The villa, hidden deep in the mountains, became an isolated island at night.

The master bathroom was unusually spacious. With no superfluous decorations, its walls were made of rough dark-gray stone slabs, illuminated by cold white spotlights that gave the surfaces a lunar, almost otherworldly texture. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the night was thick and impenetrable, and even the wind seemed filtered out by the heavy double-glass panes. The room was so quiet it felt like a vacuum chamber.

At the center of the bathroom was a sunken, circular jacuzzi. Its black stone rim was sharp, the water inside deep and unfathomable, like a bottomless well—or the eye of a beast waiting for a sacrifice. Hot water had already been filled. White steam lazily drifted upwards, carrying a cold, expensive scent—highland pine essential oil mixed with a faint disinfectant smell. It was Shen Mucheng’s signature, almost pathological, sense of cleanliness.

Shen Mucheng stood at the edge of the tub. He had removed his dust- and sweat-stained shirt. His bare torso appeared pale amid the mist, the lines of his back subtly rising and falling with each breath, the shoulder blades almost piercing the skin with their sharpness.

He tested the water temperature. His long fingers dipped in and came out red—not just from heat, but from restraint. Restraint of the raw pain in his throat, restraint of the sensation on his skin—that lingering mildew smell from the Song family wardrobe.

Song Xingran stood at the doorway, nervously fidgeting with her coat buttons. This place was too clean, making her feel like a contaminated intruder in a sterile lab. She looked at herself—hair messy, her wine-red velvet dress sticking in creases to her legs, still carrying the greasy residue from the earlier banquet. Her entire presence exuded a “cheap, sticky” aura that made Shen Mucheng frown: a mixture of firecracker smoke, camphor, and the insidious trace of other people’s malice.

“Come here.” Shen Mucheng didn’t turn around. His voice was low, rough, like two stones grinding against each other, textured enough to make one shiver.

Song Xingran hesitated, then stepped forward. Her heels clacked on the slightly wet cement floor, the sound echoing in the empty space. It made her anxious; instinctively, she tiptoed, like a child trying to hide after doing something wrong.

“The water’s ready.” Shen Mucheng finally turned to her. Behind the glass of his glasses, his eyes were deep and unlit, scanning her entire body—from her messy hair to the dusty dress. His brows twitched slightly—a reflexive disgust triggered by seeing filth. But that disgust was quickly suppressed, turning into an almost obsessive pity.

He stepped closer, pressing his thumb against a dusty patch on her collarbone, rubbing it until the smudge vanished and the skin turned an unhealthy red.

“Dirty.” His hoarse voice deepened. “Those people… they made us all take on their unclean scent.”

He stepped back and commanded without room for argument: “Take it off. Strip away the Song family’s smell. Strip away everything that made you feel inferior… all of it.”

Song Xingran inhaled sharply and, trembling, unbuttoned her coat. The heavy garment slid to the floor in a heap. Then the sweater followed. With each layer removed, the pine scent grew stronger, and she felt herself shedding her old skin, moving further away from her suffocating family.

Finally, she was left in the wine-red velvet dress. The zipper slid down, and the dress fell to the floor.

Shen Mucheng’s gaze froze. He saw a dried, dark stain on the inner hem of the dress—a secret left behind in the mildew-scented wardrobe hours ago.

He knelt, touching the mark. His rough fingertip traced the coarse fabric, his eyes dark, as if caressing a wound. It wasn’t a stain. It was a mark.

“Even this is dirty.” He chuckled lowly, lifting his gaze to her naked form. Behind his restrained madness, a crack appeared.

“If the outside world is so filthy…” He stood and scooped her up in his arms, carrying her to the deep, black jacuzzi. The heat hit her face, suffocating and intense.

“Then let’s wash it away. Here… there’s only my scent.”

“Get in.” Shen Mucheng commanded from the edge of the tub.

Song Xingran, barefoot, tentatively dipped her toes. The moment they touched the water, she recoiled, drawing in a sharp breath. The heat was unbearable—it wasn’t just hot bathwater; it felt like molten lava against her skin.

“It’s too hot…” she gasped, glancing at him for help.

“Only extreme heat can kill filth.” Shen Mucheng remained unmoved. “I won’t say it again.”

She gritted her teeth, forcing herself into the black water inch by inch. The scalding liquid felt like thousands of needles piercing her pores; every inch of skin burned, her heartbeat skyrocketing, pounding against her chest. When the water reached her chest, she felt her lungs constricted, her breath metallic and heavy.

Shen Mucheng stepped in after her. As he sank, the water level surged, spilling over the edges, slapping the floor as it escaped.

He grabbed a rough cotton towel, applied bath gel, and pressed it against her back without even lathering it—scraping with force.

Her spine arched violently. Her cry of pain was choked, turning into a broken whimper.

“Where are you hiding?” He whispered near her ear, cold as ice, his hands burning hot. “Here? Or here?”

The towel, soaked with scalding water, mercilessly rubbed over tender skin: collarbone, armpits, wrists. The surface layer of her skin reddened, sometimes bleeding slightly. Pain seared—but as the rough layer of skin was stripped away, her disgust slowly dissipated. She no longer resisted, lowering her head and exposing her vulnerable neck, letting him treat her as if she were spoiled flesh.

“Wrists.” He commanded.

She obediently raised her arms. Shen Mucheng looked at the pale flesh, recalling how she had been grabbed at the banquet. His gaze darkened. He discarded the towel, leaned down, and bit into her vein with sharp canines.

Blood spread in the hot mist. This time, he didn’t hold back.

Song Xingran shuddered violently. Tears streamed down her face, but fear choked her throat, leaving her voiceless. Shen Mucheng, like a beast savoring blood, swirled his tongue over the wound, then bit harder, leaving a deep purple mark.

“Covered.” He finally released her, satisfied with the gruesome mark. “Now it’s clean.”

The cleaning was done. Foam washed away; the water returned to calm. He placed the silver ear cuff back on her left cartilage. The metallic chill stood out vividly amid the steamy heat.

“Remember what I said in the car?” Shen Mucheng lifted her to sit on his lap, her back against him. The water’s buoyancy made her body light, but unstable.

“Now… the makeup exam.” His fingers slipped beneath the water.

The resistance was immense. As his fingers parted her soft flesh, a sticky, suffocating suction sound rose. Unlike dry air, the hot water amplified every sensation.

The first finger inside made her tremble. Too full. Water and flesh squeezed together. His fingers moved slowly, stirring heat with each stroke.

“Relax.” He felt her tension and pressed one hand to her throat, thumb steady, instructing, “Release the dirty water.”

He quickened the rhythm. The water slapped against the tub violently, creating chaotic liquid percussion that echoed through the empty space like a miniature tsunami. The sound was deafening. She wanted to close her legs, but he forced them apart.

“Listen to this sound.” He bit her earlobe, voice hoarse. “This is your voice now.”

“Too deep… Shen Mucheng…” She gripped the tub edge, nails leaving white marks. Oxygen ran low; flashes of white appeared in her vision. Heat and friction drove her body temperature to the limit.

He sensed her approaching the brink. His left hand released her throat suddenly, sliding down to hold her lower abdomen; his right hand hooked, delivering the final blow.

“Spit it out!”

A white flash exploded in her mind, severing all rational thought. Her body arched like a bow, a desperate whimper escaping her throat. It wasn’t just climax—it was total surrender.

Hot liquid erupted uncontrollably, mingling with convulsions. Shame, grievance, and inferiority were expelled with it.

The water turned murky, foam and residues floating, saturated with an intense, sweet, masculine scent. The jacuzzi was ruined.

Exhausted, she collapsed in his arms. Tears and mucus smeared her face; her breathing came in broken gasps. For someone like her, a cleanliness obsessive, it felt like a bacterial execution.

She expected him to get up immediately, drain the water, push her away—but he didn’t.

Shen Mucheng held her, letting the messy, slick water envelop them. In the chaos, he remained unusually calm, like undergoing a silent baptism.

He lifted damp strands from her face, pressing his rough fingers against her lips—not to wipe, but to smooth the remnants of saliva and silver hair across her mouth.

“Dirty?” He looked at her, eyes devoid of disgust, only obsession. “…This is all my scent.”

At that moment, she saw a divine-like compassion in his usually cold eyes. He had seen her at her messiest, most out-of-control, and yet he held her close.

Pulling the plug, the black whirlpool formed, greedily swallowing the water, carrying away the Song family’s filth and past sludge into the abyss.

The tub emptied. So did their burdens.

Back in the bedroom, the low hum of a hairdryer blew warmth through her hair, dissipating the last trace of chill. Shen Mucheng sat at the bed’s edge, moving gently as if repairing something priceless. The tyrant from the bathroom felt like a fleeting illusion.

“Is your throat still sore?” He stroked her hair.

She shook her head, nuzzling into his waist, inhaling deeply. The scent of freshly dried blankets and his cedarwood surrounded her. “No… all clean now.” She closed her eyes, a slight smile on her lips.

Shen Mucheng smiled—a subtle but genuine relief. He slid under the covers, pulling her close, circling her within his absolute territory.

“Yes… clean.” He kissed her forehead, closing his eyes, hiding the exhaustion behind them.

“Sleep now. This is the mountain. No firecrackers, no relatives, no one can disturb you.”

“Tonight… only the wind accompanies us.”

Shen Corporation Observation Log: New Year’s Eve Project Summary

Scope: Route to Song Family, Song Family Manor, North City Villa
Duration: 10 hours (high-intensity continuous operation)

I. Data Statistics

• • Frequency synchronization: 99% (Under extreme environmental stress, subject’s reliance reached survival-level resonance)

• • Physical and mental activation: 90% (Completed continuous climax endurance test; mind-body defenses fully collapsed)

• • Cleanliness: 100% (Thorough internal and external cleansing, all impurities and odors removed)

II. Achievements Unlocked Today

• • [Mobile Room Edging]: Verified endurance limit in semi-public setting

• • [Human Soundproof Wall]: Established absolute recognition that only I can protect her

• • [Deep Sea Resonance (Bone Conduction)]: Soul appeasement in extreme conditions (wardrobe)

• • [Water Climax]: Exam passed; water buoyancy proved excellent aid

III. Observer Status

• • Mental: Extreme satisfaction; possessiveness fulfilled watching her sleep clean and intact

• • Physical: Vocal cords severely strained, throat irritation expected tomorrow; high cost, but worth it

IV. Strategic Assessment

• • Regarding contract: Tonight confirmed she cannot leave me. “Marriage (permanent contract)” scheduled for execution; only legal binding grants full authority over her life

• • Risk Assessment: Song family’s large relative network is highly unstable “high-decibel contamination source.” For marriage, must establish strict isolation plan to physically and psychologically cut her off from such influences. No one else must hurt my star again

V. Physical Maintenance

• • Urgency: Water-induced consecutive climax caused pelvic floor fatigue, potential future impact of squirting

• • Action: Incorporate Kegel exercises into daily routine to strengthen pelvic floor control and endurance—foundation for future training

💝 Support the Team

April0427

✍️ Translator

💙 PayPal