Everyone Is Non-Human Except Me [Rebirth] Chapter 119

A breeze stirred. The scent of the flowers grew even stronger, burrowing straight into Wei Huan’s body. Sticky and cloying, it tangled with his buried emotions and pulled them outward.

“Wanting to kiss me the moment you saw me? That doesn’t really fit the abstinent-instructor persona.” Wei Huan tilted his head up and kissed Yun Yongzhou again. Suddenly, everything started to spin. It felt like he’d been struck by a sudden fever, his entire body radiating heat.

“These flowers are way too fragrant.” He leaned into Yun Yongzhou’s chest, his chin resting on his shoulder, reaching out to touch one of the blossoms. But the moment he did, all the floating flowers came raining down, the scent growing almost overwhelming.

His symptoms became more pronounced.

Yun Yongzhou immediately sensed something was wrong. Holding Wei Huan, he looked up at the tree.

“This might be a Bewitching Tree.”

“What?” Wei Huan’s tongue felt thick, stuck with honey, but his mind was still somewhat clear, though it felt like it was floating. “…A drug tree?”

Yun Yongzhou almost laughed. “No. It just amplifies emotions. Whatever you’re feeling—sadness, happiness—it makes it stronger.”

“Then why are you fine?” Wei Huan was slumped on his shoulder, sticky lips burning hot as they pressed against Yun Yongzhou’s neck.

“I didn’t touch the flowers.”

Though truth be told, you’re worse than any flower when it comes to arousal.

“Let’s go home. Stay away from the scent and you’ll feel better.”

Before Wei Huan could react, the flower tree behind him morphed into Yun Yongzhou’s red Golden Crow domain barrier. With no foothold beneath him, Wei Huan toppled—and landed on a bed saturated with Yun Yongzhou’s scent, sinking into its softness.

Yun Yongzhou leaned over him, kissed him lightly. “Feel any better?” He knew what he meant by “better,” but Wei Huan didn’t think so. He unfastened the buttons of his uniform, revealing the black tank top underneath, then pulled Yun Yongzhou’s hand to his chest.

“Not better. Feel—here. It’s beating even faster.”

Then he hooked his fingers into the topmost button of Yun Yongzhou’s uniform collar, tugging him downward. Their cheeks were nearly touching.

Wei Huan whispered, one word at a time, “This flower isn’t amplifying any good emotions.” His eyes gleamed as he pressed his lips to Yun Yongzhou’s again. His damp lips brushed and parted, like a child savoring little spoonfuls of ice cream—close and then pulling away, with his moist tongue occasionally flicking past.

Yun Yongzhou was pulled completely into the mire. His breath grew heavier and heavier inside their deepening kisses, and the heat of his exhalations moistened Wei Huan’s skin. After a long while of kissing and entangling, Wei Huan was completely exhausted. Yun Yongzhou held him close, laying him back down onto the soft bed. Their bodies pressed tightly together. Dizzy, Wei Huan couldn’t say a single word, eyes half-lidded, lips parted as he panted, letting Yun Yongzhou kiss him deeply—gently and ruthlessly.

Yun Yongzhou ended the kiss with a peck to his lips, then kissed his forehead, and the demonic markings on his cheek.

“More.” Wei Huan tilted his chin, asking for another kiss, burrowing into Yun Yongzhou’s embrace, arms wrapped tightly around his back.

“Got your strength back?” Yun Yongzhou bit his lower lip lightly.

“No. Legs are weak. Arms too. I’m taking sick leave. Not going to work…” Wei Huan nuzzled and licked at Yun Yongzhou’s neck like a sticky kitten, fingers tangled in his silvery hair. He whispered very softly, “I love you.”

Yun Yongzhou kissed the top of his head and just as softly replied, “I love you.”

“That flower tree’s definitely poisonous. I know you brought me there on purpose.” Wei Huan revived and started causing trouble again, cupping Yun Yongzhou’s face. “You knew, didn’t you?”

Yun Yongzhou simply said, “If you didn’t already feel that way, no flower could provoke it.”

“Doesn’t matter. It was still on purpose. I’m gonna go dig that tree up tomorrow.”

Yun Yongzhou, seeing him getting bratty again, bit his nose.

“Then,” Wei Huan hugged him and gave him a few loud smooches. He grinned, little canine teeth poking out, like a mischievous kid. “I’ll plant it in our bedroom!”

Yun Yongzhou stared at him for a long moment, then wrapped his arms around his head and patted his back.

“Sleep, sleep.”

“Aren’t you gonna carry me to bathe, little Golden Crow? You have to finish what you start, you know.”

“A minute ago it was ‘older brother’ and ‘husband.’ Now it’s something else again.”

Wei Huan giggled and kissed him. “Husband, bath~”

Yun Yongzhou sighed and picked him up as he obediently stretched out his arms.

In their past life, he’d had no way to deal with him—and in this life, not much had changed.

They’d gotten up way too early that morning. After the bath, Wei Huan curled up in Yun Yongzhou’s arms and fell into a deep, hazy sleep. When he woke up, the bedroom was bathed in soft amber light. Wrapped in a pile of warm blankets, his eyes half-closed like a dazed little hamster, he stretched his arms out to feel around—but didn’t touch anything. So he lazily called out, “Yun Yongzhou…”

No response.

He dozed a little longer, still hugging the blankets, before finally getting up. Rubbing his eyes, he stepped into his slippers. Outside the gauzy curtains, it was already dusk. Wei Huan’s body had no strength—his inner thighs were sore—so he unfurled his wings, legs dangling limply, and half-flew out of the bedroom.

“Yun Yongzhou?”

He wasn’t in the living room either. Wei Huan noticed a large pile of his favorite snacks on the coffee table in front of the couch, so he flew over and sat down. That’s when he spotted a note on top.

[Got a last-minute assignment, will be back around 7 p.m.]

Another task. Always being ordered around. Wei Huan grumbled to himself and habitually flipped the note over—and saw more words on the back:

[Love you.]

His lips curled up uncontrollably. He clutched the note in both hands and flopped sideways onto the couch, his wings vanishing with a faint ding. He basked in the feeling for a while before slapping his own cheeks several times. He was clearly under some spell cast by that little Golden Crow—how could he like someone this much?

Even the ceiling gleamed with the golden sunlight slanting through the windows. Everything, Wei Huan included, seemed to be soaked in sparkling syrup.

It was because Yun Yongzhou was too good-looking. No one could resist that.

Wei Huan told himself this as an excuse, but his mind still went over all of Yun Yongzhou’s virtues one by one. This guy was just too good—everything about him was great. Even the little villa he’d bought was perfect. Thinking this, Wei Huan subconsciously wandered outside. He’d often stayed here before, but back then his life felt like walking a tightrope—he had never truly taken the time to enjoy it.

The lake wasn’t particularly large, but it was quiet. A faint mist always hovered over the surface, and now the sun was about to fully dip into the lukewarm water, only the very tip still peeking out. The orange-red glow spilled between the ripples. The sky slowly shifted to deep blue, swallowing up the sun’s lingering warmth bit by bit.

Wei Huan walked to the lake’s edge and caught the faint scent of water. It was the first time he’d gotten this close. The grass by the shore grew tall, brushing against his ankles and making them itch. Insects chirped faintly from within. He sat down, plucked a blade of grass, and held the root in his mouth, staring at the sun’s last sliver.

He had been through so much, waded through countless storms of blood and blades, but now he could finally live the quiet life he had once wished for. He felt content—even though there would always be a seven-year gap between him and Yun Yongzhou that could never be filled. Sometimes, Wei Huan wondered how Yun Yongzhou had lived through those years—had he ever felt hopeless? With what kind of determination had he endured, and how had he felt when facing the reborn version of him?

He’d never get the chance to know. But it didn’t matter—they still had a long future ahead.

As the sky darkened, Wei Huan figured Yun Yongzhou should be back soon and got ready to head home. But perhaps due to lingering weakness in his legs, he slipped and stepped onto a slick, wet stone—his foot plunged straight into the water.

As he fell into the lake, Wei Huan instinctively tried to paddle—but in the next moment, he realized he was wrapped in a golden barrier, like a bubble beneath the surface.

He was surprised—he could breathe.

Suddenly, the barrier shone with a dazzling light, the glow gradually blotting out the dark lake until all he saw was a field of white.

He tried to move. He could move forward. As the brilliance faded, his vision began to clear.

This wasn’t the bottom of a lake anymore. As he slowly opened his eyes, Wei Huan was stunned.

A pitch-black valley, lit by countless blooming blue forget-me-nots, and speckled with the floating glow of fireflies dancing in the thick night air.

It was the prize they’d received during the Shanhai Festival—the Firefly Garden. But Wei Huan didn’t understand—he’d gone back looking for this place before, but it had already been redeveloped into high-rises. The once-neglected valley no longer existed.

Was this a barrier Yun Yongzhou had created?

Wei Huan slowly raised his hand. A forget-me-not floated up and landed gently in his palm, the soft petals trembling slightly.

So he hadn’t forgotten this place after all. Wei Huan had thought he was the only one who remembered that night among the flowers. Yun Yongzhou had even hidden this valley beneath the lake—coming here when he missed it.

This was his secret garden.

His footsteps carried him down into the heart of the valley, fireflies trailing him, swirling around his body. The scene was too familiar—Wei Huan felt as if he’d returned to his youth.

At the deepest part of the valley, there were no forget-me-nots—only a patch of soft, green grass, glowing under the firefly starlight and scented with fresh greenery.

Wei Huan sat down, looked up at the crescent moon overhead. Even the humid, quiet feeling of a summer night had been faithfully recreated.

Did Yun Yongzhou often lie here?

As he was lost in thought, he heard the faint sound of plants breaking through the soil. Turning his head, he saw a plant slowly sprouting from the grass nearby—broad leaves curled around its stem as it wriggled upward. Blown by the night wind, the leaves lazily unfolded, revealing a single snow-white bud glowing faintly.

Strange.

More and more of those sounds followed—left, right, all around. Wei Huan watched in a daze as countless white flower buds sprouted around him, swaying in the summer breeze, none of them blooming.

“Let me see what kind of flower this is…” Curiosity got the better of him. Wei Huan summoned his wind ribbon to pick one. The bud was exquisite—but unlike the morning’s flower tree, it didn’t open when touched.

No matter what Wei Huan did, the flower remained tightly closed.

This was Yun Yongzhou’s illusion—maybe it needed his demon energy to awaken?

With that in mind, Wei Huan summoned the power of the Golden Crow. His body glowed gold, and as the light slowly faded, the flower bud in his hand began to open petal by petal.

No scent at all.

“Snow begonia?”

Bathed in soft, pale golden light, the layered petals unfolded to reveal a piece of paper, folded many times, slowly rising from the center.

A letter?

Wei Huan felt a bit uneasy. He hadn’t intended to snoop—everything had happened so suddenly and by coincidence. But now the paper was fully open before him. The handwriting on it couldn’t be more familiar—after all, just earlier that evening, those two simple words “Love you” had already made his heart race.

This was written by Yun Yongzhou himself.

Wei Huan held the unfolded piece of paper. Strangely, the bottom edge of the paper showed faint signs of burning—just a little bit.

The handwriting was refined and steady, each stroke restrained and elegant.

[Today I heard you say that you prefer confessions to be serious.

I thought about it for a long time. Maybe for me, the most serious way is to write it down by hand, like an ordinary, regular human being.

I decided to write down all of my emotions. But I know, most of the time, those emotions are like a dead pool of water. I don’t want you to see that.

But if there are any good ones, maybe I’ll pick them out and show you one day.

Never mind. That day probably won’t come.]

Wei Huan’s heart trembled slightly.

This was for him. He’d never known.

He carefully put the letter away, feeling both anxious and expectant. After a moment of struggle, he chose to channel his spiritual power, conjuring countless golden light particles, which slowly drifted down like dew onto the tightly closed flower buds.

The moment they touched, the countless blossoms opened one after another. The quiet valley bloomed with pure white begonia flowers, and in the center of each flower floated a slip of paper—long or short, all densely written.

Wei Huan moved his fingers, and another slip of paper floated toward him.

[This is the second day after deciding to start writing you letters. The beginning is a failure. I’m not planning to show you this one either.

Today you were badly hurt. I wanted to help you bandage it, but I was a step too late and couldn’t find a reason.

It was the first time I realized that someone else getting hurt could hurt more than if it were me. It was a kind of dull pain sealed up in my chest. It didn’t make sense—my chest wasn’t injured, but it hurt. So strange.

But you still came over to me. You smiled and said, “Let’s get food together later.” And that dull pain disappeared instantly. Strange, isn’t it? It’s like you were the wound.

But I had to attend a banquet at the Prime Minister’s Mansion, so I could only turn you down. That night, sitting in the VIP seat of the feast, staring at the fancy food and fake smiles, my mind was full of you.

I could almost imagine how you’d look eating those things—sitting across from me, showing your little canine teeth, smiling and saying, “Little Golden Crow, this is super tasty.”

Just thinking of it made my chest ache again.

You are my wound, I think.]

Wei Huan no longer remembered which day that was. His feelings were mixed—he wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

[Sometimes you suddenly run up to me, staring with those sly little-animal eyes, and then you suddenly laugh, revealing your beautiful teeth.

I’ve found myself staring blankly at your smile at times—especially your lips. I know that’s not normal, so I try to keep my eyes from lingering on your face.

No one ever grew up with me. No one ever told me that liking someone is like a chronic illness. The anxiety, unease, panic, and unspeakable pain torture me day after day.

You are the pathogen—and the only cure.]**

The snow begonias bloomed quietly, not even daring to release their fragrance, as if afraid to reveal their presence.

[Before I met you, I thought life was just solitary walking in chains through darkness.

Since birth, my only wish had been to destroy confinement and shackles. I was born for destruction.

But your life is clean, soft, surrounded by love. We’re two extremes that shouldn’t intersect.

I am cold fire. You are warm wind.

Sometimes I wonder if I liked you because I envied you. But it’s different. If it were envy, I should have wanted your life.

But what I want—is you.]

Every word was written with certainty and care, floating in the night air, softly illuminated by the glow of the fireflies—like his hopeless yearning.

[Today at the dueling platform, you looked really good in that red shirt.

I was distracted and fell for one of your little tricks.

It was embarrassing. But then you gave me a bouquet of flowers.

I didn’t reach for it, because I knew you give flowers to others too. Fooling myself isn’t a good habit. But when I turned around, you were there again—and you forced the bouquet into my hand.

I brought it home. But I didn’t know how to preserve it, so I wrapped it in a double-layered Golden Crow barrier.

I couldn’t sleep all night. I woke up before dawn.

When I looked up, the barrier was empty.

The forget-me-nots had vanished without a trace, like they’d never existed.

I won’t take flowers from you again.]

Wei Huan couldn’t help but laugh aloud. What a childish statement, he thought. He clearly liked it.

Yeah—he clearly liked him too. So why hadn’t he realized it back then?

[After the long run at the school sports meet, you said your legs were weak and lunged at me. I dodged.

I regretted it all day.

I should’ve pretended my legs gave out and collapsed with you. Who would’ve thought anything of it?

Next time, I won’t dodge.]

But you still dodged. Wei Huan muttered to himself, half-resentful. He always dodged, even though Wei Huan had no shame and didn’t care about anything.

But if Yun Yongzhou had just once reached out and hugged him, he probably would’ve gone mad with joy.

[I was in the archery hall at the Prime Minister’s Mansion when I heard the news that your parents had passed. My arrow went wide—and I was harshly humiliated for it.

Later, at the funeral, I saw you. Silent, lifting the coffin, silent, hugging people.

I’ve never had much empathy. But somehow, I felt it.

I went back the next day and left a huge bouquet of lilies.]

[The night wind in the Dark Zone.

The rooftop kiss at 4 a.m.

The battle crest of Deathless City.

You are the most lethal small creature in the world.

A killer disguised as a plush toy.]

Wei Huan mumbled, “Where does this guy come up with these strange metaphors…” Usually he hardly says a word, yet now all kinds of bizarre lines come pouring out.

[After I decided I would confess to you tomorrow, I stayed up all night rereading every letter I’d written—and realized not a single one was worthy of being sent.]

[Failure. Why did I even write these? I’m not a poet. I’ve decided—I won’t keep a single one.]

Childish idiot, Wei Huan couldn’t help but laugh.

But when he saw the next slip of paper, he froze.

It was a sheet of white paper that had once been crumpled into a ball.

Instinctively, Wei Huan knew exactly which day it came from. He gently waved his hand, and the rest of the slips floated over.

[The seventh day after you left, I still decided to keep writing.]

[The tenth day after you left.]

[The eleventh day.]

[The twelfth day. I dreamed of you.]

[The thirteenth day. I woke up in pain in the middle of the night. Looked in the mirror and removed the bandage—it was a hollow bloody hole. Terrifying. If you ever come back, it’ll probably scare you. I’ll get a replacement eye tomorrow.]

[The fourteenth day. The miasma from this eyeball nearly triggered a full demon transformation. It hurt.]

[The fortieth day. Yesterday, I almost burned all the letters in one go. But I regretted it. This little sliver of hope—I still want to leave it for myself.]

Wei Huan touched the edge of one of those sheets and finally understood. He couldn’t imagine what Yun Yongzhou had felt when he lit that fire, or what he felt as he let it burn out—only to pick each piece back up again, sealing them away.

One slip drifted gently into Wei Huan’s palm.

[Day 100. I was unconscious for three days. Took a trip to the gates of h*ll, and came back. My hand’s broken, so I can only control light to write now.

Why is time so long, like it’s frozen?

Sometimes I feel like I’m just standing in a pool of stagnant water waiting for a miracle. Even if one day I die in some unknown battle, I imagine, in that final moment, I’d still be holding on to the hope that you’ll return.

I wait for you to come back, filled with hope.

But I love you without any hope.]