Everyone Is Non-Human Except Me [Rebirth] Chapter 30

“What did you say?!”

That caught him completely off guard.

Wei Huan closed all the drawers and shut off the touchscreen.

“He’s already at the corner!”

Too late.

“Hurry!”

With a beep, the subject storage room door opened. The real Zhang Zhiyong adjusted the glasses on his nose and walked in while on the phone: “Yes, don’t worry. I’ve taken care of everything.”

“Yes, I know. This was my oversight. I sincerely apologize.” Zhang Zhiyong touched the console and entered a password.

Hiding inside drawer 7494, Wei Huan’s heart was in his throat. The temperature inside was frigid—his little furball was even starting to stiffen. He tucked it under his shirt against his chest.

“Yes, Dr. Yang. I’ve already updated the permissions on my end.” Zhang Zhiyong closed the console and began to head out. “I’ll return now.”

Wei Huan exhaled in relief. The cold had his teeth chattering.

As the door of the storage room slowly opened again and Zhang Zhiyong took a step out, he suddenly turned around and started walking back toward the drawers. He stopped less than three meters from the one Wei Huan was in, crouched down, and touched the drawer door.

It was too quiet—Wei Huan could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Zhang Zhiyong stood up and walked a few steps further inward.

No, no, please no…

Wei Huan’s hand instinctively went to the device on his wrist.

Fortunately, Zhang Zhiyong stood there only a moment, muttered a few things to himself, then turned around and walked out. The door slowly closed. About a minute later, Wei Huan whispered, “Ah Zu, is he gone?”

“He’s waiting for the elevator. You can come out.” Ah Zu sounded like he’d been holding his breath the whole time. “You scared the h*ll out of me just now—worse than a horror movie.”

Wei Huan stepped out of the drawer, stomping his feet to shake off the cold.

By the time the storage room door opened again, he had already changed his face.

“Did you see it just now?” Wei Huan asked Ah Zu to confirm what he saw inside the storage room—but at that moment, Ah Zu had been tied up in a conversation and had to shut off the surveillance screen.

Wei Huan explained, “That person you found—he’s not the only one…”

For some reason, static came from Ah Zu’s side.

“Hey—” Suddenly, a voice called out from behind. Wei Huan stopped in his tracks, not turning around.

Because it was clearly Zhang Zhiyong’s voice again!

Why is he back…

“Ah Zu…” Wei Huan called his name quietly, but there was no response.

“Which department are you from? What are you doing on the 21st floor?”

Wei Huan turned around and gave him a smile. “Oh, I was just delivering a file.”

“Delivering a file?” Zhang Zhiyong’s face was suspicious. “Delivering it to who?”

This guy is way too paranoid. Wei Huan pointed toward the first lab he entered. “Researcher Chen Qian in Room 2101.”

Zhang Zhiyong’s expression shifted. “Alright, stop wandering around. Deliver it and leave.”

Wei Huan gave an “alright” and silently thanked himself for paying attention when he’d been flipping through reports earlier. He quickly made his way to the elevator, trying to contact Ah Zu the whole time.

The 13th floor arrived.

As soon as the elevator doors opened—and before he could step out—several people rushed in and tackled him to the ground, cuffing his hands. His glasses were knocked off and stomped to pieces.

When he was hauled upright, Wei Huan saw Ah Zu outside the elevator, also caught. His electronic mask had been removed, and his hands, feet, and even mouth were bound.

Around them stood seven or eight large men in black suits. The one in the lead had a long scar across his face—clearly not someone to mess with.

D*mn it.

Wei Huan didn’t know how many people in this facility were aware of or involved in the “clone” project, but he knew that once the face under his mask was exposed, everything would be over.

But he couldn’t just run.

“Take them to see Professor Yang.”

“Wait! Wait!” Wei Huan began to struggle. “Let me go!” He thrashed as he glanced at Ah Zu and gave him a signal. “You can’t kill me!” His voice pitched several notches higher, and he darted like a mad rabbit toward a waist-high leafy plant. “Don’t touch me! Don’t catch me!”

All the men except the scar-faced one chased after the flailing Wei Huan, pinning him down. The scene turned into a complete mess—Wei Huan nearly ended up sitting inside the potted plant.

He gripped his right wrist tightly with his left hand.

Come on.

Light blade.

Turn into a light blade.

Go to Ah Zu.

Suddenly, he felt his wrist loosen.

It worked!

“Let go of me! I have something to say!” Wei Huan shouted, trying to draw all attention to himself. “Listen to me! We had someone else who came with us. If I tell you, can you spare my life? Please, I’m begging you!”

The scar-faced man stared fiercely at Wei Huan, his gaze so vicious it looked like he wanted to devour him. After a moment, he signaled to the man holding Wei Huan. That man yanked Wei Huan out from the planter and shoved him toward the boss.

With his hands and feet bound, Wei Huan nearly fell flat on the floor. He stumbled hard and barely managed to stay upright. Then, with small hops, he made his way toward the leader.

The man’s voice was hoarse. “How many more of you are there?”

“One,” Wei Huan replied, face tense with nervousness. “I’ll tell you, but you must promise not to kill me.”

The man stared at Wei Huan. “You speak first.”

“No way, you have to promise me first!”

The man looked impatient. “Fine. I promise.”

Wei Huan bounced in front of him, subtly shifting his angle. The scar-faced man naturally adjusted his stance too.

In that brief moment, Wei Huan caught sight of Ah Zu—his hands and feet already sliced free by the light blade. Only then did he begin his lie:

“Our companion is just outside. He hacked the system so we could get in.”

“Where is he now?”

Wei Huan’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, mentally counting down.

Three, two, one—

A light blade shot through the air like an arrow, piercing straight through the scar-faced man’s chest from behind. Then it zipped toward Wei Huan’s feet and sliced through his bindings.

“Get him! Quick!”

The handcuffs were still intact, and Wei Huan couldn’t remove them. He had no choice—he had to run!

When he looked back, Ah Zu was already gone, presumably having slipped away in the chaos. Wei Huan ran with everything he had. And to his surprise, his physical abilities seemed enhanced—he was moving way faster than the muscle-bound men behind him.

Even so, he had nowhere to go. Ahead was a tightly shut metal door, and to the right was a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows.

Pushed to desperation, someone behind him opened fire.

As the bullet left the barrel, time seemed to slow for Wei Huan—his perception accelerated, and the bullet’s trajectory broke into slow, stuttering frames.

The sensation was both eerie and familiar.

It felt like… he had returned to his demon days.

He dodged the bullet with a sidestep, even he couldn’t believe it.

“Let’s see where you run to now!”

Panting hard, Wei Huan’s gaze locked onto the glass windows.

“Little guy.”

The small furball let out a soft whimper and leapt out of his pocket.

“How big can you get?”

“Ying?”

Using every ounce of strength, Wei Huan sprinted forward, took a leap of faith—and smashed into the glass.

With a thunderous crash, the window shattered from the impact.

His body plunged into open air. For that split second, Wei Huan thought he could taste freedom. Even if it was just an illusion.

He had no wings. Even if he returned to the sky, he couldn’t fly.

Entrusting everything to that tiny furball was a gamble—but he had no other choice. Shards of glass swirled around him as he fell, glinting in the sunlight so brightly that he could barely open his eyes.

The light—it was too intense.

Gravity tugged his human body downward in free fall. He remembered how, in his past life, he’d seen neither heaven nor h*ll in death. But maybe… falling into h*ll felt just like this.

Falling, endlessly falling—until soul and body split apart.

No. Wait. This light—it really was too strong.

Unexpectedly, he landed in a familiar embrace.

Black robes. White wings. Golden eyes. It happened so suddenly it felt like a dream.

“Hold on to me.”

Yun Yongzhou’s voice tore through the haze like a light blade, slicing through all confusion and blurriness, telling Wei Huan one thing with absolute clarity.

As he plummeted from the sky, the one who replaced his wings and saved him—was Yun Yongzhou.

The ones who had tried to kill him were all stunned. The human who had jumped out the window was caught by a flying demon?!

They scrambled to the window and opened fire. Bullets sprayed into the sky.

Yun Yongzhou, shielding Wei Huan in his arms, weaved through the storm of bullets. His eyes met theirs—and in that instant, flames roared into life between floors of the building.

Wei Huan hadn’t expected him to strike back so hard.

But then he thought—if Yun Yongzhou had really used his full light blade power, those people would’ve already been torn into pieces.

For a second, Wei Huan spaced out. But then, with his instinctive sensitivity to danger, he suddenly sensed something.

“Yun Yongzhou! Watch out!”

The moment he shouted, a micro-missile shot up from the building, chasing Yun Yongzhou through the air. It closed in rapidly, impossible to dodge.

Then—darkness.

Yun Yongzhou’s wings closed like petals, wrapping Wei Huan within them.

Strong arms held him tightly, warm palms cradling the back of his head.

The explosion struck. The powerful blast was absorbed by Yun Yongzhou’s body. Only the lingering shockwave remained, echoing through the air.

The noise nearly ruptured Wei Huan’s eardrums—but amid the explosion, he could still hear the rustling of white wings.

And his own heartbeat.

“Yun Yongzhou…” Wei Huan looked up and saw Yun Yongzhou’s face contorted with rarely seen ferocity. The flame-like demon markings spread from his temple, blooming like a crimson flower, extending in twisted patterns that covered his right eye.

Still holding Wei Huan, he turned his body, raised his right hand—and aimed at the scar-faced man in the building, the one who had fired the micro-missile.

Countless light blades erupted from behind Yun Yongzhou, like a storm, crashing into the inferno.

Not a single one was spared.

After resolving the issue, a phantom image of a golden sun totem appeared before Wei Huan’s eyes. A blinding white light flashed, and when it cleared, he and Yun Yongzhou were no longer beside the tall building. But they weren’t in the mountains and seas either—the surroundings were barren, no different from many half-demolished ruins in the Dark Zone.

Yun Yongzhou was holding him, suspended above a lake surrounded by ruins.

He must have used a barrier-piercing teleportation technique—but how did they end up here?

“Hey, Yun Yongzhou, did you mess up—” Wei Huan looked up at him, only to find that Yun Yongzhou’s eyes were closed. His arms, which had been holding Wei Huan, slackened. The dazzling white feathers vanished in an instant, and the two of them began to fall.

Cr*p.

“Little guy!”

As they plummeted, the wind roared furiously past his ears. Wei Huan strained his shackled hands to grab Yun Yongzhou’s arm, pulling him closer.

Ten meters—

Why did he lose consciousness?

Five meters—

Wake up!

Two meters.

He could practically smell the aquatic plants in the lake.

Thud—

The expected icy rush of lake water never came. Instead, Wei Huan landed heavily with Yun Yongzhou in a bed of soft fluff.

“Good job, little guy. I hereby declare you the MVP of the match.”

A now-enormous little fuzzball floated on the lake surface, having caught the falling duo just in time. Hearing Wei Huan’s praise, it let out a delighted, spoiled ying.

Wei Huan, buried in the fur, gasped for breath. It felt like his fragile human heart had truly plunged to the bottom of the lake.

His shackled hands were a real hassle. Wei Huan used his mind to control the bracelet, which gradually transformed into light and slipped into the keyhole of the cuffs. Click—the cuffs opened.

“Thank goodness…” Wei Huan was drenched in sweat. Yun Yongzhou laid on top of him, his head tilted against Wei Huan’s chest, still unconscious.

“Hey, why are you so weak now…” Without lifting his head, Wei Huan reached up and touched Yun Yongzhou’s back.

Sticky.

Suspicious, he lifted his palm—and saw a patch of glaring crimson. His heart almost stopped. Wei Huan shot upright in shock, only then realizing that Yun Yongzhou’s back had been blasted open by the earlier artillery. His black instructor uniform was shredded, soaked in blood.

The memory from ten minutes ago flashed in his mind. In that split-second moment of crisis, Yun Yongzhou had exposed his entire back to the enemy and their firepower, tightly wrapping Wei Huan in his wings and arms instead.

Why would he do that?

In their previous life, Wei Huan had fought alongside Yun Yongzhou in the same combat squad more than once. He knew Yun’s physical capabilities inside out. They’d both seen each other injured in all sorts of ways. But this time, Yun Yongzhou had actually fallen unconscious. Even during his youth, Yun Yongzhou had rarely been this weak.

No time to think. Wei Huan sat up and carefully peeled off Yun Yongzhou’s instructor uniform so it wouldn’t interfere with healing. The process was agonizing. He gently removed the embedded shrapnel from Yun’s back, checking and rechecking.

Luckily, he also noticed that Yun Yongzhou’s horrifying wounds were slowly regenerating. Though slower than expected, the healing was still visible to the naked eye. Apparently, Scarface hadn’t had time to get anti-demon healing suppressants—otherwise, things would’ve gotten worse.

Wei Huan took off his suit jacket and lightly draped it over Yun Yongzhou’s back.

“Next time we go out, we’re bringing medicine,” Wei Huan muttered. The little furball echoed him with a long, whimpering sound.

Thankfully, Yun Yongzhou didn’t stay unconscious for long. Wei Huan felt a slight movement of his head and reached out to check if he was waking up—only for a sharp ring of radiant spikes to suddenly shoot up around them like a defensive perimeter.

That terrifying vigilance…

But the spikes lasted less than two seconds before vanishing. Yun Yongzhou pushed himself up with both arms, slowly opening his eyes with a frown. The demon markings on his temple had faded somewhat. His blurred vision took a long while before finally focusing on Wei Huan’s face.

“Don’t move.” Wei Huan tugged the fallen jacket back up. “Your back’s injured.”

Yun Yongzhou lowered his gaze to the hand resting on his shoulder, his eyelashes trembling slightly.

As he tilted his head, Wei Huan suddenly noticed something dark purple trickling from the corner of his mouth. Reaching out to wipe it, he asked, “What’s going on with you…”

But Yun Yongzhou reacted even faster, instinctively turning his head away. “Ran into some poison vine on a mission two days ago,” he said casually, wiping it himself. Then he rolled over to lie on his back atop the furball.

Wei Huan withdrew his rejected hand but couldn’t help worrying. “Your injury…”

Yun Yongzhou only stared blankly at a strangely shaped cloud in the sky. “It’ll heal soon.”

It was always him. Wei Huan counted silently—in every crisis he’d faced since being reborn, Yun Yongzhou had been there. Always showing up at just the right moment, always extending a hand when things were dire.

Like it was a mission Yun Yongzhou had taken upon himself to complete at all costs.

But why? Wei Huan couldn’t find a reason. He brought nothing of value to Yun Yongzhou—he was a burden, clearly.

That thought made him abruptly unwilling to think more. He diverted the conversation, “You could recognize me, even like this?”

Yun Yongzhou’s gaze shifted from the sky to him. “Was it supposed to be hard?”

Huh? Wei Huan was stunned. That’s not right.

He grabbed some of the furball’s fuzz and leaned over the lake, only to see his human face reflected in the water. Instinctively, he reached for his neck—and found the electronic mask trigger was gone.

“Probably lost it when I jumped out the window…” he muttered to himself.

Yun Yongzhou didn’t say anything. He sat up on the furball. The furball floated for a while before finally reaching the shore. Once the two of them disembarked, it shrank with a whoosh—like a deflated balloon, until it was only the size of a cherry, pitifully bobbing on the water, too exhausted to even jump onto Wei Huan.

Wei Huan crouched down and scooped the little furball from the water into his palm. The tiny creature shook the water off its body, then collapsed from exhaustion in his hand, too tired to even whimper.

“You did great, you’re amazing. Next time—” He suddenly cut himself off mid-sentence, realizing how strange it sounded for him to be speaking so familiarly, given that this little furball had been with Yun Yongzhou for years.

He turned around, guilty, and held out his hand to Yun Yongzhou. “Here, for you—”

He expected some kind of reaction, but Yun Yongzhou only said flatly, “He likes you. Let him stay with you.”

You’re just giving him to me… like that?

Wei Huan grumbled internally but forced an awkward smile. “Thanks…” Then added quickly, “Also… thanks for today. If you hadn’t helped me, I probably would’ve died. Or at least gotten seriously injured…” The more he spoke, the less confident he sounded, his eyes lowering.

“It’s the same either way.”

Wei Huan blinked in confusion. “What is?”

Yun Yongzhou slipped on the suit jacket Wei Huan had worn earlier, buttoning it up, though his chest still remained largely exposed. Only then did Wei Huan notice an old, deep wound on Yun Yongzhou’s chest—right over his heart—almost blended into the sun totem demon mark that belonged to him alone.

When did he get hurt like that? Why had he never seen it before?

“No matter who gets hurt, it’s the same.” Yun Yongzhou left behind that cryptic statement and started walking.

Wei Huan needed a moment to react. He heard the furball whining softly and hurried to catch up with Yun Yongzhou.

“Why aren’t you using a barrier traversal technique to go back?” he asked, walking beside him. “Where are we going now?”

Yun Yongzhou lifted his hand, dragging it from his temple down to his chin. The red demon mark at his temple vanished for the moment—but Wei Huan knew it was just an illusion.

“I can’t circulate spiritual energy right now,” Yun Yongzhou said in a low voice. “That last traversal attempt failed too. I’ll go back once I recover.”

Wei Huan whispered, “That poison vine is really that powerful?”

Yun Yongzhou gave him a sidelong glance, and Wei Huan immediately rephrased, “I mean, could it be related to the vine’s poison?”

“It’s none of your concern.”

Tch.

Can’t even care about you?

They walked out of the abandoned zone and onto a street that had once been bustling. The remnants of that former prosperity were still visible, though now it was just another part of the chaotic dark zone. Beggars lined the sidewalks, and many bullies in exosuits roamed about.

“That face of yours is way too eye-catching. Pretty to the point of being inhuman.” Wei Huan couldn’t help but tease. Even now, with only a suit jacket on and no fiery demon mark on his face, Yun Yongzhou’s looks were still top-tier in the demon realm—let alone here in the human world.

Yun Yongzhou, as always, stayed silent and ignored the joke. But when they passed a street stall, he stopped. Wei Huan glanced over—lots of little trinkets were laid out, and a row of masks sat at the edge.

The now-rested furball hopped onto Wei Huan’s shoulder and squeaked a few times. Wei Huan turned and noticed a small electronic trigger button hidden in its fur.

“So that’s where you were hiding it.” He pulled out the trigger and thought of the “replica” he’d seen earlier in the 137 Research Institute building. After hesitating for two seconds, he reattached it to the side of his neck and pressed it. Just like before, the holographic image of a 137 Research Institute researcher appeared before him—it still worked and could switch identities.

Yun Yongzhou picked up a mask. The vendor lady smiled. “Ten common coins.”

Wei Huan turned to him. Yun Yongzhou frowned slightly, looking genuinely puzzled.

Oh god, how would a pampered young master like him have human currency?

The vendor lady’s expression immediately changed to one of mockery. “What, can’t pay?” Wei Huan gave a stiff smile, about to try negotiating when the woman’s squinty eyes zeroed in on the golden bracelet on his right wrist. “Doesn’t look like you’re broke.”

In a flash, Yun Yongzhou’s gaze turned hostile. He grabbed Wei Huan’s hand and yanked him behind him.

“Hey, what are you pulling me for—”

Suddenly, both of them turned at the same time toward a nearby intersection. Several rare black sedans rolled into the dark zone, followed by a convoy of motorcycles. All were armed. The commotion wasn’t small.

“Sh*t, they followed us.”

Wei Huan met Yun Yongzhou’s eyes. In that split second, they exchanged a look and casually walked away from the stall. Panicking wouldn’t help, but the sirens behind them grew louder.

“Someone said they saw them here! Search the area!”

“Two young men! One in black, one in a suit! Hurry!”

Nope. Nope nope nope.

Wei Huan’s eyes darted around. He spotted a dark alley to the right—more like a narrow crevice between two three- or four-story buildings. He grabbed Yun Yongzhou’s wrist and dragged him inside.

Armed men poured out of the cars, searching in all directions.

With walls closing them in on both sides, the sound of footsteps drew closer. Wei Huan reached up and pressed the electronic mask’s button at his neck.

“They went that way! That alley!”

Wei Huan clenched his jaw, tore Yun Yongzhou’s jacket off, and tossed it aside. He looked up at him with a pleading gaze, like a clever and innocent deer. “Bear with it. Don’t hit me.”

With that, he tapped the holographic interface and selected a female researcher. In a flash, the mask cloaked his face, even generating long black hair.

Just as Yun Yongzhou was still stunned, Wei Huan placed his right hand on Yun Yongzhou’s chest and pushed him back against the wall, rising onto his toes.

The screeching sirens shattered the rhythm of their breathing.

His burning left hand cupped Yun Yongzhou’s face, blocking the view from the alley’s entrance where light was spilling in—creating the perfect illusion of a kiss. His right hand slid from chest to waist, wrapping around to grip Yun Yongzhou’s bare back, where the wound had already healed completely, smooth and unbroken.

Every spot he touched became feverish, as if a scalding current surged beneath the thin layer of skin.

“At least hug me, will you?”

They were so close that Yun Yongzhou clearly heard the quiet complaint. At last, stiff and mechanical, he raised his arms—

And pulled him into an embrace.

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