Pretend to be crazy - Chapter 63

Ruan Zhixian’s profile picture was blank. Shen Yan stared at the empty space and lazily typed the same short reply in the chat box:

[The door’s unlocked.]

Almost the instant he disengaged the smart lock, a polite knock sounded—three calm raps. Ruan Zhixian pushed the door open and entered, naturally climbing onto Shen Yan’s bed.

It was a single dorm bed, roomy enough for one. But with Ruan Zhixian—practically built like a double-door fridge—it got a bit cramped.

He turned on his side, propped his head on his hand, and looked at Shen Yan.
“Rare sight.”

“What?” Shen Yan asked.

“You, reaching out to me.”

Shen Yan rested one arm under his head, turned slightly, and chuckled.
“Aren’t you going to ask why I called you?”

“No need. I know.”

“Oh?”

A slight smile curled Ruan Zhixian’s lips.
“You missed me.”

Shen Yan smacked a hand over his face and shook his head twice with force.
“Did you swim here or something? Why do I hear water sloshing around in your head?”

When he pulled his hand away, Ruan Zhixian’s amused face was still there. He grabbed Shen Yan’s wrist and placed a light, nonsexual kiss on the back of his hand, then interlaced their fingers, looking at him intently.

Shen Yan didn’t reply right away, eyes drifting blankly toward the ceiling.

Moments like this were rare for them—idle, peaceful. Normally, their meetings involved fighting, scheming, second-guessing, always ending in some form of physical or emotional bloodshed, and often tangled with sex.

Sex.

The word triggered a thought. Shen Yan frowned and asked, academically:
“Ruan Zhixian, after we do it, I always feel incredibly relaxed. Is it like that with others too?”

“I’ve only ever done it with you.”

Shen Yan rephrased,
“Then if I did it with someone else, would I still feel the same?”

Ruan Zhixian’s fingers tightened instantly, squeezing so hard Shen Yan’s hand went sore. His face, however, remained expressionless.
“Are you planning to sleep with someone else?”

“No. Just curious.” Shen Yan said as he tried prying Ruan Zhixian’s fingers off his hand—unsuccessfully. He finally got the index finger loose, but by the time he started on the middle finger, the index re-locked in place.

Childish.

He rolled his eyes, gave up, and continued,
“Is my body… special?”

“Yes.”

“You guys are looking for people like that?”

“No.”

Shen Yan paused to rethink.
“They are?”

Ruan Zhixian:
“If I answer this, you’ll figure it all out.”

“It’s not that hard to guess.”

Shen Yan was beginning to see the outline, piecing scattered clues together:
“Zone One is running some sort of project—biological experiments, right? That includes people like Warren. Bio-enhancements. I’m part of that project too.”

Then, remembering that long-gone Pope of the Divine Descent Society, he asked,
“Did you kill him?”

“Yes.”

“That tracks. I wasn’t captured because you intervened. No wonder that Pope died so fast.”

Shen Yan tried again to peel off Ruan Zhixian’s hand. This time it was easier. He spoke while disengaging each finger,
“Zone One’s ultimate goal aside, you clearly took a different route. That’s why you left and pulled people into your own twisted game. A game themed around purging evil, testing whether people can be made good.”

Ruan Zhixian slid his arm under Shen Yan’s head, pulling him into a comfortable position, and said affectionately:
“They believe they need to be stronger, superior—beings who naturally dominate both old and new humanity. So they started searching for the perfect ‘mother host’ to produce perfect offspring.”

He pulled back slightly, his fingers slipping under Shen Yan’s shirt, drawing circles on his lower stomach. He paused with his palm resting warmly on his skin, lingering like a feather’s touch.

“Gender doesn’t matter. Even males can be engineered to have artificial wombs. The tech is advanced enough—it only takes three days.”

Ruan Zhixian chuckled darkly.
“I’m just as messed up as they are. A terminal case of reproductive mania. If you had a womb, I’d fill it every time—until it overflowed. I’d make you bear my children. My legacy.”

Shen Yan deadpanned:
“Fix that. It’s a pain to clean up after.”

“I’ll be more careful next time.”

Ruan Zhixian’s hand inched lower, suggestive.
“So… is today ‘next time’?”

“No. You can leave.”

“I think it is,” Ruan Zhixian said, genuinely troubled, hand still playing around.
“You’re always so accurate. I feel transparent in front of you.”

“Then guess what I’m thinking now?” he challenged.

Shen Yan sneered, glancing down.
“No need to guess. It’s written all over your pants.”

Ruan Zhixian slowed his movements and stared at him.
“You can say no, again. One word, and I’ll stop.”

“No.”

Ruan Zhixian reluctantly withdrew his hand and gave him a gentle kiss.
“Then forget it. Sweet dreams, bro.”

He left.

Shen Yan, half-hard and half-irritated, stared at the door.

…Huh?

The next morning, Falson was waiting outside for him.

The live broadcast of the military base tour was fast approaching. Shen Yan had been woken early, briefed extensively, and had one primary instruction:
—Obey.

The base had everything prepared: live route, talking points, what to show. Shen Yan just had to follow the path, keep his snark turned up, and let the audience see what they were supposed to see.

His guide—composed, precise, and handsome—was perfect PR. Shen Yan, in comparison, came off as a clown.

With professionals managing the narrative online, the live broadcast was a complete success—no accidents.

No one tried to kill him today.

But this wasn’t the real deal. Tomorrow’s “set” would simulate harsher conditions for more controversial subjects—like human rights and experiments.

The next day, the attacks came.

Falson dragged Shen Yan behind cover. Bullets pinged off the metal barricades.

Though the livestream was technically still running, no one cared.

The attackers were targeting Shen Yan. They’d caught wind of Paradise Island’s intentions—and they weren’t going to let that stand.

Paradise Island wasn’t seriously protecting him. They wanted him dead. That way, they could paint themselves as the victims and justify war.

It turned into a bizarre three-way: Paradise Island pretending to protect him, while secretly hunting him—alongside the conservative faction.

Shen Yan seemed panicked, but in reality, he was following a planned escape route. He even left Falson behind.

He entered a narrow corridor filled with the sharp scent of metal, air so heavy it made his head pound.

This route came from a map he’d glimpsed from Chen Yushui. He was early—no one else would be here yet. Perfect time to scout.

He twisted through turns, reached a small door, navigated more passages—until he arrived.

From a vent grille, he looked down—and almost choked on his own breath.

Bodies. Torn, incomplete. Some barely intact. Others dissected. Nearby cages held cyborg-like experimental subjects—some still raw and skinless.

Two unconscious bodies lay strapped to lab tables. Machines worked silently above them.

No cameras. Deeply hidden. No wonder he couldn’t find this place before.

So this was the final stop on the route—an internal research lab.

There were probably more like it. Someone with high clearance—or an insider—had given Chen Yushui this map.

Maybe the lab was meant to be destroyed?

Could be.

Then, more movement.

A tall, thin man in a white coat walked in. Layered in clothes against the cold, but still lithe.

He yawned and rubbed his neck. Shen Yan’s eyes locked onto his bare skin—no neural interface.

Shen Yan narrowed his eyes and leaned forward.

Clunk.

A sound echoed.

The man snapped his head up and locked eyes with him—through the vent.

Shen Yan kicked the vent open, jumped down, and knocked the guy out in a single punch. Tied him up with a lab coat.

Too easy. Suspiciously easy.

But the guy looked genuinely scared—not faking.

Shen Yan cracked his knuckles, squatted beside him, and smiled.

“Hello. Wanna be friends?”