Pretend to be crazy

Shen Yan’s foot was pressing down on Ruan Zhixian’s most vulnerable spot. The man’s face was flushed with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, brother, I just… I just…” Ruan Zhixian closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and murmured, “Brother, I… I can’t hold back anymore.”

Shen Yan: …

Shen Yan immediately took three steps back.

Ruan Zhixian scrambled up in a panic and dashed into the bathroom.

The sound of running water echoed through the room.

Shen Yan rubbed the sole of his foot against the blanket-covered floor with deliberate force, clicking his tongue in irritation.

Even after all that provocation, Ruan Zhixian still kept up his act. Clearly, he had no intention of shedding his disguise.

The way he walked from the corner to the bathroom—those few steps alone—was Oscar-worthy. Anyone watching would never guess that, aside from their looks, he had any connection to the real Ruan Zhixian.

Shen Yan lightly pressed his teeth against the metal ring on his tongue.

The people in this cult knew him as Shen Yan because they had special archival access. By comparing his iris and fingerprints, they could retrieve all his related information.

Originally, he had “died” on the ship. Later, Ruan Zhixian gave him a new identity—also named Shen Yan.

Handling things online wasn’t difficult for Ruan Zhixian, yet he hadn’t even bothered to change his own name. Instead, he walked straight into the cult using his real identity.

That alone was enough to send a clear message—directly to Shen Yan.

He was Ruan Zhixian, but he could also not be.

All he wanted was to watch. He wouldn’t interfere with his actions.

So, Ruan Zhixian had become so curious about him that he was willing to put the Paradise Island plan on hold just to sneak into the cult and play the role of a meek little follower?

Fine.

Then let him watch.

Shen Yan strolled over to the bathroom door and knocked twice.

“Hey, sorry about that, friend. My second personality slipped out for a moment. You doing okay?”

The water stopped running.

The bathroom door suddenly swung open, and a wave of icy mist poured out.

Ruan Zhixian’s lips were pressed tightly together. His face and ears were still flushed red. He stole a quick glance at Shen Yan, then lowered his gaze and mumbled, “I’m fine.”

After a brief pause, he added in a whisper, “I’m the one who’s not normal. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Shen Yan said casually. “At least you have some self-awareness. My dead brother—now he was a real freak. He—”

He slung an arm around Ruan Zhixian’s shoulders, ready to start spreading some slander, when two priests entered the room.

The priest standing at the front frowned in displeasure at him.

Shen Yan immediately wiped the teasing smile off his face—one that should never appear on a Holy Son—and took two dignified steps to the side, putting some distance between himself and Ruan Zhixian.

The priest’s icy gaze swept over Ruan Zhixian. He snorted in disdain before roughly pulling Shen Yan over to his side. Then, he jerked his chin toward the other priest. “Sloane, take him away. I need to change the Holy Son’s clothes.”

The other priest had blond hair and green eyes. His temperament was eerily similar to the “obedient version” of Ruan Zhixian. Yet, even when treated so coldly, he remained unbothered, offering only a mild smile as he led Ruan Zhixian back to the banquet.

With a loud bang, the door shut behind them.

The priest who had stayed behind slowly shifted his gaze to Shen Yan.

“The Holy Son must remain pure. God will only forgive your indulgence and impurity for five days. Why would you…”

Before he could finish, Shen Yan’s eyes welled up with tears.

The priest fell into stunned silence.

Shen Yan started furiously wiping his right arm—the one that had draped over Ruan Zhixian’s shoulders. His voice was choked with emotion. “Father, what should I do? I was tempted by the devil inside me! I actually dared to commit such an impure act—oh my god! I have sinned!”

The priest: “You…”

“Should I cut it off? This sinful arm doesn’t deserve to stay attached to my body. Father, shall we go to the holy hall? I swear I won’t make a sound. I’ll endure it in front of God—I’m willing to cut off this wicked arm!”

The priest: “That’s a bit…”

Shen Yan clutched his face, sank weakly to his knees, hunched over, and let out a hopeless, muffled sob. “Father, I am in such agony… Please, guide me.”

The priest: “…”

His jaw tensed, but he quickly regained his composure. He helped Shen Yan up and gently reassured him, “You are devout enough. God will forgive you. The banquet is not yet over—put on your clothes, and I will take you back.”

Shen Yan nodded, eyes still glistening with tears. He changed quickly and returned to the banquet hall.

The hallway leading back was marked by pits and craters, corroded by some kind of slime. A few servants were cleaning up the mess, their faces a mix of fear and excitement.

They were probably recent recruits—ordinary people with little understanding of biological modification.

As Shen Yan and the priest passed by, the workers all paused, bowing respectfully. They only resumed their task once the two had walked away.

The banquet hall was in complete disarray.

The once pristine floor was now marred by several gaping holes. A chandelier had fallen from the ceiling, shattering near the long dining table.

Cool Sister had a new priest standing behind her now. Half of her body was splattered with dried blood.

Her face was pale, her pupils trembling—she had clearly yet to recover from the shock.

The stained chairs had already been replaced.

Seven people sat around the long table, now split cleanly in half. The atmosphere was eerily silent.

And yet, the Holy Banquet continued.

According to protocol, after the meal, the seven Holy Sons and the congregation’s godfather were supposed to kneel before the leader, offer prayers to their deity in gratitude for the feast, and finally, drip their own blood into the sacred cup filled with holy water.

That would mark the end of the First Holy Communion.

From that point on, they would no longer be restricted. They could either stay in the sacred hall to receive further teachings and serve God until Judgment Day, or they could go out and spread divine blessings to the congregation.

But now, the banquet table was destroyed, the food reduced to an unrecognizable mess, and no one could continue eating.

It was time to move on to the next step—yet the leader was nowhere to be seen.

Fear gripped the attendees, leaving them frozen, too afraid to question the delay.

Then, in the deafening silence, a voice—calm and rich with warmth—broke through.

“My children, why are you so quiet?”

Everyone turned.

Through the doors, now corroded beyond recognition, a man stepped into view.

His attire was simple—far plainer than even the priests’. A white shirt, loose black pants. No unnecessary accessories. His aura was tranquil and composed. A soft smile graced his lips as he gently pushed the doors open.

He walked unhurriedly across the wreckage.

When he passed by Shen Yan, he lingered for a brief moment before finally settling into the ornate chair at the head of the room.

His posture was relaxed—almost boneless—as he slouched against the chair, one leg crossed over the other.

“Continue,” he said softly.

Servants entered in orderly fashion, each carrying a small cup, heads bowed in reverence as they stood beside the Holy Sons.

Shen Yan thought, Another damn B-King has entered the stage.

Only the Pope could sit in that seat.

But his voice was young—completely different from the one Shen Yan had heard inside the coffin, the one that had ordered him to be sent to the sacred hall.

He watched as his own blood was drawn, following the servant’s movements with his gaze—until his eyes met the Pope’s.

The Pope was watching him, too.

Their gazes locked.

The Pope’s smile deepened.

When the servant presented Shen Yan’s blood to him, the Pope didn’t immediately pour it into the sacred cup.

Instead, he swirled the cup gently, sighed, and murmured, “Only a pure believer can have such pure blood.”

“You are exceptional, Shen Yan.”

Shen Yan’s heart skipped a beat.

He pressed his lips together, feigned happiness with a nod, and quickly looked away.

Fortunately, the rest of the ceremony proceeded smoothly.

The unsettling, almost otherworldly Pope did nothing out of the ordinary.

The Holy Sons completed the ritual with trembling nerves and left with the priests.

Back in his quarters, Shen Yan bathed again.

Soaking in the steaming tub, he let out a long breath of relief.

He sank down, leaving only half his head above the water.

Blowing a few bubbles, he took a deep breath and let himself sink completely beneath the surface.

The slightly long strands of hair floated like seaweed on the water’s surface. After a dozen seconds, Shen Yan broke through the water, the droplets trembling on his eyelashes before rolling down as he blinked.

He repeated this several times.

Playing until the water cooled, he got up, casually wiped the shimmering droplets off his body, dried his hair, and lay down on the bed.

Half-asleep, he heard someone calling his name.

His eyes wouldn’t open, and he tried to swat away the annoying voice like a fly, but even his fingers couldn’t lift.

The voice continued, calling his name while placing something in his mouth—like candy, but slightly hard.

It had no taste but melted quickly.

When he tried to push it out with his tongue, it had already mostly dissolved—one part swallowed down his throat, another slipping from the corner of his lips.

A shadowy figure gently wiped his lips, then pressed down slightly on them.

Shen Yan had been somewhat conscious, but now his mind blurred entirely.

“Shen Yan, you are God’s favored child.”

“God has come to bless you.”

“Open yourself completely, without hiding.”

“God loves you very much.”

The man’s voice was wrapped in mist, indistinct, the only thing real being the sensation on his body.

A pair of hands traced from his lips downward—past his neck, collarbone, and chest—until they reached his most vulnerable place.

They held him.

A sudden quickening pace made Shen Yan let out a muffled groan, his breathing growing erratic.

He could feel every inch of his body’s reactions, but he couldn’t process their meaning.

Finally, reason slipped away, and he fell asleep.

Damn.

Upon waking, he clutched his sore lower abdomen, nearly stumbling when he got out of bed because of weak legs.

A priest was sitting by his bed, watching him for an unknown amount of time. Seeing Shen Yan in this state, his expression turned complicated as he helped him up.

“God has blessed you.”

“God is pleased.”

“God has planted within you a precious child. From now on, you must remain in the holy temple until the child is born. You are not allowed to leave.”

Shen Yan almost broke character. Once seated back on the bed, he immediately lifted his nightgown to inspect his body.

There were no marks. Even the faint red scratches from Falson had faded—his skin was completely clean.

He stared blankly at the priest, confused. “A child? Father, I don’t understand.”

The priest did not intend to explain, merely patting his head gently. “In just three months, the new god will descend. You need only wait.”

Shen Yan pressed his lips together and met the priest’s gaze, his eyes turning red.

The priest assumed he was struggling to accept the truth and was about to offer comfort, but then Shen Yan covered his face and, in an emotional voice, declared:

“I am able to bear a child for God.”

“How fortunate I am.”

The priest’s outstretched hand froze midair.

Ultimately, he chose not to offer further reassurance. After silently watching Shen Yan for a moment, he turned and left.

This mission to eradicate the cult was proving immensely difficult.

As the captain of the Holy Order’s Thirteenth District’s Third Unit, Fang Luo deeply understood the psychological damage this cult inflicted on people. He made a firm resolution—he must complete the mission within three months.

When Shen Yan first arrived at the cult, he still had a facade and a resistance mindset. Fang Luo originally planned to develop him into an informant for the operation.

But now…

Walking out the door, he sighed.

Had he been too aggressive in this mission? Had he truly converted the man into a devout believer?

Once the mission was over, he would personally pay for the best psychologist for Shen Yan.

If they managed to survive until then.

At the same time.

“Mr. Qi, the genetic comparison results are out.”

Dressed in a white shirt and black trousers, Qi Cong idly played with a crystal ornament in his hand. The skull design refracted different colored lights as he casually glanced over. “And?”

“The match rate is 80%.”

Qi Cong finally showed some interest, taking the report to read.

In the top-left corner was Shen Yan’s photo. The first page contained his basic information, but Qi Cong skipped directly to the next. The more he read, the brighter his eyes became.

—Rejection levels maintained below 20%, survival conditions surpassing all recorded data, highly suitable as a host.

He knew it.

Why else would Ruan Zhixian leave District One without reason? Turns out, he had found a more suitable host.

They had been searching for a viable host for over ten years without success, delaying biological experiments indefinitely.

So many people, yet always just short of the right conditions.

Their project was too covert to be publicly revealed—it was like searching for a needle in a haystack.

An 80% match rate was already exceptional compared to the typical 50%.

There was no need to waste time. The test subject should be retrieved immediately—why was Ruan Zhixian still playing around?

Then again, that was just how he was.

Even back in District One, he was different from the rest—always insisting on doing things in his own unique way.

Qi Cong had been bored in District One, initially setting up the church just for fun. He never expected that the person Ruan Zhixian had taken an interest in would end up in his hands.

A fateful coincidence.

How interesting.

He also wanted to play.

Placing the report on the table, he continued, “Keep monitoring the test subject’s physical and mental state.”

“Understood.”

The black-clad subordinate retreated.

Qi Cong propped his legs up on the desk, lost in thought.

Then, as if recalling something amusing, he suddenly smirked.

Dropping his feet back to the floor, he walked into his room to change into a more stylish outfit, sprayed on some cologne, and tousled his hair.

After scrutinizing his reflection and ensuring he outshone Ruan Zhixian’s current disguise, he finally pushed open the door and strode toward the holy temple where Shen Yan resided.