Pretend to be crazy - Chapter 77

Shen Yan had gone soft under the constant attention, his ears full of the damp sounds of Blaze’s kisses, sending tingling sensations straight to his head and unraveling what little composure he had left.

The temporary blindness he experienced over the past few days hadn’t affected him much—until now. In the darkness, this intimate physical contact felt amplified and overwhelming.

And unsettling.

Both his body and mind were uneasy.

He wasn’t sure whether Blaze was doing this because he liked him so much he didn’t care about the consequences, or because Ruan Zhixian had given permission for others to act on him like this.

Maybe it was both.

Blaze, still clinging to the last shred of decency, didn’t force himself on him. Drops—whether sweat or tears—fell onto Shen Yan’s face and were kissed away. In a strained voice, Blaze murmured, “Shen Yan, I want you.”

Shen Yan gently held him and asked an unrelated question, “Warren, Falson… You’ve all taken turns over the past five days, so why was the order different today? Why were you the first one I saw when I got out?”

The atmosphere chilled.

Blaze, lying on top of him, remained silent.

He understood.

Shen Yan had treated him better than Warren and Falson. Naturally, Ruan Zhixian assumed Shen Yan might like him more. That’s why he sent him in first today—knowing he wouldn’t be able to resist seeing Shen Yan again. It was a way to crush any remaining hope.

Whatever the reason, Shen Yan would never be with him. Even if he accepted Blaze, he wouldn’t live to see the next day.

It was disgusting.

Warm breath and the slight tickle from Blaze’s trembling eyelashes pressed against the crook of Shen Yan’s neck, heating his skin.

Shen Yan patted his shoulder gently. His voice was soft. “Let’s stop here.”

“Shen Yan,” Blaze said in a muffled voice, “if only I had met you first.”

“There’s no such thing as ‘if,’” Shen Yan replied calmly.

Blaze’s fingers tightened suddenly, pressing painfully into his flesh.

Shen Yan didn’t make a sound.

Then, the gray haze over his eyes began to clear. As the world regained light, he saw rows of cold surveillance cameras.

All aimed at him, like countless indifferent eyes, trapping him forever in Ruan Zhixian’s watchful gaze.

Chen Fen’s words echoed in his ears:

— “The perfect partner for you must have three qualities: dominant, dominant, and still dominant!”

Shen Yan closed his eyes. The red lights from the surveillance still seemed to blink behind his eyelids.

He really wanted to call Chen and ask: Is this the kind of “dominance” you meant?

What a perversion.

For once, he showered himself.

When he opened the bathroom door to let the steam out, Ruan Zhixian was standing by the bed, staring at the rumpled sheets.

Hearing the sound, he looked over and gave him a slight smile.

“Why didn’t you go on?”

“You wanted me to?”

Ruan Zhixian leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching Shen Yan’s reflection in the mirror—his robe loose, red marks scattered across his chest. His face darkened, but he said nothing.

“You use people and then toss them aside. If you’re that upset, why not skip the whole act? Just kill whoever you’re tired of. What are you—a robot? You need a command to act?”

Mocked like this, Ruan Zhixian laughed: “So you’re saying, I can just act directly?”

“No. Obey the law.”

“So you really like Blaze that much? Fine, you two can be together. I’ll leave with someone else. I wish you a happy life.”

“You’re insane.”

Shen Yan was about to walk away when Ruan Zhixian suddenly pulled his robe open and wrapped an arm around his waist, guiding him back toward the bathroom.

In front of the mirror, Ruan Zhixian leaned close to his neck, his hand covering then slowly brushing past the marks on his chest and abdomen, ending at his throat.

Shen Yan didn’t resist.

He wasn’t someone who avoided problems. And he didn’t believe he should be imprisoned here forever, at someone else’s mercy.

He had been passive long enough. It was time to act.

Identify the problem, solve the problem. Simple.

And the problem was Ruan Zhixian.

He was still hiding—his emotions, his true intentions.

To Shen Yan, he was like a volcano about to erupt. He needed to provoke him, trigger the outburst, and only then would things become clearer—and safer.

The two locked eyes through the mirror.

Shen Yan looked slender when clothed, but his body showed years of athleticism—lean muscles with graceful lines, not overly built, but striking.

Ruan Zhixian was taller, with a larger frame. He could easily shield him completely. His skin tone was slightly darker, a difference only visible at close range.

They were entwined like tangled roots.

Ruan Zhixian breathed in that faint sweetness buried deep within Shen Yan’s body, arms tightening, his eyes dark with dangerous desire.

Their bodies were pressed together, their warmth and heartbeats echoing each other—so intimate, yet so distant.

Ruan Zhixian stared into the mirror at Shen Yan, veins bulging as he gripped tighter.

Shen Yan began to suffocate, face flushing red, his expression strained—but his eyes remained calm, unwavering.

Nothing could shake him.

Not even death.

Ruan Zhixian loved him. But under that gaze, he also wanted to push Shen Yan to the brink, just to see if his composure would crack.

The moment Shen Yan resisted, he would stop.

He would kiss his lips, his wounds—hand him a knife and let him stab if he wanted. Painful, sure, but he wouldn’t die. Shen Yan could do anything, and he would take it all.

But then what? Keep him locked up forever? Kill anyone he might care about, so he’d be alone forever?

And forever hate him?

He didn’t know.

But that wasn’t the ending he wanted.

Time ticked by. Shen Yan’s face turned purple, his body trembling, lungs desperately struggling for air.

Push him away! Why won’t you push him away?!

In the moment before his eyes closed, Ruan Zhixian felt an overwhelming fear he’d never known before.

He let go abruptly. Shen Yan gasped, coughing violently, unable to stand upright—his weight slumped against Ruan Zhixian. He braced himself against the sink, his shoulder blades twitching like wings.

After a long time, the color returned to his face.

His throat bore dark bruises, his eyes bloodshot, but his gaze cut sharply through to Ruan Zhixian.

Then he smiled—faint, breathy, revealing slightly pointed canines.

“You lost,” he whispered.

It hurt to speak, but Ruan Zhixian’s fear-filled expression made him feel elated. He blinked, trying to clear his blurry vision.

He needed to see clearly. Ruan Zhixian’s reaction was too important.

But his vision didn’t return.

The pressure had damaged his eyes too.

His rush of adrenaline began to fade, and he sighed with relief. Thank goodness Red Star’s medical care was advanced. This injury was fixable.

He couldn’t see, but he still had his hands.

He reached out and touched Ruan Zhixian’s face, then paused.

His fingers came back damp.

Tears—already evaporating.

—

After that day, Ruan Zhixian stopped sending others to Shen Yan. But he didn’t let him leave either.

The villa was locked. The windows weren’t sealed, though, so Shen Yan could chat with dog-walking neighbors from the balcony.

He adjusted quickly. He wasn’t one to overthink. In a few days, his twisted views on love, life, and values were back in order.

He had his feelings sorted too.

Warren and Falson? Awkward if they ever met again.

Blaze? More than friends, less than lovers.

Ruan Zhixian? Complicated.

He couldn’t say there was no affection.

But he wasn’t yet someone Shen Yan would call “his person.”

So Ruan Zhixian went into “pending observation.”

As for how Ruan Zhixian felt about him…

Maybe—just maybe—he liked him too.

Shen Yan wasn’t sure.

They had kissed, they’d done more—wrapped in love and hate—but still, Shen Yan doubted it.

Their personalities clashed, values misaligned. If they ever lived together, fights would be daily fare.

The most confusing part?

Ruan Zhixian cried.

That image alone made his skin crawl.

A whole year and a half with Zhou Hui, whom he later realized was Ruan Zhixian’s man, had shown him enough. Even if that wasn’t, this last week had made one thing clear:

He was just an ordinary person. No background, no special value.

Ruan Zhixian had probably killed people like him many times before.

So why cry?

Annoyed, he dropped his game controller and rubbed his temples.

He opened his terminal and messaged Ruan Zhixian: “1.”

One week of silence. Food and water delivered, but no reply.

“1” meant one more day.

If Ruan Zhixian kept hiding, he’d leave.

Stretching, he stood up to cook. He’d been passing time by learning recipes. His best so far: potato and beef stew.

Today was cream mushroom pasta. After dinner, it was around six—time when neighbors usually walked their dogs.

He liked the big golden retriever.

He washed the dishes and headed to the balcony to wait.