Pretend to be crazy

The one who secretly did things to him at midnight was Ruan Zhixian.

His voice wasn’t hard to recognize, nor did he try to hide his intentions. It was just that Shen Yan had been drugged last night, his mind unclear, unable to tell.

The pettiest man in the whole story—stepped on twice during the day, felt unbalanced, and had to take revenge the same way at night.

Who knows what he did or how long he did it for, showing no restraint at all.

Now, it was already noon, and Shen Yan couldn’t even go out to eat. He had to set up a small table on his bed, turning him into a bedridden patient.

Ruan Zhixian.

Shen Yan gritted his molars.

His novel filter had been too strong. The book barely described Ruan Zhixian’s psychology, focusing instead on his cruelty and terror. When Shen Yan first arrived, still carrying the identity of a doomed neighbor, he instinctively feared him.

But now, fear had almost vanished. Taking its place was an urge to tie him up and burn him like firewood.

The first two times? Fine. Poor decisions led to poor outcomes. If you flip the car, you deal with the punishment. Ruan Zhixian’s service awareness was excellent, and it’s not like he didn’t enjoy it.

But this time? Too much.

Ruan Zhixian liked it when he moved—if he fainted, he’d wake him up just to keep going. That drug made his mind collapse, erased his reason, and then what?

He didn’t dare imagine how out of control he must have been last night.

Forcing himself to calm down, he absentmindedly touched his lower abdomen.

One thing at a time. If Ruan Zhixian had just been getting revenge for the morning incident, he could’ve left it at that. Why go the extra mile to confine him to the temple, restricting his movements?

Something was off.

The Holy Feast had ended close to 2 AM. All the priests had been summoned for a meeting. His assigned priest had explicitly told him he wouldn’t be back, even reminding him to pray and rest.

He woke up after 9 AM—seven hours in total. His body showed no traces of anything, so how did the priest know he had been touched? And why was he so sure about the pregnancy?

A chill ran down Shen Yan’s spine.

There were two possibilities.

Either the one who came last night wasn’t Ruan Zhixian but the Pope himself, or Ruan Zhixian and the Pope had colluded, and he had told the Pope in advance that he planned to mess with him. Worse, they might have orchestrated the whole thing so the Pope would inform the priest to mislead him with a fake pregnancy announcement—just to see his reaction.

The odds were about fifty-fifty, but the latter seemed more likely, considering he was fairly certain he had heard Ruan Zhixian’s voice.

But that made no sense.

Didn’t Ruan Zhi Xian hate cults? How could he have ties to the Pope?

And why had the Pope suddenly changed? Had he arranged it? Had he already seized control of the Church?

Impossible. That wasn’t his style.

Shen Yan couldn’t make sense of it. His mind was a mess. He sighed and listlessly took a spoonful of porridge.

There was a knock on the door.

It pushed open.

Shen Yan turned his head and met a smiling face.

Though the man was smiling, his demeanor was warm and non-threatening—like a university student volunteering in a rural village. But his light silver, lifeless eyes made Shen Yan feel that he and Ruan Zhixian were the same kind of person.

Cold. Ruthless. Arrogant. Selfish.

Shen Yan stared blankly as the man approached, his face flushing as he hurriedly tried to move the small table off his bed. Flustered, he said, “I’m sorry, Your Holiness. I didn’t know you would visit. It’s terribly rude of me to be like this! I’ll tidy up right away. Please wait a moment!”

Qi Cong pressed him back down, smiling lightly. “No need to be nervous. I just came to check on you.”

Shen Yan placed a hand over his lower abdomen, his face tinged with proud delight. “Thank you for your concern, Your Holiness. I will cherish the divine gift bestowed upon me and ensure the safe birth of the Holy Child.”

Qi Cong’s gaze followed Shen Yan’s hand, falling on his body.

The thin silk nightgown was loosely fastened, with only three buttons done up, barely covering his chest and stomach. The soft folds outlined the curves of his body—healthy, full of vitality.

No marks.

After the Holy Feast, Ruan Zhixian had specifically sought him out for a favor—telling him to instruct Shen Yan’s priest to announce the pregnancy when he woke up.

That had immediately piqued Qi Cong’s interest. He’d pressed for details, even generously sharing three different methods for making a man conceive.

But Ruan Zhixian had refused to explain anything, merely telling him to mind his own business and not pry too much.

That only made Qi Cong more curious.

Who was this person that had Ruan Zhixian so thoroughly entertained?

After digging into it, all he found was that Shen Yan could serve as a host. Other than that, his only redeeming quality was his looks—nothing else.

And yet, in just a few days, he had become utterly devoted to this makeshift, ramshackle cult.

As a man, he hadn’t even questioned the possibility of pregnancy. He wasn’t even showing yet, but he had already accepted the role of nurturing new life, wearing loose clothing to accommodate it.

As if invoking the name of God justified anything done to him.

Like he could be easily tricked into bed.

How stupid.

Qi Cong concealed his scorn well behind a soft smile. “During the wait for the divine descent, if you need anything, just tell the priest. Everything is for the sake of the Holy Child.”

Shen Yan’s expression hesitated, as if he had something to say but held back.

Qi Cong: “What is it?”

Shen Yan was silent for a few seconds before saying, “I know carrying the Holy Child is a great responsibility, but… but…”

He let out a long sigh, as if struggling to voice his thoughts, then forced a smile—vulnerable yet determined. “Never mind. I will stay in the temple for these three months. It’s fine.”

Keeping Shen Yan in the temple had been Qi Cong’s idea from the start. He never planned to stay outside District One for too long—seeing too many ordinary people disgusted him. The temple’s inhabitants had all been carefully selected, with genetic modifications kept under 20%. It was the only environment he could tolerate.

Ruan Zhixian provided the toy.

He provided the playground.

As long as they played within the designated area, everything was fair and reasonable.

The toy, even if dissatisfied, had no choice but to endure it.

Especially when he was this obedient.

Qi Cong looked at Shen Yan’s lowered lashes and, for some reason, blurted out, “What did you want to say?”

Shen Yan hesitated before speaking. “Can I see my brothers and sisters?”

Shen Yan’s records were spotless—clearly Ruan Zhixian’s handiwork. Qi Cong had to use District One’s resources to find his original files.

He exposed him directly. “But as I recall, you have no family.”

Under his probing gaze, Shen Yan sighed.

“As an ordinary man, Shen Yan indeed has no family.” Then his expression turned devout. “But as the Holy Son, he has thousands, millions, of family members among the faithful.”

“Are my family cold? Are they warm? Are they eating well? Are they happy? Are they devoutly performing good deeds in God’s name?”

He spoke with genuine concern, his face solemn. “Every time I think of the millions still suffering in this world, my heart aches. I toss and turn at night, tormented by my conscience.”

Qi Cong: “……”

This cult—from the Pope to the priests to the followers—no one actually believes in it.

The believers act like they’re here to collect free groceries.

Join the faith, get ten. Super devoted? Get twenty.

At this rate, Shen Yan could probably take home a whole truckload.