Everyone Is Non-Human Except Me [Rebirth] Chapter 117

After Kunlun Void returned to its original place, the entire city threw itself into rebuilding.

Collapsed buildings were cleared and repaired one by one, volunteers filled the streets, and citizens temporarily relocated to other cities returned to help with reconstruction. The government troops set up new barriers along every street and detained all the monsters who had participated in the previous demonstrations. The swift government response and action earned the new prime minister much trust and support from the public—people were willing to give them a little more time.

The new government also took the initiative to extend peace talks to Fanzhou, which had overthrown the puppet faction, and signed a peace treaty. The Rebels’ approval rating in Fanzhou reached an all-time high, but Yun Yongzhou never intended to become any sort of ruler. Having long been used as a tool of power, he had grown to despise ambition. He had done what needed to be done—his mission was complete.

“You’re looking for me?” Qing He looked at Yun Yongzhou’s back. He was wearing the black cloak emblazoned with the Rebels insignia.

Yun Yongzhou turned around, took off the cloak, and handed it to Qing He.

Qing He looked puzzled, eyes on the outstretched cloak.

“What are you doing?”

“Handing over Yu Sheng to you.”

Qing He was stunned, accepting the cloak. He looked into Yun Yongzhou’s eyes.

“To me?”

“From the moment I learned who you really were, I was already planning for today.” Yun Yongzhou was unnervingly calm, as if this underground empire he had built with his own hands had nothing to do with him anymore.

“Are you… are you sure you want to give this to me?”

But… why me?

Yun Yongzhou didn’t answer. He left in silence. He had spent years grooming Qing He—for this moment of handover.

Back in their new home in Fanzhou, Tianfa stood at a distance. Still not fully recovered, he was uncertain and could only watch Qing He from afar. Qing He walked over with a thoughtful expression and embraced him.

“From now on, I’ll protect you,” Qing He said with a smile, holding the note he found tucked inside the cloak.

“Because you can lead the Rebels from darkness into light.”

The note dissolved into light in an instant.

“Okay.”

Whether it was a blessing or a burden, a group of shameless reporters’ drones had lingered around the city’s borders and captured the most dangerous ten minutes of Kunlun Void’s fall. With the internet fanning the flames, Wei Huan once again became the center of public attention. Only this time, he was no longer scorned as a traitor, but hailed as a hero. People online praised the merits of Nine Phoenix, calling him the phoenix of this generation—someone who truly embodied the spirit of Shanhai.

He should be the principal of Shanhai.

He’s the savior of this city.

Shanhai is our most important university—only a hero like this deserves to lead it.

These lofty titles and praises flooded in from every direction. But Wei Huan chose instead to disappear into the chaotic and busy streets, helping to restore the city’s basic functions. When the board finally came looking for him, he deliberately got dead drunk and showed them the same unmotivated, disappointing face from before. Only when he saw them shake their heads and leave did he finally feel at peace.

Let alone being principal—he didn’t even want to be dean of Fuyou. He finally understood what the phoenix meant: what’s so great about being revered? He just wanted to live a simple, unremarkable life on his own terms.

In the middle of the reconstruction efforts, Wei Huan saw a large screen revealing all of Bai Xiucheng’s crimes. Though the tip-off was anonymous, he knew in his heart—no one but Yun Yongzhou could have gathered that much evidence.

The revelation sparked intense public discussion—both in the demon realm and the mortal world. No one had expected that a man who appeared to be a peace-seeking righteous figure had blood-soaked hands behind the scenes. Because of that, Yun Yongzhou and Su Buyu—who had jointly taken down the true culprit—also became heroes, especially the half-demon who sacrificed himself for victory.

For the first time, people began to reflect—had society been too indifferent to half-demons, a vulnerable group? They started discussing the sense of belonging, recognition, and equal treatment that half-demons deserved—brought to light by the sacrifice of one warrior.

Shanhai held a memorial service for every student and staff member lost in the disaster. Because Wei Huan insisted that Shanhai not dispose of Su Buyu’s body, they could only hang up his photo—there was no coffin.

Dean Bai Hulin had been promoted to the new principal. Wearing a somber black suit, he stood at the microphone.

“Thank you to all the teachers, students, and soldiers who came today. On this day of survival after catastrophe, we gather here with heavy hearts to mourn the heroes who gave their lives in this disaster…”

Yang Sheng, now the newly appointed dean of Fuyou, also stood by the principal. Wei Huan didn’t go into the hall; he stood outside with Yun Yongzhou until they heard Su Buyu’s name called.

“Major Su Buyu of the Shanhai Special Combat Force—he was once an outstanding student at Shangshan Academy, later serving as a teacher there. In life, he made extraordinary contributions to Shanhai and paid a tremendous price for its rebirth. Let us offer our deepest gratitude to this brave and tenacious warrior.”

Standing outside, after hearing those words, Wei Huan kicked a stone by his foot.

“Let’s go. There’s still a ton of work to do.”

The day after the memorial, while Wei Huan was helping relocate refugees, he got a call from Yang Sheng.

“I’m in Buyu’s dorm right now—oh, and Yongzhou’s here too. We thought we’d help sort out his things,” Yang Sheng said on the other end. “Wanna come? I mean, your stuff’s still here too. If you don’t feel like coming, I can ask Yongzhou to bring it back for you.”

Wei Huan hesitated for a moment… but still decided to go.

Su Buyu’s dorm was tidy. There was a small fish tank on the table, but not much else in terms of decoration—so it was easy to sort through.

“These are the things you left here seven years ago,” Yang Sheng said, handing him a box.

Wei Huan gave a quiet “Mm” and took it. Inside were his “Xiaoyao Box,” a few clothes, and miscellaneous items he had once left in the student dorms. Seeing everything neatly folded and stored here, his heart suddenly ached.

If only he had come to pick up these things earlier… maybe used that opportunity to talk to him properly—wouldn’t so many things have come to light?

No.

Impossible. He knew Su Buyu too well. He knew himself too well. Even if they could start over, he still wouldn’t have told Su Buyu the truth about his identity, out of fear of dragging him down. And Su Buyu would still have hidden everything out of guilt and fear. There aren’t that many “what ifs” in this world. If there were, he wouldn’t have lost so much.

“I thought he’d leave us a letter or something,” Yang Sheng gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Turns out it’s all clean—nothing at all.”

He’d never planned to explain anything. All he left behind… was an apology.

“We originally thought of a sea burial—Buyu was part merman, right?” Yang Sheng said. “But Yongzhou thought it didn’t feel right.”

Wei Huan nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching up a bit.

“Yeah… no more drifting without a home.”

Yun Yongzhou had asked Qing He to call in Rebels connections and search for a long time before finally locating Su Buyu’s mother’s grave. He had no other family. This was the best resting place Yun Yongzhou could think of. The day before the funeral, there was a heavy rain—but on the day of, the skies cleared up. The sky was blue as if it had been thoroughly washed, clean and pure.

The small, private funeral didn’t have many attendees—just Big Group 7 and Little Group 7, Qing He and Xie Tianfa, Boss Jue, Li Lingkong and Mo Tong. They all knew Su Buyu was half-merman, so each brought a small bottle of water from their hometowns and poured it over the grave. Wei Huan returned the Nine Phoenix feather that Su Buyu had given back to him—placing it in Su Buyu’s coffin, between his folded hands. He only kept the mermaid bead.

[Grave of Group Seven’s Su Buyu]

Wei Huan carved those words on the tombstone himself. He would never forget the words Su Buyu had once shouted.

In his heart, Su Buyu would always be a brave warrior.

That night, after the funeral, Wei Huan didn’t throw himself into the hectic reconstruction work like before. Instead, he returned to the lakeside cabin. Yun Yongzhou wasn’t back yet, so Wei Huan went to the wardrobe alone—and found that the barrier he’d hurriedly set before was still intact.

So Yun Yongzhou had never looked at the gift he left.

When Yun Yongzhou finally returned, it was already deep into the night. He’d watched Wei Huan work tirelessly for days—just like back when Wei Huan’s parents died. So many years had passed, but Yun Yongzhou still felt there was so little he could do. He could only silently stay by Wei Huan’s side, unable to say anything comforting.

[You’re back?]

As soon as he stepped into the room, a voice echoed through mind-speech. Yun Yongzhou looked up in surprise and glanced around the living room.

[I’m outside, by the swing.]

When he stepped outside, he saw the moon reflected in the lake—and Wei Huan’s figure gently swaying on the swing by the shore.

Yun Yongzhou walked over. Wei Huan scooted to the right, leaving the left side of the two-seater swing for him. He even patted it twice.

“Sit.”

“You’re not drinking?” Yun Yongzhou’s tone wasn’t quite a question.

Wei Huan shot him a glance.

“What, should I be?” Then he leaned forward, gripping the swing rope, peering behind Yun Yongzhou. “Did you bring me any?”

Yun Yongzhou shook his head and got yanked down beside him. The swing jolted sharply, both of them instinctively looking up at the support beams. Wei Huan asked,

“Hey, did you tie this thing securely?”

“Should be.”

Hearing that half-assed answer, Wei Huan couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Yun Yongzhou, meanwhile, stared at his face in a daze.

“What? Still not used to how I look now?” Wei Huan clapped his cheeks twice and ruffled them.

Yun Yongzhou shook his head. His amber eyes, soaked in moonlight, looked incredibly gentle.

“You smiled.” It was just a simple statement—but his tone was incredibly soft. So openly, so honestly expressing his thoughts, caught Wei Huan off guard. His hands slid down from Yun Yongzhou’s face to his shoulders, and his forehead gently pressed against the crook of Yun Yongzhou’s neck.

“I’m doing the onboarding stuff next month,” Wei Huan said, voice calm like the lake before them. “Then I’ll be a little instructor at Fuyou. Those old guys on the board said, if you ever want to come back, don’t even need to check in—Dean Yansu is dying to have you.”

He kept talking nonstop, like if he paused for even a second, something would break.

“Oh right, Shanyue and the others—they’re officially promoted to the Combat Force. Amazing, right? When they get their uniforms in a few days, let’s go take pictures for them. I mean, I’m still technically part of Little Group Seven, even though now…”

“Even though I didn’t like Su Buyu,” Yun Yongzhou suddenly interrupted, cutting off Wei Huan’s rambling. “When he was making the plan, he said something.”

He finally brought up what Wei Huan had been trying to bury deep inside.

“He said he’d waited too long for this day. He just wanted to untie the knot. Just wanted to end it.”

Wei Huan didn’t speak. He kept his head lowered, completely unresponsive.

“I didn’t understand at the time—honestly, I wasn’t even trying to. The only reason I chose to trust him,” Yun Yongzhou paused, “was because I knew he could never betray you so easily.”

It wasn’t until Bai Xiucheng spoke the truth that he understood:

Su Buyu had been flayed alive by his guilt every single day.

Wei Huan gave a difficult nod. “He’s finally free.”

“Only when you’re happy can he rest easy… and go see your parents.”

Wei Huan couldn’t help but let out a bitter laugh. How could he not know? Right up to the end, he hadn’t believed Su Buyu would ever truly stand on the opposite side. Maybe that’s why Su Buyu, to deceive someone who trusted him so deeply, had no choice but to use such a drastic, clean break to cut the knot.

The hand he had wrapped around Yun Yongzhou’s back tightened into a fist, clutching the fabric of his clothes. Wei Huan’s voice was low, heavy—like the moon sinking silently into the lake, ready to scatter at the faintest wind, turning into flickering fragments of light on the water’s surface.

“I’ve only lived twenty-something years… how have I already lost so much?”

Hearing that, Yun Yongzhou finally exhaled a breath. After so many days, Wei Huan had finally taken off his mask. He knew Wei Huan too well—someone who acted like nothing mattered, but feared loss more than anyone, feared admitting just how much pain he really felt. Eight years ago on the rooftop, it had taken alcohol for him to open up. But now… now, he could face what he’d lost.

Wei Huan could feel Yun Yongzhou’s warm hand gently rubbing the back of his neck, along with the faint, cool scent of sunlight on his body. He nuzzled closer into the crook of Yun Yongzhou’s neck and closed his eyes—only to hear a soft, slow “mm” from Yun Yongzhou, as if affirming what he just said.

“Our lives are just a constant string of losses,” Yun Yongzhou said. “Family, friends, the past versions of ourselves. No one can stop that kind of loss. Even if you’re not like us—living in danger every moment—even a completely ordinary tree still has to face the day it loses its last leaf.”

His voice was still cool, but warmed by the heat of his body, and that warmth slowly sank into Wei Huan’s heart.

“But we also keep gaining—new family, new friends, a whole new self. So don’t let your losses freeze you in place. If you keep moving forward, one day… you’ll meet again.” Yun Yongzhou lowered his head and gently kissed the top of Wei Huan’s head.

Wei Huan, hearing his comfort, felt unaccustomed. His ears flushed hot.

“You’re younger than me, yet you talk like an old man.” He wrapped both arms around Yun Yongzhou’s waist, muttering those words, but relying on him even more.

Yun Yongzhou chuckled softly. The sound, magnified by the night, was like a snowy white feather landing in Wei Huan’s heart—ticklish and soft. He patted Wei Huan’s back gently, like coaxing a child, and sighed, “Because I’ve been through it all.”

Wei Huan paused and lifted his head from Yun Yongzhou’s shoulder hollow. Yun Yongzhou’s quiet face came into view, lashes trembling lightly.

“You can’t imagine how scared I was back then.” As soon as he began to speak, Wei Huan felt the hand on his back tremble. Yun Yongzhou seemed to notice too and pulled it back slightly, lips curving in a self-deprecating smile. “I hadn’t even had a second of having you… before I lost you completely.”

“If I’d let myself sink into the fear of losing you and never climbed back out… we wouldn’t be here now.”

Yun Yongzhou lowered his eyes and met Wei Huan’s gaze. Every second since they’d reunited, he had felt nothing but relief.

“Just thinking about it… scares me.”

That sentence pierced the softest part of Wei Huan’s heart. It made him ache—and feel grateful. All these emotions tangled together into a warm cocoon, wrapping around him, giving him a small corner where he could finally let out his pain.

Like a lonely little hamster, Wei Huan pulled out all the pain he’d stuffed into his cheek pouches and placed it gently in this warm corner—then nibbled it down, one bite at a time. His heart no longer panicked.

The night was thick like a soft, heavy blanket, wrapping around the two of them, isolating them from the cruel and beautiful world outside. Wei Huan’s emotions finally calmed, and he remembered why he had sat here to begin with.

“…Why didn’t you go see the gift I gave you?”

Suddenly hearing Wei Huan’s accusing tone, Yun Yongzhou gave a light laugh.

“You didn’t give it to me the first time, then made me fetch it the second time. And now you’re blaming me?” Yun Yongzhou pushed him away from his chest and tilted his head. “You really are kind of a jerk.”

“Well… I couldn’t help it.” Wei Huan’s voice grew smaller and smaller. He knew he was in the wrong. But who could’ve predicted he’d be that unlucky—dying not once, but twice? He looked up and, almost playfully, grabbed Yun Yongzhou’s hands and pressed them over his own eyes. “Close your eyes.”

“I can still see with my eyes closed,” Yun Yongzhou said blandly.

“Then turn around.” Wei Huan twisted his head away, then fumbled around in a panic—finally spotting his Xiaoyao Box on the ground. He let out a long breath, picked it up, and pulled out a carefully wrapped gift box.

“Ahem.” Wei Huan cleared his throat. But just as he was about to speak, he caught sight of the house behind them—and felt a little disheartened. Yun Yongzhou was just about to turn around when Wei Huan stopped him.

“No peeking! Uh… just so you know, I came up with this gift seven years ago. If it’s similar to something else, then clearly you copied me.”

What was he even talking about? Yun Yongzhou furrowed his brow.

“…Okay, turn around now.”

With Wei Huan’s permission, Yun Yongzhou finally turned and saw Wei Huan holding a large box with an awkward, uneasy expression. He deliberately didn’t summon the Xihe Eye with spiritual power and simply stood from the swing, reaching out to lift the lid.

The moment he saw the model inside, Yun Yongzhou’s hand froze mid-air.

“…It’s a crazy coincidence, right?” Wei Huan mumbled. “But I made this one first—used Wind-Shaping Transmutation. Took a ton of effort. Little Furball can vouch for me.” He turned his face away, heart thudding like a drum. If he’d known earlier that rich-boy Yun Yongzhou would just buy a house on a whim, he might not have bothered with a tiny model.

Wei Huan’s mind suddenly short-circuited. Back then, he had prepared a whole bunch of touching lines—confession, to him, was something incredibly serious. He’d never actually done it before, but in his head, he’d rehearsed it hundreds of times.

But after dying once, and then letting seven years pass, his brain really wasn’t working anymore. At such a crucial moment, he couldn’t remember a single line. His mind was filled with only one thing: I like you.

…Was it too insincere to say just that?

Why wasn’t he saying anything? Wei Huan’s nervousness reached its peak. He finally couldn’t hold back and turned his face slightly to look at the silent Yun Yongzhou.

Just as he turned, Yun Yongzhou leaned in and kissed him.

Outside their little house, the two souls who had missed each other for seven years finally came together again—joined by this gift that had finally seen the light of day—under the gentle moonlight, by the lakeside Wei Huan had always longed for.

In that moment of separation, Wei Huan felt as if his soul had been drawn out by three-tenths. His heart was pounding like mad.

Yun Yongzhou took the box from him and looked down at the tiny house inside, every beam and tile. His expression, from the corners of his eyes to the arch of his brows, was filled with soft affection. He liked this old, ordinary gift even more than he expected—liked it so much he couldn’t look away. A soft thank you was carried by the night breeze to Wei Huan’s ears, sending a shiver down his spine.

“I like you.”

He could no longer recall the countless detailed lines he had rehearsed back then, but he still remembered how seven years ago, he had stood before a wall, the sky, a field of forget-me-nots, and said that opening line hundreds of times.

And the ending he’d rewritten over and over—still childish even now.

“Classmate Yun Yongzhou… will you accept me—and my future?”

Yun Yongzhou lifted his head. In that instant, countless golden fireflies appeared around them, filling the stillness of the night. The glow softened everything around them, swaying gently. It was hard to tell if this was the echo of a bygone youth… or the quiet settling of the dust seven years later.

But he still had to give the reply he hadn’t arrived in time to say back then.

Yun Yongzhou’s lips curved into a smile. “Classmate Wei Huan, I like you too. And… your future,”—he reached out and pointed to Wei Huan’s chest—“is already mine.”

That cold face of his now held a calm, unwavering tenderness.

Author’s Note:

It took me four whole months, but I’ve finally finished the main story. Honestly, there’s so much I want to say—but I’ll save it for after the side stories, because there are still many scattered moments that haven’t been told: the mutual pining in their memories, Yun Yongzhou’s seven years, the daily life of Big Seven and Little Seven, Qing He and Tianfa, the demon slayer father and son… For the sake of a coherent main plot, I had to leave them for the extras. So the final afterword will come at the end of the side stories.

But what I do want to say now is: thank you. Thank you so much to every reader who supported this story over these four months. You’re the reason it could be completed smoothly and fully. This was my first time writing something with such a large framework, and I honestly struggled a lot and even thought about giving up more than once. But your encouragement gave me the strength to finish it. Thank you.

The reason I wanted to write this story in the first place was because I love the kind of spiritual uplift and encouragement hot-blooded story brings. Stories that make people feel: Ah, I want to be a little hero too. That gave me the idea—to write about a tiny hero who keeps losing things. I hoped this novel could give a little strength to those who read it. I don’t know if I succeeded… but during the writing process, it definitely gave me strength.

Thank you again. See you in the extras~