The black sedan pulled away from the broadcasting building and merged into the glittering night traffic of North City.

The cabin was quiet.

Song Xingran was curled up in the passenger seat, gripping the seat belt tightly in her hands. The blush on her face had not completely faded yet. What had happened in the pantry just now—and Shen Muchen’s last words, “buy some teaching aids”—kept her heart suspended, unable to settle.

“W‑where… are we going?” she asked softly, her voice carrying a faint, trembling anticipation.

Shen Muchen held the steering wheel with one hand, the other resting by the window, his fingers lightly tapping the edge in a calm, elegant rhythm.

“To a place… only people who truly know what they’re doing would go.”

Twenty minutes later, the car stopped deep inside a quiet alley.

There were no flashing neon lights, no noisy crowds. Only a low‑key storefront with no sign at all. Heavy, dark‑red velvet curtains hung in the display window, completely blocking the view inside.

Shen Muchen turned off the engine and unbuckled his seat belt.

“Get out.”

Song Xingran followed him to the entrance. Shen Muchen pressed the intercom beside the door and gave his name.

Click.

The electronic lock disengaged.

As the door opened, a rich and distinctive fragrance washed over them—an unusual blend of premium leather, sandalwood, and an unidentifiable floral note. It was calm, luxurious, and faintly dangerous.

There was no shop assistant in sight. Only soft track lighting illuminated the display cases.

This place did not look like a sex shop at all. It resembled a high‑end custom leather studio. Handcrafted leather goods hung neatly on the walls, and exquisite metal accessories were displayed in glass cabinets.

If one ignored the shapes of the leather items—handcuffs, collars, restraint straps—the shop would have looked like an art gallery.

“Do you like it?” Shen Muchen asked.

He stopped in front of a display case, his long fingers gliding over the glass as naturally as if he were choosing a tie.

Song Xingran’s face turned so red it seemed ready to drip. She did not know where to look.

“Th‑this place…”

“This is my instrument shop.”

Shen Muchen turned around, amused by her flustered expression.

“To play a beautiful piece of music, besides the performer—me—and the instrument—you—we also need some auxiliary tools.”

He took her hand and led her to a wall.

Various ribbons and blindfolds made of different materials were neatly hung there.

“The ribbon we used last time was too rough.”

He took down a black silk ribbon and rubbed it gently between his fingers, feeling its smooth, flowing texture.

“How about this one? It feels much better. If it’s tied over your eyes… it shouldn’t leave any marks.”

He turned and held the ribbon up to her eyes.

The cool, silky touch brushed against her eyelids. Song Xingran instinctively closed her eyes and shivered.

“Or… do you prefer this one?”

He switched to a red lace blindfold.

“Red would look beautiful against your skin. And…”
He leaned in close to her ear and lowered his voice.

“It’s semi‑transparent. You’ll be able to vaguely see what I’m doing—but not clearly. That sense of fear… you’ll like it.”

Song Xingran’s legs felt weak.

Just listening to his description made her body react.

“Choose one.”

Shen Muchen held both ribbons out in front of her, his tone leaving no room for refusal.

“For future lessons, which one do you want me to use?”

It was a trap.

He was forcing her to participate—forcing her to openly admit her desire.

Song Xingran bit her lip, her gaze wavering between the black silk and the red lace.

Finally, trembling, she pointed to the red one.

“R‑red…”

Shen Muchen smiled.

“Good taste.”

He placed the red lace blindfold into the shopping basket.

“I also think… the way the corners of your eyes turn red when you cry would look perfect with this.”

Next, they stopped in front of a glass case filled with refined silver accessories.

These were not instruments of punishment, but metal ornaments with stylish designs—rings, bracelets, and various ear pieces.

Shen Muchen scanned the display, then picked up a silver cartilage cuff from a velvet tray.

It had no unnecessary decoration—just a widened, cold metal ring. Minimal, yet carrying a sense of restrained force.

“Come here.”

He turned slightly and gently pinched Song Xingran’s left ear.

That area—the cartilage—was rarely touched and extremely sensitive.

Click.

The metal ring was fastened onto her ear.

“Hiss…”

Song Xingran shrank her neck back. It was a little tight. The pressure of the metal clamping onto her cartilage brought a sharp, unfamiliar sting.

“Does it hurt?” Shen Muchen murmured, his fingers lightly rubbing the silver ring.

“A little…”

“That’s exactly what it’s for.”

He did not remove it. Instead, he looked at her reflection in the mirror.

The silver cuff glinted coldly against her pale ear, looking both like a fashionable accessory—and a mark.

“In certain situations—interviews, meetings, or in front of people like Gu Xingzhou…”

His voice dropped even lower, carrying a hint of possessiveness.

“You can’t wear a collar. It would cause trouble.”

“But I need you to remember who you belong to at all times.”

He leaned down, his lips close to the cuff, warm breath brushing her reddened ear.

“This is a signal, Xingxing.

“When I make you wear it, it means… class has started.

“No matter whether you’re in the office or out on the street. As long as you’re wearing it, your ears, your frequency, even your physical reactions…”

His fingers pressed slightly harder against the ear cuff, intensifying the sting.

“…are under my control.”

Song Xingran’s heart skipped a beat.

This was an invisible collar.

To others, it was just a fashionable accessory. To her, it was a sword hanging over her head—shame and pleasure that could descend at any moment.

“Th‑this… are we buying this too?” she asked shakily.

“Of course.”

Shen Muchen removed the ear cuff and placed it into the basket.

“This is my favorite… remote control.”

They then moved to the metal section.

Delicate metal items were displayed there—handcuffs, ankle cuffs, and bells of various sizes.

Shen Muchen picked up a tiny golden bell.

He gently shook it.

Ding—

The sound was clear and airy, echoing through the quiet shop.

“The sound is very clean,” Shen Muchen commented professionally.
“The frequency is high. Strong penetration.”

He turned to Song Xingran.

“The one we used last time was too big. Wearing it on your wrist makes it easy to bump into things. This smaller one…”

His gaze slowly traveled down—from her neck, to her chest, and finally to her ankle.

“Where do you think it should go?” he asked.

Song Xingran shrank back slightly.

“A‑ankle?”

“Ankle?” Shen Muchen raised an eyebrow. “Too ordinary.”

Holding the bell, he walked closer and suddenly crouched down.

Startled, Song Xingran tried to step back, but he grasped her calf.

His fingers slid upward over her stockings—from her calf, past her knee, and to her inner thigh.

The bell chimed softly in his hand.

Ding, ding.

“If there were a kind of clip… one that could be attached to a certain place…”

He lifted his head and looked at her, his eyes dark, his voice extremely low.

“And hang it there. When you walk… when you move… it would ring.

“I’d only need to listen to the sound to know whether you’re wet… whether you’ve climaxed.”

Boom—

Heat rushed straight to Song Xingran’s head.

It was far too humiliating.

Just imagining it—the most private part of her body carrying a bell, ringing with every movement under him—was enough to make her feel as if she were melting.

“N‑no… don’t…” she protested weakly.

“Don’t?” Shen Muchen stood up and lightly tossed the bell in his hand.

“Then let’s hang it on your neck first. As… a collar accessory.”

Finally, they stopped in front of a glass cabinet.

Inside were collars of all kinds.

Leather, metal, velvet.

“Choose one,” Shen Muchen said.

This time, his tone was far more serious—almost ceremonial.

Song Xingran looked at the collars. She knew exactly what this meant.

A mark of ownership.

Once she wore it, she would belong to him—not simply as a girlfriend, but as… a personal possession, an obedient pet.

She hesitated for a long time.

In the end, her gaze settled on a thin black leather collar.

It was simple, with no extra decoration. Only a small silver ring in the center—something that could hold a leash, or the bell from earlier.

“This one,” she said softly, pointing to it.

Shen Muchen asked the shop assistant—a silent, middle‑aged man who had appeared without them noticing—to take it out.

Holding the collar, Shen Muchen stepped behind her.

He lifted her long hair, revealing her slender, pale nape.

The cool leather pressed against her warm skin.

Song Xingran shivered.

Click.

The metal clasp closed.

The collar fit perfectly—not tight, not loose. The restrained sensation made her breathing grow shallow.

Shen Muchen turned her around and examined his work.

The black leather made her skin look even whiter, the strong contrast stirring both his most primitive urge to destroy—and to protect.

He hooked a finger through the silver ring at the center of the collar.

And gently pulled.

Song Xingran was forced onto her tiptoes, drawn closer to him.

“It suits you very well.”

He kissed her lips, his voice hoarse.

“From today on, your frequency belongs to me.”

Clutching his shirt, Song Xingran nodded lightly within that kiss.

That night, they brought home a large bag of “teaching aids.”

Although Shen Muchen kept his promise and did not immediately “unwrap the gifts,” he made Song Xingran sleep with the collar on for the entire night.

Every time she turned over in her sleep, the metal buckle on the collar gave off a faint sound—reminding her—

She had already been captured.

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