Everyone Is Non-Human Except Me [Rebirth] Chapter 17

Yan Shanyue instinctively took a step back at his sudden kneel.

Wei Huan inched forward on his knees. He wanted to grab onto something, but remembering she was in a uniform skirt, he respectfully backed off a little. Tilting his head up, face full of sorrow, he said, “I’m just a human. As soon as I stepped out the door, calamity struck—I got gou wen demon poison. I don’t have many days left.”

Yan Shanyue looked at him like he might be a scammer and continued backing up. Wei Huan kept inching forward. “Please, fairy… no, demoness… no, great beauty—could you give me the reverse soul fruit you won as a prize? I swear I’m not just trying to mooch! I’ll definitely repay you!” His face dimmed. “Even though I don’t have much to offer right now, I swear I’ll make it up to you.”

…Still not very convincing. Out of options, Wei Huan started really working himself up emotionally, getting ready to cry on cue.

“No,” Yan Shanyue rejected him cleanly and without hesitation.

Wei Huan’s tears stalled. “Hic?”

“I have no reason to waste a reverse soul fruit on a human.”

Wei Huan sniffled and got to his feet. “How is that wasting? You’d be saving a life! I—”

The illusion vanished. The classroom noise roared back in. They were back. Yan Shanyue was already seated and didn’t look at him. “You can go now.”

Wei Huan knew he was asking too much. He had no bargaining chip, wasn’t her friend—there was no way she’d give such a rare item to him just like that.

“Sorry,” Wei Huan muttered as he walked back to his seat, trying to think of a new plan. He couldn’t give up. Where there’s a will, there’s a way. If there isn’t, he’d make one. The heavens didn’t bring him back to life just to let him die again.

“What were you doing with Sister Shanyue just now?” Yang Ling grabbed his arm. “She used illusion magic just now!”

Quick girl.

“You weren’t trying to flirt with my Sister Shanyue, were you?!”

…

Wei Huan’s mouth twitched. He muttered, “Who’s flirting with who? She’s the fox, not me…”

As they bickered back and forth, the classroom door suddenly slammed open. Wei Huan jumped. He turned to see a tall, muscular man stride in—his entire head ablaze with fire, burning fiercely.

“Sit down! Or get out!” The man slammed his hand on a desk, scattering sparks. A curly-haired boy in the front row had the tips of his hair catch fire and explode with a pop, sending his deskmate diving behind the lectern and conjuring a flaming shield for protection.

“What the h*ll are you all doing?!” the instructor barked, brows furrowing upward—he looked like he might literally breathe fire.

The curly-haired boy apologized repeatedly, “Sorry, sorry, teacher, my hair is really prone to exploding, so…”

The instructor’s head flared with even more fire. He kicked the boy hiding behind the fire shield, right in the butt. “Get back to your seat. Even a hamster demon has more guts than you.”

Truly, this Yansui Academy was highly flammable and explosive… At that moment, Wei Huan sorely missed the good old days of attending school at Fuyao.

“That human student—where is he?”

Wei Huan, still immersed in memories, didn’t react at all. He didn’t realize the “human” the teacher referred to was him until a sudden burst of flames flashed in front of his eyes. He snapped back to attention, startled. “Here!”

The instructor stepped down from the podium, approaching Wei Huan step by step. His fingers cracked as he flexed them.

“Don’t think that just because you’ve entered Shanhai, you’re already part of Shanhai.”

His pupils burned with two flames of orange, and he pressed a firm hand onto Wei Huan’s shoulder, enunciating each word: “This place does not welcome, nor acknowledge, the weak.”

Wei Huan had never been one to take things seriously—he rarely cared what others said. Even back in the dueling arena, when everyone looked down on him just for being “human,” he was unfazed. But this—this was different.

He could tolerate people scorning him when they didn’t know the truth. But he would not accept anyone questioning his strength.

He glanced at the hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, teacher,” Wei Huan said with a calm and confident smile. “You will welcome me.”

His eyes still gleamed with that bright spark from ten years ago—no different from the youth he once was.

The instructor stared at him for a moment, and the corner of his mouth lifted into a nearly imperceptible smirk. Then he turned and walked back to the podium.

“Good. All of you, listen up.” He swept his palm horizontally through the air, and where it passed, two blazing words ignited: Xing Yan. “That is my name. Congratulations on officially enrolling and becoming students of Shanhai University.”

He glanced at the seated students—each one of them had made it through grueling rounds of selection. Their eyes sparkled with joy.

But Xing Yan’s expression quickly turned stern. “Did you really think I was going to say that?”

A hush fell over the class. You could hear a pin drop—or even a heartbeat.

“This is only the beginning. Don’t be too quick to celebrate. Don’t think too highly of yourselves, either. In this place, there are no rankings by bloodline, and no family name halos. Whether you come from Kunlun Void or some no-name backwater town—whether you were born with a powerful gift or have no reputation at all—in my eyes, you’re all blank sheets of paper.”

“No one knows which sheet will become a monument to glory, and which will become a pillar of shame.”

“Now, first roll call begins.”

Xing Yan looked up. “All students of Shanhai University’s Yansui Academy, Combat Preparedness Class One!”

After a brief pause, the class shouted in unison: “Present!”

“Good,” Xing Yan nodded with satisfaction. “From now on, you are the backbone of Class One. And Class One is your honor.”

He placed both hands firmly on the desk. Sparks flew and froze in midair. His piercing gaze swept the classroom. “No matter what happens from this point on, remember that. Understood?”

“Understood—!”

“Louder!”

“UN—DER—STOOD!”

At that moment, Wei Huan finally felt like he had truly returned to Shanhai.

***

After finishing a meditation class in the No Speak Building, Wei Huan was just about to leave when something outside the window caught his eye.

It was the Life Spirit Formation.

He dashed out of the moving No Speak Building, leapt down, and walked alone toward the monument.

Despite the name, it wasn’t actually a formation. Because Shanhai students often faced combat situations more than students elsewhere, the school had a way to confirm deaths. Upon enrollment, every student was assigned a silver-white tablet—about the size of a palm. The front displayed their name and bloodline; the back, their date of birth. This was the Life Spirit Tablet.

All the tablets floated in the central plaza of Shanhai University, right at the junction of its four main academies. The floating monument was divided into four fan-shaped sectors, corresponding to each academy. Each sector held the tablets of the students.

Back when Yang Sheng had enrolled, he’d joked:

[What’s the point of this thing?]

Wei Huan remembered what he’d said in response:

He walked into the blue zone representing Fuyao and looked upward.

His eyes moved slowly from one tablet to another… until he saw one, shattered but still floating. The characters for Nine Phoenix could still be vaguely read.

Wei Huan, Nine Phoenix.

[What’s the point? It’s in case one day you die without a trace. When the tablet shatters, it means you’re really dead—beyond saving.]

So, he really had died. No more wishful thinking now. Since his rebirth, at least this much was clear.

The sunlight was so bright it made his eyes sting.

Wei Huan lowered his head and walked away.

***

At lunchtime, he met Jing Yun at the agreed spot. Jing Yun was noticeably more cheerful than when he’d first arrived. Although still a bit timid, whenever he talked about Fuyao, he was always full of joy and excitement—which made Wei Huan both envious and comforted.

“You’re in Combat Preparedness too?” Jing Yun gripped the table with both hands in excitement, his monster strength nearly flipping it over. “Ah! Sorry, sorry…” He quickly let go, looking apologetic and lowering his voice, “That’s great! Even if we’re not in the same academy, we might still get to go on missions together.”

Honestly, Wei Huan hadn’t expected to be placed in the Combat Preparedness. He figured that as a human with zero demon power, he’d be assigned to something like the Management Division—something non-combat and behind-the-scenes. Apart from some close-combat skills left over from his past life, he didn’t have any real combat power.

And with tensions between the human and demon realms rising, his very presence at Shanhai made him seem like a spy to both sides.

Yet Shanhai’s Academy had still placed him in Combat Preparedness.

Yun Yang wouldn’t lie.

Which only made Wei Huan even more confused.

How could there be fire on his body? He didn’t even have fire manipulation in his previous life.

“I’m a human. They definitely won’t take me on missions,” Wei Huan glanced at the insect stew on Jing Yun’s tray and felt a bit queasy.

“No way…” Jing Yun puffed his cheeks. “But actually, I’m not really sure what Combat Preparedness really does. I just knew everyone wanted to join it.”

Wei Huan thought for a moment, put down his chopsticks, and patiently explained, “Combat Preparedness is a general department that exists in all four academies—it’s also the most unique department at Shanhai. You’re right, Combat Preparedness is in high demand, because Shanhai isn’t just an ordinary comprehensive university—it’s also a university with an independent military corps, separate from the government army.” Seeing the confusion on Jing Yun’s face, Wei Huan added, “In simple terms, Shanhai has its own battle team, and the Combat Preparedness is the reserve force for that team.”

Jing Yun was startled. “An independent corps?! That’s—”

Wei Huan shook his head. “You’re overthinking it. Although it’s an independent corps, the independence is only in terms of the military hierarchy, not in authority. To actually participate in battle, they still need approval from the joint government. But nowadays, many officers in the government army were once elite members of the Shanhai battle team. That’s why so many people compete to get into Combat Preparedness.”

“Because Combat Preparedness is a cradle for government military officers!” Jing Yun raised his chopsticks to respond.

Wei Huan tapped his chopsticks against Jing Yun’s with a clang. “Exactly. But being a student in Combat Preparedness doesn’t mean your daily missions are glorious. It’s mostly dirty and exhausting work—one day some demon is rebelling, the next someone’s gone rogue. Nothing good ever comes of it. And if necessary, every member of the Shanhai battle team must go to the battlefield unconditionally.”

“The battlefield…” Jing Yun’s expression suddenly turned serious. “Speaking of which, I passed by the Fuyao Academy Hero Monument earlier…”

Wei Huan froze, his fingers stiff. Scenes of chaos and bloodshed on the battlefield suddenly flashed through his mind.

“Senior said that it’s been six or seven years since a new name was carved onto it.” Jing Yun lowered his head. “I hope it stays that way.”

Wei Huan suddenly said, “I want to go see it.”

Jing Yun looked troubled. “But… you’re human…”

That’s right, that’s right. Wei Huan lowered his eyes. He was human now. Most of the names on the Hero Monument had died in battle—fighting humans to the death.

Seeing Wei Huan like this, Jing Yun couldn’t bear it. “How about… we give it a try?”

When Wei Huan arrived at the Hero Monument, he realized things had changed a lot since his time. Back then, Shanhai didn’t have any barriers set up in front of each academy’s monument. But now, the area was restricted—only accessible to students from that specific academy.

The two of them stood in front of the barrier. Jing Yun easily stepped through. Wei Huan stared at the faint blue glow, reached out to touch it, and was forced back by a sharp pain.

“I can’t get in.”

He looked from a distance at the towering monument. Just the thought of his own name carved into it filled him with complex emotions.

“Do you want to go in?”

A familiar voice rang out behind him. Wei Huan turned to see his old friend Yang Sheng. He quickly masked his emotions and grinned carelessly. “Eh? It’s you! Haha, what a coincidence.”

Then, awkwardly, he turned back around. “I was just looking. Casual glance.”

“You didn’t enter Fuyao, but you’re enrolled now.” Yang Sheng walked up beside him and waved his hand. An oval-shaped opening appeared in the barrier before Wei Huan, about as tall as he was.

“Go on in and take a look.”

He stepped inside and was about to say thank you—then suddenly remembered his identity.

“Are you trying to make me see how many demons died fighting humans?”

Yang Sheng shook his head slightly. “You’re overthinking it. I’m not here to make you feel guilty. Whether human or demon, most of them were just innocent sacrifices. The fault doesn’t lie with you.”

Wei Huan looked at his profile—it still looked like the Yang Sheng he knew years ago. And yet, something was different. As if something unseen had shifted irreversibly.

Jing Yun stood by the monument and carefully waved him over. Wei Huan jogged up and stood in front of the stone, tilting his head back to look up. The Hero Monument listed names of the fallen along with the years they passed. He scanned down by year, looking for the timeframe of that war. His mind was full of his own name, comparing it line by line.

What’s going on?

Wei Huan’s brows furrowed. He checked again and again, but no matter how hard he looked, he couldn’t find those two familiar characters during that timeframe.

Impossible. That’s impossible.

He wanted to fly up to get a closer look—but he no longer had wings.

His eyes moved line by line, staring at each engraved stroke. Wei Huan felt a chill creeping through his whole body.

Jing Yun noticed his slight trembling. Confused, he asked, “Ah Heng, are you… looking for something?”

Wei Huan turned around and put on a performance of carefree indifference, facing his old friend.

“I heard from people back home that the Nine Phoenix also died in that battle seven years ago.” He even smiled, as if truly puzzled. “Strange, huh? Why isn’t his name here?”

Yang Sheng’s relaxed expression turned cold the moment he heard the question.

Silence stretched on and on—so long it felt like a century. Wei Huan stared at Yang Sheng, who suddenly seemed like a stranger.

Like he was waiting for a sentence to be passed.

“Because before he died, he betrayed us.”