Everyone Is Non-Human Except Me [Rebirth] Chapter 47

Thoughts were seen through.

Wei Huan froze by the door, stiff like a statue. He didn’t know how to respond, what to say, or even where to place his hands. As discomfort set in, he looked down—and realized he had come here wearing only one slipper. That made it even more awkward.

But the other person was just staring at him. That helpless look of his must appear ridiculous in the other’s eyes. Wei Huan could only scratch the back of his head and force a grin. “Was it the heart-link that let you read my mind, Instructor?”

Yun Yongzhou shook his head. “I just guessed.”

Wei Huan laughed again. “Instructor Yun, your instincts are uncanny. You hit the mark blind. Nothing escapes you.”

Then he turned his face away and said faintly, “Close the door.”

Yun Yongzhou always had this commanding tone that brooked no argument. Wei Huan obediently shut the door. He was going to hop over, but on second thought, he’d already been walking around barefoot this long—what difference would one more step make?

He crept quietly to the couch and deliberately chose the other one. But before he even sat down, he noticed Yun Yongzhou staring straight at him.

That look… full of disapproval.

So he was supposed to sit there?

Wei Huan gave an awkward laugh, pressing down twice on the cushion he had been about to sit on, feigning, “Ah, this one’s kind of stiff.” Then he immediately scooted over to Yun Yongzhou’s side and plopped down ten centimeters away. “This one’s definitely softer.”

Only then did Yun Yongzhou look away. Wei Huan breathed a small sigh of relief, thinking to himself—yep, this guy’s temperament is still as weird as ever.

The two of them sat there in silence. At Yang Sheng’s place, Wei Huan had felt a little sleepy. But now, somehow, he was wide awake. Not only awake—his heart was pounding.

He was afraid of Yun Yongzhou, but not in the way one fears a threat. It wasn’t reverence for a superior either. He couldn’t quite explain it. But every time he saw Yun Yongzhou, he felt like he stopped being himself.

Summer nights were quiet.

Yun Yongzhou carried a scent like sunlight and clouds.

As soon as that thought surfaced, Wei Huan found it absurd.

When he first learned to fly, he’d been a fearless kid who loved soaring high, diving into clouds. On sunny days, the clouds were warm and fluffy under the sun. But they were still mist, and when they brushed your skin, they were cool and melted away—then carried off again by the sun’s warmth.

That peculiar blend of warmth and coolness… felt just like Yun Yongzhou.

“What are you thinking about?” Yun Yongzhou suddenly spoke, breaking the train of thought that had floated high into the sky.

“Nothing. Just wondering—how did you know I wasn’t asleep?” Wei Huan smiled. “Bet it was Instructor Yang trying to kick me out for some peace and quiet, so he ratted me out to you.”

Yun Yongzhou didn’t reply. He just quietly watched the lights on the ceiling.

Wei Huan was used to him not answering.

“I did something today,” Wei Huan said. Then he hesitated, worried Yun Yongzhou might scold him. “But I swear I didn’t cause you any trouble…”

“I don’t think you’re a burden,” Yun Yongzhou said.

Hadn’t he already been enough of one in the past?

“Hmm…” Wei Huan was tempted to test him by bringing up the past—but he held back.

“Are you tired?” Yun Yongzhou suddenly asked.

Wei Huan played it cool, catching a drifting speck of light between his fingers. He smiled. “Why do you ask? Do I look worn out?”

Yun Yongzhou didn’t respond—seemingly a silent confirmation.

Wei Huan’s smile froze. He let the light slip through his fingers.

“I just feel like I’m walking through fog, unable to see anything clearly. Sometimes I think—maybe I should just sit down and stop moving. So what if I’m stuck in the fog forever, living in a daze? It wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

“But… I don’t think I can.” Wei Huan hugged his knees. “If I really lived like that, I probably wouldn’t be me anymore.”

“More than struggling or failing in the fog… I’m more afraid of losing myself.”

“Then go.”

Yun Yongzhou’s sudden words made Wei Huan turn to look at him.

“Go find yourself again.”

Peace settled over him. Wei Huan lowered his eyes and smiled softly.

“If you need help,” Yun Yongzhou continued, “you can tell me.”

When had this proud man become so direct? Wei Huan couldn’t help but chuckle. “Alright. Let me think—what do I need help with?”

He remembered what Yang Sheng had said about his resurrection, and wondered if Yun Yongzhou knew something. So he asked tentatively, “Oh, Instructor, there’s something I wanted to ask you.”

He thought about how to word it less bluntly. “A long, long time ago, humans believed in reincarnation. They thought that after death, people entered the six realms of samsara, and their souls would be reborn into new lives. Have you ever heard that story?”

Yun Yongzhou seemed to understand what he was getting at. “And?”

“So…” Wei Huan smiled. “I was just a little curious—do demons have something similar?”

“No,” Yun Yongzhou replied immediately, without any mercy.

His answer sounded as if it had been prepared long ago, needing no thought to recite.

“Demon souls come from all things in nature. Only ancient, inherited demon bloodlines can be passed down through reproduction. All other demons are formed by refining spiritual energy from living beings. To keep this massive system running, there’s only one way—cyclical renewal.”

Yun Yongzhou didn’t look at Wei Huan, speaking all of this to the air.

“So once a demon loses its life, its soul immediately disperses, returning to the world. That’s the only way the demon realm maintains a constant supply of spirit energy—so new demon souls can emerge, demon hearts can be born, and new demons come into existence.”

Wei Huan, being a great demon himself, knew all this perfectly well.

But that wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

He really believed in miracles—especially ones that happened to him.

“No exceptions?” he asked. As soon as he did, he felt he was being unreasonable, but didn’t know how to explain his insistence.

Then suddenly—he thought of the perfect example. “But Instructor—you’re said to be the reincarnation of the original Golden Crow, aren’t you?”

“The one I know of was an ancient demon from a time when all of Fanzhou was still barren. Even before human civilization began, there were legends of the Golden Crow.”

“They say the first Golden Crow became the sun.” Yun Yongzhou looked at him. “Do you really think the sun in the sky is him?”

“Or… do you think it’s me?”

The pointed question stunned Wei Huan. “…I don’t know.” But then he circled back: “No—I don’t care if the sun is the Golden Crow. I just want to know—everyone says you are his reincarnation. If that’s true, doesn’t it contradict what you said about demon souls not reincarnating?”

His question was met with silence.

Then Yun Yongzhou chuckled lightly and finally spoke: “Lie enough, and it becomes the truth.”

Wei Huan was a little stunned.

What did he mean? That he wasn’t the Golden Crow reborn? Or that he’d lied too much and now believed it himself? Either way—it was hard to believe.

“Do you think light is beautiful?”

Caught off guard, Yun Yongzhou changed the subject. Wei Huan looked toward the galaxy of light between ceiling and couch, not questioning the shift at all. “Of course it’s beautiful.” He turned toward Yun Yongzhou’s side profile. “Don’t you think so?”

In the light, Yun Yongzhou’s nearly translucent lashes quivered and lowered. His voice was low, like a cold cloud about to fall. He didn’t answer Wei Huan’s question—instead, he began a story.

“I was born with fire abilities in a remote seaside village, raised by my mother. I didn’t have a father, but my mom loved me deeply and gave me a happy childhood.”

It was the first time Wei Huan had heard Yun Yongzhou speak of his past. And it was far from what he’d imagined. He had always assumed Yun Yongzhou was that well-born young master—raised in luxury, from Penglai to Kunlun Void, entering Shanhai as top of the class, smooth-sailing all the way.

“I wasn’t born with the original Golden Crow’s totem. Maybe…” he squinted in thought, “…I was four or five? One day, my mother noticed a sun-shaped totem had suddenly appeared on my chest. She panicked and told me never to let anyone see it. I didn’t understand, but I listened.”

“We kept it hidden, and nothing happened—until I started elementary school. The village was remote—not like Penglai or Kunlun Void. Not many high-level demons. Being near the sea, most of my classmates were water-type demons. I was the only one with fire.” He gave a small laugh. “So I became everyone’s target.”

Wei Huan’s heart sank.

At times, excellence equates to isolation.

“My uniqueness made me an outcast. Eventually, they started mocking me for not having a father. Things they must’ve heard at home—they repeated without thinking. One day, they locked me in a dark room, tied me up, and used their weak little powers to attack and humiliate me.”

Your mother seduced someone to have you.

She was abandoned.

You and your mom are both shameless trash.

“My mother would tell me every day—no matter what people say, don’t listen, pretend you never heard it.” Yun Yongzhou’s eyes turned sharp and cold. 

“But that day, I didn’t listen. I fought back.”

“Or rather, my will fought back.”

He moved his fingers. The starlight swirled into a vortex, forming a child surrounded by blades of light—each one razor-sharp.

“That was the first time I awakened the power of light.”

Yun Yongzhou was smiling—but Wei Huan felt overwhelmingly sad.

“I hurt several children and fled from that dark room. I scared a lot of people. My hair had grown long and turned platinum; my eyes had turned gold. My face was still stained with their blood. I didn’t even dare go home.”

Wei Huan leaned in slightly, closing the gap. “And then?”

“Then… my mom tried to make amends, apologized to them. When everything was settled and I had recovered, she took me somewhere no one knew us. I remember asking her—”

“Mom, am I a monster?” Yun Yongzhou’s voice remained calm and flat, but it gripped Wei Huan’s heart like invisible hands.

“She said I wasn’t. But if I really wasn’t, why was everyone afraid? Even she was afraid of me.”

“She didn’t answer—only told me never to use my light power again. Or she’d abandon me.”

“I was terrified of being left alone.”

“But it was useless. Nothing in this world can stay hidden forever. If it happened, there will always be a day when the truth slips out. So, in the end, we were found.”

Wei Huan had already guessed who. He reached for a blanket on the side of the couch and draped it over Yun Yongzhou, pulling a little over himself as well. Facing Yun Yongzhou, he asked: “Who found you?”

“The Prime Minister of the Federation of the Demon Realm, head of the Golden Crow family—Yun Ting. No, back then, he wasn’t anything yet.” Yun Yongzhou’s voice turned even colder.

“He came personally, brought his trusted aides, and demanded my mother hand me over. Of course she refused. She used her demon power to create a barrier and hid me inside it. Only then did I realize—she’d been running all those years from him.”

“She tried everything to stop him. He got impatient—so he attacked her.”

The child made of condensed light shattered in an instant, melting into golden liquid that slowly flowed down.

“He knew I could see and hear him, so he told me he was the father I had never met. He said he wanted to take me home. As long as I was willing to come out, he’d let my mother go, and we’d go home together.”

Wei Huan could almost imagine how scared he must have been then—he could nearly see that frail child trembling behind the barrier, terrified.

“What happened after that, you can probably guess.” Yun Yongzhou took a deep breath. “I came out. My mother only had one last breath left in her. To threaten me, he found a demon shaman and had her demon soul extracted and sealed in a place I could never find. He turned my mother, who could smile and speak, into a half-dead shell.”

Yun Yongzhou suddenly fell silent.

Maybe he didn’t know how to continue.

After a long pause, he spoke again. “I think I went off-topic. I was supposed to be talking about the First Golden Crow.”

“Anyway, he took me—this illegitimate child he had originally cast aside—back to Penglai, and made me his legitimate son. His lawful wife was already dead, so no one stopped him. He used rumors and gossip to make everyone believe I was the reincarnation of the First Golden Crow. Because I was the only demon in all these years to manifest the light attribute again, I became the chosen one. And as my father, his prestige grew, until he climbed to the very peak of power.”

“My light attribute had nothing to do with the First Golden Crow. It just… emerged. From that moment on…”

My world completely collapsed.

In everyone else’s eyes, this light was pure, clean, dazzling, beautiful—an unreachable symbol of the sun. But to me, it was born from the darkness buried deep within. It was dirty, repulsive, a nightmare that wrapped around me. When I was angry or afraid, it would appear on its own—sharp and dangerous.

Everyone praised my power, like they were admiring a perfectly crafted weapon. After hearing it enough, Yun Yongzhou became numb to it.

Eventually, he came to believe that’s all it was—a weapon perfectly suited to kill. And weapons don’t have guilt, or a soul. He was nothing more than the most threatening weapon in his father’s arsenal.

He didn’t need anyone’s genuine affection—just their fear.

There was only one person who never feared him for his unique power. Someone who never waited for the right time—who would draw close the moment they met, clinging to him, constantly forcing him to accept a world beyond himself.

Yun Yongzhou would never forget the time they were both gravely injured and trapped in Deathless City, thinking they’d never see the sun again, never return. Even at the darkest, most hopeless moment, that guy remained hopeful, chattering to him like nothing had changed, excitedly calculating their odds of escape.

Until Yun Yongzhou finally couldn’t take it anymore and tried to shatter that hope.

[Where does your confidence come from? Or are you just happy to die here with me?]

Upon hearing that, he finally stopped. Clutching his wounds, face pale, he dragged himself closer to Yun Yongzhou.

[Little Golden Crow, show me a bit of light.]

With no response, he kept asking—like a child pestering for a treat—even when he was too weak to speak clearly.

[Just a little. Let me see it.]

No matter how silent or cold Yun Yongzhou’s expression became, he refused to give up.

[Can’t you grant me just this one wish?]

At last, Yun Yongzhou gave in. He opened his palm, filthy with blood and dirt, and conjured a faint glimmer of light.

As if finally granted a lifelong wish, he leaned against the wall, reached out to touch that glow, and smiled, satisfied.

[Yun Yongzhou, I like your light.]

Yun Yongzhou still remembered the surge of emotion in his chest at that moment, like heat breaking through an icy glacier.

[Even though it’s dark here, I have my sun.]

He looked at Yun Yongzhou with eyes clear as deep blue water, smiling with certainty.

[So I’m not afraid.]

The memory was too familiar—so vivid that every time he closed his eyes, the images played back in perfect clarity.

His smile, his gaze, the slight lift at the end of his sentences when he spoke, and the warmth of his palm pressed to Yun Yongzhou’s wrist—it all appeared again and again in his dreams, every single night.

So much so that after he died, Yun Yongzhou didn’t dare to sleep.

Didn’t dare to dream.

Every dream was a cruel duel with his own fragile will.

His emotions were winding tighter and tighter. With just one lapse of focus, seven years had already slipped away.

Even now, he often thought—maybe him coming back… was the real dream.

Yun Yongzhou turned his face, pale eyes locking onto Wei Huan’s.

The starlight flickered once more.

“This time, let me ask again… do you think this light is beautiful?”

Wei Huan didn’t look away. He met Yun Yongzhou’s eyes head-on, direct and honest.

From the first time he saw him ten years ago, he’d felt it—that sense of dissonance. What kind of sun is this cold? Wei Huan always wondered. But now, he finally understood.

He knew better than anyone that Yun Yongzhou didn’t truly believe the light had brought misfortune.

Because the light was him.

And in his heart, the source of all misfortune—was himself.

The starlight made Wei Huan’s eyes gleam. Curled under the blanket, he looked like some kind of small, lovable creature. The ten centimeters between them was almost gone.

He didn’t answer the question.

Instead, he asked very softly: 

“Can I hug you?”

Yun Yongzhou’s pupils quivered. He lowered his gaze, eyebrows furrowed slightly, and muttered: “If you don’t want to answer my question, you don’t have to. There’s no need to—”

Before he could finish speaking, Wei Huan hugged him tightly. “If I knew you’d say that, If I’d known, I wouldn’t have asked you.”

For some reason, at that moment, Wei Huan felt a strange sense of a long-cherished wish being fulfilled.

A thin blanket covered their tightly pressed, scarred hearts. Those hearts beat vividly, struggling against their own fates, entangled with each other’s destinies, growing together.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to answer,” Wei Huan rested his chin on Yun Yongzhou’s soft shoulder hollow, “I just wanted to answer you like this.”

The closeness of the embrace made Yun Yongzhou’s chest ache with a sour heaviness. He had dreamt of such a real hug before.

“Your light is beautiful.” Wei Huan’s voice was so close, close enough to sink directly into the still, silent lake in his heart, pulling his drenched self out from the depths, back into the daylight.

“I like your light.”

As expected, he hadn’t changed one bit.

Yun Yongzhou buried his head into Wei Huan’s shoulder, burying his bitter smile there as well. He probably said these things because he counted on Wei Huan’s kindness, counted on him having the purest and deepest empathy in the world. That’s why he was so unrestrained in exposing his wounds in exchange for an embrace.

It was clearly something he had always despised doing.

But if he were to open himself up for anyone, it could only ever be for Wei Huan.

“I don’t need your pity.”

“I don’t want to pity you. I just want you to hug me.” Wei Huan hugged him tightly, as if desperately trying to hold on to a cloud gradually dissolving in the sunlight. Just like many times before, it all felt so familiar. He seemed to have said these same words and done these same things long ago.

It wasn’t that he had never comforted others before, but ever since meeting Yun Yongzhou, he had always feared that his comfort would be useless. Yun Yongzhou spoke so calmly, but his eyes stung uncontrollably.

This restless emotion even made him feel guilty.

“I feel like I’ve always owed you a thank you.” Wei Huan said quietly.

“When I thought I had lost everything, you appeared and pulled me up.”

You made me realize that even if I am criticized and misunderstood, even if I lose my closest friends and family, even if I lose my very identity—

I still haven’t lost you as my opponent.

Like a sun suspended in the sky— as long as the sun doesn’t disappear, I will always have something to chase.

One by one, the glimmers in the sky faded away, and the night gradually returned to its original state.

“To be fair, I should probably tell you a secret too…” Wei Huan’s voice sank, and Yun Yongzhou could hear the hesitation in it.

His hand gently rested on the back of Wei Huan’s head, his voice soft as a summer breeze.

“Tell me next time. When you no longer have any burdens.”