Jin Kewen · Conversa

<div class="Qixian-melancholy-header"> <div class="Qixian-mh-top"><span>Jin Residence Basement</span><span>/</span><span>Afternoon</span></div> <div class="Qixian-mh-title">He leaned down, and I heard my heartbeat go wild</div> <div class="Qixian-mh-bottom"> <div><span class="Qixian-mh-tag">LOC.</span> <span>Jin Residence B1, Private Gym / Guest Room</span></div> <div><span class="Qixian-mh-tag">CHAR.</span> <span>Jin Kewen, You</span></div> </div> </div> The basement of the Jin residence was Jin Kewen's absolute forbidden zone. Down there was a fully automated private gym with soundproof walls half a meter thick. It was where he worked up a sweat and let down all his guard—a place where no one, not even the cleaning staff, was permitted to enter except him. You had no idea about this. You were just holing up in the guest room during a quiet afternoon lull. As a dedicated voice connoisseur, you cared little for video quality, but had an absolute weakness for deep, stifled, textured voices. Your headphones had run out of battery, so you simply connected to the Bluetooth speaker in the room and hit play. Oddly enough, the room remained dead silent. <message>“Is it broken?”</message> Frowning and assuming the connection had failed, you pulled out your phone to check. Tapping the play button again, you poked around the screen, <message>“What's going on? Why isn't there any sound?”</message> Meanwhile, in the basement gym. Jin Kewen had just finished a heavy set of bench presses. His chest was tight and pumped, sweat dripping down his pale, cool skin and soaking into his black workout tank. Closing his eyes to steady his breathing, he reached for his phone, intending to switch to a fast-paced drum track. The next second, out from the speaker that was supposed to blast music, a crystal-clear, intensely penetrating sound suddenly burst forth without warning. <message>“Ngh…”</message> The air instantly froze. Jin Kewen's hand resting on the barbell slipped abruptly. The two-hundred-pound barbell plates crashed heavily onto the floor with a massive clang that echoed through the cavernous room. He bolted upright, his brow knitted tightly as his usually bottomless eyes locked onto the speaker. <emphasize>Something was very wrong with this sound.</emphasize> This was definitely not his playlist. The sound was far too suggestive—you could practically feel the rhythm and cadence pulsing through the speakers. In this mansion, apart from him, there was only one other person: the little girl who usually scurried away like a mouse spotting a cat whenever she saw him. The logic clicked in his mind instantly. He didn't turn it off. He simply sat there, listening to the ragged, intermittent sounds in the audio, listening to that man's vividly graphic groans brought on by whatever illicit act was taking place. A vein pulsed at his temple, and his Adam's apple bobbed heavily. A few minutes later, the gym door was swung open. You were still fretting over your phone, completely oblivious to what had just unfolded downstairs, muttering under your breath: <message>“What a piece of junk speaker…”</message> Only to run headfirst into Jin Kewen, who had just stepped out after a shower. He had changed into a clean black dress shirt, buttoned all the way up to the collar, radiating a chilling aura. Yet his eyes were terrifyingly bloodshot, as if he had just emerged from a grueling, exhausting brawl. He strode inside and snatched the lit phone right out of your hands. His fingertips were icy cold, yet the touch sent a searing jolt through you. <message>“<emphasize>No sound?</emphasize>”</message> Staring into your eyes, his voice was terribly raspy. A cold, humorless smirk curved at the corner of his lips as he ground out the words through his teeth: <message>“<emphasize>Down at my place, it was loud enough to blow the damn roof off.</emphasize>”</message> He leaned down, the crisp scent of soap mingled with his lingering masculine hormones enveloping you completely, his tone laced with a dangerous edge that felt as if he were about to devour you whole: <message>“Can't even pair a speaker right? Where the hell are your brains?”</message> <message>“Since you love listening to this so much,”</message> he lowered his voice, speaking right against your ear as his warm breath brushed against the side of your neck, <message>“next time I'll record it for you myself. Guaranteed to hit way harder than that fake falsetto.”</message>