Saturday, 7:30 p.m.

 

Their first “official” date since the confession.

 

The largest IMAX cinema in North City was packed with people.

 

Song Xingran stood in front of the ticket machine, holding two freshly printed tickets. Her cheeks were still slightly warm. This was her first date with Shen Muchen since they became a couple.

 

No expensive restaurant.
No concert.

 

The place Shen Muchen chose… was a movie theater.

 

And the film he picked was a newly released suspense horror movie — A Quiet Place.

 

“Got the tickets?”

 

Shen Muchen appeared behind her at some point.

 

He was dressed casually today — a black turtleneck sweater, a dark-gray trench coat, a black baseball cap, and a mask that covered most of his face, leaving only a pair of deep, sharp eyes exposed.

 

Even so, his presence still drew more than a few glances.

 

“Yes.” Song Xingran handed him the tickets.
“Last row, right in the middle. Just like you asked.”

 

Shen Muchen glanced at the seat numbers and nodded with satisfaction.

 

“Let’s go.”

 

He naturally reached out and took her hand.

 

Not a polite, distant hold — but fingers interlaced, palm to palm.

 

The warmth from his hand traveled straight through her skin, making her heart skip.

 

They scanned their tickets and entered.

 

The theater was large, and the air-conditioning was strong.

 

The moment the lights went out, the world fell into darkness, lit only by the faint blue glow of the screen.

 

Their seats were in the very last row — a couple’s sofa seat.

 

It was a relatively private space, shielded on both sides by partitions. The wide seat easily allowed two people to lean close together.

 

After sitting down, Shen Muchen did not rush to watch the movie.

 

He turned slightly, removed his mask and cap, revealing his sharp, handsome face.

 

“Cold?” he asked softly near her ear.

 

The movie had not started yet. Around them were only quiet conversations and the sound of popcorn.

 

His voice was low, like a gently plucked cello string — magnetic and almost intoxicating.

 

“I’m okay…” she whispered.

 

Shen Muchen said nothing.

 

He simply took off his coat and spread it over both of their legs.

 

The heavy wool coat blocked everything outside, creating a small, private darkroom just for the two of them.

 

Song Xingran nervously gripped the hem of her skirt, expecting his hand to reach for her immediately.

 

But he didn’t.

 

In the darkness, a faint yet sharp tearing sound broke the silence.

 

Rip.

 

A strong, cold scent of alcohol instantly filled the narrow space between the seats, overpowering the caramel sweetness of popcorn.

 

She froze.

 

In the faint light from the screen, she saw Shen Muchen holding a freshly opened alcohol wipe.

 

His eyes were lowered. His expression was focused and solemn.

 

He wiped his fingers slowly and carefully.

 

Painfully meticulously.

 

From the base of each finger to the rounded fingertips.
From the broad palm to every narrow gap between his fingers.
Left hand, then right hand.
Even the edges of his nails were not spared.

 

He looked less like a boyfriend on a date and more like a surgeon preparing to enter a sterile operating room — calm, precise, and obsessively controlled.

 

“Shen… Shen Muchen?”
The hospital smell made her slightly dizzy.

 

“I know you’re a clean freak, but… disinfecting your hands in a cinema feels a bit…”

 

A little excessive?

 

He finished wiping the last finger.

 

He folded the used wipe neatly twice and put it into a small trash pouch he carried with him.

 

Then he turned to her in the darkness.

 

His deep eyes locked onto hers.

 

“It’s dirty out there.”

 

His voice was low and flat.

 

“Door handles. Railings. The air. Bacteria everywhere.”

 

He reached under the coat with the freshly disinfected hand — still cool and carrying the scent of alcohol — and gently covered the back of her hand.

 

“I’m going to touch you.”

 

He whispered into her ear, his tone carrying a chilling blend of possessiveness and control.

 

“And it’s going to be… delicate places.”

 

“I can’t bring outside filth in.”

 

“You’ll get sick.”

 

Her heart skipped violently.

 

It was clearly a caring sentence.

 

Yet coming from him, it sounded unbearably erotic… and disturbingly twisted.

 

He needed to make sure the weapon was perfectly clean before “invading” her.

 

The lingering smell of alcohol mixed with the cedar scent on his body, creating a strange, cold, intoxicating stimulant.

 

“All right.”

 

His fingers slipped into hers and locked tightly.

 

That hand was clean and dry — but undeniably aggressive.

 

“Now it’s clean.”

 

“We can begin.”

 

---

 

The movie started.

 

It was a horror film centered on sound.

 

Monsters hunted humans through noise. The characters had to remain absolutely silent to survive.

 

The theater’s sound system was excellent.

 

The faint wind, footsteps on sand, the monsters’ shrieks — everything surrounded them, creating an oppressive atmosphere.

 

Song Xingran originally thought Shen Muchen was here to seriously watch the film.

 

After all, it was related to his profession.

 

But very quickly, she realized—

 

She was completely wrong.

 

When the heroine on screen let out a restrained gasp in fear, Shen Muchen suddenly leaned toward her ear.

 

“Did you hear that?”

 

His lips were almost touching her ear, warm breath brushing inside.

 

“Her breathing is unstable.”

 

“Inhale is too short. The vocal cords aren’t fully closed.”
He sounded like he was giving a professional critique — but with faint amusement.

 

“If this were in my studio… that kind of breath would be punished.”

 

Song Xingran shuddered.

 

“Focus,” he chuckled softly, squeezing her palm under the coat.
“The movie is very good.”

 

How could she possibly focus with him whispering like that?

 

Whenever a tense silent moment appeared on screen, Shen Muchen would whisper again.

 

“The monster’s low-frequency design is decent. About 30 Hz.”

 

“The heartbeat is fake. Real fear doesn’t sound like that.”

 

He guided her hand to his chest.

 

Thump. Thump. Thump.

 

A steady, powerful, oppressive 60 BPM.

 

“This is a hunter’s heartbeat.”

 

In the darkness, his gaze was more dangerous than the monsters on the screen.

 

“As for the prey…”

 

His hand slid away from his chest and down along her arm, finally slipping between her fingers.

 

Their fingers intertwined.

 

Then he began to play with her hand.

 

The pads of his fingers were slightly rough, carrying thin calluses, slowly stroking every inch of her fingers — from knuckles to tips, and into the most sensitive spaces between them.

 

The movement was far too erotic.

 

Like a slow, deliberate simulation of something else.

 

“Your fingers are very soft.”

 

He gently caught her earlobe between his lips and lightly licked it.

 

“I wonder if the inside… is just as soft.”

 

Her mind exploded.

 

“Shen… Shen Muchen…”
She tried to pull her hand back, but he only tightened his grip.

 

“Shh.”

 

He lifted one finger to his lips and gestured toward the screen.

 

“Be quiet. You’ll disturb others.”

 

On screen, the monster was approaching.

 

The characters were holding their breath.

 

The theater became terrifyingly silent.

 

In that extreme silence, every sensation was amplified.

 

Under the coat, Shen Muchen’s hand began to wander.

 

He released her hand and placed his palm on her thigh.

 

Even through the fabric of her knitted dress, the heat of his palm burned like a brand.

 

He didn’t rush to go further.

 

His fingers tapped her thigh rhythmically, like playing a piano.

 

Tap. Tap. Tap.

 

In sync with the tense background music.

 

Slowly, his hand moved upward.

 

From her knee…
to mid-thigh…
to the very top of her thigh.

 

She bit her lip hard, instinctively trying to close her legs, but his hand pressed down firmly and stopped her.

 

“Don’t move.”

 

He whispered hoarsely beside her ear.

 

“Relax.”

 

His thumb pressed precisely into the most sensitive nerve on her inner thigh and rubbed gently.

 

“Mmm…!”

 

She nearly cried out and clapped a hand over her mouth.

 

Tears instantly welled up.

 

It was too intense.

 

In front of her was the massive screen and terrifying scenes.

 

Around her were hundreds of focused viewers.

 

And in the far corner of the last row, she was being played with through her clothes.

 

The danger of being discovered mixed with physical pleasure made her body melt almost instantly.

 

Shen Muchen felt the change in her body.

 

A satisfied curve lifted the corner of his lips.

 

“Wet?”

 

He asked bluntly.

 

She shook her head in shame, tears soaking his shoulder.

 

“Liar.”

 

His hand suddenly slipped under her skirt.

 

His fingertips brushed the lace edge of her stockings — and then her warm, delicate skin.

 

He did not go deeper.

 

His fingers stopped at the edge of her underwear, circling slowly there.

 

“It’s crying here.”

 

He chuckled softly into her ear.

 

“It’s saying it wants it.”

 

She collapsed.

 

Clutching his arm, her nails almost dug into his flesh, silently begging.

 

Give it to her.

 

Or let her go.

 

But Shen Muchen deliberately refused to give her relief.

 

Like tuning a precision instrument, he patiently tested her limits, pressing and teasing through her underwear, light and heavy, in perfect timing with every jump scare in the movie.

 

At the climax of the film, the monster appeared.

 

The entire audience screamed.

 

His fingers suddenly sped up.

 

Covered by the screams, Song Xingran’s body trembled violently.

 

Her back arched beneath the cover of his coat.

 

She came — silently and intensely.

 

“Hah…”

 

She collapsed into the seat, eyes unfocused, breathing hard.

 

Shen Muchen withdrew his hand.

 

He took out a tissue and calmly wiped the moisture from his fingers.

 

The movie ended.

 

The lights came on.

 

Song Xingran still hadn’t fully recovered. Her face was red like a ripe apple, and she couldn’t bring herself to look up.

 

Shen Muchen tidied her skirt for her, put his mask and cap back on, and returned to his cold, restrained appearance.

 

He took her still-weak hand and pulled her up.

 

“Let’s go.”

 

As they walked out, he whispered beside her ear:

 

“The sound design of this movie was good.”

 

“Especially…”

 

“Your last breath.”

 

“Better than Dolby surround sound.”