Pretend to be crazy

Shen Yan took his seat, with the priest positioned behind him to the right.

Adlai wanted to speak to him, but due to the formal rules of the banquet, he could only wait silently for the meal to begin.

The clock’s hands were frozen at twelve, and as if from beyond the heavens, a bell tolled seven times. A procession of solemn attendants entered the room, serving the guests their meals.

The dishes were abundant, with a well-balanced mix of meat and vegetables. The aroma of red wine was rich and mellow. The long table was packed with delicacies, yet the guests who should have been enjoying them were instead sitting stiffly, as if walking on thin ice, their eyes lowered, not daring to move.

They did not eat. They were unsure.

Was the meat on this table really from animals?

Only one muscular man stared intently at the food, swallowing a mouthful of saliva.

Shen Yan quietly observed these people.

To his left sat Adlai, and to his right, a frail-looking middle school student.

Across from him was Alaid, who looked just like the stereotypical image of a university professor—elegant and proper, with neatly combed hair.

Sensing Shen Yan’s gaze, he glanced back. His eyes lingered on Shen Yan’s face for just a second before he quickly averted them, lowering his gaze as if lost in thought.

Among the group, aside from himself and Alaid, only this person seemed relatively calm.

Ranking them in terms of composure: first was the man swallowing saliva, followed by the long-haired, sharp-eyed woman, and lastly, a timid man whose head was nearly buried in his chest, his face obscured.

The room was eerily quiet, amplifying every sound. The timid man trembled violently, his teeth chattering audibly.

The priest behind him patted his shoulder encouragingly. The timid man flinched, his head jerking up to reveal a face that was identical to Ruan Zhixian’s.

His gaze met Shen Yan’s before shifting away in panic. His sharp eyes flickered with alarm, and his face turned red as he lowered his head again, his hands clenched into fists and placed awkwardly on his lap.

Shen Yan: …

Ruan Zhixian had always projected the image of an aloof and dominant figure—someone who would rather freeze to death in winter than wear cute pink-and-white cat-patterned wool gloves.

But this timid man, despite sharing his face, hunched his shoulders inward, his lips pale, and his brow furrowed with worry. His naturally fierce features were completely overridden by an aura of weakness, making him seem like someone who could be stepped on by anyone.

Was this really Ruan Zhixian? Or was it just an uncanny resemblance? Or perhaps the person who gave birth to Ruan Zhixian had actually given birth to two—twins? Clones?

The original novel never mentioned this. Shen Yan wasn’t following the novel’s script anymore, so it was hard to say.

He carefully compared this man to the Ruan Zhixian he remembered. Unfortunately, he couldn’t find any discernible differences between them.

Ruan Zhixian had been his nightmare. He had tried to forget him—let alone remember his body and face in detail.

He paused.

If he really wanted to verify it, the simplest and most direct method existed.

But that method aligned too well with the “lust” identity assigned to him.

Unnecessary.

Better to just pretend not to see him.

He withdrew his gaze. The bell rang once more. Everyone raised their wine glasses and clinked them lightly in the air.

“To our god, Ana.”

“Ana.”

Shen Yan was already accustomed to these religious rituals. He solemnly focused on the pre-meal prayer. Across from him, the long-haired woman scoffed, casually eating a bite of vegetables before tossing her utensils aside and wiping her mouth.

“I’m done eating.”

The priest: “You have not yet prayed.”

“I prayed in my heart. Didn’t you hear it?”

The priest: “…”

The middle schooler beside her glanced up timidly. “Sister, please eat a little more.”

The long-haired woman, impatient, picked a small cherry tomato from her plate and threw it.

Whether her aim was bad or intentional, it ended up hitting Shen Yan instead.

Shen Yan, ever patient, picked up the cherry tomato from his lap and placed it to the side. He looked at the woman and admonished her calmly, “You are being very rude. You should not act so recklessly at a banquet blessed by God.”

The woman sneered. “And you, dressed like that, have the nerve to lecture me? What, are you our ‘atonement’ gift?”

Shen Yan appreciated her sharp tongue, but in this setting, he was meant to be a devout little lamb willing to offer everything to his god. So he widened his eyes in shock and instinctively looked up at his priest for help.

The priest pressed down on his shoulder, his expression cold. “Damu, control your saint.”

The priest called Damu seemed intimidated by the woman as well. After a moment, he carefully said, “Shui, if you defy God, He may strip you and your sister of your lives. This banquet is crucial. God is omniscient and omnipotent—He is watching you.”

“If you can’t even speak like a normal person, don’t try to lecture me. Who are you trying to scare?” Chen Yushui flicked her hair back. “Let me and my sister go. We have no interest in playing along with your ridiculous role-playing game.”

The only one still eating was the man who had been swallowing saliva earlier. Everyone else had stopped to watch the confrontation unfold.

Chen Yumu pursed her lips, her voice a bit louder now. “Sister, I’m not going back.”

Chen Yushui frowned. “Don’t tell me that in just one day, you’ve—”

Shen Yan interjected, “Divine Descent Society.”

“…That you’ve started believing in this Divine Descent Society so completely? Do you really have to wait until they strip you of everything before you realize your mistake?”

Chen Yumu said nothing, gripping the hem of her ornate dress tightly. Her voice was even softer, but firm. “I won’t regret it.”

“Say that again!”

Chen Yushui, enraged, grabbed something and hurled it without looking.

Once again, it hit Shen Yan.

Shen Yan: …

It was hard to believe this wasn’t intentional.

A piece of richly sauced steak slid down his chest and landed between his legs.

Before he could react, the priest picked up the meat, placed it back on the table, and took his hand, pulling him to his feet. He muttered something in an unfamiliar language into the ring on his thumb before leading him away from the table.

Shen Yan took special note—during the entire commotion, the timid man who resembled Ruan Zhixian shrank even further, as if wishing he could disappear into the ground.

The priest tightened his grip slightly on Shen Yan’s hand, his sharp eyes darkening with anger. “Focus.”

Shen Yan was led into a small adjacent room. Though the decor was European-style, with intricate stone carvings and woodwork, the entire bunker was actually sustained by cyber technology. Even the door lock required the priest’s fingerprint and ring to open.

Once inside, the priest guided him to the bathroom, hastily gave a few instructions, and then left in a hurry.

Before attending the banquet, Shen Yan had already taken a bath. Other than the sauce stain, he was clean, so he quickly came out of the bathroom.

His previous outfit was now dirty and unwearable, and since the room hadn’t been prepared with sleepwear, he had no choice but to wear a bathrobe that barely reached his knees. He covered himself as best as he could and quietly waited for the priest to return.

There were two knocks on the door.

He looked over, and the knocking came again—faster and louder this time—accompanied by a man’s panicked, tearful cries.

“Open the door, please! I beg you, open the door!”

The man was so overwhelmed with emotion that his voice was distorted, making it hard to tell if he sounded like Ruan Zhixian or not.

Shen Yan stepped closer and pressed his ear to the door, listening for a few more seconds. Aside from the pounding, sobbing, and pleading, there was another sound—a thick, viscous noise, like some enormous creature slowly dragging itself along, its mucus-covered body scraping against the floor.

After another two seconds, Shen Yan opened the door.

The man outside the door stumbled forward and collapsed into the room. Shen Yan took the opportunity to glance outside.

Holy shit.

He swore inwardly and immediately shut the door.

Outside, a monstrous creature loomed. It had a shape reminiscent of a giant sea snail, with hundreds of tentacles extending from its shell, writhing and grasping as it moved. Even from a quick glance, most of those tentacles appeared as thick as a baby’s arm.

It was massive—its sheer size was oppressive. The shell scraped against the ceiling as it moved, unhurried, as if it had all the time in the world.

Where the hell did they get this ugly thing? Some kind of experimental bio-weapon?

He checked the time. Only fifteen minutes had passed since he left the dining hall.

Did that sharp-tongued woman piss off the wrong people, and now they were using this thing to intimidate everyone?

He needed to ask.

Shen Yan lowered his gaze to the man curled up on the floor, still sobbing. The guy was trembling uncontrollably, clutching his head, mumbling over and over that he wanted to go home.

Shen Yan watched him with cold amusement, savoring the sight of this out-of-character version of Ruan Zhixian. He memorized every pitiful, foolish detail of this miserable display before stepping forward barefoot.

“Calm down,” he said, his tone flat. “That thing is leaving.” Then, he added, “If you keep crying, it might get annoyed, squeeze through the door crack, and eat you.”

The sobbing stopped instantly. The man’s tear-streaked face lifted, his eyes red and swollen as he looked at him.

Shen Yan sat on the bed, observing him from a relaxed posture. “Let’s get to know each other. What’s your name?”

“Ruan Zhixian.”

Shen Yan’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “What a coincidence. I had a younger brother who was sentenced to death not long ago—he had the same name.”

The man wiped his eyes. His voice, still hoarse from crying, carried a hint of curiosity as he looked at Shen Yan. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said. Then, after a pause, he added sincerely, “But I think your parents were a bit cruel. You’re your own person. You shouldn’t have to carry someone else’s sins as a lifelong burden.”

Shen Yan: “…”

You’re actually sympathizing with me?

Shen Yan had originally wanted to take a break from Ruan Zhixian, to get away from him. Yet somehow, even after fleeing to this place, the bastard had found a way to haunt him like a ghost.

And he was playing the role of a timid, obedient man perfectly.

Did he learn that from me?

When I first arrived here, my persona was exactly that—a harmless, innocent fool.

I’ve long since abandoned that disguise, but now he’s the one wearing it.

He let out a soft laugh. Then, without warning, he kicked the man.

He didn’t hold back—his foot landed squarely against the man’s abdomen.

Ruan Zhixian looked shocked, clutching his stomach. He barely managed to utter a “You—” before Shen Yan kicked him again, sending him sprawling backward.

The man had no ability to resist. He was completely at Shen Yan’s mercy, getting kicked repeatedly until he was backed into a corner.

From beginning to end, he never fought back.

Cowering, he stared at Shen Yan with fear in his eyes, too scared even to beg for mercy.

Shen Yan chuckled, then pressed his foot against his chest, applying slow, deliberate pressure.

Ruan Zhixian gasped for breath, weakly grasping Shen Yan’s ankle with trembling hands. His voice was soft, ingratiating. “Brother, please… It hurts.”

Shen Yan adjusted his footing, shifting his weight onto a different part of the man’s body.

“You’re faking it.” His foot pressed against a certain area—through the rough fabric, he could feel the heat rising. With an amused expression, he leaned in slightly.

“Ruan Zhixian, would a normal person get hard from being beaten?”