Pretend to be crazy

Fang Zheng wore a cold face, and Shen Yan followed suit — his expression even colder than his.

“You’re the crazy one! My brother has always been that ‘model kid’ everyone praises since he was young. How come you’re the only one calling him a lunatic?”

Shen Yan stood up, sleeves rolled up in defiance. “You’re not leaving until you make yourself clear!”

Fang Zheng let out a cold snort. Seeing Shen Yan standing up for his friend so fiercely, he softened a little.

“Your buddy’s only been here a little over a month, and he’s already nearly shut the whole place down twice.”

“The first time, he caused a power outage on the main grid. The second time, he blew up the munitions depot. He tricked some brothers into helping him; many died or got injured. Only he came out perfectly fine.”

Seeing Shen Yan’s disbelief, Fang Zheng’s fingers tightened around his beer can, crushing it with a crackling sound. He sighed:

“Well, before coming to this hellhole, we were all normal. Who could’ve seen this coming… Sigh.”

Fang Zheng’s mood settled again, and he kept drinking by himself.

Shen Yan asked a few more standard questions — about the base layout, personnel distribution, daily schedules, and so on.

By the time they finished, Fang Zheng was already drunk and half-conscious.

He slumped onto the ground, surrounded by a mess of empty bottles.

Warren nudged Shen Yan lightly with his shoulder. Staring at Fang Zheng, his eyes glinted viciously as he made a throat-slitting gesture with his thumb.

In a low voice, he asked, “Want me to silence him?”

Shen Yan pressed his hand down and gave him a pat, then stood up.

“No need.” Shen Yan didn’t bother cleaning up the mess. He turned and asked Warren, “Tired?”

Warren shook his head.

Shen Yan smiled. “Then let’s finish everything tonight. Let’s go.”

The base had a fixed monthly release quota: the top fifty workers in terms of hours could leave the base for a short rest trip to a nearby town.

It was a perfect chance to escape, but few ever actually tried. Most people didn’t even care about the opportunity.

After all, everyone here had hit rock bottom already. Even if they made it out, they had no ties, no money — they couldn’t even buy anything outside.

Seeing others live happily outside only made them want to die more.

Even so, the base maintained strict protocols: all departures and entries required ID scans and verification.

If someone was caught sneaking out or in, the base security would immediately dispatch a team to capture them.

Given the base’s semi-military nature, workers weren’t likely to access any top secrets. At worst, a captured escapee would get a few days in detention and heavier work assignments afterward — no severe punishment.

Especially someone like Shen Yan, a new laborer — they wouldn’t even lock him up for long.

At night, there were no patrols. To save resources, even the security bots were put into power-saving mode.

Shen Yan and Warren swaggered into the garage, stole a sand buggy, and drove straight to the main gate. They casually scanned their faces to leave.

There were cameras at the gate. Shen Yan made a show of pressing his hand to his ear, pretending to have an earpiece, and muttered: “Got it. We have the package. Delivering now.”

Warren drove while Shen Yan sat behind him, hugging his waist. Hearing Shen Yan’s muttering, he asked, confused: “What package? Delivering to who?”

“You’ll see soon,” Shen Yan replied mysteriously.

Warren drove fast, but the security team’s reaction was even faster. Within three minutes of Shen Yan’s exit, they were on their tail.

Warren’s blood was pumping as he sped through the sandstormed night. “Xiao Yan! Hold tight, I’m speeding up!” he yelled excitedly.

Shen Yan: “No need, slow down.” He paused and added: “When they catch us, just say I forced you. Say nothing else.”

Warren’s hot blood cooled instantly.

He didn’t understand why, but still obediently slowed the buggy.

Five minutes later, they were caught and sent to the base’s detention center.

A harsh light suddenly blasted into Shen Yan’s face.

He closed his eyes briefly.

A five-square-meter interrogation room, one table welded to the floor, fitted with handcuff-like restraints. Shen Yan was shackled there.

Red and blue wires snaked from the table corner into the cuffs.

Across from him, a bored, grumpy man yawned.

“Shen Yan, right? Fess up. Which faction sent you? What did you steal from us?”

He placed a palm-sized button on the table, crossed his legs, and pressed it.

An electric shock jolted through Shen Yan’s body.

The pain was sharp and piercing. Even after the current stopped, the strange, itchy soreness lingered in his veins and muscles.

Shen Yan curled up, trembling, but gritted his teeth to swallow any whimper.

The man didn’t intend to torture him seriously — just scare him into talking quickly.

Dragged out of bed to work overtime, he was annoyed too.

Shen Yan took a deep breath, adjusted his expression, and stalled for time. Looking dazed and desperate, he said: “Sir, I don’t know anything! I just woke up and— mmph—”

The man pressed the button again impatiently.

This time he held it down a second longer.

Usually, by now, most people would start crying and spill everything.

Shen Yan trembled under the shock. Veins stood out faintly under his skin. He rested his forehead on the table to steady himself.

When he looked up again, his face wore a new expression — fear, unwillingness, and a touch of panic at mission failure.

Seeing that, the man figured he was about to crack. He pulled out a terminal to record.

Shen Yan spoke in a heavy voice:

“My name is Xi Yangyang (Happy Goat).”

The man’s typing paused. He frowned. “What?”

Shen Yan: “Xi like ‘joy,’ Yang like ‘rise.’”

“Weird name.” The man wrote it down anyway. “Continue.”

“My parents hoped I’d bring happiness and prosperity to Yang Village.”

The man interrupted, checking the maps. “Yang Village? Which district?”

Shen Yan: “District 13, Lotus City. Originally called Raya Village, but everyone started raising sheep, so it became Yang (Sheep) Village.”

The man found the place on the map. Losing patience, he cut Shen Yan off: “District 13 has its own bases. Why come to District 11? Who sent you here? What were you after?”

Shen Yan, full of righteous fury: “It was all Grey Wolf’s fault! He said there’s a way to revive Pretty Sheep here! He tricked me and Furious Sheep into coming!”

The man: “…?”

The man twitched his mouth, staring at Shen Yan: “Do I look stupid to you?”

Realizing he was being messed with, the man pressed the button — hard — for three full seconds.

Veins bulged on Shen Yan’s forehead. He whimpered through gritted teeth, tears and cold sweat streaming down his face.

His vision blurred. The man’s voice seemed to echo from far away:

“The current’s strong. Three seconds is your limit as a natural human. If you continue— oh, Captain Blaze? Why are you here?”

“This suspect is under my jurisdiction now. You’re dismissed.”

“Uh…”

“Problem?”

“No problem!”

Shen Yan barely opened his eyes. Through the blurry haze, he saw the man hurriedly salute and leave.

His wrists were released.

Tilting his head back, he met the gaze of Blaze.

He smiled weakly. “I knew you’d come.”

Then everything went black, and he fainted.

Shen Yan guessed that Blaze had been promoted by Ruan Zhixian.

At least, Blaze had enough clout now to bail him out.

It was simple logic.

If Ruan Zhixian could send Blaze here and have people watch him, he must wield real power behind the scenes.

On his way here, Shen Yan dug up some info and confirmed Ruan Zhixian was indeed one of the capital backers of this place.

Blaze wasn’t trying to escape; he was causing enough trouble to meet Ruan Zhixian and get answers about his past.

Whether Blaze succeeded wasn’t Shen Yan’s concern.

What mattered was Blaze’s current status.

If he was still alive, he was likely no longer a grunt worker.

Shen Yan figured Blaze was now in the management or at least protected under a cushy title.

Kind of like how some people send their kids to work at their companies’ bottom rung “for experience” — but when the kid screws up, the bosses rush to bail them out and give them cushy jobs afterward.

Blaze probably had a similar setup.

The base’s “Emergency Guard Unit” seemed to be filled with untrained staff. That made Shen Yan even more certain.

So he dragged things out — and sure enough, Blaze showed up.

After mentally reviewing the entire plan, Shen Yan quietly warned himself: never gamble this recklessly again, even for efficiency’s sake.

He knew about interrogation techniques — but as a newcomer who hadn’t actually stolen anything, he figured they’d confirm through the surveillance footage that he was just a harmless weirdo.

A weirdo wasn’t a threat.

This place desperately needed labor, so they wouldn’t casually kill him.

They didn’t. But it still hurt like hell.

His muscles and joints still throbbed faintly with pain.

He stumbled out of bed, leaning against the wall, and slowly shuffled toward the bathroom.

There were two sets of toiletries inside.

Looking in the mirror, he saw himself — clean, a bit disheveled, but nothing like the dusty wreck he had been after fleeing across the desert.

Blaze had always been considerate.

His lips curled up.

He picked up a cup to brush his teeth. As he was about to wash his face, he sensed something and looked up.

He stuck out his tongue toward the mirror.

Inside the ring on his tongue, the number changed.

Now it showed a dangerous “1.”

(Stealing a kiss is a fine and civilized act.)