Monday morning, the world turned into a giant garbage dump.

The ignition point was a series of maliciously spliced ​​long-focus candid photos.

The background was the ENT department of a private hospital in Beicheng.

In the photos, Shen Muchen wore a baseball cap; although only his eyes were visible, his agitation and gloom almost overflowed the frame, like a wounded beast cornered against a wall.

One photo captured the moment he swung his hand to knock down a medical record.

It was a physiological spasm caused by nerve pain in his finger, but under the violent interpretation of the camera’s language, it became—a hysterical breakdown.

The headlines were filled with the stench of gossip tabloids, attracting flies like rotting flesh:

[Exclusive! “King of Voice Actors” Appears in Oncology Department Late at Night, Suspected Late-Stage Throat Cancer!]

[Persona Collapse? Insider Reveals: Special Fetish Damaged Voice, Millions of Female Fans’ Dreams Shattered!]

[Imperial Empire Collapse?] [The founder of Shengyu Culture has been missing for 72 hours!]

This isn’t even the worst part. Competitors’ hired online trolls have swarmed various social media platforms like cockroaches, leaving behind a trail of ambiguous, sticky traces:

“I’d heard he was involved in some serious underworld dealings, the kind of circles where it’s not surprising he ruined himself.”

“He acts so aloof all the time, who knows how dirty he is underneath. Karma.”

…

Inside the apartment study. The air was stagnant, like a pool of still water. The curtains were tightly drawn, blocking out prying eyes and light.

Shen Muchen sat behind his large desk. His personal cell phone was vibrating violently on the surface. He had already turned it off. There was no ringtone, but the high-frequency vibrations from the phone hitting the solid wood surface traveled along the wood grain to his fingertips, then seeped into his bones. It felt like countless flies trapped in a sealed jar, frantically swatting against the glass wall. Incredibly noisy.

The screen kept flashing “unknown caller ID.” Business partners, the media, even distant relatives with whom he had no real connection, were frantically trying to find out if the lion had truly had its teeth pulled.

Shen Muchen coldly stared at the fluctuating numbers. The doctor had given a strict order: absolute silence. Even a whisper could cause irreversible tearing of his congested vocal cords. He reached out, his long, slender fingers swiping sharply across the screen, then pressed and held the power button. The vibration stopped. The world wasn’t quiet; it had only temporarily severed the umbilical cord to that filthy world.

He turned to look at the floor-to-ceiling window. Although the curtains were drawn, he could feel the long lenses and microphones gathered below. Those sharks, smelling blood, were lurking downstairs, waiting for him, this fallen hero, to show the slightest weakness so they could pounce and tear him apart.

Shen Muchen’s eyes were calm, almost indifferent. He wasn’t afraid of the rumors. He was a man who stood at the top of the pyramid through sheer strength. Even if he became mute, he still had the power to control this empire. But he loathed it. He loathed these noises, loathed the feeling of being spied on, loathed the ugly face the world revealed when he was ill.

He closed his eyes, his fingers unconsciously tapping lightly on the table. Index finger, middle finger, ring finger. Precise rhythm, even force. This was his habit when he thought, the only frequency he could control amidst this chaotic cacophony.

…
In the guest room, Song Xingran stared intently at the computer screen. The words in the discussion forum cursing Shen Muchen as “playing hardball,” “pervert,” and “deserving it” pierced her retinas like needles.

Originally, she wanted to cry. Seeing that proud god dragged into the mire and trampled upon, her heart ached so much she felt like she was suffocating. But as she watched, an inexplicable anger suddenly overwhelmed her fear.

What do these idiots know? Shen Muchen was indeed a pervert, indeed a womanizer, but he was cleaner and more principled than anyone else. He was a cleanliness-obsessed control freak who even disinfected his sex life beforehand and nitpicked the material of the ropes. To say his private life was chaotic? That wasn’t just slandering Shen Muchen, but also insulting her, his only partner. Calling him dirty was also calling her tasteless.

“A bunch of idiots,” Song Xingran gritted her teeth and cursed. She didn’t want to be a girlfriend who only knew how to cry. She was a reporter; she had a pen and a knife.

She opened the drawer and pulled out the stack of “trash” she had previously retrieved from Shen Muchen’s wastebasket. At the time, she had asked what it was, and Shen Muchen had only said with a look of disgust, “The product of ineffective socializing, a failed project.”

Now, she unfolded these crumpled papers again.

“Certificate of Funding for the Hearing-Impaired Children’s Rehabilitation Center” Next to it were Shen Muchen’s handwritten annotations. The red ink, penetrating the paper, carried a volatile rage: 【What kind of garbage is this organization using for sound absorption? The echo lasts over 1.2 seconds—are you trying to overload the children’s hearing? Redo it. I’ll pay for it.】

Shen Muchen’s annotations on the “Audiobook for Elderly Living Alone Public Welfare Project” were even more scathing: 【What’s with the narrator’s trembling voice? This unstable frequency will only make the elderly anxious. Replace him. Find someone with a clean voice. I’ll cover the cost.】

Song Xingran looked at these annotations, brimming with Shen’s signature scathing style, and couldn’t help but laugh. But as she laughed, her eyes reddened. This wasn’t some selfless philanthropist; he was clearly a picky, arrogant freak with an extreme obsession with sound.

He funded these people not because he was kind, but because he couldn’t bear the existence of “unpleasant sounds” and “the pain of deafness” in the world. He was using money and expertise to forcibly correct the “sound track” of this world.

“What an oddball…” Song Xingran’s fingers traced the words. This awkward tenderness was something only she understood. Since the world would interpret him with the ugliest malice, she would use the most honest words to lay bare this “freak” for everyone to see.

Song Xingran sat down at the computer. This time, she didn’t use that sentimental, laudatory tone. She used a calm, objective, even slightly sarcastic style. She was writing a news article, but more than that, she was writing a declaration of war.

Title: Exclusive Deep Dive: Shen Muchen’s Hedonistic Debauchery and Perverted Behavior (This title is sensational, designed to lure those haters in.)

The sound of keyboard clicks filled the room. Fast and ruthless. Like bullets being loaded.

The article was sent. The progress bar finished. Song Xingran looked at the report that had already begun to go viral online, the tide turning, and took a deep breath. A sense of vengeful pleasure welled up inside her. “Dare to bully me, you pervert? Did you even ask me?”

She walked out of the guest room. In the living room, Shen Muchen was still sitting there. His back to her, looking at the long lenses and cameras outside the window, his figure as lonely as a statue.

Song Xingran walked over. She didn’t say those cheesy “I’ll protect you” words. She directly turned the laptop screen towards him, pointing to the report.

“Teacher Shen,” she began, her tone carrying a hint of self-satisfaction and a touch of provocation,

“I’ve exposed all your ‘shameful’ quirks.”

“Although you might be angry that I’m invading your privacy… but this is my ‘exclusive report’ as a journalist.”

Shen Muchen’s gaze fell on the screen. His eyes quickly swept over the sharp words. He watched her describe him as a “madman who shut himself off for three days because of 0.1 seconds of background noise,” watched her use data and facts to slap the faces of those spreading rumors.

After a long while, he looked up. He looked at Song Xingran. His eyes held no anger, but rather a flicker of surprise, which quickly transformed into a deep, unyielding interest. It was the delight of a hunter discovering his kitten had grown claws.

He reached out and grabbed her wrist. The force was strong, pulling her directly into his arms, causing her to fall onto his lap.

He didn’t take the writing board. He took her hand and opened her palm. Her palm was slightly damp with a thin layer of sweat from the intense typing and tension.

Shen Muchen lowered his head, his long, slender fingers like a pen, writing stroke by stroke on her sensitive palm. His nails were trimmed short, occasionally scratching the lines of her palm, sending a tingling, itchy sensation straight to her heart.

The first stroke, the second stroke… 【Written well.】

After writing these three words, he paused. He looked up and gave her a deep look. His peach blossom eyes curved slightly, a wicked smile playing at the corners of his lips. It was like the unspoken understanding between accomplices.

Then, he lowered his head again, his fingertips applying more pressure, and heavily wrote two words on the softest part of her palm:

【Enough, ruthless.】

As he finished the last stroke, his fingertips didn’t leave, but instead slid between her fingers, intertwining them tightly. Palms pressed together, warm and wet.

Song Xingran was stunned for a moment, then smiled in his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply his cool, cedar scent.

“Of course,” she murmured softly, a hint of barely perceptible pride in her voice,

“One is influenced by one’s company. Having been with you for so long… I’m not one to be trifled with.”

Shen Muchen’s hand rested on her back, soothingly stroking her spine. From this day forward, she is no longer just his pet. She is his accomplice. The only woman qualified to stand in this lonely castle and fight against the world alongside him.

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