sincere as he painted the scene.

“My studio’s in the south of the city. There’s a full wall of windows overlooking a park. When the sun’s out, we can have coffee and record casually. No pressure. Even if it doesn’t work out, that’s fine. Just relax, chat, soak up some sunlight.”

Sunlight. Coffee. Easy recording.

No black curtains. No cold tuning forks. No suffocating ‘pause’ button. No humiliating auditory conditioning.

A normal world.

One she once lived in, but was drifting further and further away from.

Song Xingran wavered.

Under Shen Mucheng’s high-pressure dominance, the “exit” Gu Xingzhou offered was dangerously tempting. She even began to imagine—if she were with Gu Xingzhou, maybe life wouldn’t be so exhausting. Maybe she could walk hand in hand in the sunlight like a normal couple, instead of being confined to dark rooms, forced to listen to her own breath.

Her fingers tightened around the card, warmth spreading through her fingertips.

“I…”

She opened her mouth, about to accept—

And then—

A chill crawled up her spine without warning.

It wasn’t the air-conditioning. It wasn’t a sound.

It was instinct—the terror of being watched by a top predator.

Like a grazing deer suddenly sensing golden eyes in the grass.

Her words froze in her throat. She lifted her head instinctively, past Gu Xingzhou’s shoulder, toward the terrace.

Someone stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Shen Mucheng.

She didn’t know when he’d come out. He hadn’t returned to the crowd. He stood alone in the shadows, a half-burned cigarette between his fingers.

The ember glowed, then dimmed.

He didn’t approach.

He simply stood there, separated by half a banquet hall of perfume and chatter, staring coldly in their direction.

His face was calm—like dead water.

But she felt the vortex churning beneath the surface, capable of destroying everything. His gaze pierced through the crowd, locking onto her hand clutching Gu Xingzhou’s card.

He saw it.

The music. Her relaxed smile. Her hesitation.

Shen Mucheng raised his hand.

He flicked the ash—elegant, ruthless.

Then he crushed the remaining cigarette against the marble railing.

Sizzle.

The sound burned a hole straight through her heart.

The flame died.

He turned away.

No confrontation. No questioning. No attempt to pull her back.

He walked straight toward the side exit, steps resolute, back icy.

As if he had let go.

As if he had discarded a disobedient toy.

Her heart clenched violently, panic flooding her—worse than being stared down, worse than being forced to listen to her own breathing.

If she didn’t chase him—

If she didn’t explain—

She knew, with terrifying certainty, that she might lose that dangerous, soul-shaking frequency forever. She would return to safety—but never again experience that suffocating deep-sea thrill.

Her body moved before her mind.

“I’m sorry, Xingzhou.”

She shot to her feet, nearly knocking over the glass. “I—I have to go.”

“Xingran?” He reached for her. “What’s wrong? You’re so pale.”

“Next time! We’ll talk next time!”

She dodged his hand, grabbed her bag, and ran—heels screaming in protest—as she chased after Shen Mucheng.

Her skirt flared wildly behind her, like a frightened butterfly fleeing.

Gu Xingzhou’s hand lingered midair. The warmth faded from his smile, replaced slowly by something deeper, more knowing.

“Tsk.”

He drained his champagne and turned.

His gaze landed precisely on the sharp red figure across the hall—Chen Ruolan.

She had seen everything.

Standing apart from the crowd, wine glass in hand, anger flashing in her lined phoenix eyes as she stared in the direction Song Xingran disappeared.

She wasn’t angry at Song Xingran.

She was angry at Shen Mucheng.

Gu Xingzhou smiled.

He stepped beside her and placed his empty glass onto the tray at her side.

“Senior Shen is quite rude,” he said lightly, disdain threaded just right.
“Don’t you think? Scaring his woman like that—like letting a beast out of its cage. In public, no less.”

She snapped her head toward him, fury barely contained.

“Gu Xingzhou,” she said coldly. “She’s a reporter from our magazine. Not someone you get to comment on.”

“I wasn’t talking about Miss Song,” he shrugged innocently, eyes glinting.
“I just think she looks pitiful. Like the women your ex-husband used to make cry.”

That struck home.

Her chin lifted, queenly authority flaring.

“Do you know what you’re saying?”

“I do,” he smiled—thrilled.

He stepped closer.

“Ruolan-jie,” he murmured, sunlight replaced by temptation.
“Instead of letting her be scared by that kind of man, wouldn’t it be better to remind him—”

“That all you need is a look to make men kneel?”

This wasn’t a confession. It was an offering.

“You’re angry because you know—you’re the one who truly controls everything. Aren’t you?”

“Instead of watching other men embarrass themselves… come with me. Let’s talk about something you’re actually interested in.”

He gestured.

She studied the younger man—the hunger in his eyes, eager to be dominated.

She set down her glass and laughed coldly.

“Fine.”

She knew it would be dangerous.

And she hadn’t felt this excited in a very long time.

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