Pretend to be crazy

The weather was getting colder. Just a few days ago, everyone in District Seven was still wearing short sleeves, but after a few gusts of cold wind, they had all switched to autumn clothing.

Ruan Zhixian wore a black leather jacket over a thick gray hoodie, with a feather pendant necklace faintly visible beneath.

He was watching Shen Yan, his gaze gentle. He tapped the roof of his car and pressed a button—the door lifted slowly, revealing the clean, minimalist backseat.

It was as if he was saying: as long as Shen Yan admitted defeat, he would untangle this mess for him and take him away.

Shen Yan was speechless.

Too obvious.

Ruan Zhixian was actually afraid of him surrendering—that’s why he had rushed over in the middle of the night to provoke him, to try and bait him into resisting.

If he hadn’t come, Shen Yan might have just let things be. Let those three fight however they wanted. Any conflict that arose because of him—he could simply watch from the sidelines.

Falson was now on his side, the most unstable landmine had been defused. No matter how much Blaze and Warren fought, they wouldn’t actually kill him. As long as he survived, he had already won. Whether he was hated or reduced to being Ruan Zhixian’s puppet was something to worry about later.

But Ruan Zhixian showing up at this precise moment meant there was a third option in this game, one Shen Yan had deliberately ignored.

Ruan Zhixian wanted to organize a team centered around Shen Yan while remaining an observer on the outside.

Like a dying man sitting up in shock, suddenly realizing: I’m the boss now?

There had been similar plots in the original story. Ruan Zhixian had sought out a few leadership candidates, but they were all eventually eliminated, dying even more miserably than regular members.

It was just the difference between a death sentence and a delayed execution.

Shen Yan curled his fingers and tapped the glass twice, looking at him the way one would look at a mischievous child who loved playing pranks.

Then, with little interest, he pulled the curtains shut and turned back to face the three who had somehow started arguing again.

Hands in his pockets, he asked, “What are you arguing about?”

The heated, ambiguous tension in the air froze.

What were they arguing about?

Could they even say it out loud?

Shen Yan’s expression was too innocent. Seeing no one answer, he looked down at Falson, who was clinging to his leg with an intoxicated expression.

“Falson, you tell me.”

Shen Yan was skilled at asking questions he already knew the answers to. Falson, with half of his face still intact, put on an exaggeratedly serious expression, straightened his back, and lazily saluted.

“Reporting, Mommy We all want to be in a close relationship with you. We don’t want you getting close to anyone else. We all want to have you to ourselves. Report complete.”

Only Falson could be this shamelessly straightforward about such a twisted rivalry.

Shen Yan patted his head. “Good boy.” Then, he lifted his gaze to Warren. “And you?”

The veins on Warren’s forehead bulged. He stared at him with a gaze filled with restrained fury. “Shen Yan, you’re asking me?”

“Who else would I ask?” Shen Yan tilted his head. “We clearly agreed this morning that I would pretend to be your boyfriend. That makes you my husband. I’ve been doing my job—no cheating, no betrayal. What’s there for you to be upset about?”

Warren let out a sharp laugh, pointing at Falson. “Then what were you just doing with him?”

Shen Yan remained calm. “What does he call me?”

Warren: “…”

Shen Yan: “Letting him have a taste—what’s the big deal?”

Falson giggled, rubbing his face against Shen Yan’s leg provocatively while looking at the others with a smug yet innocent expression. “Thanks, Mom. Mom is the best.”

Warren felt like he couldn’t breathe. His voice trembled with anger. “This isn’t normal!”

“And me being with you is?” Shen Yan’s tone was indifferent, making something so twisted sound as if it were completely reasonable. “Husband, don’t make fun of others.”

Warren gritted his teeth in silence.

Shen Yan pried Falson’s hands off and walked toward Blaze.

While he had been speaking with the other two, Blaze’s expression had subtly changed.

He watched as Shen Yan came closer, realizing that he wasn’t as simple as he had seemed. Shen Yan was cunning, and he shouldn’t let himself get caught in his web, manipulated at will.

He wanted a normal relationship. A peaceful life. The illusion that Shen Yan had given him before—eating together, sleeping together, playing games side by side, watching TV pressed close to each other—those simple, ordinary conversations about boring movies, the kind of footage that would be criticized for dragging out the runtime.

But that was only one side of Shen Yan.

He had many sides.

He had thought he would hate this side of him. That it would trigger him, make him scoff at Shen Yan’s twisted chaos.

But instead, the opposite happened.

Shen Yan kept approaching. His subtle mint scent drifted closer until he finally stopped just half a step away.

He held his breath, keeping his expression blank.

Everything seemed to slow down, growing unbearably silent. The tension made him feel nauseous. The wounds that had been hidden under his clothes—left by Warren and Falson—hadn’t hurt before, but now they throbbed.

If Shen Yan knew they had bullied him, would he take revenge for him?

Of course, he would.

They were friends.

If he was willing to stay in that role.

Because no matter what, a friend would be more important than a “husband” or a “son.”

Shen Yan gently adjusted Blaze’s collar and whispered, “Blaze, you’re different from them.”

“No matter what happens, we are friends.”

He let go, his gaze sincere. “I’m nothing special. I just shamelessly took the first step. In the future, there will be countless people who treat you better than I do.”

“Don’t fall for my tricks.”

Silence.

Blaze lowered his gaze as if deep in thought.

Warren and Falson were tense, watching them anxiously, secretly hoping Blaze would believe Shen Yan’s nonsense and step out of the chaos to find someone else to be his “friend.”

But prayers from non-believers were nothing more than last-minute desperation. Even if some god heard them, it was already too late.

Blaze stepped forward, closing the last bit of distance between them, and hugged Shen Yan.

“Sorry, Shen Yan. I’m just like them.”

Shen Yan’s silhouette remained silent. His arms hung by his sides before Blaze forcefully pulled them up and wrapped them around himself.

His gaze lifted beyond Shen Yan’s shoulder, locking onto Warren and Falson. Slowly, deliberately, he tightened his embrace around Shen Yan and let the corner of his lips quirk up slightly.

“Just friends,” he said. “Don’t overthink it.”

As they left the villa, two more cars had joined behind Ruan Zhixian’s.

The most injured, Falson, was sent off for repairs. Under Shen Yan’s orders, Blaze and Warren got into a car and left.

Ruan Zhixian watched the vehicles drive away, then flicked a cigarette out of its pack and handed it to Shen Yan.

Shen Yan didn’t have a smoking habit, but he would have one when things were too overwhelming. This time, he didn’t refuse.

The blue flame flared and faded, smoke curling in the air.

Through the thin haze, Ruan Zhixian looked at him. “Bro, you never seem surprised by my plans.”

“Just say what you mean,” Shen Yan replied.

Ruan Zhixian thought for a few seconds and then smiled self-deprecatingly. “Forget it.”

Shen Yan finally looked at him properly, his expression indifferent. “Do you not know how to ask, or are you afraid that the answer will disappoint you?”

“Both.”

“Bullshit.” He smirked. “If you want to ask, then ask. Do we really need to beat around the bush?”

Something in his words seemed to trigger Ruan Zhixian’s sense of humor. He let out a low chuckle and, after a moment, said, “It’s really nothing.”

Shen Yan flicked away his cigarette, stomped it out, and turned to get in the car.

What Ruan Zhixian truly wanted to ask was why he was cooperating so much.

From the ship incident, it didn’t make sense. He could have simply disarmed the bomb, controlled Falson and Warren to behave until they got off the ship, instead of deliberately provoking him—delivering the bomb right to him and saying he wanted to play a game.

It was the same at the villa. Shen Yan had plenty of ways to escape. If he wanted to, Warren alone could have dug a tunnel out.

But he didn’t run.

Even though he saw through all of his little schemes, he still willingly fell into the trap, successfully making those three obey.

He didn’t seem curious about why Ruan Zhixian wanted him to act that way, nor did he try to figure out his true intentions.

A normal person wouldn’t do that.

Ruan Zhixian initially asked out of curiosity. But then, he decided to hold back his impulse, thinking it would be more fun to find the answer himself.

Shen Yan sneered at the rapidly retreating scenery outside the car window.

Go ahead and guess.

The only correct answer had already been ruled out on the ship. Even if he confessed outright, “I’m a time traveler, and I was just scared you’d kill me,” Ruan Zhixian wouldn’t immediately believe him.

The car was quiet, apart from the soft background music.

There wasn’t much to say between them. The fact that they didn’t stab each other upon meeting was already a sign of good manners. Shen Yan played with his terminal for a bit but soon lost interest and put it away.

In his coat pocket, something sharp poked at his fingertips.

He had almost forgotten about it.

His lips curved slightly as he looked at Ruan Zhixian. He took the initiative to ask, “That thing on my tongue—when did you put it in?”

“The first day, while you were asleep. I had the little robot do it,” Ruan Zhixian replied. Since the semi-autonomous car didn’t require much attention, he turned to glance at him. “Do you like it, bro?”

Shen Yan: “No. Take it out.”

“Why?” Ruan Zhixian seemed genuinely puzzled, his dark, heavy gaze locking onto Shen Yan. “You had so much fun at the villa. Without it, your mouth would’ve been kissed so much you wouldn’t be able to speak.”

Shen Yan pressed his fingers against the sharp object in his pocket, feeling a faint prick of pain before he released it. Then, he suddenly chuckled.

“Zhixian, I have a gift for you too.”

“What is it?”

He swiftly took out a decorative crystal stud and pressed it against Ruan Zhixian’s earlobe.

Fast, precise, ruthless.

A drop of blood welled up from the wound.

Ruan Zhixian didn’t dodge.

In the rearview mirror, the cheap crystal stud’s irregular facets caught the shifting city lights, reflecting a ghostly green glow.

“I saw it and thought of you,” Shen Yan said, wiping the blood from Ruan Zhixian’s earlobe with a feigned gentleness. He smiled. “It suits you. Beautiful.”

Ruan Zhixian’s pupils trembled slightly. After a moment, he reached up to touch his ear—now hot from the bleeding. His eyes curved into a smile.

“Thanks, bro. I like it a lot.”

Shen Yan turned his head away, speechless.

Freak.

And yet, he was actually happy about it.

The car finally stopped at a hotel near the port. Red and blue neon lights outlined the building’s structure, making the night seem like it was adorned with restless, sleepless machinery.

Falson was sent for repairs, while Blaze and Warren were arranged to stay at another hotel.

Ruan Zhixian had thoughtfully said that Shen Yan was tired and needed to rest undisturbed.

They had originally booked a room together, but Shen Yan had unceremoniously kicked him out. So, Ruan Zhixian had to settle for the 43rd floor.

Shen Yan soaked in the hotel bathtub, watching a movie projected from his terminal.

The plot was cliché—a hero, supported by District One, saves the world and ultimately joins the mysterious elite of District One, enjoying eternal glory and immortality.

Shen Yan yawned. The story slid past his brain without leaving a trace. All he remembered was that everyone on screen was ridiculously attractive—practically idealized versions of human beings.

His fingers wrinkled from the water. Lazily, he got out of the tub, exhaustion seeping into his bones.

Falson, honestly, was well-suited for acting—each performance more convincing than the last.

If he went professional, a lot of actors would lose their jobs.

Even someone as sharp as Blaze had been fooled, believing he was the long-lost stepfather, Bosen.

No normal Mobius family member would openly oppose the next heir apparent.

And no normal person would be so obsessed with a toy they had only seen once.

It was likely Ruan Zhixian had played a role in mediating things. Otherwise, Falson could have easily shattered Blaze’s beliefs, dragging the entire Mobius family into the fire.

Shen Yan could already imagine the rhetoric Falson must have used.

Something like: “You’re a Mobius too. You’re a filthy sinner. The reason no one likes you is because that twisted blood runs in your veins. Everyone who stays by your side will meet a bad end. You can’t protect anyone.”

That was Blaze’s deepest fear.

Maybe he should thank Ruan Zhixian after all.

At least Blaze was safe.

He picked a lighthearted comedy as a sleep aid and drifted off into unconsciousness.

The next morning, he was woken by an explosion.

Chaotic voices and hurried footsteps echoed in the hallway. Someone pounded aggressively on his door, the loud thuds resembling a renovation project next door.

He barely opened his eyes and checked the time on his terminal—forgotten on his wrist from last night.

6:30 AM.

Which faction was this? So damn diligent.

Slowly, he got dressed and stood by the door, waiting. When the noise outside didn’t subside—and he even heard someone trying to pick the lock—he sighed and opened the door.

“Can I help you?”

Standing there were two masked men, their exposed skin inked with lotus and octopus tattoos. They held professional lock-picking tools, and for a brief moment, both sides stared at each other in surprise.

The thinner man on the left, unnerved by his unnaturally calm attitude, couldn’t help but ask, “Can’t you tell what we are?”

Shen Yan glanced at their tattoos and quipped, “Are you guys gay?”

“A couple?”

The skinny man bristled. “You motherf—!”

Shen Yan ignored him and looked at the right-hand man, a scrawny guy with dyed yellow hair. “No offense, but does he usually have a problem with you?”

Yellow Hair’s eyes narrowed. He stepped forward to knock Shen Yan out, but Shen Yan was faster. In one smooth move, he twisted the man’s arm, seized his gun, and locked his arm around the guy’s throat. Pressing the barrel against his jaw, he sighed.

“I wish this world had neither cyborgs nor super-mechs.”

Then, tilting his head at the skinny guy, he asked, “So… what exactly are you guys here for?”

“Lockpicking.” The skinny guy raised both hands cautiously. “No need to be rash.”

At that moment, a message from Ruan Zhixian arrived—he seemed urgent.

【Don’t open the door. Hide.】

Shen Yan smirked, replying lazily for him to focus on keeping Warren and the others in check. Then, he looked at the skinny guy.

“Got any extra masks?”

“I’ve admired your group, Descension, for a long time. I’m so excited.”

“Let me join, friend.”