Pretend to be crazy - Chapter 85

Shen Yan found a kid.

To be more precise, it wasn’t exactly “finding,” but “taking in” would be more accurate.

That day, he had just finished work and was walking up a pitch-black corridor. When he reached his door, he used the moonlight shining through a broken glass window to see who was leaning by the door.

A kid, thin and weak, wearing dirty, ill-fitting clothes, missing his right hand.

Shen Yan’s gaze shifted from the missing right hand back to the kid’s face. He squatted down and poked him.

The kid didn’t react.

He had a fever—his body temperature was very high, not pretending to be unconscious.

Shen Yan frowned.

Having been in this absurd cyber-future world for over three months, he deeply realized that being good doesn’t pay off; kindness can’t fill your stomach.

Never mind how he dragged his feverish body upstairs, or how he happened to stop right at his door. Just the fact that the kid’s clothes were stained with blood was suspicious enough.

Shen Yan tilted his head, hesitated for a few seconds, then placed the kid on the rest platform between the fourth and fifth floors, locked the door, and went home.

Three hours later, he opened the door again, frowned at the dried-up kid who was burning up with fever, and sighed.

Forget it.

Feeling generous today, he wouldn’t be so cold.

The Shen family was a big clan, and Shen Yan had helped take care of kids since he was little, so looking after someone was easy for him.

In no time, he cleaned the kid up, gave him medicine, put him on the bed, and covered him with two extra blankets.

He did his best; the rest was up to fate.

There was no way around it — this stupid cruel world had ridiculously expensive medical care; even he couldn’t afford treatment.

After settling the kid, he played a few rounds of games, then, exhausted, went to bed.

The next day, he woke naturally.

He turned his head and met the kid’s very pale, ice-like eyes.

They stared at each other for a few seconds. Shen Yan yawned, turned over to face him, and touched his forehead — no fever.

Normally, now would be the time to figure out the kid’s background, or at least get his name, but Shen Yan was sleepy, eyelids half-closed, and barely alert. He lazily warned:

“Nutritional fluid is on the bedside table. There’s nothing valuable in the house. If you try anything to me…”

His voice grew weaker as his eyes closed, mumbling, “I’ll tear you apart and sell you to black market doctors.”

After that seemingly threatening statement, he actually went back to sleep.

Falson blinked without looking away, staring at Shen Yan for a while before inching closer. Carefully, he lifted Shen Yan’s arm, letting him hug him.

Half asleep, Shen Yan didn’t sense any danger. It felt like a little sibling being clingy. He naturally adjusted his posture to a comfortable position for both and stayed still.

Falson curled in hi arms, his nose just touching Shen Yan’s collarbone. He took a deep sniff and boldly hugged Shen Yan.

They slept until the afternoon.

Shen Yan’s arm went numb from the kid resting on it. He groaned and gently moved the kid’s head off his arm.

That evening, Shen Yan planned to go out with friends. The seemingly weak stranger at home became a hassle.

He opened a nutritional fluid for the kid: “Finish this and leave. I have plans tonight, and it’s not convenient to leave you alone at home.”

The kid nodded, clutching the fluid and drinking slowly. Shen Yan finished two bottles; the kid drank only a quarter of his.

Before the appointed time, he glanced at the kid: “I haven’t asked your name yet.”

No reply, just a steady gaze.

Shen Yan: “Don’t want to say?”

He shook his head.

Shen Yan: “Can’t say?”

He nodded, then shook his head again.

Shen Yan: “Oh, can’t say.”

Falson nodded.

Shen Yan smiled, feeling like they were playing a boring game. He put down the nutritional fluid, sat by the bed, and held out his hand.

“Write it on my hand.”

The kid was a bit slow, focused on Shen Yan’s palm, carefully grabbed his finger, and after positioning it right, wrote his name stroke by stroke.

Shen Yan’s palm itched a bit. The kid read aloud while writing: “Fal…son.”

Falson nodded shyly and smiled.

“Why did you come to my place?”

Falson pointed at Shen Yan, pulled him closer, and kept writing.

“…Good?”

Shen Yan’s expression was a little strange.

“I’m a good person, so you came to ask for help?”

Falson nodded. Seeing Shen Yan’s expression, he timidly pulled back his gaze and hurriedly wrote with his hand, very fast.

Shen Yan’s palm itched from the quick writing. He pulled back his hand with some force. Falson was startled, pursed his lips, eyes red-rimmed, and silently lowered his head.

He looked pitiful.

Shen Yan really couldn’t stand that.

Since coming to this world, blind and naive, deceived twice, trying to be cold and dark, yet still soft-hearted when seeing someone like a younger sibling.

He reached out again: “Slow down, I can’t keep up.”

Falson glanced at him shyly. Shen Yan smiled, and Falson smiled back before continuing to carefully tell his story stroke by stroke.

He came from the 13th District’s Saint Light Orphanage in Dog City, is eleven years old, was adopted by a wealthy but abusive family at age ten, couldn’t stand it, stabbed two of them, and barely escaped.

He’s been wandering since, barely surviving. Two months ago, he saw Shen Yan feeding stray dogs, decided he was a good person, and came to ask for help when he could no longer endure.

Shen Yan: “Where do you live now? …Oh.”

Falson wrote that he slept on the street, sometimes on benches on Peace Road that were quite comfortable.

But sometimes he was chased away, and the homeless beat him, which hurt a lot.

Shen Yan: “…”

So miserable.

Shen Yan knew he shouldn’t be so kind blindly. There were plenty of miserable people in this messed-up world, not just Falson. If ranking misery, this kid might be only in the middle-lower range—

“Do you want to live at my place?” Shen Yan heard himself say, “Temporarily. You have to help me with chores.”

The kid paused, eyes wide, then suddenly threw himself into his arms, burying his head in the crook of his neck.

Shen Yan felt the little patch of skin near his eyes was wet.

He hesitated for two seconds, gently patted the kid’s head twice, and casually thought:

Good job, Shen Yan. A little merit for your good deed.

He had already prepared himself for the kid to steal everything from his house or wake up one day tied to an operating table, ready for organ harvesting.

But unexpectedly, everything went smoothly.

Falson was obedient, ate very little—a bottle of nutritional fluid could last three days. Even though Shen Yan said he didn’t mind, Falson acted as if afraid of being abandoned again if he ate too much.

Shen Yan sensed that Falson wasn’t as helpless as he seemed on the surface. The backstory he told was partly hidden. Yet he felt little suspicion.

He believed Falson meant no harm.

They gradually grew familiar.

Shen Yan was young and curious. After being emo for a while in this world, he returned to his original personality: spending money freely, not saving, partying late into the night.

Sometimes he would gamble, get carried away, drink a lot.

But even drunk, he didn’t lose control or act crazy. No one could tell he was drunk, as he talked and laughed normally. Only at home would he show odd behavior—sleepwalking to bed face down, eyes closed, sleeping like he was dead.

He always felt terrible waking up from a hangover. He had mild OCD and hated sleeping dirty. Usually, he would clean thoroughly the next day, causing his water bills to be higher than others.

Having Falson around meant less trouble for these worries.

Falson would support him into the house, help him wash and change clothes, and after finishing, clean himself up, then lie beside Shen Yan, boldly asking for rewards.

He kissed Shen Yan’s forehead, cheeks, nose tip, jaw.

His gaze finally rested on Shen Yan’s brick-red lips.

But he never actually kissed them.

He lived at Shen Yan’s place for three months. Shen Yan was preparing for his junior mechanic certification exam and trying to find a school for him.

Falson was smart and very good at reading people, always acting to become more likable to Shen Yan.

And extremely clingy.

As long as Shen Yan was home, he would stay close, keeping a distance but always nearby.

It made Shen Yan laugh and cry. He decided to find a school for him.

He thought Falson’s habit was unhealthy.

Shen Yan asked a friend to help Falson get an ID card, picked a school, prepared enrollment papers, and told him about it.

But Falson’s reaction wasn’t as enthusiastic as he expected.

Falson said he wouldn’t go, saying school was expensive, that he kept track of every expense, that he was secretly doing black market jobs and had saved some money to buy Shen Yan a birthday gift.

He wasn’t useless and didn’t want to be a freeloader relying on Shen Yan.

He wrote a lot, then, exhausted, hugged him and sobbed.

“Where do you get these ideas? Don’t you consider me your brother?” Shen Yan comforted, rubbing his head, “I never went to school. You go, then come back and tell me about it. Spending money for two in one go — you’ll make a killing.”

Falson looked up at him.
The three months they had spent together had formed a subtle tacit understanding between Shen Yan and him. Even if he didn’t speak, anyone could guess what he wanted to say.

“Basically, we don’t have a master-servant relationship, there’s never been this idea of you abandoning me or me abandoning you.”

Shen Yan corrected his mindset, lowering his eyelashes to look at him. His handsome, youthful face held a casual smile. He cupped Falson’s face, his thumb pressing upward at the corner of his lips.

“You’re just a little kid, you should do what kids do. Since you’re with me, I definitely won’t ignore you. Be good and don’t overthink it, got it?”

Falson stared at him without blinking. After staring for a while, making Shen Yan feel a bit puzzled, Shen Yan waved his hand in front of his eyes. Falson quickly grabbed it, pressed it against his face, then turned his head slightly and gently kissed Shen Yan’s palm.

After that day, Falson often asked Shen Yan for kisses.
Shen Yan didn’t think much of it.
Falson went to school in Mank City, boarding junior high. He came back home two days every month. This world had much stricter controls on students than when Shen Yan was younger.

Though they said two days, after subtracting travel time, it was really just one full day. Shen Yan would rearrange all his affairs to spend that one day fully with Falson.

But today was an exception.

Shen Yan had passed the junior mechanic exam and obtained the certificate. This meant he could work full-time at his master’s shop and no longer needed to do odd jobs.

His employer, who had hired him as a piano teacher, was a relative of a friend. Hearing he wanted to quit, they felt regretful but mostly happy, insisting on throwing a party to celebrate and saying they would introduce potential clients to him.

Shen Yan mentioned Falson and wanted to refuse the invitation, but the employer paused and said he could bring his “little brother” along to play.

No matter what, Shen Yan couldn’t refuse and had to agree.

That night, Shen Yan went to the bar by himself.
There were nine men in the private room, no women. Several took turns pouring drinks for him, calling him “Teacher Shen,” joking that if he installed prosthetics for them in the future, they should get a discount.

Shen Yan felt uneasy.

He didn’t know any of these people; they were five or six years older than him, all working adults like the employer. They called him “brother” and “Yan Yan” very affectionately, but their eyes were filled with an unpleasant, lecherous look.

His instinct for danger was sharp. He knew they were scheming, so he kept up appearances but was constantly looking for a chance to escape.

The seventh drink he downed was spiked; his breath became hot and burning, like a fire was lit inside his body.

He unbuttoned two buttons, exposing his collarbone and a small patch of skin, still unaware, and clinked glasses with the employer before drinking the eighth glass.

The private room suddenly fell silent. Everyone’s eyes focused on him. The men playing dice nearby gathered around. Music was still playing, but no one cared anymore.

Two men flanked him. On his left was the employer; on his right was a man with dyed white hair who looked sinister.

The white-haired man put his hand on Shen Yan’s knee, then slowly moved it inside his thigh, finally stopping near his groin. Shen Yan looked at him for a few seconds, grabbed his sleeve, and threw the hand off his leg.

The white-haired man didn’t get angry and laughed along with the others.

Amid the laughter, Shen Yan leaned toward the employer, who immediately wrapped his arm around him. Shen Yan rubbed his shoulder against the employer and murmured with a frown:

“I don’t feel well, boss, can you take me home?”

The employer took Shen Yan home.
Back to Shen Yan’s place.

On his own turf, Shen Yan felt fearless. Before even opening the door, he pressed the employer against the wall.

There were too many people in the private room to act freely; one-on-one, Shen Yan wasn’t afraid.

He activated the terminal camera, made the man—whose face was almost unrecognizable from the beating—perform humiliating acts, then played the video in front of him, coldly saying:

“I admit defeat today. Don’t cause me trouble again. You don’t want these photos showing up on your Top Ten Employee board, do you?”

The employer was speechless, staring blankly at Shen Yan.

Shen Yan’s spine tingled under that gaze. In this ridiculous world, people’s mental states were generally worrying. This guy didn’t look subdued by the beating; he looked like…

Shen Yan stopped thinking further and quickly left.

After that, fueled by adrenaline, he climbed upstairs, drenched in sweat.
Fortunately, Falson was home. Before he could even open the door, it opened by itself.

Shen Yan almost stumbled in.

Ignoring Falson’s worried eyes, he pushed him aside, staggered into the bathroom, locked the door, and turned the tap on full blast.

He first vomited into the toilet, emptying all the alcohol from his stomach, then took care of other bodily needs in this somewhat undignified but effective position.

Actually, his need for relief was quite considerable, but unlike his roommates, he rarely vented on his own initiative. He felt shy and embarrassed, often relying on cold showers before traveling here. After the crossing, he couldn’t do that anymore; medicine and treatment were too expensive, so he had to save where he could.

His eyes squeezed shut, his body trembled twice, drug effects making his eyes red and a burning heat pouring through him.

It came again — so hot, so painful. He gasped and stifled moans nearly drowning out the sound of running water.

Afraid Falson might hear, he bit the hem of his shirt, soaked by his saliva.

Below was a lean, tight waist; Shen Yan’s back arched like a drawn bow. After a few seconds, he collapsed, his shoulder blades rising and falling like butterfly wings.

Not enough.

He was tired, dizzy, looking down at the soiled floor, moving his numb knees, took a breath, and continued cleaning up.

One door away, Falson stood outside,
his toes pressing against the door panel, his pale eyes fixed on it.

After a few seconds, he slowly and lightly pressed his ear against the door.

Listening carefully.

Listening to the sound of water under water.