Everyone Is Non-Human Except Me [Rebirth] Chapter 114

With that, he said no more. Silently channeling his energy, Wei Huan began opening one teleportation barrier after another. They appeared in the spaces vacated by the retreating crowd, glowing blue like signals of salvation.

“Those willing to go, step in. If not, find another barrier.” With that, he descended back to the ground.

The refugees exchanged uneasy looks, staring at the escape portals within arm’s reach. Then, a voice emerged from the crowd: “I want to go.” A young man in his twenties squeezed through the crowd, pushing his way toward the barrier. But instead of stepping in right away, he turned to Wei Huan.

“Nine years ago, I was still in school in Qian City. One day, a group of demonic leopards attacked our campus. I still remember—it was the Shanhai University students who came to save us.” He smiled shyly at Wei Huan. “I think it was you. You had three blue marks on your face. Because of you, I wanted to come to Kunlun Void,” he scratched his head sheepishly. “You probably don’t remember.”

“Thank you. Even though it’s so late, I’m really glad I finally got to say it to you.” His eyes reddened. “I thought I’d never get the chance.”

Wei Huan’s nose tingled with emotion. He smiled and shook his head as he watched the bamboo demon step into the portal.

Then a well-dressed woman stepped forward. “I saw the news about you… I had doubts about it even then. Still… our whole family is very grateful to your parents.” She came over and hugged Wei Huan, smiling. “I even voted for your father back in the day.”

After letting go, she walked to the barrier, paused, and said a solemn thank you before stepping inside.

One by one.

From different corners of the stadium, those who had once been helped by him began to step forward. Only now did Wei Huan realize—not everyone had misunderstood him. There were still hearts in this world willing to believe in goodness.

The truth was, he no longer remembered their faces clearly. Their words weren’t enough to stir exact memories of past dangers. But as they stepped forward—some to speak delayed words of thanks, some simply to offer him a smile—it was enough to fill his heart with contentment.

At least everything he once gave hadn’t been in vain.

It was like a floodgate had opened. More and more people surged forward. Those who had been hesitating now scrambled to get through the barriers, their fear giving way once more to urgency.

“They were just cursing Brother Huanhuan a moment ago. Look how fast they run now,” Yang Ling grumbled, unwilling to let it go. “Not afraid anymore, huh?”

Yan Shanyue replied coolly, “People just choose to see what serves them best.”

Yang Sheng came from another end of the combat troops and walked over to Wei Huan. “I heard Su Buyu’s taken some of the combat division to Kunlun Void’s borders.”

Wei Huan frowned. “The border?”

“Yeah,” Yang Sheng nodded. “He’s Baize’s lapdog now. His actions are probably all under Baize’s orders. But didn’t you think it was odd just now? Your original body was inside his mermaid bead. Yongzhou suspected something, and Su Buyu kept trying to block him. But he could’ve just taken the bead and fled.”

“He did it on purpose—he wanted me to return to my body,” Wei Huan said.

Yang Sheng nodded. “But judging by his reaction, I don’t think he expected you to suddenly vanish like that. Maybe Baize instructed him to return the body in this roundabout way. Still… I don’t get it. Giving you back your original body just makes you stronger. Isn’t he making things harder for himself?”

Wei Huan shook his head. “No. Baize knows—only if I return to my original body can I inherit the Phoenix’s power.”

He was simply creating the conditions—for himself.

Wei Huan lowered his gaze and saw the mermaid bead on his chest glowing faintly blue in the sunlight.

With Kunlun Void still relatively stable for now, every capable demon was doing their best to help evacuate the refugees. But maintaining so many open teleportation barriers was exhausting for everyone. The government troops and Shanhai combat division were already near collapse. Only Wei Huan and his team remained, tirelessly opening portals one after another. The number of people crowding around them was the highest—no one cared about dignity in a crisis. They just feared the next quake would strike without warning.

A little boy was knocked to the ground. Wei Huan immediately flew down and helped him up. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” the boy answered obediently, bending down to pat the dirt off his pants. Suddenly, as if he spotted something, he pointed to the green field. “Big brother, there’s a pen under your foot.”

Wei Huan looked down. It was the fountain pen he had previously found in his study. “It’s okay.” He raised his head and used his spiritual power to open a small barrier in front of the boy. “Follow the others through this.” The boy nodded obediently and left through the small teleportation circle. Only then did Wei Huan bend down to pick up the pen.

The Nine Phoenix spirit lingering at his fingertips hadn’t dispersed. The moment he grasped the pen, a blue light flashed. Amid the bustling crowd, Wei Huan stood in a daze, staring at the pen. Yun Yongzhou flew over. “What is it?”

“A pen I found in my study. I think it belonged to my mom,” Wei Huan replied, examining the demon markings on it. “But… I seem to be able to sense it too.”

Yun Yongzhou looked down at the pen. “Sense what?”

“A barrier.”

His mother’s blood flowed in his veins; he had inherited her demon power. Wei Huan closed his eyes and gathered Nine Phoenix light in his palm. He gripped the pen tightly—and a faint cracking sound rang out, like something delicate breaking apart.

When he opened his eyes again, the pen was no longer glowing. It was an old-fashioned fountain pen with a seam in the middle. Twisting it open, he separated it into two halves—and sure enough, something had been hidden inside.

It was a piece of paper, tightly rolled, yellowed with age.

By now, only a few refugees remained. Thanks to everyone’s efforts, the evacuation was nearly complete. The field in the stadium was becoming empty. Only the rescue troops—exhausted but thorough—remained, double-checking the status of each section and staying ready to redeploy if needed.

“The principal came in person?”

“Seriously?”

Murmurs spread through the ranks of the Shanhai combat unit.

The giant screens were still broadcasting earthquake rescue coverage, but this time the focus had shifted to Baize. He had finally made a public appearance. Ironically, the same media outlets that had just slandered Wei Huan were now showering Baize with sycophantic praise, lauding his personal efforts in disaster relief.

Wei Huan had no interest in Baize’s pretense. He simply lowered his head and slowly unrolled the aged letter—finally bringing to light the memory buried in this pen.

He had a hunch about what he would find. But even with that mental preparation, his emotions still stirred uncontrollably when he read the contents. His hand gripped the paper tightly without him realizing.

[Little Shuang, happy birthday.]

He knew this handwriting all too well. During countless childhood days, it was this very person—owner of that elegant hand—who had guided his, teaching him to read and write in the book-filled study while his parents were away on long campaigns.

[If you’re reading this letter, it means you’ve opened the gift I gave you. Fifteen years have passed in the blink of an eye. As I write, I can still recall the first time I visited your home and met you. You were six. We slipped away from the adults to play in the garden. You created two versions of yourself and told me you had a twin sister. I actually believed you. I even held her hand to play hide-and-seek—but then she vanished with a poof and scared me half to death. I remember saying back then that I’d never believe anything you said again.

But you told me I was your best friend. And I’ve always believed it. We grew up together, supported each other through youth, and finally both got into Shanhai. You always thought you understood everything I did and thought, but you didn’t really know. To you, our past might’ve just been ordinary childhood memories—but to me, every moment was extraordinary. I have to admit, I was moved by your smile countless times.

This is our second year in Fuyou. I finally gathered the courage to tell you how I feel. Maybe this will bring us closer. Or maybe we’ll remain childhood friends forever. But writing this down lifts a weight from my heart. No matter the outcome, I’ll continue to protect you, just like always.

—Xiucheng]

Wei Huan gripped the letter tightly, his emotions in turmoil.

At last, he understood why Bai Xiucheng never married, and why he was willing to sacrifice his own bloodline for the power of the Phoenix. He also understood the ever-gentle look in Bai Xiucheng’s eyes—how it was never really directed at him.

Because it wasn’t him.

Yun Yongzhou had read the letter too and spoke solemnly, “Your mother never saw this.”

“Mhm.” Wei Huan returned the letter to the pen and smiled. “My mom’s the scatterbrained type. I figured—on her birthday, she must’ve received too many gifts and just stashed them all without noticing. Besides, the letter says ‘second year of enrollment.’ Back then…”

Wei Huan looked up at Yun Yongzhou and said with some irony, “You know, I’ve heard my parents’ love story so many times I could recite it. Every time my mom gets drunk, she grabs me and retells it over and over again.”

He paused, then slipped the pen into his pocket.

“She says she fell for my dad at first sight on the first day of school.”

Yun Yongzhou didn’t look surprised. “So whether she saw the letter or not, it wouldn’t have changed anything.”

The big screen was still playing footage of the Shanhai principal personally overseeing rescue efforts—Bai Xiucheng’s refined, scholarly face right there on display. Wei Huan glanced at it and let out a light laugh. “Feelings… really have no order or logic.”

“But,” Yang Ling, who had been listening silently, finally couldn’t help but speak up, “Even if the principal—ugh, even if Bai Xiucheng couldn’t be with Aunt Shuang in the end, that still doesn’t justify him harming Brother Huanhuan! If he really liked Aunt Shuang, shouldn’t he have protected Brother Huanhuan even more?”

And that—was what made Wei Huan saddest of all.

Because in the past, Bai Xiucheng had truly treated him like his own son. That care and teaching had been real. And yet now, he had to face the painful truth: that someone once so gentle, principled, and full of ideals had chosen to cast him aside and walk a path Wei Huan could never accept—one that repeatedly pushed him into danger.

Just as he was drowning in a flood of thoughts, Wei Huan suddenly felt something brush against his cheek—it was Yun Yongzhou lifting his hand to wipe off the blood smeared there.

“It’s not yours,” Yun Yongzhou said softly, with a trace of relief in his voice. “Let’s go.”

Wei Huan looked up, startled. “Go… go where?”

“To the Kunlun Void border,” Yun Yongzhou replied, looking at Wei Huan with an expression that said: Didn’t you want to go?

Wei Huan didn’t know when it started, but Yun Yongzhou had learned to read every emotion on his face with such clarity—it surprised him, but also brought a quiet joy. He had always known that no matter what happened, as long as it was something he wanted to do, Yun Yongzhou would stand by him without hesitation. But now it had gone further—without even needing to speak, Yun Yongzhou already understood his intent.

“Mm.” Wei Huan curved his lips into a faint smile.

Yang Sheng still looked uneasy. “No matter how you look at it, the fact remains—he killed you, and he tried to take your Phoenix power. If you go now, aren’t you just handing it over to him?”

Wei Huan shook his head and opened a portal to the Kunlun Void border. “The Phoenix power isn’t tied to my original body. Maybe Bai Xiucheng doesn’t know how to activate it, which is why he kept trying to get me killed. He probably thinks that dying once and being reborn would let him obtain it. Too bad I still don’t have it. I’m just Nine Phoenix for now.”

“And besides,” Wei Huan shrugged, “I can’t hide from him forever.”

Without hesitation, he stepped into the portal.

“I need to know… what all these years were really for.”

The last time Wei Huan had come to the Kunlun Void border was when his father had taught him to fly. He had been young then, first experiencing the world outside Kunlun Void, the height of the skies, and the destined mission of the Nine Phoenix clan.

Now that he returned, the place was completely changed.

What surprised Wei Huan was that there were more combat forces here than he expected. Some weren’t even wearing the usual grey uniforms of the combat corps, but the standard school uniforms of the Shanhai Four Institutes—they were likely auxiliary Groups like Jing Yun’s group. These students seemed to be transferring something, with spatial tools and spells being used everywhere.

Standing on the border, Wei Huan could finally see how devastated Kunlun Void’s city barrier had become.

“This barrier… it’s from the Phoenix, right?” Yan Shanyue looked at the nearly shattered red barrier, and the new layer of thick white mist enveloping it from the outside.

“You came.”

Wei Huan heard a voice behind him. He turned around and saw Bai Xiucheng floating in the sky, wearing the same kind and gentle expression he had always worn. “Seven years already. You’re still the same… still like a child.”

How laughable.

Bai Xiucheng stood on a cloud. A moment later, heavy mist began spreading from behind him, cutting them off from the Shanhai students below—like stepping into a new illusion. Behind Baize stood Su Buyu in full uniform, looking like a jade statue. But his once-warm grey-green eyes had turned into icy beads.

Wei Huan’s gaze fell on Su Buyu. Bai Xiucheng chuckled. “Surprised? Think back. When I first saw Buyu at school, I never imagined he’d become so decisive in battle. If not for the provocation you gave him, I might not have lived to see this day.”

Wei Huan’s eyes turned cold. He raised his right hand, and a long, slender wind blade formed in his grasp.

“I only have one question.”

He flapped his wings and flew directly to Bai Xiucheng. “Were you involved in my parents’ deaths?”

The smile on Bai Xiucheng’s face faded slightly. “At this point, there’s no point hiding it.” As he spoke, he casually waved his hand—and a feather appeared in midair.

Wei Huan froze where he stood, a chill running down his spine. Even the hand gripping his wind blade stiffened.

It wasn’t just him—Yun Yongzhou also knew what it was. The feather floated lightly before Wei Huan, glowing with a faint blue demon light.

“You remember this, don’t you? This is your Nine Phoenix feather. The one and only feather that belongs to you.”

Wei Huan stared at the feather, eyes reddening. His gaze finally landed on Su Buyu. He clutched the feather tightly and asked through gritted teeth, “Why… is it in your hands?”

“It was actually a coincidence,” Bai Xiucheng began calmly. “Back then, your father was highly respected in the demon domain government. I wanted to use that to form a partnership with the Nine Phoenix clan and build a better future for the demon domain. The Golden Crow were hopeless. But unfortunately, your father lacked ambition. He gave up a position that was practically his for the taking—and cut off my path. I was furious and discussed with spies from Fanzhou—why not just have him killed during the expedition?”

He spoke lightly, as if it were just reminiscing, not talking about murder.

“As it happened, Buyu came to me right then, holding yet another petition he had written. He wanted to apply for transfer to frontline combat.” As he said this, Bai Xiucheng looked at Su Buyu with a fond smile. “But he couldn’t handle it. When he overheard what I said, he panicked and fled.”

Bai Xiucheng’s eyes turned back to the Nine Phoenix feather in Wei Huan’s hand. “But he left this behind—a Nine Phoenix feather carrying half-mermaid scent.”

Wei Huan couldn’t believe a word of it. He clutched his domain tighter and stared dead at Su Buyu. “Buyu… is it true?”

He waited, but Su Buyu said nothing. And it seemed he didn’t intend to. Baize continued, “Later, I found him. He was terrified. He begged me not to kill him—and begged me not to tell you.”

Su Buyu didn’t react anymore. He looked like a machine completely under control, standing there silently, the light gone from his eyes.

So this was why, all these years, he had remained under Baize’s thumb. Because back then, he had accidentally discovered the conspiracy but didn’t have the courage to tell Wei Huan. He had cowardly kept it to himself, staying by Wei Huan’s side in silence—watching him grieve his parents, comforting him, but never daring to speak the truth.

The longer time passed, the deeper that cowardice took root.

He had long since missed the best time to confess. Now that Bai Xiucheng had exposed him publicly, he felt, ironically, somewhat relieved.

“A mere half-demon—his death at Kunlun Void wouldn’t have meant anything. But I spared his life, not for anything else, but because I knew killing him would break your heart. Even if I just kept him as a pet by my side, it wouldn’t have cost me anything.” Bai Xiucheng smiled as he said this, but the more he smiled, the more distorted his expression became.

“You probably won’t believe me, but at the time, I really did feel sorry for you, Little Huan.”

Wei Huan sneered, “So that’s why you killed my father?”

“Did he deserve better?” Bai Xiucheng shook his head. “You never understood my intentions. You were born with extraordinary talent, destined from birth to stand where others could never reach. But he let you waste your days in idleness, treating you like some mediocre commoner, squandering the gifts you inherited from your mother. For that alone, he didn’t deserve to be your father.”

Only now did Wei Huan begin to grasp what kind of twisted emotions Bai Xiucheng had always harbored toward him.

“He was never worthy of standing beside you and your mother!”

“And who are you to decide that?” Wei Huan shot back. “What right do you have? He saw you as a friend till the very end. Did you know my mother rushed onto the battlefield while still injured just to save him? And because of that, you indirectly killed her too!”

Bai Xiucheng’s face twisted in forced restraint. “She lied to me. She said she would rest and heal properly. I stayed by her hospital bed for a full day and night, watched her eat, fall asleep—only to realize I had been guarding a decoy.” He let out a laugh. “I never thought things would turn out this way. If it weren’t for you, and Shanhai, I might’ve followed her long ago.”

Hearing this confession, Wei Huan only felt sickened. He muttered in disbelief, “Me…”

“I treated you like my own son. I gave everything I had to teach you, hoping you could become the next Phoenix!”

“And so what?” Wei Huan raised his eyes, voice sharp. “Just because of your so-called expectations, you think you can toss me into a border canyon, watch me tortured and framed, treat me like your puppet?”

Bai Xiucheng suddenly grew agitated, cutting him off mid-sentence. “To achieve great things, one must endure pains others cannot!” He tried to calm himself. “Besides, I never meant for you to bear it alone. I already had a plan—”

“Don’t.” Wei Huan, head lowered, interrupted him. He suddenly crushed the wind sword in his hand, and the shards of blue crystal transformed instantly into countless wind blades, sweeping toward Bai Xiucheng.

“You’re the one who’s truly unworthy.”