Pretend to be crazy - Chapter 70

After Ruan Zhixian finished speaking, a strange atmosphere flowed between the two of them.

Shen Yan smiled ambiguously and said directly, “Yes, we talked for several hours. It was hard to stop.”

Ruan Zhixian smiled faintly. “So in sync? Did you exchange contact info? Want me to give it to you?”

With every question he asked, he stepped closer, until there was almost no distance left between them.

Shen Yan didn’t look at him, so Ruan Zhixian grabbed his chin and forcefully turned his head so they were face to face.

“Why aren’t you talking, bro?”

Shen Yan’s lowered lashes trembled slightly. He looked up, his eyes reflecting Ruan Zhixian’s smiling ones. “Watching you get anxious is fun.”

Ruan Zhixian was stunned.

Shen Yan pushed him away slightly by pressing on his chest, his smile a little wicked. “Really, Ruan Zhixian? That face? You really don’t realize you’re anxious?”

Ruan Zhixian’s gaze dropped to the hand on his chest.

Shen Yan tapped on the spot over his heart. “Just turning off the surveillance and chatting with Qi Cong already has you like this. If you knew what we talked about, wouldn’t you go mad?”

Ruan Zhixian grabbed his hand, pushed him away slightly, then pulled him back, staring at him directly. “So? What did you talk about? Will you tell me?”

Shen Yan: “You can try guessing.”

Ruan Zhixian tightened his grip on Shen Yan’s hand suddenly.

Shen Yan’s fingers turned pale from the pressure, and it hurt a little.

But he didn’t struggle. He laughed and said, “Not running, relax.”

Ruan Zhixian let go, looking steadily at him.

Shen Yan flexed his hand a few times to relieve the stiffness and pain.

Ruan Zhixian usually held back his strength—whether during s*x or anything else. Sometimes he even let Shen Yan mark him with scars, wearing them like badges of honor.

That moment of losing control just now was worth savoring.

Shen Yan shoved his hands into his pockets and flipped the script. “Why do you always think I’ll leave? You don’t trust me? Or my promises aren’t enough?”

Ruan Zhixian: “……”

He didn’t speak. His face was hidden in darkness, expression unreadable, lips tightly pressed, unwilling to make a sound.

After a few seconds of eye contact, Shen Yan suddenly had a realization. He leaned closer with a teasing tone. “Ruan Zhixian, are you feeling insecure? Afraid I’ll find your games boring, your ideas hard to understand, and not want to play with you anymore?”

A flash of emotion darted across Ruan Zhixian’s eyes. He pulled the corners of his lips. “No.”

Shen Yan laughed. “Don’t pretend.”

Ruan Zhixian smiled too. “So? What was the point of you going to all the trouble of contacting people from District 1?”

Shen Yan’s plot to stir conflict between old and new powers—Qi Cong could see it, and of course Ruan Zhixian could too.

If it hadn’t been Qi Cong, Ruan Zhixian wouldn’t have rushed over so urgently.

It was precisely because of the conflict between Qi Cong and him, and because Shen Yan knew about it, that Ruan Zhixian could follow the logic.

Ruan Zhixian probably hadn’t guessed Shen Yan was heading to Red Star, but he had likely guessed that Shen Yan wanted to escape.

Shen Yan felt helpless.

After all this time, Ruan Zhixian still didn’t fully believe he was just as much of a lunatic.

Always half-trusting, occasionally lucid.

Shen Yan sighed and said frankly, “I worked with Qi Cong to set you up, planning to get you thrown into prison.”

Ruan Zhixian: “…bro.”

Shen Yan looked at him calmly. “And I’ll walk away scot-free, disappear where you’ll never find me, fall in love with someone else, sleep with them—from day to night, from today until—mmph—”

Ruan Zhixian suddenly pressed a hand over Shen Yan’s mouth, his face twisted with real emotion, looking terrifying.

Shen Yan didn’t look the least bit nervous. He spread his hands in a mock surrender, smiling brightly as he stared at Ruan Zhixian, clearly enjoying his loss of control.

After a few seconds, Ruan Zhixian released him, then hugged him tightly, his chin resting in Shen Yan’s neck. His words were soft, his breath brushing Shen Yan’s ear.

“bro, don’t scare me.”

Shen Yan also raised his arms and hugged back, expressionless as he comforted him. “You’re scaring yourself, always playing out these movies in your head, imagining things I’d never do.”

Ruan Zhixian nuzzled against him, his body relaxing. His voice was softer now. “Okay, it’s my fault.”

Shen Yan continued, “I told him I’d convince you to attack the main biological data base in District 1. He would use a new backup system to secure everything in advance.”

“If you mess up, District 1 won’t spare you. They’ll round you up with everyone who dares rebel and punish you brutally—to set an example.”

Ruan Zhixian chuckled. “So tragic. Bro, can you really bear to see me suffer like that?”

Shen Yan found his head, lifted his chin, eyes glittering with excitement.

“Of course not. Zhixian, I know you’re not like the others in District 1. You’re special. You understand me.”

Ruan Zhixian paused, about to speak, but Shen Yan didn’t give him a chance—he leaned in for a kiss.

Just a quick peck, and it quieted Ruan Zhixian.

He sensed something different about Shen Yan’s current state and didn’t speak—just watched him closely.

“This world is so boring—unchanging, stagnant. Whether it’s this chaotic, clumsy world or the forever aloof, inexplicably dominant District 1, it’s all boring.”

Ruan Zhixian’s breath hitched.

Shen Yan kissed him again, then hugged the now inexplicably stiff Ruan Zhixian, laughing softly. “And you, Ruan Zhixian, while you were watching me, I was watching you too.”

“You’re just like me—you think all of this is meaningless, so dull—” Shen Yan hugged him tighter. “You want to shake it up, like prodding a young colt to run—run faster.”

Ruan Zhixian’s throat bobbed, voice hoarse, heart pounding wildly. “bro, do you know what you’re saying?”

It was too blatant.

From District 13 to District 2, everyone absolutely obeyed District 1. District 1 held the vast majority of Black Star’s resources. Under such long-term rule, no one ever thought they could challenge District 1’s power—nor did they need to.

District 1 had remained unchanged for who knew how many years. Since a century ago, they’d started the “Perfect Human” project.

Pursuing immortality. Seeking to become truly omniscient and omnipotent gods.

Ruan Zhixian knew he was a piece in that plan too. Since birth, his physical body had been unmatched—seemingly just one step away from godlike power.

All of District 1 had been fanatically excited by his birth, and it was precisely because of him that biological research and experimentation had grown more extreme.

Ruan Zhixian didn’t believe their plan would succeed. There was always a deeper desire beyond desire.

They claimed their plan was to evolve all of humanity, to bring happiness to everyone. But in truth?

If they succeeded, probably only the people of District 1 would be happy.

Unchanging. Boring.

That’s why he left District 1—to search for something even he couldn’t quite define. A “wind” strong enough to overpower their insane fanaticism.

He found Shen Yan.

Shen Yan stepped back a few steps, crossing his arms as he stood before the windowsill. The silver-gray moonlight fell on him, cloaking his whole figure in a misty, faint veil.

“You don’t dare?”

Ruan Zhixian, as if bewitched, heard himself say, “I dare.”

Shen Yan tilted his head slightly. “Do you trust me?”

Ruan Zhixian cupped Shen Yan’s hand, intertwining their fingers. “I trust you.”

Shen Yan looked at him with a half-smile.

Ruan Zhixian pressed Shen Yan’s hand to his face, his gaze deep, surging with a disturbing intensity.

“I know.”

“Only you are worthy to stand by my side, bro.”

On an ordinary afternoon, everyone’s terminal received a message.

It was a link.

Out of curiosity, people clicked it. The link redirected to the main database of District One’s biological laboratory.

Inside were dense entries of things no one could understand.

At first, people thought it was a bold prank using District One’s name. But soon, things took a strange turn.

Several private biological laboratories from various districts collectively spoke out.

A woman named Ai Wei, director of a biological testing facility, appeared on video.

She provided an in-depth interpretation of the data and connected it to the large number of mysterious missing persons across society, harshly criticizing all “civilian-directed” biological modification experiments as nothing but cannon fodder for District One’s true research.

No one but District One would gain longer life, better health, or strength as they claimed.

Nor would people be led to become better inhabitants of Black Star, as District One propagated.

Beyond that, even more classified information about District One began to surface. Network barriers between districts were nearly erased; everyone could see posts being deleted rapidly—only for new ones to appear just as fast.

The once-glorified image of District One began to crumble. Its mystery half-unveiled, even the conflict between old and new factions was temporarily paused as they watched developments unfold.

Public sentiment surged. After the beautiful research director was imprisoned—rumored to be in grave danger—the outrage reached its peak.

The District Thirteen governor, full of righteous fury, rallied people overnight, declaring boldly that justice must not be buried.

Amidst the chaos, District One suffered several terrorist attacks. Someone filmed and shared videos and photos of the scenes, spreading them like wildfire online.

The gods were pulled from their pedestal. Countless hungry, poorly clothed, fifth- and fourth-class citizens, always at risk of being harvested for their lives, began to systematically destroy District One’s related forces.

The atmosphere grew frenzied.

Amidst this turmoil, no one noticed that the day before the data leak, the delegate from Red Star—sent for exchange—completed their ten-year mission on Black Star and boarded a spaceship home with part of the experiment data.

Aboard the ship.

Shen Yan pointed at the pitch-black planet through the window.

Under his fingertip, the planet grew smaller and smaller until it vanished completely.

In that quiet and fleeting moment on the ship, he thought of many things—memories of life on Black Star flashing through his mind like a spinning lantern.

Maybe… this is the end.

He breathed on the glass, and in the swiftly fading mist, wrote three words:

“It’s over now.”