Pretend to be crazy

The Holy Son of Divine descent—Shen Yan, Lust—was a lunatic.

After the “Silver Party” scandal blew up, not only did he refuse to hold a press conference or issue a public apology, nor did he just lay low waiting for the storm to pass—he went the exact opposite direction.

He sent his followers, dressed in black robes and white garments, directly to the homes of people who opposed or criticized him, loudly preaching on their doorsteps.

“Preaching.”

It sounded gentle. Peaceful.

But it was only peaceful in name.

Just one look at the people he sent was enough to know—this wasn’t missionary work; it was a show of force.

What were the odds of a religious sect being made up entirely of tall, muscular men and women—well over 6’2”, fierce-looking, and highly trained?

Low. Very low.

Many residents saw them break into homes, dragging bloodied civilians out like trash and tossing them into garbage trucks.

One brave soul secretly filmed a clip of this and uploaded it under an anonymous account from within the same neighborhood.

That account was deactivated the very next day.

Panic spread.

District 13 was always a mess—crime was high, and people died on the streets every day.

After 9PM, unless you were confident in your strength or had serious local clout, you simply did not go out alone.

But all that crime still hid under the cover of darkness.

No one had ever been this brazen.

The last time something caused such a stir across district 13 was when the son of Boss Lianzi stirred up trouble online.

Even he ended up apologizing publicly, begging for forgiveness on his knees. Despite being under heavy protection afterward, he still died horribly on the streets—eyes wide open, unwilling.

If Boss Lianzi’s son couldn’t survive… how could a mere “Holy Son” of some club possibly expect to?

No matter how powerful he was, after threatening the interests of others in district Zone 13, living a peaceful life was basically impossible.

When would he die?

No one knew.

But soon. Very soon.

Tons of people were furious over the leaked video. And even if the general public didn’t know who would retaliate, one person absolutely wouldn’t let it go:

The district Zone 13 Governor, who was about to run for re-election.

Public attention toward Divine descent peaked after Shen Yan posted a “casual daily vlog.”

The video began with a shot of a massive stained-glass window. Behind it stood a black-cloth-draped statue—just barely visible in silhouette.

Beneath the statue stood a man.

He wore elaborate ceremonial robes—pure white, embroidered with gold thread and inlaid with jewels. As sunlight filtered through the colored glass, the outfit glowed.

He shone so brightly that when viewers saw the video, the first thing they noticed wasn’t the statue—it was him.

The camera slowly zoomed in. Then, it switched angles.

Shen Yan’s face appeared, painted with strange white markings—lines extending from beneath his eyes down to his jaw, looking like tears.

His eyes were closed, lips murmuring incantations.

After a few minutes, he slowly opened his eyes—deep amber in color.

He didn’t look at the camera. Instead, he walked straight to the statue and yanked the black cloth away.

The camera zoomed out again.

A sacred marble statue stood tall in the empty cathedral. Its eyes were closed in serenity, hands gently touching its flat stomach. Its expression—tender, sorrowful, divine.

The whole internet stared and collectively said:

“WHAT THE HELL.”

“Who the hell is narcissistic enough to make a statue of themselves this huge?”

But that was just the beginning of the weirdness.

The solemn cathedral cut to a sunny outdoor scene.

A grassy field. People playing soccer. Running hard.

Cut again—Shen Yan, dressed more casually, faced the camera.

“This is one of our church activities. Our god loves seeing us healthy and lively, so we host one of these every month.”

The camera panned back to the soccer field. This time, it was clear he was the one filming.

He sat far away. The people on the field were little moving dots.

Blue team scored.

A faint “ding.”

Then—one of the red team’s players exploded, blood misting the green field.

No sound. Just silence. Utterly bone-chilling.

That young, pleasant voice reappeared.

“A pity. God doesn’t like useless people.”

The game paused for a moment, then resumed with new players.

Red team scored next.

Another red team member died.

“His superb football skills caught even God’s attention.”

“God says he’d like to meet him. Such an honor—it makes one envious.”

Shen Yan turned the camera back on himself. His expression, soft:

“Besides healthy soccer matches, we also have exciting basketball games, martial arts tournaments, and many more events.”

“Everyone in Divine descent finds their own happiness.”

The scene changed again.

Shen Yan and his massive, black-robed followers were now “preaching” door to door.

His followers kicked in doors and dragged terrified people in front of him.

They forced them to their knees.

Some cursed and struggled. Some trembled violently. Some, putting on a brave face, apologized and begged him to spare their lives.

Regardless of their response, the video cut awkwardly—

Next second: each of those desperate individuals now sat calmly, their faces close to the camera.

No visible injuries. No signs of coercion.

Just gentle smiles.

“May the true god bless you. Eternal joy to all.”

This part went on for five full minutes.

At this point, many viewers had to back out and take a break before continuing. The creepy, cult-like tone was too overwhelming.

As the video neared its end, Shen Yan shifted the focus.

He now turned the camera toward the other Holy Sons who had arrived with him, introducing them like exotic pets.

It was clear—most of them didn’t want to be there. Except for a few, the others’ eyes were filled with unease and alertness.

One stood out.

A blonde-haired, blue-eyed young man named Adlai.

He resisted hard.

At first, he went along with it as Shen Yan asked him to introduce himself.

Then—he suddenly lunged.

A flash of silver. The knife in his hand gleamed coldly.

His expression was resolute, his movement fluid—like a hero charging toward certain death for his ideals.

The shot lasted only one frame, but for netizens who analyzed everything under a microscope, it was enough.

They dug up his identity:

A district 7 Guardian Force officer, honored many times during his service.

His parents were originally from district 13 but moved to district 10 to run a small restaurant. A year after his birth, his father was murdered. A decade later, his mother died under suspicious circumstances.

Adlai had just turned seventeen when he lost both of his parents, yet he remained self-reliant and strong.

He didn’t rely on loans to cover his expensive university tuition. According to his roommates, he rarely appeared in the dorms during school. His daily sleep was limited to three to five hours, and aside from proper academic work, he spent every waking moment working various jobs to earn money, never wasting a second.

Kind, brave, righteous…

He fit the public’s ideal image of a hero perfectly.

After learning about his background, netizens who dared not criticize Shen Yan directly turned their focus to this brave young man, who had unwittingly been dragged into a senseless calamity.

The footage involving him ended abruptly—unlike the other Saints, who at least ended their segments with “Ana,” Adlai didn’t appear again. Many speculated he had likely met a tragic end at the hands of Shen Yan, the cruel villain.

A week after the Vlog was released, Shen Yan posted a new announcement, seemingly confirming everyone’s worst fears:

【Saint disqualified. The Divine Descent has decided to select a new individual to become a Saint. To better serve the divine, the Saint Selection will begin on the last day of this month. Registration for candidates will open in three days. Please log in to the website to apply.】

【Blessed by the true god, eternal bliss.】

【Ana.】

Thick layers of soft silk draped the floor. Next to a luxurious leather sofa knelt several unattractive men.

They held silver trays in both hands, each carrying seasonal fruits, various desserts, and snacks.

Shen Yan didn’t even need to speak. With just a movement of his finger, these criminals—carefully trained by Fang Luo—would immediately switch positions to let him easily pick whatever he wanted.

He chewed a piece of jerky slowly while surfing high-speed on several obscure yet decently secure websites.

“So no one’s gonna do anything about District 13? I’m thinking of running, anyone wanna come with?”

“Serious discussion: who’s really behind the Divine Descent?”

“Anyone from the Anzhi housing block? He came by our area recently—killed six people. It was terrifying…”

“Rumor has it Adlai is still alive. They say he escaped.”

Shen Yan, now very practiced, left replies all over various threads criticizing him.

After being flamed to hell and back, he slammed his freshly bought terminal against the floor, smashing it.

After the outburst, he slumped onto the sofa, covering his face as if in grief.

But everything was going according to plan.

At present, the online community was split into three camps.

One group consisted of ordinary netizens who feared and hated him, but felt sympathy for Adlai.

Another still tried to salvage Shen Yan’s public image—agents from District One, trying to muddy the waters, but immediately getting attacked and accused of being hired trolls.

The third group came from District 13—powerful figures whom Shen Yan had directly offended.

In two weeks, District 13 would elect a new governor. Affairs in District One were their own business—other districts rarely interfered with such elections. So the decision rested entirely with District 13.

The current governor was a puppet propped up by major corporations—useful as a weapon when they couldn’t act openly.

But now Shen Yan had pissed off all those corporations. With Qi Cong holding them back from acting directly, their only choice was to have the governor take him down—if the governor still wanted to keep his seat.

Over the past few days, he had already survived multiple assassination attempts. The church headquarters had to install costly security systems, and a dozen high-level barriers were now set up around his living quarters to protect his life.

He had nearly no privacy. Even during showers, guards had to be stationed outside.

It was restrictive.

But that wasn’t the main issue.

Beside the sofa, a one-eyed man’s arm began to shake from holding the tray too long. The silver tray tilted, and the neatly stacked grapes tumbled to the floor.

Shen Yan glanced over coldly.

The man shuddered, then collapsed and sobbed uncontrollably, rambling incoherently:

“Please, I truly know I was wrong! Ana, Ana, Saint—please, I beg you, no—!”

Without a word, Shen Yan tapped on his terminal.

The man screamed in agony, rolling on the ground while clutching his chest and cursing.

The others holding trays didn’t even flinch. Even if bumped, they quickly adjusted their posture, not daring to move a muscle.

Soon, the man went quiet. Shen Yan clicked his tongue and waved a hand.

Silently, the others placed their trays on the table, then worked together to drag the unconscious man out.

As the last one exited and shut the door, Shen Yan tapped his terminal again.

Despite the room’s good soundproofing, faint screams and shouting could still be heard.

Unfazed, Shen Yan even smiled, seemingly proud of his absolute control over life and death.

Soon, another group was ushered in.

Watching their trembling expressions, he sighed inwardly.

He wasn’t a sadist.

But once the surveillance was installed, everything he did became Ruan Zhixian’s eyes.

He had to keep acting—every moment of every day.

Lustful. Greedy. Bloodthirsty and cruel. Unpredictable…

He had to act so well that Ruan Zhixian couldn’t tell the difference.

Couldn’t tell whether he was just playing the game—or if, under that pretense, he had lost his morals and revealed his true nature.

Because Ruan Zhixian hated evil without boundaries, and villains without reason.