The two-month silence finally came to an end.

 

In the early morning, sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains into the bedroom, casting golden dust motes into the air.

 

The doctor put away the laryngoscope and nodded with satisfaction: “Mr. Shen, your vocal cords have recovered perfectly; the congestion has completely subsided. You can speak normally, but do not shout or strain your voice for the next few days.”

 

After the doctor left, only he and Song Xingran remained in the spacious bedroom. The world felt excessively quiet.

 

Song Xingran stood before him, her hands twisted together, her knuckles pale from tension. Her expression was a mix of anticipation and trepidation: “Muchen… can you… try saying something?”

 

Shen Muchen looked at her.

 

For the past two months, she had guarded him like a fully armed little soldier. She fended off the media’s “long guns and short cannons,” brewed bitter herbal medicine for him, and even knelt on the bed to please him. The little white rabbit who once only knew how to cry had tempered herself into a fortress to protect his “quiet.”

 

He reached out, his palm dry and burning, and pulled her into his arms, letting her straddle his lap.

 

His long, slender fingers slid up her spine, vertebra by vertebra, as if stroking the neck of a fine musical instrument. Finally, his fingers stopped at the nape of her neck, his thumb gently massaging the soft flesh there with a pressure that carried a hint of life-or-death control.

 

He cleared his throat. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, emitting a faint sound of cartilage shifting.

 

Then, he buried his head in the crook of her neck and took a deep breath. He mobilized the air from his diaphragm, pushing it to vibrate those long-dormant vocal cords.

 

There was no affectionate confession, nor did he call her name.

 

Pressed against her ear, he closed his vocal cords, squeezing out a very low, deep vibration.

 

It was a physical resonance produced by the friction of the edges of his vocal cords. It sounded like the thickest string of a cello being drawn slowly under a rosin-dusted bow—rough, heavy, and carrying a graininess that made the scalp tingle.

 

That vibration traveled through her eardrum, conducting directly into Song Xingran’s spine.

 

Her entire body went numb. That long-lost low-frequency resonance made her knees weak, and tears streamed down her face uncontrollably.

 

Finally… finally, I heard it.

 

Shen Muchen lifted his head, his forehead resting against hers. He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs roughly wiping away her tears. His eyes were deep as the sea, focused as if she were the only person left in the world.

 

“Why cry?”

 

He spoke slowly. Every word was enunciated deliberately, lightly, carrying a trace of an incredibly sexy, raspy, gritty texture.

 

“These past few weeks…” His palm slid down her spine, stopping at the sensitive hollow of her waist, tightening meaningfully. “Did you think that since I was mute, I wouldn’t dare touch you?”

 

Song Xingran blinked, shaking her head through her tears.

 

Shen Muchen hooked his lips into a faint but highly aggressive smirk.

 

“The doctor just said, don’t over-strain by shouting.” He lowered his head, his nose brushing against her earlobe, his voice so low it sounded like a ghost story. “But he didn’t say… I couldn’t do anything else.”

 

A chill ran down Song Xingran’s spine. It was the feeling of a little rabbit peacefully grazing on the prairie, suddenly realizing a pair of golden beast-eyes were locked onto her from the grass behind.

 

Dangerous. But there was nowhere left to run.

 

Shen Muchen didn’t allow her to think. He took her hand, led her away from the sun-drenched bed, and turned to push open the heavy soundproof door on the other side of the bedroom.

 

…

 

It was his sanctuary—the recording studio.

 

The temperature here was a few degrees lower than the bedroom, and the air was filled with the ozone scent unique to precision electronic equipment. The walls were covered in dark gray acoustic foam, completely insulating all outside noise and leaving behind a near-vacuum of dead silence.

 

Shen Muchen led Song Xingran to his Herman Miller ergonomic chair.

 

Looking at this expensive but “office-like” chair, his eye twitched imperceptibly. Originally, there should have been a wave-shaped, Italian-customized “training chair” here.

 

“Make do with this,” he said in a low voice, his tone betraying disdain for logistics efficiency. He pressed down on Song Xingran’s shoulders, making her sit.

 

Then, he casually pulled off his tie.

 

“Close your eyes.”

 

An order that admitted no refusal.

 

Song Xingran obediently closed her eyes. The silk tie covered her vision, carrying his body heat, and he tied a tight knot behind her head. With her vision stripped away, darkness descended, and her other senses were instantly magnified.

 

She felt Shen Muchen open a drawer and take something out—it was a rope, the silk kind he had made her wear all day a week ago.

 

The red silk passed through the frame of the chair. He didn’t bind her legs tightly; instead, he used the tension of the rope to spread her knees apart, fixing them at a shameful angle—forced wide open and unable to close.

 

The red silk bit into her fair thighs, leaving an ambiguous, deep mark.

 

Song Xingran panicked, gripping the armrests helplessly in the dark. “Muchen… but the doctor said your voice just recovered…”

 

“Don’t worry.”

 

Shen Muchen’s voice rose in the dark, his fingertips gently rubbing the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, soothing her trembling. “I won’t strain myself. This time… I’ll use my voice to make you climax.”

 

He removed his professional noise-canceling monitoring headphones and gently placed them over Song Xingran’s ears.

 

The world died completely. Even the sound of the air conditioning was cut off; Song Xingran felt as if she were floating in the deep sea.

 

Immediately after, a faint background noise came through the headphones—the sound of electricity flowing through the wires the moment the microphone was powered on.

 

Shen Muchen adjusted the floor-standing directional microphone. The sound of the metal stand rotating came through the headphones, so clear it felt as if it were turning inside her skull. The head of the microphone was pointed directly between her open legs.

 

“Can you hear me?”

 

This voice exploded directly into the depths of Song Xingran’s cochlea through the line.

 

Captured and amplified by professional equipment, his deep, magnetic voice became incredibly granular; every word felt like materialized electricity, burrowing straight into her cerebral cortex via the auditory nerve.

 

Song Xingran trembled all over. It was too close. The voice felt as if he had shrunk countless times and was speaking directly onto her eardrum.

 

“This is my workstation, Xingxing.”

 

Shen Muchen’s palm covered her knees, slowly pushing upward, hiking up her skirt. The sound of fabric rubbing became a huge swish in her headphones.

 

“Usually, I handle the world’s most perfect sounds here. But today…” He lowered his head, his warm breath spraying onto her most intimate spot, the airflow hitting the microphone with a roar. “I’m going to record the sound of your collapse right here.”

 

Shen Muchen’s lips and tongue landed first behind her ear and along her neck.

 

In the absolute silence of the blind-listening world, the first thing Song Xingran heard was the scalp-tingling, wet dragging sound as his tongue curled over her skin. Then came a clear swallow, as if he were savoring her scent.

 

His palm lifted her softness through her clothes, and his thumb skillfully flicked open her undergarment, releasing the snowy white mound.

 

He opened his mouth and took the red plum into his tongue.

 

The microphone captured every detail of the contact between mouth and skin with extreme sensitivity.

 

The sound of his tongue grinding and sucking exploded in her headphones.

 

That incredibly sticky, lust-filled squelching sound was amplified countless times. Through the sound, Song Xingran could even imagine how his tongue-coating scraped over the engorged peak, and how his saliva stretched into threads.

 

The sound was too clear, too obscene.

 

“Mm… don’t… it’s too loud…” Song Xingran was so ashamed her toes curled, and she instinctively reached out to block him in the dark.

 

Shen Muchen didn’t dodge. He licked from her palm all the way to her fingertips with her hand still extended. The sound of water being stirred by his tongue in the gaps of her fingers poured into her ears without reservation.

 

“Do you hear it?”

 

Shen Muchen lifted his head, his voice stained with heavy lust, raspy and hazy. “This is how you taste. Now… listen carefully.”

 

He reached out and pushed aside the final barrier of fabric.

 

Shen Muchen bowed his head devoutly.

 

The moment his tongue touched that sensitive point, a huge, wet swallowing sound came through the headphones.

 

Then, a storm broke out.

 

His tongue darted and slapped between the folds. Each time he stirred, that sticky, damp, lust-filled squelching sound surrounded her like surround-sound audio.

 

It was the sound of flesh colliding with flesh, the sound of liquid being squeezed, the sound of a soft tongue scraping over engorged mucosa.

 

So clear, so erotic, so… dirty.

 

The darkness stripped away her vision, leaving her nowhere to hide, forced to “listen” with her full focus to how he was playing with her.

 

“No… it’s too loud… Muchen… give me…” Song Xingran cried and shook her head, her hands tangling in his hair.

 

He lifted his head from that muddy place, a silver thread hanging from his lips. “You aren’t allowed to take them off.”

 

He extended a finger, joining the performance. His long finger probed into the already flooded channel, beginning to pump in rhythm with his tongue. The sound of his fingertips rubbing against the inner walls was captured precisely, sounding like he was churning a pool of thick spring water.

 

“Hold it.”

 

Noticing her lower abdomen muscles beginning to spasm, Shen Muchen suddenly stopped.

 

“It’s not time yet.” He whispered in her ear, his voice cold yet gentle. “I want to go inside. I want you to listen to how I possess you.”

 

He stood up and freed himself.

 

Shen Muchen sank his waist.

 

A clear, heart-pounding sound of entering water came through the headphones—the sound of a heavy body being pushed aside instantly, the sound of muscles being forcibly stretched.

 

The exact moment he penetrated her completely—

 

Shen Muchen lunged out and ripped the tie from her eyes.

 

“Ah—!”

 

The darkness faded instantly; the blinding overhead light pierced her retinas like needles.

 

Song Xingran opened her eyes amidst intense vertigo and stinging pain, more tears of physiological reaction spilling from her eyes. Through the blurred halo of light, the first thing she saw was Shen Muchen’s face, inches away, flushed red with lust.

 

The veins on his temples were bulging, sweat sliding down the bridge of his nose. Those deep eyes stared at her, a black storm swirling within them that threatened to swallow her whole.

 

Shen Muchen began to move. Every thrust—the dull thud of pubic bones colliding, the subtle sound of skin friction—interwove into a mad musical movement.

 

As pleasure piled up, the conductor’s mask began to crack.

 

“Xingxing…”

 

He suddenly leaned down, his burning lips nearly pressing against the metal mesh of the microphone.

 

“Are you going to come?” His voice was no longer the elegant, composed bass, but a rough panting on the verge of losing control, carrying a touch of unprecedented anxiety and fragility. “Tell me…”

 

This sentence, an almost begging admission of weakness, amplified by top-tier equipment, became the final command that destroyed Song Xingran’s defenses.

 

Her body instinctively made the most honest response—the channel sheathing him tightly spasmed violently, like countless small, greedy mouths squeezing him fiercely.

 

Climax arrived. She arched her slender neck, her whole body falling into uncontrollable, violent tremors.

 

“Damn it…”

 

Shen Muchen cursed low; it was the sound of his sanity collapsing. He lunged, pushing himself into her depths, pinning her down.

 

A scorching flood, accompanied by his suppressed low roar, burst forth without reservation. The fluids and souls within them fused completely in this cataclysmic resonance.

 

…

 

The violent rhythm finally ceased, but the “performance” in the headphones did not end.

 

It was still filled with their dying-like, heavy panting. Their heartbeats were amplified into dull drumbeats, one after another, striking Song Xingran’s still-reverberating eardrums.

 

Shen Muchen did not rush to withdraw. He remained buried within her, enjoying the unconscious spasming and tightening of her inner walls in the afterglow of the orgasm.

 

“Hah…” He leaned close to the microphone, letting out a faint but incredibly sexy sigh.

 

“Did you hear that, Xingxing?” His voice was raspy, as if filled with sand. “That’s your heartbeat. One hundred and twenty beats per minute. It’s telling me… how much you love being filled by me.”

 

As he spoke, he slowly withdrew.

 

It was an incredibly slow, malicious movement.

 

That already-softened yet still-massive giant withdrew from the moist, tight channel inch by inch.

 

Without the masking of violent thrusting, that wet, sticky, tension-filled peeling sound was captured precisely by the microphone. It sounded like a foot being pulled out after stepping into a bog, or a suction cup being forcibly ripped open.

 

Every inch of sliding, every drop of liquid stretching, became materialized sound, pouring into Song Xingran’s ears without reservation.

 

“Mm… don’t listen…” Song Xingran was so ashamed she wanted to take off the headphones, but was grabbed by the wrist by Shen Muchen.

 

“You aren’t allowed to take them off.”

 

The moment he pulled out, he brought out a warm, turbid fluid, which dripped onto the black ergonomic chair cushion.

 

Shen Muchen looked down at the messy, white-and-red-intertwined ruin, looking at how their bodily fluids had made a total mess of that expensive chair, a hint of perverted satisfaction flashing in his eyes.

 

He took the petal, bruised and swollen from his ravaging, back into his mouth, and planted a loud kiss there.

 

A crisp, wet sucking sound exploded in the headphones, becoming the final stop of the recording.

 

Shen Muchen finally took off her headphones.

 

The world instantly returned from extreme noise to extreme dead silence. This massive gap made Song Xingran feel a sense of intense dizziness. She looked at him blankly, as if she had just experienced an out-of-body experience.

 

Shen Muchen gently untied the red silk from her legs, his fingertips lightly rubbing the red mark left on her inner thigh.

 

“It’s recorded.” He pointed to the equipment still flashing a red light nearby, a wicked smile curving his lips. “This will be the most precious audio track in the Voice Realm Culture database.”

 

He picked her up, her body limp, and carried her across the pile of expensive cables on the floor toward the bathroom.

 

“Let’s go. The chair is dirty; it doesn’t matter.”

 

“Anyway… if that damn piece of furniture doesn’t arrive by tomorrow, I’ll have the legal department sue the logistics company into bankruptcy.”

 

…

 

In the bathroom, the sound of water splashed.

 

Song Xingran leaned on Shen Muchen’s shoulder, carried by him into the spacious massage bathtub. The warm water enveloped her whole body, easing the fatigue of her sore muscles, but her brow furrowed slightly.

 

After reason returned, a belated panic climbed into her heart.

 

Just now… he didn’t use a condom.

 

And he had filled her completely, without reservation.

 

“Muchen…” her voice trembled, her fingers gripping his wet arm. “Just now… there was no protection…”

 

She was currently in the prime of her career; she wasn’t prepared to be a mother at all. More importantly, Shen Muchen never allowed her to take birth control pills, so what now? Did she need to take an emergency contraceptive? She heard the side effects were terrible…

 

Shen Muchen seemed to see through her anxiety.

 

He said nothing, just leaned her against the tub wall and parted her legs.

 

His long fingers probed into her not-yet-closed secret place, helping her gently and skillfully guide those fluids that belonged to him bit by bit out of her body.

 

“You are not allowed to take medicine.”

 

He spoke suddenly, his tone firm, cutting off the thought of “going to the pharmacy” in her mind.

 

His fingers stirred inside her, bringing out gushes of turbid white liquid, which dissolved in the clear, hot water like clouds blooming and dissipating.

 

Song Xingran was blushing with shame, but even more anxious, her voice choked with tears: “But… I will get pregnant…”

 

Shen Muchen looked at her panicked appearance and stopped his hand.

 

He grabbed her wet hand, guided her fingertips through the water, and landed them on a very hidden spot on his lower abdomen, on the inner side of his thigh.

 

The skin there was smooth, but if she searched carefully with her fingertips, she could feel a tiny, already-healed white-line scar under the skin.

 

Song Xingran froze, her fingertips blindly stroking the scar: “This is…?”

 

“Done half a year ago.”

 

Shen Muchen’s voice was calm, but his eyes were so deep they seemed to want to absorb her. “A male vasectomy.”

 

Song Xingran’s eyes widened in shock. Half a year ago? Back then, they were still in that stage of probing each other, not fully committed, and he had already…?

 

“Why?” her voice choked.

 

Shen Muchen lowered his head, kissed her wet corner of her eye, and the corner of his mouth curved into a curve so natural it was almost arrogant.

 

“Because I want to shoot inside.”

 

He looked straight into her eyes, without any cover, his words so direct it made her heart race.

 

“Every time… I want to shoot inside without reservation.”

 

His palm pressed against her flat lower abdomen, his thumb gently rubbing.

 

“I’m a germaphobe, Xingxing. I loathe that cheap industrial scent of rubber, and I loathe the feel of that thin film blocking body temperature even more. That is a desecration of perfect sex.”

 

“Also,” his voice dropped, carrying a hint of unquestionable paranoia, “Every drug has its side effects. I don’t like my things having their hormonal balance disrupted by drugs.”

 

“But the Shen family…” Song Xingran knew he was an only son; how could such a wealthy family allow their line to be broken?

 

“The backup has long been stored in liquid nitrogen,” Shen Muchen said nonchalantly, as if talking about a cloud drive data backup. “If one day you want a child, we can have one at any time. But now…”

 

He leaned close to her ear, his voice low and filled with possessiveness, every word burning into her heart:

 

“Your stomach can only hold my desire. It cannot hold anything else.”

 

Cleaning finished.

 

He picked her up, wrapped her in a thick bath towel, his movements as delicate as wiping a priceless treasure.

 

“Are you at ease now?”

 

He carried her out of the bathroom and dropped a kiss on her forehead.

 

“From now on, I can shoot as many times as I want.”

 

Shen Muchen looked at her reddened face, a hint of wicked amusement flashing in his eyes:

 

“You just need to be responsible for… clenching me.”

 

[Shen’s Observation Log] Date: Recovery Day Location: Second-floor recording studio

 

I. Experiment Summary Audio Analysis: The subject’s orgasm frequency generated a perfect harmonic resonance with my low-frequency vocal lines. The details recorded by the microphone (water sounds, panting, skin friction) have high aphrodisiac value. Blind Listening Effect: Under visual deprivation, the subject’s sensitivity to sound increased by 300%. The moment the blindfold was ripped off and strong light and vision returned simultaneously, her pupils showed obvious defocusing and trembling. That was the most perfect expression of collapse brought about by sensory overload.

 

II. Battle Damage Report Herman Miller Ergonomic Chair: Cushion severely stained, mixed fluids seeped into the foam layer. Recommend disposal. Neumann U87 Microphone: Diaphragm suspected damaged due to high humidity and close-range breath impact. Worth it. This was the most beautiful recording of its service life.

 

III. Follow-up Actions Backup: Audio files encrypted and uploaded to a private cloud. Filename: Xingxing’s Symphony. Legal Matters: Urge the Italian furniture merchant again. My patience has its limits.