Pretend to be crazy

A sleeping husband beside his wife, a commuter on a train dozing off with earphones in, and a secretary standing outside a locked door still insisting on reporting work—these were existences Shen Yan could never understand.

He lay in bed, squeezed between Warren on his left and Falson on his right. The bed had been just the right size for two people, but with a well-developed teenager like Falson added to the mix, it was now uncomfortably cramped.

Falson’s half-grown body was practically sprawled on top of him. His mechanical arm, clearly in dire need of repairs, sparked occasionally with erratic bursts of electricity. Shen Yan lay still, contemplating:

Might as well just electrocute me to death. 

Warren, in contrast, seemed determined to maintain his aloof, unbothered sigma-male persona. Unlike Falson, he didn’t fight for space. Instead, he lay stiffly on his back like an Egyptian pharaoh.

However, his hands were far from well-behaved. Under the covers, his fingers had forcibly interlocked with Shen Yan’s, gripping tightly. Every time Shen Yan attempted to move, he would squeeze harder, his grip carrying a faint yet undeniable sense of warning.

Shen Yan resigned himself to fate once more:

If Warren kept this up until morning, his fingers wouldn’t be getting any blood flow. He might as well schedule an amputation first thing after waking up.

Maybe he should get some modifications, just like Falson. Install a few injectors, or better yet, turn his arm into a gun. That way, if anyone dared to climb into bed with him again, he could just shoot them full of holes.

Sleep evaded him. His body was exhausted, but his mind was wide awake, running through countless thoughts—one of which kept circling back to Ruan Zhixian.

During the day, he had suspected that he wanted him dead, but upon closer consideration, that seemed unlikely.

Ever since disembarking from the ship, Ruan Zhixian had shown enough interest in him to keep him alive for at least another two or three months. That level of interest alone should be enough to ensure Shen Yan was included in Ruan Zhixian’s next set of plans.

By controlling him, Ruan Zhixian would essentially control both Warren and Falson. That, in turn, would allow him to adjust the entire Paradise Island massacre plan with ease.

With Shen Yan’s level of intelligence, he could already think of at least three different strategies to achieve that goal. There was no way someone like Ruan Zhixian—who had been explicitly recognized as both a physical and intellectual powerhouse in the original novel—hadn’t thought of the same.

So then, why all the extra effort?

Was he just toying with him?

Had he lost a game last time and was now messing with him out of spite, making him play along with some ridiculous puzzle without even bothering to explain the rules?

At least back then, he’d had the decency to announce they were playing a game. Now, this was just plain insanity.

Unable to sleep, Shen Yan abruptly sat up, shook off both Warren and Falson, and headed downstairs to the living room.

Blaze was there, seated on the couch, holding a mug while his fingers danced over a holographic keyboard. Five different screens floated around him, data streaming so quickly that the text blurred.

Seeing Shen Yan, Blaze hesitated for a moment before inputting a few more commands. The screen’s refresh rate slowed until the data stopped completely.

He shut down the terminal, adjusted his posture, and turned to look at him. He remained silent, but his entire demeanor radiated confidence—an unspoken certainty that Shen Yan would sit next to him.

Shen Yan made two cups of hot milk, handed one to him, and sat beside him.

Blaze glanced at him. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

Shen Yan replied expressionlessly, “There are rats in the room.”

Blaze immediately understood what he meant. Without changing his expression, he subtly scanned the room. Not far away, two figures were tensely watching him and Shen Yan.

He leaned in slightly, voice gentle. “I haven’t slept either. Want to stay up together?”

Before Shen Yan could respond, Falson appeared out of nowhere, forcefully wedging himself between the two of them. He clung to Shen Yan and shot Blaze a venomous glare.

“Stay up together?! You old bastard, do you even understand what sleep is anymore? You’re so old your skin is practically falling off, yet you still have the nerve to say shit like that?”

Blaze, the so-called “old bastard” who was actually nineteen: “…”

He clenched his fingers, showing remarkable patience. His voice was soft, almost resigned. “Then never mind.”

He lifted his gaze, sneaking a quick glance at Shen Yan before sighing. “It’s fine. Just a nightmare. I can handle it myself.”

Falson inhaled sharply, his fingers digging into Shen Yan’s arm. In disbelief, he jabbed a finger at Blaze.

“What the hell are you pretending for? You think Mom’s gonna fall for that act? You manipulative little snake, I’m gonna kill you—”

His rage escalated. He was so worked up that he even forgot to change how he addressed Shen Yan. Like an aggressive, combat-ready chihuahua, he lunged forward, ready to fight despite his damaged mechanical arm.

Blaze’s modifications were primarily cerebral, but his physical abilities weren’t lacking. If they actually fought, the current state of Falson meant it would be an even match.

Having already dealt with him and Warren earlier in the night, Shen Yan now had to break up a fight between Falson and Blaze. He glanced at Warren, who was watching the scene unfold like a spectator at a drama show, and blinked meaningfully.

Warren held his gaze for a few seconds before sighing and stepping in, reluctantly acting as the brute-force mediator, separating the two.

Falson, the most emotionally unstable of the group, ended up bursting into tears. His red-rimmed eyes locked onto Shen Yan, tears streaming down his face as he simultaneously cursed Blaze and choked out pleas for Shen Yan to hold him.

Blaze, on the other hand, was silent. A faint scratch marred the exposed side of his face. His usual cold arrogance wavered for just a moment, revealing a rare flicker of vulnerability—one that was immediately noticed by everyone present.

Especially Shen Yan.

He even considerately gave Shen Yan a little push, saying he was fine, that it didn’t hurt.

Shen Yan: “……”

Warren, thoroughly entertained: “Ha.”

Shen Yan’s headache worsened. He spoke with rare sternness, “Falson, you’ve gone too far today.”

Falson’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Mom, you’re siding with him? You’re scolding me for him? Who even is he? What right does he have?!”

Blaze, ever the instigator, fanned the flames. “Shen Yan is just stating the facts. If you want to attack someone, attack me. Don’t take that tone with him.”

Falson scoffed, eyes burning with hostility. “Blaze, why didn’t that fire burn you to death that day? What’s the point of you being alive? Why don’t you just go die?”

He made a gagging motion, his emotions swinging wildly—one moment glaring at Shen Yan with resentment, demanding explanations, the next suddenly switching gears, clinging to him sticky and sweet. “Mom, don’t believe him. He lies through his teeth. Let’s sleep together tonight, and I’ll explain everything to you slowly.”

Blaze’s expression turned cold. “Are you sure?”

Falson sneered. “Heh, are you sure? Waaaah, Mom, look at him, he’s so scary!”

Warren: “Hahaha.”

Shen Yan felt like his ears were being assaulted by a swarm of flies. With a blank expression, he rubbed his temples, then raised his hand and slapped Falson across the face.

Falson froze. Blaze, who had been basking in a moment of smug victory, didn’t have time to react before Shen Yan turned and slapped him too.

Warren had just started laughing, mouth stretching open, the first breath of a “ha” escaping—when Shen Yan smacked him back into silence.

Peace at last.

He downed the rest of his milk, wiped his mouth casually, and said calmly, “Want to hit me back?”

No one spoke.

He washed his cup, yawned, and headed for the stairs. As he ascended, he said politely, “I’m going to sleep. Keep quiet. If you have issues, bring them up tomorrow. If you’re really that unhappy, just kill me.”

“Goodnight.”

And so, he enjoyed a peaceful night.

At 4:44 AM, in the deep silence of the night, when everyone had drifted into dreams—

Their terminals lit up simultaneously.

For three of them, it was an audio message.

Only Shen Yan received a text.

【Bro, the game has begun.】

【You’re going to win, right?】