Pretend to be crazy

Shen Yan watched the rose for a moment before inserting it back upside down.

After nearly half an hour, Warren finally emerged from the bathroom, his body still damp with cold water vapor.

He had showered in a hurry and hadn’t even dried himself properly, just giving himself a careless wipe. His red hair was still dripping.

Since Shen Yan still needed him as a bodyguard to prevent Falson from sneaking in, he sensibly found a hairdryer and guided Warren to sit by the bed while he stood in front of him.

The warm air from the dryer blew through Warren’s hair, and Shen Yan’s fingers gently ran through the strands, his fingertips brushing over Warren’s scalp with just the right amount of pressure.

Warren closed his eyes comfortably and unconsciously wrapped his arms around the person in front of him, burying his face in Shen Yan’s waist and taking a deep breath.

The hairdryer was of high quality and had noise reduction, so Warren could clearly hear the soft laughter hidden beneath the sound of the wind.

“Smells good?”

His voice was muffled. “Yeah.”

Shen Yan turned off the hairdryer and put it aside. Then he slowly tugged at Warren’s hair at the back of his head, forcing him to tilt his head up so he could look down at him. “Who was it last night that told me not to wear perfume and even said I smelled bad?”

Warren stared at him without speaking. Shen Yan, who held grudges, lightly patted his face twice. “Who was it?”

Warren’s throat felt dry. “It was me.”

Shen Yan smirked. “Liars are little dogs. Call out for me, hubby, let me hear it.”

Warren’s breathing quickened, and he couldn’t take his eyes off Shen Yan’s face for even a second. He was a natural-born human, with legs thinner than Warren’s arms, someone he could easily crush. Under normal circumstances, he should have put this insolent man in his place.

But he couldn’t muster the strength.

For a brief moment, he even dazedly thought—if only he really were a little dog.

Then there wouldn’t be all these human mind games, calculations, and schemes between him and Shen Yan. Even if Shen Yan deceived him, he wouldn’t know; he would just wag his tail foolishly, happily barking.

His lips parted slightly, air pushing against his vocal cords, just about to make a sound—

Wait!

His dwindling rationality snapped him back just in time. He suddenly came to his senses, pushing himself back against the bed as if escaping a flood, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “You…”

You… but no words followed.

Shen Yan had originally wanted to see just how far someone wearing the “lover of a liar” persona would go. So he deliberately created an ambiguous atmosphere to test Warren’s obedience.

Half obedient, half defiant. Someone who could pull back from the edge of danger.

Pretending nothing had happened, he packed away the hairdryer and called Warren to accompany him in exploring the villa.

Warren steadied himself for a few seconds before following.

Downstairs, Falson was nowhere to be seen, and the rooms belonging to him and Blaze were locked. Shen Yan skipped those rooms and started checking from the first floor up to the top.

The top floor had a small terrace for resting, and from there, one could jump straight into the garden. The three-story height was no big deal for him, who enjoyed parkour.

Just as he was leaning on the railing, ready to jump, Warren grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

Warren frowned. “Are you looking to die?”

“I just wanted to take a look outside.”

Warren turned his head toward a decorative vase on the terrace’s small round table, picked it up, and threw it outside.

The moment the vase touched the garden’s fence, it was neatly sliced into pieces.

“We can’t get out,” Warren said. “Ruan Zhixian said you have to stay here with us for seven days.” He thought for a moment, then added, “If you have a compelling reason to leave, convince me. I might take you with me.”

Shen Yan responded without hesitation, “Let’s check the basement.”

The second basement level was a garage, empty enough that their voices echoed. It could be seen all in one glance.

The first basement level consisted of storage rooms—eight of them in total. The arrangement was strange, like a greedy landlord dividing up rooms for rent. The sizes varied wildly, some as large as forty square meters, others barely big enough for Shen Yan and Warren to stand inside together.

Shen Yan checked each one and only found a universal toolbox; the rest of the clutter was useless.

Disappointed, he left.

The villa was huge, and by the time they had finished exploring, it was already afternoon.

As they descended the stairs, a strong burning smell filled the air.

The open-concept kitchen allowed them to see everything clearly.

A high-powered exhaust fan struggled to dispel the thick black smoke billowing from a pan, swallowing the dancing flames.

Falson stood blankly beside the stove, holding a spatula in one hand and a plate of uncooked ingredients in the other, staring quietly at the fire.

This fool.

Shen Yan rushed over in three quick steps, swiftly taking a series of measures to put out the fire. By the time it was done, the stovetop was a scorched mess.

“Brother,” Falson looked at him, then at the food in his hands, hesitating. “The pan is gone, so I don’t need to put the food in, right?”

Shen Yan: “…No need.”

Falson set the food aside. “The tutorial was wrong.” He paused, then, in a low voice, added, “No, I was the one who was wrong.”

Shen Yan patted his shoulder. “It’s Ruan Zhixian’s fault for buying such a bad pan. Are you hurt?”

Falson’s eyes flickered, and he instinctively tried to hide his hands behind his back.

The subtle movement didn’t escape Shen Yan’s notice.

He firmly grabbed his hand and examined it—his fingertips had several fine cuts.

He had done it on purpose while cutting vegetables.

There was no way someone who had sliced potatoes so skillfully yesterday would suddenly forget how today.

Falson quickly glanced at Shen Yan, hesitating, then withdrew his fingers slightly, murmuring, “It doesn’t hurt at all.”

Shen Yan pressed on his fingertips with slight force, making blood seep out. Falson frowned. Shen Yan teased, “Doesn’t hurt at all?”

Falson lowered his gaze and smiled sheepishly.

Shen Yan had him sit on the couch while he fetched some bandages and carefully wrapped his wounds. “I’ll only bandage the wounds you make on purpose once. Next time, let Warren do it.”

Falson pulled a disgusted face, just as Warren, hands in his pockets, strolled over and sneered, “Those tiny cuts? If you left them alone, they’d heal on their own. Why bother?” Then, as if casually, he added, “Even when I’ve been hurt to the bone, I don’t act this dramatic.”

“Should I bandage you too, then?”

Warren didn’t expect that response and froze for a second. “What?”

Shen Yan finished wrapping Falson’s last bandage, then beckoned to him.

Confused, Warren leaned in. Shen Yan promptly slapped a yellowish-pink bandage over his lips.

“Talk less,” he said.

Warren: “…”

Falson silently inched a few centimeters closer to Shen Yan, mentally pulling back the half-step he had taken out of the “Mom” category for him.

At least when Shen Yan was bandaging him, his downcast eyes were gentle and soft, and his fingers were warm.

If it weren’t for the annoying and damned Warren getting in the way, Shen Yan might have pitied him more—kissed his fingers, held him in his arms, and comforted him the way he did Blaze, telling him, “Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid.”

Blaze…

Falson watched as Shen Yan, who had gone upstairs to check on Blaze, was once again shut out. He placed his bandaged fingertip between his lips and gently bit down.

The pain was mild.

He withdrew his hand, feeling disinterested.

A mother’s slap wasn’t as fun.

Blaze didn’t come out all day, and by nightfall, Shen Yan was starting to worry if something had happened to him.

Ruan Zhixian wouldn’t let the three of them harm each other, but Falson’s mental state was unstable—too much provocation and he would go crazy. And when he did, he wouldn’t care about right or wrong—he just had to make himself feel good first.

In the original novel, he had nearly sabotaged Ruan Zhixian’s plans at least three times, and Ruan Zhixian had almost kicked him out of the team as well.

Ruan Zhixian’s criteria for selecting and dismissing people weren’t clear. It seemed like to join, you had to be bad enough or insane enough. But to stay, the standards were more varied.

Being bad was okay, but too bad was not. Being ugly was okay, but being disgustingly ugly was not. Both cyborgs and naturals were allowed, but completely modified cyborgs and naturally modified people without permission were not…

It wasn’t easy to get in, but it was easy to get kicked out. In the end, only Warren, Blaze, and Falson remained as his trusted subordinates.

Readers originally expected more newcomers to join, but the story ended abruptly. No new characters ever appeared, and in the end, everyone died.

Lying in bed, Shen Yan stared at the ceiling, waiting for midnight.

When he was nine, he was kidnapped while visiting his hometown and was forced to recognize his captors as family. He endured humiliation and became the foster son of a gang leader. Because he was young and small, he was forced to steal and beg. He endured it all until he was twelve, when he found a chance to escape and helped the police take down the entire gang. It was a nightmare.

It had been a long time since he last picked a lock. Before going to bed, he tested his skills on his own door.

Not bad—he wasn’t rusty.

At 1:30 a.m., he got up, carefully opened the door, and checked the surroundings.

Falson and Warren were nowhere to be seen. Before bed, he had deliberately mentioned that there would be a surprise in the morning, so they had probably gone to sleep early.

Carrying his toolbox, he approached Blaze’s door and began picking the lock.

Just as he had barely started, a cool voice sounded behind him, tinged with confusion: “Shen Yan, what are you doing?”

Shen Yan, completely focused on his task, was startled. He turned around sharply.

Blaze had somehow appeared beside him, his face pale, lips bloodless—he looked sickly.

Shen Yan: …

Awkward.

Clearing his throat, he quickly put away his tools and changed the topic, trying to sound natural. “You slept really deeply during the day. Are you feeling unwell?”

Blaze frowned and rubbed his temples, his voice weak. “Headache.”

“Then you should rest.” Seeing his condition, Shen Yan guessed that Ruan Zhixian hadn’t made a move on him yet and felt relieved. “I’ll go get you something to eat.”

As he was about to leave, Blaze gently tugged at him and said softly, “I don’t want to eat.”

Then, after a pause, he lightly pulled at Shen Yan’s sleeve, shaking it. “Stay with me for a while.”

Shen Yan didn’t refuse.

Once they were in bed, Shen Yan lay on his side, back facing Blaze. Blaze hugged him from behind, clinging tightly. Shen Yan shifted uncomfortably. “Not so tight, I can barely breathe.”

Blaze obediently loosened his grip, but within minutes, he returned to his usual clinging habits. This time, he went even further—when he heard Shen Yan’s breathing even out as if he were falling asleep, his hand slipped under his clothes, slowly moving upward.

His hand was cold, while Shen Yan’s body was warm. As soon as he touched him, Shen Yan stirred awake.

Lowering his head, Shen Yan saw the fabric of his shirt bulging and the few stray fingers peeking out from the collar. He said flatly, “Take it out.”

Blaze exhaled sharply, his voice carrying a hint of distress. He pressed closer to him, his hair brushing against the back of his neck.

“Shen Yan…” Blaze’s breath was hot, falling onto his skin like a kiss, lingering with an ambiguous intimacy. “I don’t feel well.”

He pressed down on Blaze’s hand through his clothes, not using much force. But even this small action caused Blaze’s hand to sink deeper into his slightly relaxed, warm flesh.

The person behind him was pressed tightly against him. Shen Yan could clearly feel the frantic beating of his heart, as if it would leap from his chest and into his body, merging with his own heartbeat.

“Falson.” Shen Yan chuckled. “Your wound must be healed by now, huh?”

“Are you hungry?”

Falson was good at disguises.

His ability wasn’t just limited to altering his personality or using basic disguises. He could adjust his height, weight, and even bones, making himself almost identical to his target.

The original novel spent nearly two chapters on pseudo-scientific nonsense to justify this cheat ability, forcing it into existence.

He had been doing a good job acting like Blaze—Shen Yan hadn’t noticed at first.

But when he got too eager and started touching him, he exposed himself.

Shen Yan was wearing loose black silk pajamas that night, the collar open past his collarbones. Under Falson’s burning gaze, he unbuttoned two more buttons.

Blaze had trouble sleeping and often had nightmares, so he always left a small lamp on. Falson had copied even this detail perfectly, allowing Shen Yan to be illuminated by the soft, warm glow—sensual, beautiful, and so openly seductive it felt like a dream.

Half-leaning over him, Falson swallowed hard, hesitantly reaching out to touch him, giving him a tentative squeeze.

Since their time on the ship, he had given up hope of Shen Yan taking the initiative. He knew his actions were unacceptable to any normal person. It was natural for Shen Yan to avoid him.

He had already prepared himself to take by force if necessary. Even in his dreams, he fantasized about tying him up, devouring him while he cursed and struggled—both aggrieved and exhilarated.

Just as Shen Yan was about to probe Blaze’s whereabouts, a loud bang shattered the moment—the locked door was kicked open.

Warren entered with a grim expression.

Behind him, Blaze stood emotionlessly.