Pretend to be crazy

Shen Yan was really wronging Fang Luo this time.

Fang Luo had been overly energetic since he was a child. For anything good-looking that he liked, he’d get a slight reaction. Over the past twenty years, he’d been called a pervert countless times.

After he started working, he spent a lot of money trying to treat it. Unfortunately, without altering his body or hurting himself, there were very few treatment options—and expensive ones at that. In the end, he had no choice but to grit his teeth and get someone to custom-make him a cage.

The chastity cage had just broken not long ago and was only repaired yesterday. He put it on today before going to see Shen Yan. During the scuffle earlier, it got bumped. It was indeed hard—but it was the cage, not him.

Utterly embarrassing.

Fang Luo had thought the priest’s robe was loose enough to hide it. He never expected Shen Yan had noticed everything.

And this person just happened to be his superior.

A shorter ID number meant he came from a higher district, specifically District 5 or above.

Possibly even his superior’s superior.

Even this seasoned undercover agent couldn’t help but turn completely red in the face. Thinking back to how he’d treated Shen Yan before, he wanted to dig a hole and bury himself.

Just look at what he had done.

Made his boss call him “dad.”

Squeezed his boss’s, uh, parts.

Tried to “pin” his boss.

Silently cursed his boss as an idiot and planned to manipulate him.

Aside from the last one—which was honestly understandable—those other actions were just too much.

He felt he might never be able to “stand up” again in front of Shen Yan.

He couldn’t handle the peak embarrassment anymore—his organs were practically shriveling from the shame. Clutching his face, holding his head, he squatted right there. The nearly 1.9-meter-tall man curled into a big ball, groaning in agony:

“Boss, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

Looking at the squatting Fang Luo, Shen Yan deliberately changed the subject:

“It’s fine, little Luo, I understand.”

After a pause, he squatted down too, patted his shoulder, and said:

“Aren’t you going to confirm my identity? You’re just trusting me based on my ID number?”

Fang Luo clutched his hair and replied weakly:

“I’ve always worked undercover in the team. The ID was reassigned the moment I got it. No one except my direct superior knows the truth.”

He sighed again and looked up at Shen Yan:

“I don’t think there’s a need to confirm it. If someone like you wanted to deal with me, you wouldn’t need to talk at all—you’d just do it. Since you’ve chosen to reveal yourself, at the very least, I know you’re not standing against me.”

“No need to be so formal,” Shen Yan said, helping him up. “Just act like usual. If you get too used to calling me something else and slip up outside, it’ll cause trouble.”

“My mission’s a bit different from yours. I want you to share all the intelligence you’ve gathered on the church with me. Let’s exchange information.”

Once it came to business, the flush on Fang Luo’s face finally faded. He nodded seriously:

“Understood.”

There were no electronic devices in the church. All intel had to be conveyed verbally. Luckily, Fang Luo wasn’t the type to ramble—he summarized things concisely and clearly. After an afternoon of discussion, Shen Yan had a good grasp on the church’s internal structure and the basic information on the other major sins.

He interlaced his fingers, eyes lowered in thought.

The church that would become infamous in about a year and a half was already attracting attention—all of it negative—thanks to his presence.

Even people in the clubs only saw the church as a bunch of gullible rich folk to fleece. They were far from truly trusting.

The man behind it all likely wouldn’t be pleased with how things were unfolding. He’d probably take action in the coming days.

And with the support of super-capital and a professional PR team, reversing public opinion and getting at least half the population on their side wouldn’t be difficult.

Which meant the little bit of bad stuff he’d done so far—just wasn’t enough.

Shen Yan showed a mischievous smile, clearly full of devious ideas.

Sitting across from him, now composed, Fang Luo stole a quick glance at him, then quickly looked away.

Still aroused.

Sigh. He couldn’t pretend he wasn’t attracted.

Even with the ultimate debuff of “this guy is my boss,” he couldn’t deny how good-looking Shen Yan was.

Images far beyond acceptable limits flashed through his mind. The pressure gave him a headache, so he frowned and calmly sipped his tea to cool down.

Noticing his cup was empty, Shen Yan naturally poured more for him. Amber-colored tea trickled smoothly into the cup.

“Taking down the Divine Descent isn’t hard. What’s hard is erasing the delusions in people’s hearts—and the capital backing the operation.”

Putting the teapot down, Shen Yan looked at him:

“To be honest, the complexity of this society has exceeded my expectations. It might even be connected to District 1.”

District 1 made and enforced the rules—like the Five-Class Citizenship Policy. But they themselves were exempt from it.

There were rumors people from District 1 were physiologically different from regular humans, but no one knew exactly how.

They were simply feared.

Fang Luo went quiet for a few seconds.

“Then… should we keep going with the mission?”

“Are you afraid?” Shen Yan looked up at him.

Fang Luo rubbed his knuckles, expression complicated:

“Not afraid, exactly. Just… the success rate seems really low. For both of us.”

“As long as there’s even a sliver of hope, it’s worth continuing. We’ve only just begun—it’s far from hopeless.”

Shen Yan stood up and walked over to him, giving his shoulder an encouraging pat.

“Someone who’s stayed undercover for so long can’t be ordinary. I can tell you’re different, Fang Luo. You’re righteous and sharp. With you on the mission with me…” Shen Yan paused, voice soft and gentle, “even a 0.0001% chance is enough.”

Seeing the resolve and emotion in Fang Luo’s expression, Shen Yan knew his motivational speech had landed.

Only then did he continue:

“That’s it for today. Rest early. Tomorrow, you’re coming with me—to the cloning center.”

“Cloning?”

Shen Yan sighed:

“I’m probably going to die a lot. Better make a few backups, just in case.”

Shen Yan told his boss his plan, and the boss agreed without hesitation. “Sure, sure, no problem. As many as you need.”

Shen Yan had three clone bodies made for himself, with delivery scheduled for two months later. The boss explained they couldn’t be activated until he uploaded his consciousness.

Shen Yan didn’t upload anything, brushing it off with a “not the right time yet.”

He didn’t feel safe becoming data.

No two leaves in the world are truly identical—not even cloned bodies.

They looked the same on the surface, but various reports showed that these unactivated bodies had subtle differences from him.

After getting that done, Shen Yan stopped handing out money on the streets and took some real rest. A few days later, he threw a silver party.

It was supposed to be lowkey.

But it went on for seven days and seven nights, and thanks to a little “accident,” some insider videos and images got leaked online.

With shocking, scandalous headlines linking him to elite families, the content exploded across the internet.

The most-liked and commented post was a blurry video.

The camera slowly panned from left to right, revealing a room full of people tangled together like snakes.

Finally, it zoomed in on a corner sofa.

A shirtless man, on his knees, was straddling another young man, his back to the camera.

Their connection was hidden under thick robes. The man on top was gently moving up and down, the muscles on his back stretching smoothly. Dim, flickering light glinted across his skin, the image alternating between light and shadow.

A pair of large hands clutched his waist, gripping tight and pushing him down.

The man trembled violently, as if overwhelmed, throwing his head back in ecstasy, his whole body spasming.

The person filming stepped forward, turning the camera to get a front view.

And just as it captured the man’s face, the video cut out.

That single frame was just enough to catch a glimpse of his misty, tear-filled eyes—eyes consumed by pleasure.

Netizens, entranced by the chaotic, decadent vibe of the video, swallowed hard, dragging the progress bar back to watch again—only to find the video had already been deleted.

Some savvy users had downloaded it while watching.

Delete, repost. Repost, delete.

That barely one-minute video spread like wildfire across the internet.

A few bold hackers weren’t satisfied and openly posted on the Divine Descent’s club message board:

“We love it. The Holy Son is amazing. We want to join too. Do you think he’s open-minded enough to let us take a turn?”

They even attached an old screenshot of Shen Yan with a bigwig from District 13, cropping it to show just him, then comparing it side-by-side with a restored image from the final frame of the video.

It was clearly the same person.

Within just a few hours, the scandal had snowballed out of control.

Not only Shen Yan, but the other participants of the party were also doxxed and exposed.

Many of them were supposedly elegant, caring public figures, paragons of virtue—yet in the video, they were anything but. Hideous and shameless.

People had always known they weren’t saints, but in a crumbling moral society, everyone kept up appearances. Even when doing bad things, they’d find a proper excuse.

But now that last flimsy veil had been torn.

No one could pretend anymore. The public’s long-repressed rage and resentment erupted in full force.

With this video’s release, more juicy, maybe-true-maybe-not rumors followed. Outrage spread like wildfire. By that very afternoon, ten people had already been thrown in jail. The Guard Division issued a statement saying a full investigation was underway and that justice would be served for the innocent public.

That barely calmed the chaos, and the frenzy finally stopped snowballing.

Meanwhile, the mastermind of it all—Shen Yan—was just waking up from a nap on his custom-made, 1.5-million-dollar bed.

He rubbed his eyes. That week of acting had been exhausting.

The other man in the video was Ruan Zhixian. The two of them hadn’t actually done anything—just simulated the scene through body acting.

Controlling his body to mimic that level of pleasure was actually harder than doing the real thing.

He massaged his sore shoulder muscles and rang the bell.

A dozen attendants entered, holding trays of various breakfast items. At the very end, face pale, came the Pope.

After Shen Yan finished washing up and eating, the Pope finally relayed the news of the leaked party footage.

“In short, public opinion of the Divine Descent has hit rock bottom. Even your… friends have been quite vocal.” The Pope tried hard to maintain a kind expression. “Holy Son, for the sake of our future, I’ve scheduled a press conference. The statement is ready. You…”

Shen Yan lazily cut him off.

“You want me to apologize?”

The Pope, after long-suffering patience, could no longer hold back. His voice turned passive-aggressive:

“We just want to put on a show for appearances. After all, besides this incident, you also randomly blew up two buildings and left several innocent bystanders on the brink of death… It’s really hard to justify.”

Shen Yan chuckled softly.

“Anyone unhappy with me?”

“…Yes.”

“Then arrest them.”

Shen Yan raised the necklace around his neck, the glittering ornament made of gemstone and gold, and pressed a kiss to its end.

“Kill them all. Let them go complain to my god.”