Pretend to be crazy

A naturally grown jade magnolia was placed in a white jade vase. Slender fingers brushed over the green-white gradient petals and leaves, gently tapping them.

Qi Cong casually flipped through reports from his subordinates. Seeing mentions of Shen Yan’s debauchery, extravagance, and bloodthirstiness to the point of public outrage, he sighed in mild exasperation.

This man truly was stupid—once he had wealth and power, he didn’t even bother to pretend. His true nature was exposed entirely.

He had never received proper education and wasn’t a good person to begin with. Because he had once stood in the rain, he now wanted to tear up everyone else’s umbrella, completely cutting ties with his past miserable self.

Qi Cong had seen far too many people like that. Boring.

Ruan Zhixian hasn’t killed him yet? What’s he waiting for?

He plucked a petal and held it to his nose, suddenly intrigued.

The thirteenth District was insignificant. Even if Shen Yan were mad enough to nuke the entire place flat, it wouldn’t matter—just a pile of lingering trash. Even if he wanted to wreak havoc on seventy or eighty more people, as someone from the first District, Qi Cong could afford it.

He had paid and pulled the strings.

It should be within reason to see what his little pet was up to.

Hearing from others about Shen Yan’s actions was growing tiresome. Now, Qi Cong wanted to see him go insane with his own eyes.

The surveillance installed by the church was easily hacked. Among the many cameras, Qi Cong finally located him.

He was surrounded by believers, seated on a lavish high-backed chair, with three seemingly intelligent large dogs at his feet. On the steps below stood six other saints, respectfully in line—including Ruan Zhixian.

Just as Qi Cong was about to see what Shen Yan would do, the screen abruptly turned black.

All the surveillance feeds switched to a video from a birthday party at Qi Cong’s home, where he had been slapped by a boy for trying to flirt.

Qi Cong: …

Ruan Zhixian really held grudges.

He had said not to get involved, and now he wasn’t even allowed to watch.

Fine.

He yanked off the flower’s petals, crumpled them, and tossed them aside.

This farce wouldn’t last much longer anyway.

Before Ruan Zhixian ran out of patience, Shen Yan would’ve already destroyed himself completely.

The saint registration ended. Unexpectedly, over 3,000 people signed up.

Far more than Shen Yan had anticipated.

He had thought his outrageous behavior and turning the church into a den of evil would scare people away—but clearly, there were still plenty willing to throw their hat in the ring.

So much so that Shen Yan had to revise his plan, changing the single match into three rounds.

Uncertain about the applicants’ situations, he didn’t set any lethal elimination rules.

The competition was merely to select people suitable to support Adlai and help him eventually become district governor.

Shen Yan wanted him to take office early.

In the original story, Adlai and Fang Luo colluded to exploit the church for profit. Their synergy made life a nightmare for Districts 2 through 12.

By then, Adlai had already become completely dark-hearted, driven only by greed, indifferent to others’ lives.

Fang Luo was the same.

But now, both of them were still kind, upright, and trustworthy.

To completely break free of Ruan Zhixian, Shen Yan needed more leverage.

They were his bargaining chips.

Shen Yan lowered his eyes, idly teasing a dog with a toy, and said offhandedly, “Laziness, arrogance. You two don’t need to participate in this round of saint selection—just maintain appearances.”

Li Wentuo smiled slightly and gave a small bow.

It seemed his efforts these past days weren’t in vain.

At least Shen Yan hadn’t sent him to die.

Shen Yan announced the rules for the final round in advance.

A battle royale. The new saints would hunt down the old saints. Whoever killed one would assume their position.

That title of “saint” could be taken at any time before the match ended.

Only when each seat had a single surviving saint would the competition end.

Those still fighting tooth and nail to enter the finals had no idea how sinister the true rules were.

Adlai slowly clenched his fist.

Shen Yan liked to show his face, and wave after wave had tried to assassinate him—but none had succeeded.

Gunshots to the head, bombs, acid…

He had died over twenty times, yet each time he reappeared alive, deepening people’s despair.

In the Thirteenth District, with enough money, even death was no longer a threat.

The public appearances were all mechanical replicas Shen Yan had mass-produced—disposable. As long as the real Shen Yan was alive, they would continue to act on his behalf.

The only solution was to kill his true body.

Before his failed attempt, Adlai could still be sure it was the real Shen Yan in front of him.

Now he wasn’t so sure.

Shen Yan had grown very cautious. Who knew where his true body was hidden. The difficulty had drastically increased.

What now?

The fact that he hadn’t flown into a rage and executed him on the spot—instead giving him good food and treatment—made Adlai’s chest tighten.

It was more humiliating than death.

Yet he couldn’t refuse. As long as he lived, there was still hope.

Soon, it was time for the final round.

During the prep phase, Shen Yan started a live broadcast and switched the camera to himself.

The bullet comments weren’t disabled. But despite 150,000 viewers, the chat was dead silent.

He tapped a few times, confirming it wasn’t just his internet lagging, then frowned in dissatisfaction. “The new saints will be born today—no one’s excited?”

A few robotic comments trickled in, then went silent again.

People were afraid.

Afraid he’d trace them through the network.

Especially since this wasn’t just any stream.

The Thirteenth District’s dark web had no shortage of bloody broadcasts, but they were always hidden behind paywalls or memberships. Like all criminals, they kept things quiet.

But Shen Yan had upended many of the rules. In just one month, the Thirteenth District’s unexpected death toll exceeded the past three months combined.

Most were his doing.

And he hadn’t suffered a single consequence. He hadn’t even faked going to prison.

User00341: “Monster in human skin.”
User00341: “Why don’t you just die?”

In the barren chat, finally a genuine comment.

Shen Yan slowly read the words aloud, then put on a rather aggrieved expression and sighed.

“If I died, the foolish would forever be lost in darkness. The divine child would never descend. That would be a loss not just to the Thirteenth District—but to the entire world.”

He tapped the person’s profile and transferred 100,000 credits. Then he smiled. “Your words weren’t kind, but at least they were honest. The gods have chosen to reward you.”

A blizzard of virtual gifts flooded the chat.

High rewards always bring brave souls.

Soon, more voices appeared in the comments.

Shen Yan lounged lazily in his seat and handed moderation controls to his staff, letting them randomly distribute money.

Then he glanced at the time, minimized the chat, and cut to the competition site.

The screen split into five feeds:

Adlai, Chen Yumu, Chen Yushui, Gluttony, and a roaming drone bouncing among forty new saints.

Two commentators were explaining the rules. Their voices were also transmitted into the contestants’ preparation rooms.

Their expressions grew solemn—but no one broke down.

These people had been screened; they were psychologically strong and not easily demoralized by a sudden spike in difficulty.

Five airships took them 1,000 meters into the sky. The drop zone was an uninhabited island owned by the Thirteenth District.

They would survive and battle there for seven full days.

The countdown hit zero. A sharp whistle blew.

As the airships dropped to 500 meters, the contestants jumped one after another, parachuting down like dumplings.

Shen Yan didn’t watch the rest of the stream.

He pretended to be indifferent and continued his lavish life, leaving Fang Luo in charge of the arena.

If needed, they could secretly give Adlai a little help—main goal: no one dies.

He could kill people, but he couldn’t do it recklessly.

After arriving in this world, Shen Yan had drastically lowered his moral baseline. Killing mutated monsters was fine. Killing hostile bad guys was also fine.

Now that he was a saint, that definition of “bad” had expanded greatly.

Strangely, watching people grovel at his feet, crying and begging for mercy—people he defined as bad—he didn’t feel guilty.

He didn’t wake at night haunted by restless spirits—he just drank too much water and needed to pee.

He slept like a log—out cold within ten minutes.

So much so that he spent an hour reflecting on himself:

What if I have antisocial personality disorder?

Incapable of empathy, emotionally numb. Only because he had grown up in a loving family, had he learned to imitate affection and treat others kindly.

Maybe it was all an act. Maybe he’d done it so long he even fooled himself.

He nearly spiraled, but forcibly pulled himself back.

He wasn’t a psycho.

He was only pretending to be, for survival.

Once he left this toxic environment, everything would go back to normal.

It’s fine.

Back at the temple with his bodyguards, he poured himself some juice.

The juice was ridiculously expensive—far beyond its actual value. Clearly a scam for rich idiots.

But since it tasted like Pulpy Orange, he’d bought plenty.

Knowing his luxurious lifestyle would only last about a month longer, he was about to call someone to go out and flaunt wealth when—knock knock.

Before he could say “come in,” the door unlocked with a beep. Ruan Zhixian walked in.

He seemed startled to see him, recoiling slightly, holding the doorknob but not stepping inside, peeking through the door.

“Uh… Saint, aren’t you going to watch the match?”

This guy was testing him again.

Ruan Zhixian seemed very worried about his personality or mindset changing—like he feared Shen Yan would become someone he didn’t like. Lately, he’d been checking in more often.

He didn’t pry much—he just always found excuses to stay near, as if the surveillance wasn’t enough.

Shen Yan beckoned him over and grabbed another glass, setting it across the table. He poured him a drink and said flatly, “Not watching. Boring.”

Ruan Zhixian sat across from him, still a little stiff. “Why?”

“You know how much that drink cost?” Shen Yan asked suddenly.

Ruan Zhixian shook his head.

“600,000 a bottle,” Shen Yan said, setting the glass down with a crisp clink. Lost in thought, he added, “Five years ago… no, even three months ago, I never imagined a sip of water could cost tens of thousands.”

Shen Yan looked at him seriously and said, “And I never imagined that, just by lifting a finger, so many people would rush over, begging me to kill them—Ruan Zhixian, do you understand this kind of life?”

It was the first time Shen Yan had said something like this.

Ruan Zhixian lowered his eyes and replied softly, “Why are you telling me this, brother?”:

“Don’t want to hear it?”

“I do.”

Shen Yan chuckled, took off the gemstone jewelry from his fingers and ears, placed them in his palm, and gently rolled them around. The jewels clinked against each other, creating a soft, delicate sound.

In a room so quiet that even breathing was faint, the noise was exceptionally clear.

“When I have insomnia, I listen to the sound of them rubbing against each other. The more I listen, the less I can sleep.”

Shen Yan set the priceless gems aside.
“This wealth that’s within arm’s reach could disappear at any time. Money given by others can be taken back just as easily, so I often feel anxious.”

“Ruan Zhixian, power is truly terrifying.”

“Once you get a taste of its sweetness, you’re hooked. Even in your dreams, you want to climb higher, to make everyone who dislikes you feel helpless and unable to do anything about it—to not be able to take you down.”

Ruan Zhixian: “I don’t get it.”

Shen Yan stared at him, the conversation shifting abruptly:
“What’s the biggest buzzkill when reading mystery novels?”

“…Spoilers?” Ruan Zhixian adjusted his grip on the cup.
“Is that why you don’t watch matches—because you already know the outcome?”

“Bingo.”

Shen Yan smiled as he poured more water for him.
“You’re smart. Try guessing a few more steps—guess what I’m planning, how about it?”

Ruan Zhixian donned his ‘honest man’ mask, replying plainly:
“Can’t guess.”

Shen Yan sighed, got up, walked behind him, and pressed down on the chair back—deliberately crafting the atmosphere of a classic villain about to monologue his grand scheme.

“Power, Ruan Zhixian—I want real power. The kind that no one can take away.”

Shen Yan didn’t hold back, sharing his plan with him.

After the Holy Son Selection, Adlai would confront him publicly with the support of Fang Luo, becoming a hero of the people through sheer charisma.

Coinciding with the district governor election, they’d push Adlai as a candidate and help him gain votes—then smugly proclaim that their hero was nothing more than a dog at his feet. Even as a governor, he wouldn’t be able to shake his power.

Enraged and rebellious, the people and the capital would propel him to victory.

And Shen Yan—the villain hated by all—would then be righteously taken down by the hero, completing the final step of god-making.

In the cyberpunk era, faking one’s death was laughably easy. There were countless ways he could survive and wake up.

“Adlai’s loyal to a fault. I’ve got dirt on him. As long as I want to, I can sip this delicious juice every day with no burden—make everyone crawl at my feet… What are you laughing at?”

Shen Yan was parched from talking and frowned when he saw Ruan Zhixian holding back a laugh.

Ruan Zhixian handed him the glass and turned to him, his grin softening his usually sharp features—he looked, oddly enough, like a cheerful college student.
“Your plan is flawless. Very impressive.”

Shen Yan squinted. “You don’t believe me?”

“I do. You’ve got big ambitions. Super bad guy material.”

Ruan Zhixian chuckled:
“You didn’t use the excuse of bombing an empty building to force the guard squad to investigate a terrorist organization that’s been free for years. You didn’t arrange the best medical team for this selection tournament, always on standby, always alert.”

“You’re selfish. All the people you killed were innocent, all good people.”

“Terrifying. Absolutely ruthless.”

Ruan Zhixian knew most of what Shen Yan had done.

And yet, he didn’t think he had turned evil.

He was still very interested in him.

Ruan Zhixian’s curiosity was always this full—and that wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

This guy was weird.

If he hated someone, he’d quietly have them killed.

If he liked someone too much, was too intrigued—they wouldn’t live long either.

This was supposed to be a vacation, yet Ruan Zhixian came along acting like a security camera, forcing Shen Yan to factor him into his plans.

Shen Yan huffed and drained the glass, placing it on top of Ruan Zhixian’s head.

Ruan Zhixian reached up for it, but Shen Yan batted his hand away and whispered by his ear:
“Don’t move.”

Ruan Zhixian, back to Shen Yan, obediently froze.

Shen Yan narrowed his eyes and stared at the back of his head for a few seconds, suppressing the urge to stab a knife into the point where his neck met his skull—kill the brain stem and turn him into a vegetable.

Instead, he gently blew a breath on the sensitive part of Ruan Zhixian’s neck.

A soft breeze slipped down his collar, startlingly cold.

Ruan Zhixian flinched. The glass on his head slipped, but he caught it just in time before it shattered.

Blushing, he looked at him.
“That glass was expensive.”

Ruan Zhixian slipped in and out of his “honest man” act as he pleased. When he wanted to creep someone out, he put it on. When it came to serious talk, he took it off—seamless and smooth.

Shen Yan, speechless, sat back down.
“Anything else? If not, you can leave.”

Ruan Zhixian stood, made a church-style internal salute, saw Shen Yan impatiently turn his head, and allowed a fleeting smile to appear before exiting.

Once outside, the vivid expressions he had shown inside vanished instantly.

He touched the back of his neck, thoughtful.

Seven days later, the Holy Son selection ended. Both inside and outside the arena, things proceeded just as Shen Yan had planned.

Sisters Chen Yushui and Chen Yumu—embodiments of anger and jealousy—displayed heartwarming sisterhood at a life-or-death moment.

The older sister was willing to die for the younger. The shy, protected younger sister became strong, took control, negotiated—and saved the day.

Gluttony, an orphan who grew up in trash heaps eating whatever he could find, had one simple dream: to never go hungry again.

He was Adlai’s first ally. After day two, the two were inseparable—one refined, one rough. Together, they gathered more companions, and somehow, miraculously, everyone survived.

Viewers clipped and shared footage of the competition—it had everything: family, friendship, exhilarating fights, and touching emotional moments.

The clips went viral even outside the Thirteenth District.

Amidst national attention, Adlai declared he would never bow to evil, and he would never forgive Shen Yan for his crimes in the Thirteenth District.

Adlai ran for office. Shen Yan canvassed for votes. The entire drama reached its climax.

The people were inflamed. Sensing the changing tide, hidden investors stepped out to support him.

On the day he won the election, he led thousands of elite guard squad members to surround the cathedral.

The place was deserted—even the electricity was cut. Without benefits, the church fell apart like scattered sand. The mysterious backer who enabled Shen Yan’s chaos seemed to lose interest in the show and withdrew.

Every squad member had bee-shaped drones recording the entire scene live. The cathedral’s extravagant interior was exposed to the public.

Viewers were riveted. The chat scrolled fast, too many people joined at once, and the stream even began to lag.

The final door opened—and when the audience saw what was inside, an eerie silence followed.

The holy marble statue stood intact. But the young man who once knelt at its feet in prayer was now unrecognizable—bloody and broken, lying in the center of the church.

Beside him, Li Wento—the man often at his side—held a bloodied axe, his entire body drenched in red.

He turned toward the noise, and upon recognizing the uniforms, he let out a visible sigh of relief.

He said nothing. Made way for them. The polite guards draped a blanket over him and carefully took the axe from his hands.

Adlai patted his shoulder, then turned back to the grisly scene.

Forensics swarmed in, comparing the body with existing records. The device beeped twice and turned green.

The forensics officer’s eyes widened in excitement.

“Reporting to the District Governor—this is the original body!”

Fang Luo’s breath caught. He fought to keep his composure.

He gave a small nod, staring at the severed head on the floor. He let out the faintest sigh.

A bit of a shame.

He didn’t expect such a hasty ending.

Meanwhile—

Faced with a gun, the Lotus gang leader pointed helplessly at an empty cloning chamber.

“He used up all his clones half a month ago.”

“You had a grudge with him or something?”

“Don’t worry, Shen Yan’s dead. Really, really dead.”