Pretend to be crazy - Chapter 64

When Shen Yan was called to the livestream by the person in charge, he already suspected he might be in danger. So he had prepared mechanical exoskeleton gear for himself in advance.

Now, he was strong enough to exchange blows with even Warren, let alone face a presumed natural human like himself—someone unmodified.

He pointed a gun at the man.
“Why are you alone? Where are the others?”

The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he shrank back nervously, eyes darting.
“They’ll be back soon. You’d better—”

Shen Yan cut him off.
“I considered you a friend because we hit it off. That doesn’t apply to others.”

He jabbed the man with the gun. The cold, hard steel sent a chill through him.

“Maybe I’ll kill anyone who shows up—accidentally kill you in the process. Can you live with that?”

The man examined Shen Yan’s expression closely, hoping to spot a bluff. But Shen Yan only smiled.
“Friend, I mean no harm. I just want to ask you some questions. Being honest benefits us both.”

His life was hanging by a thread. The guy looked like a lunatic. Obedience might be the only way to survive. The man gave up:

“This lab is my responsibility. No one else is coming.”

Shen Yan undid his restraints. The man rotated his arms a bit, testing them.
“So, uh… what do you want to ask?”

“You’re a Red Star native, aren’t you?”

The man’s breath hitched. His pupils shrank. He immediately denied it:
“Red Star? Sorry, I don’t know what you mean. You’ve got the wrong person.”

That reaction confirmed it for Shen Yan.

Red Star natives didn’t rely on tech implants, so they lacked the rectangular data ports behind their heads.

Natural-born humans were rare in this world. For information access, most were fitted with implants at birth. Even someone as noble as Blaze, a former Mobius, had one.

Shen Yan had just been fishing, but he’d caught something after all.

“Don’t be scared, you’re exactly who I was looking for.” He patted the man’s shoulder, still pointing the gun with one hand while using the other to grab the man’s wrist, guiding it to touch the back of his own neck.

Also no data port.

The man froze.

Shen Yan sighed.
“I’m from Red Star too. I heard there were others like me on this island. Couldn’t resist checking it out. And lucky me, here you are.”

The man pulled his hand back but remained guarded.
“What do you want?”

“A companion. Let’s go back together. Living on Black Star is too hard.”

The man’s eyes reddened. He took a step back and leaned against the wall.
“We can’t go back.”

A bad feeling rose in Shen Yan’s heart.
“Why?”

“What batch were you from?”

Shen Yan had done his homework.
“Ten years ago. Batch 0932. My parents brought me to Black Star. They were assassinated, and I barely survived.”

The man sighed, eyes full of pity.
“Three years ago, Red Star put up a protective barrier. Even if you know the coordinates, without authorization, entering their zone means death.”

Shen Yan: “…I see.”

He forced a smile, showing an appropriate level of despair.

Mostly fake. Slightly real.

The original story gave little detail about Red Star. Shen Yan had deduced that coordinates were necessary to go back. He hadn’t expected this added barrier.

No big deal.

At least now he knew a permit was needed.

He steadied his mind and spent a few more minutes interrogating the man, hoping to get more intel on Red Star.

Unfortunately, the guy had nothing useful. He just kept nostalgically reminiscing about his favorite snack—Bobo Shrimp Chips.

A million times better than the Momo brand, apparently.

After confirming the man was harmless and had no deeper secrets, Shen Yan knocked him out and left him safely placed, with a message on his terminal:

“I’ll keep your Red Star identity a secret.”

Then he retraced his steps back to the scene of the attack.

The area was wrecked, craters everywhere. Workers scurried around, patching things up. Shen Yan moved silently, unnoticed.

He walked right out of the military base.

The sky was darkening.

Hands in his pockets, he watched the setting sun disappear over the horizon, his thoughts slowly falling into place.

Permits were held by people in Zone 1.

He only knew one Zone 1 person: Ruan Zhixian.

And he was about to run. No way he could ask him for help.

Where could he find another cooperative Zone 1 person?

Paradise Island might be a good opportunity.

As a leading hub for mechanical research, Paradise Island was directly managed by Zone 1. It held no political leanings on its own, but due to different managers at the military base, subtle shifts had occurred.

If something big enough happened on the island—something neither side could resolve—Zone 1 would definitely send someone down.

The two major powers on the island were the old-school biotechnologists and the new-school mechanical modders.

If he could make them fight…

His terminal buzzed, breaking his thoughts.

It was Falson.

[Mom, I’m in so much pain. I might be dying.]

[Location attached]

—

Roughly five kilometers from the base was a residential district built for long-term tourists. Alongside hotels were bars and other entertainment venues.

Neon lights blazed. Music, laughter, and conversation filled the streets.

Lately, there had been street performances. Shen Yan stared at the terminal, weaving through the crowds toward the coordinates Farson sent.

He stopped at the entrance of a dark, narrow alley, away from the crowd.

Piles of uncollected trash lay scattered, some black bags torn open and leaking rancid fluid. A foul stench hung in the air.

Falson lay among the filth. Only his blood-soaked right leg remained; the other limbs were gone.

Sparks popped from the data port area, briefly illuminating the deformed, exposed metal of his half-destroyed face.

Shen Yan paused a second, then hurried forward, dug him out of the garbage, and carried him.

So light.

Falson opened his eyes weakly. When he saw Shen Yan, he smiled:
“It doesn’t hurt when Mom holds me.”

Shen Yan didn’t reply. He contacted emergency responders while stripping off his exoskeleton and jacket to stop the bleeding.

Falson’s voice grew faint, his gaze fixed gently on Shen Yan.
“Mom, do I love you enough?”

Still no response. Shen Yan tied a makeshift tourniquet tightly around his leg.

“Mom, do I deserve all your love? Just love me, okay? Let me have it all?”

Shen Yan stuffed cloth into his mouth.
“Never seen someone dying who can still flirt. Falson, you’re amazing. Fooled me again?”

Falson choked slightly, then looked down sheepishly.
“I didn’t mean to…”

“You did.” Shen Yan pinched his jaw and shook it.
“Next time you pull this stunt, I’ll turn you into a living scarecrow and hang you at the door. Got it?”

Falson blinked, then blushed.
“Got it.”
Then, more quietly,
“Mom, you’re mean… you scared me.”

Didn’t look scared.

Looked excited.

Shen Yan looked away. He didn’t expect him to listen anyway.

He’d corrected him countless times not to call him “Mom,” yet he kept squeezing it in.

Annoying.

The ambulance from Paradise Island arrived quickly. Medics asked if Shen Yan wanted to observe the reconstruction process—he could even choose new parts.

Falson had at least been useful during cleanup, so Shen Yan stayed by his side, purchased a 3-million-credit prosthetic set, and watched the procedure.

An hour later, a 65% new Falson was gleaming on the table.

Maybe sensing Shen Yan’s softened mood, he was unusually bold and clingy, hugging his waist and asking for affection and a reward.

So that night, they slept together.

On the condition that if Falson misbehaved, he’d be thrown out immediately.

Falson agreed happily. Surprisingly, he didn’t try anything, just lay there staring at him like he didn’t want to disturb him—his breathing was barely audible.

Shen Yan pretended not to notice and, under that intense gaze, actually fell asleep.

In his dreams, he felt something faintly touch his cheek.

But that was all.

Today was the day they planned to kill Ai Wei’s husband.

The exhibition’s first auction had begun. It would last five days, selling relatively affordable items compared to what came later.

In the VIP booth, Ai Wei sat surrounded by several beautiful attendants, all serving her nervously.

She generously offered to let Shen Yan pick a couple, but he waved it off.

She didn’t insist, only let her gaze linger briefly on Warren beside him before quickly looking away.

The plan was simple.

Kony was extremely cautious, making him hard to kill. But Shen Yan had three trump cards: Blaze, Warren, and Falson. With the clues Ai Wei provided, they easily found the backup of Kony’s consciousness in the database.

They deleted it.

The system immediately alerted its owner. Kony contacted Ai Wei in rage. She didn’t hide—admitted it outright and challenged him to come kill her if he dared.

Kony didn’t fear taunts. But he did fear death.

He had too many enemies. In Zone 8, he was never safe, surviving only by creating clones via Ai Wei’s biotech lab.

Now, with no backup in the database, death would be permanent.

So he swallowed his fury, gathered his henchmen, and came to the island for the exhibition.

There, he felt safer—less likely to be killed by anyone except Ai Wei.

He arrived armored to the teeth, practically a walking arsenal, only to be beaten to death by Warren.

The auction continued. The auctioneer introduced items passionately. Bidders raised their paddles, shouting prices. The scene was intense.

But none of that heat touched Shen Yan’s booth.

The air was heavy with blood.

The source: Kony and his goons’ corpses.

On the sofas, Shen Yan sat on the left, Ai Wei on the right. In between, Warren had just finished crushing Kony and his men.

Weapons weren’t allowed during the exhibition. But no rules on how many people you could bring.

Kony went for the numbers game.

But against Warren, numbers meant nothing.

Ai Wei lit another cigarette—her third since his death. She stared blankly, seemingly still in disbelief that the man who tormented her for years was finally gone.

As the cigarette burned low, she finally spoke, voice hoarse:
“Thank you.”

Shen Yan: “No need. It was just a trade.”

“How many clones do you want?”

“Two. One for me and one for Warren.”

“I’ll need samples. They’ll take about half a month to finish.”

Shen Yan thought for a moment.
“That’s fine. We have time.”

As realization dawned that she was truly free, Ai Wei smiled at him.
“Darling, is there anything else you want?”

“This is enough. Thank you.”

Shen Yan stood. Warren stood with him.

Warren, who had just gone on a killing spree, was covered in blood and sticky human tissue, but his expression was nonchalant—one might even call it gentle.

Because Shen Yan had told him he wanted to escape with both him and his clone.

Shen Yan hadn’t lied.

He truly wanted to take Warren away from Ruan Zhixian’s surveillance.

Warren followed closely behind him.

Shen Yan borrowed the employee washroom in the auction hall, and after washing off the blood with Warren, they returned to the Ant Hotel.

As soon as they entered the room, Warren couldn’t wait to hug him from behind, burying his head in Shen Yan’s neck and complaining a little discontentedly, “There’s still half a month.”

Shen Yan replied, “That’s fast enough. The shortest time I ever made one of those clones was forty-five days.”

At the mention of this, Warren thought again of the photos he saw—Shen Yan dismembered, dead without a complete corpse. His heart felt like it had been punched, dull and heavy.

But when he remembered that in just half a month, they’d escape their current situation, his mood improved a lot.

“Where will we go after that?”

Shen Yan knew Ruan Zhixian was probably listening, so he openly shared his fake escape plan. “First, we get clean identities. Then we travel and see the ocean. Anywhere’s fine. What matters isn’t the place—it’s you and me. Just the two of us.”

Warren’s ears turned red as he savored those last six words.

You and me, just the two of us.

Shen Yan pressed Warren’s hand and added, “Baby, listen to me. Don’t ask why I’m doing anything on the island, okay?”

Completely head-over-heels, Warren nodded without hesitation.

Shen Yan mentally checked him off his list.

Handled.

The easiest one.

—

On this surveillance-heavy paradise island, Shen Yan thought it was nearly impossible to fake his death and escape Ruan Zhixian’s eyes.

Especially when it came to uploading consciousness.

All consciousness was uniformly uploaded to a database developed by Zone One. Someone at Blaze’s level could easily hack into the database and delete a person’s consciousness—Ruan Zhixian certainly could too.

Back during the cult phase of cloning, Shen Yan didn’t upload any data either.

The bodies were controlled by a few spiritually sensitive dogs he had trained.

They couldn’t speak, but after professional training, they could operate those bodies—like driving a car.

Those three clones didn’t die at the hands of assassins. Shen Yan had pretended to be the killer and killed his own clones—those with the dogs’ consciousness inside.

He dismembered them, taking a part each time, using technology to freeze the pieces. Once defrosted, they were indistinguishable from fresh meat.

The blood from his “death” had been collected and prepared days in advance.

That’s how he managed to fool everyone.

But this time, it was different.

Ruan Zhixian was watching him too closely. There was no powerful enemy trying to corrupt him with excessive admiration.

He had very few resources now—no way to execute a clean and powerful blow. He’d have to take a different approach.

After settling Warren, he went downstairs to find Blaze.

—

Blaze wasn’t someone who liked going out. He was a homebody. In the three days since arriving on the island, he hadn’t gone anywhere—just stayed holed up in the hotel.

When Shen Yan knocked on his door, he had just finished installing a new software patch. Hearing the knock, he quickly went to open the door.

Besides Shen Yan and room service, no one else would knock.

Room service had already come half an hour ago.

It was Shen Yan.

He stood outside holding snacks and beer, lifting them as he said, “Came to drink with you—wanna join?”

Blaze stepped aside to let him in, saying coolly, “If you’d taken any longer, I’d have forgotten what you looked like.”

They had been on the island for three days, and Shen Yan had been busy the whole time. Other than asking Blaze for help, he hadn’t tried to reconnect with him.

If it weren’t for Warren and Falson as contrasts, Blaze wouldn’t have even felt anything.

Shen Yan laughed, tapped behind his ear to reveal his true face, and leaned close to him, “Look now, get a good look. Don’t forget.”

Blaze smiled faintly, pinched his face lightly, and after a few seconds of that warmth, returned to his usual cold expression and let go.

They sat on the floor, backs against the bed, put on a random movie, and laid out the snacks and drinks—just like they used to when they lived together.

Tonight’s movie was a romantic comedy. The man was handsome, the woman beautiful. They met over coffee, slowly fell in love through a series of misunderstandings, and finally got married.

Blaze didn’t talk much. Shen Yan initiated most conversations, but Blaze listened intently and responded to everything.

Their tense showdown in the desert felt like a distant memory.

The atmosphere was relaxed—just like old friends.

Friends.

Friends who could kiss.

Friends full of sexual tension.

What is Shen Yan really trying to do? Blaze couldn’t figure it out.

He stared at the couple kissing in the church on screen, then turned to look at Shen Yan.

Shen Yan seemed a little uncomfortable with such cheesy scenes. He was grimacing, looking moved but also embarrassed, covering his face and peeking through his fingers.

Blaze pinched his chin gently, revealing the tongue piercing on his tongue.

Today, no one had kissed him.

That alone satisfied him. He gently kissed Shen Yan’s forehead, deliberately ruining the “just friends” atmosphere Shen Yan had tried to create, and said bluntly, “Shen Yan, I want to kiss you.”

Shen Yan paused, his expression turning a bit sad, but the emotion quickly vanished.

He closed his eyes, giving silent consent.

Blaze took his time, kissing from his forehead to the tip of his nose. Just as he was about to reach the lips, he suddenly veered off, going instead to bite his chin.

It wasn’t hard—just ticklish.

He kissed every inch of Shen Yan’s face before finally, mercifully, pressing their lips together.

Shen Yan’s lips were soft. Blaze lightly tapped them with his tongue, then slowly pried his mouth open and slid in, thoroughly exploring.

Shen Yan wasn’t very active—he even dodged a little. When Blaze’s tongue came near, he retreated.

Blaze tightened his grip on the back of his head, holding him still, forcing him to submit.

The kiss lasted only five minutes. When Shen Yan was asleep, Blaze could kiss him for ten. But awake, Shen Yan was too willful. After just 80 seconds, he turned away, breathless.

Wiping their mingled saliva from his lips, Shen Yan sighed, “Blaze, you’re a bit too rough. My tongue’s gone numb.”

Blaze’s eyes darkened. He leaned back to get a better look at him and said, “Shen Yan, I’ve told you before—you can use me however you want. You don’t need to be nice to me.”

The young man opposite him, lips wet and shiny, froze, then frowned, looking at him seriously.

Shen Yan’s gaze softened. He leaned over and kissed Blaze’s cheek gently, voice tender: “Don’t sulk, princess.”

Maybe it was the alcohol, but many things Blaze wouldn’t normally dare say spilled out unfiltered.

“I’m not sulking. And I’m not a princess. Stop coaxing me.”

Shen Yan just smiled. His dark eyes reflected Blaze’s red face. “If I don’t coax you, who should I coax? When little Blaze gets mad, he’s really scary. Always saying I’m using you, like all our past meant nothing.”

He leaned back, lifted his drink, clinked it against Blaze’s half-finished can, then drank it all in one go.

As he tilted his head, the line from his jaw to his neck and collarbone was flawless.

He looked back at Blaze and smiled faintly. “Sometimes I wonder, if I hadn’t hurt you that day, and we’d just stayed together like this—wouldn’t it have been nice?”

Blaze heard every word clearly. Each syllable echoed in his brain, setting his whole body on fire.

But he was well-trained. His expression didn’t change.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

Shen Yan’s fingers brushed against his. Blaze curled his fingers and moved away slightly—just two centimeters—before Shen Yan quickly followed.

Not an accident.

Blaze took a deep breath, calmed himself, then turned to him again, his expression now cold.

“I told you, don’t try to please me. If I like you, that’s my problem. I—”

He didn’t finish.

Because Shen Yan kissed him again.

Straddling Blaze’s lap, he gently cupped his chin and kissed him, soft and slow.

This time, he took control. Blaze wanted to retreat, but his body was trembling under Shen Yan’s touch. He couldn’t move a finger.

He didn’t even have the mind to count how long the kiss lasted.

When it ended, a silver thread hung between their lips.

Blaze’s eyes were red as he looked at Shen Yan, holding his waist, voice hoarse.

“Shen Yan… don’t do this,” he said. “I’ll take it seriously. Don’t give me hope. Please?”

A fleeting, unreadable emotion crossed Shen Yan’s face. Blaze almost thought he imagined it, because Shen Yan looked at him with such depth.

But he didn’t respond—just gently rubbed his red, dry eyes.

“Want to watch another movie? I haven’t had enough.”