Pretend to be crazy - Chapter 55

The overhead light was bright, casting stark illumination on the ruined walls and shattered furniture, painting a bleak picture of abandonment and sorrow.

The room had been wrecked by Warren, but luckily, the small round table by the windowsill remained untouched.

Shen Yan dragged a chair over to the little table, found half a cigarette, and, without a lighter, bit down on it for comfort.

Warren had left.

Of course he would never agree to just be friends. Shen Yan had pushed him away, but he still bore a murderous intent, even wanting to harm Blaze.

The floor was littered with debris from his furious punch. A nail had pierced Shen Yan’s hand—painful, but manageable. Still, he deliberately cried out in pain.

The tension between the two flared as they immediately turned to look at him. Under their gaze, Shen Yan pulled the nail out and casually tossed it aside.

It landed at Warren’s feet, lightly brushing his shoe.

At that moment, Shen Yan had fully worked up his emotions. With desperation in his voice, he declared that he’d had enough of Warren’s torment. While speaking, he picked up another long nail and pressed it to his neck.

It looked like he was ready to die with Blaze.

And that wasn’t all.

He added a slew of emotionally devastating remarks—ones that would pierce Warren to the core.

In the end, it was enough to make Warren leave.

Shen Yan bit down on his cigarette, his emotions running so high that he was exhausted.

Blaze returned with a first aid kit after going out, knowing Shen Yan smoked, and brought a lighter too.

He lit the cigarette for him first, then knelt in front of him and gently took his bleeding hand to disinfect the wound.

Shen Yan looked down at him. “Where’s the electric grid? Let me see it.”

Blaze, unfazed, replied, “It’s broken.”

“The syringe?”

“Still here. Didn’t get the chance to use it.”

Shen Yan gave a soft laugh, grabbed him by the hair, and forced him to look up. “Didn’t get the chance, or you didn’t plan to use it?”

Blaze’s expression was calm. He didn’t answer but instead curved his lips into a faint smile and confidently said, “Shen Yan, you can’t bear to lose me.”

“If you die now, it’d be troublesome,” Shen Yan replied flatly.

He let go. The reopened wound bled slightly, sticking to Blaze’s bangs.

Blaze casually brushed it away, rubbing the blood between his fingers as he continued to bandage Shen Yan’s hand with professional care.

“Who’s making things troublesome? Ruan Zhixian?” he asked.

Shen Yan wasn’t surprised he had figured it out. Ruan Zhixian had never hidden his moves in front of their group—it was almost as if the words “mastermind” were stamped on his face.

So he just lazily replied, “Mm.”

“He’s playing a very dangerous game.” Blaze’s movements were gentle, wrapping the gauze layer by layer. “You know more than I do. I won’t try to stop you.”

“I just hope that when you’re in danger, the first person you think of is me.”

He tied off the bandage, gently placed Shen Yan’s hand back down, then moved behind him, gripping his shoulders to make him lean back.

Blaze deftly took the half-smoked cigarette from Shen Yan’s fingers and lightly held his chin, tilting his head up.

He had changed clothes—no longer in uniform, but still stylish and elegant. Not a single hair was out of place.

He leaned down slightly. Cool, pale blond strands brushed Shen Yan’s ear, tickling lightly.

His equally light eyes reflected Shen Yan’s calm gaze.

Midnight had passed.

He pressed a kiss to the corner of Shen Yan’s lips.

“Don’t soften your heart. Please.”

When Shen Yan wasn’t stirring up trouble, the desert outpost was honestly quite boring.

He had Blaze install over twenty surveillance cameras in the room, running 24/7. Under the constant watch, Shen Yan relaxed—eating, drinking, sleeping, gaming, and watching shows.

He never left the room, only occasionally stood by the window for a smoke and to look outside.

After the cameras were installed, Shen Yan seemed to become someone else. His relationship with Blaze was harmonious, almost like the days when they lived together.

The tongue ring’s number remained stable at one, refreshing instantly after each change. Blaze, who had endured for so long in Mobius, couldn’t even wait till morning to kiss him.

This leisurely life lasted about four days until Shen Yan received a message—anonymous as usual.

It contained a map, two photos, and several video clips showing the disposal of laborers’ corpses at the base.

The photos showed a pile of explosives. The map marked their location.

After reviewing everything, Shen Yan forwarded it to Blaze.

Blaze had only destroyed Mobius, not the power base he’d been building. Shen Yan wasn’t planning to leave for now, and Blaze was happy to stay. He hated being under someone else’s control and didn’t want Shen Yan to be restricted in the future.

Through his maneuvering, he was no longer just a parachuted boss’s relative—he was now a real stakeholder with actual power.

In addition to staying with Shen Yan, he had to handle many critical tasks at the base. The explosives hadn’t been documented, and no one knew when they’d arrived.

Soon, all the explosives were confiscated. The laborers continued their exhausting work, and people kept dying at the same rate.

Everything remained eerily calm, as if nothing had happened.

The trial date for Falson approached. Though Shen Yan had talked about rescuing him, he showed no sign of taking action.

He didn’t mention it, and Blaze pretended it wasn’t a thing either.

Until the news broke on TV: Falson’s trial had been moved up.

His hair had grown longer in prison, shadowing his eyes. He looked thinner. His dark gaze into the camera was haunting.

The case had caused a stir in District 7. Investigators, to their surprise, found not just the 300 million but over twenty murders linked to him.

The killings were meticulous, bodies cleanly disposed of—typical of a trained assassin.

Strangely, even his own supposed “master” had been killed by him. From District 13 to District 7, every unsolved major case seemed to bear his traces.

He killed at random—elites, elders, children, even dogs.

Media outlets, driven by curiosity, scrambled for interviews, hoping to uncover a tragic backstory.

Falson refused them all, accepting only the official reporter with full broadcast access across all districts.

The reporter, excited by the rare opportunity, stayed up researching and prepping, only to leave in shock.

Falson wasn’t sane. No matter what was asked, he only repeated three phrases in order:

“Why didn’t you come find me?”

“Mom, wait for me.”

“I miss you so much.”

Over and over.

Until time ran out, and guards dragged him back.

When the news aired, Shen Yan and Blaze were playing Go.

They’d been at it for twenty minutes—an intense, evenly matched game.

The screen projected Falson’s face across the wall, his hollow eyes seemingly capable of crawling through the image.

Neither was disturbed.

After the news, Blaze admitted, “I never tried to save him. I lied about being able to pull strings before the trial. After the verdict, he won’t serve time in District 7.”

Shen Yan placed a piece, surrounding the white dragon on the board, capturing it entirely.

He picked up the white pieces and laughed. “Doesn’t matter. The little psycho said he’d get out on his own.”

“Highly unlikely.” Blaze tapped the table. “The high-security prison is strict. Without Ruan Zhixian’s interference, he won’t escape.”

Shen Yan chuckled ambiguously, and Blaze fell silent.

He knew Ruan Zhixian’s power. Even the swift takedown of Mobius had his hand behind it.

Ruan Zhixian’s background was a mystery. Blaze had used all his resources but learned little. His motives were unclear.

He was chaos incarnate. Falson, Warren, and Blaze were just pawns. They weren’t even worthy to play against him.

But Shen Yan…

He seemed like a pawn—and also the player.

Blaze looked at him, who was collecting the pieces and waiting for the next round.

He thought through the board carefully for several minutes.

Then admitted defeat.

“You could’ve fought a little longer,” Shen Yan teased while sorting the stones.

“A loss is a loss, whether now or fifteen moves later,” Blaze said flatly. “Next round, you handicap me four stones. I’m a beginner.”

“Sure,” Shen Yan said, raising a brow with a smirk. “Seven stones. Beginner.”

The day after the news, Falson’s trial concluded. With numerous unforgivable crimes, he was sentenced to 110 years in District 6’s cube prison.

That night, Shen Yan woke from a dream to feel something cold, hard, and angular pressing against his temple.

It was likely a gun.

He stared into the dark.

The curtains were thick, making the room pitch black.

He couldn’t see Ruan Zhixian, but he turned his head toward the gun’s direction.

The barrel scraped over his brow, resting between his eyes.

He calmly asked, “Ruan Zhixian, if you’re here, why not turn on the light?”

Click.

Not the sound of a light switch.

Ruan Zhixian disengaged the safety, finger on the trigger.

“Three minutes,” he said coldly. “Give me one reason not to kill you.”

Shen Yan replied calmly, “You’re studying the management of a perfect family, using me as the core, to find whether evil can turn into good.”

The gun lowered.

Ruan Zhixian slid under the covers, handed the gun to Shen Yan, and chuckled softly.

“No bullets. Just wanted to scare you.”