Everyone Is Non-Human Except Me [Rebirth] Chapter 50

“Yun Yongzhou!”

Wei Huan was so panicked, he forgot all about being a respectful student. With both arms and legs tightly bound, unable to move, he turned his head sideways and yelled Yun Yongzhou’s name.

Yun Yongzhou didn’t reply, but inside, he was panicking. The moment Wei Huan fell on him, his mind had exploded like a boiling kettle—hot and chaotic. His hand had jerked, spilling water across Wei Huan’s back, soaking a large patch of his white t-shirt. The wet fabric clung to his faintly raised spine and traced a line downward…

“Let… me go, now!”

Hearing that shout jolted Yun Yongzhou back to his senses. The glowing restraints vanished instantly. Wei Huan’s legs buckled, and he fell to his knees. Propping himself up with one hand on Yun Yongzhou’s knee, he raised his torso halfway.

The moment he looked up, their eyes met.

For some reason, Wei Huan couldn’t bring himself to hold that gaze. Guilt stirred inside him, and he instinctively removed his hand from Yun’s knee and looked away, Adam’s apple bobbing uneasily.

And then, like a flashback, the image of the sea came to him—Yun Yongzhou unconscious in the deep blue water, pale skin drifting, hair flowing with the current… the feel of his lips…

I’ve lost it!

Startled by his own thoughts, Wei Huan jolted internally. How many years had it been? Why the h*ll was he still thinking about the feel of those lips?

“That… uh…” Wei Huan, suddenly looking drunk, wobbled to his feet and bolted toward the kitchen, head down. “I’m gonna… cook some noodles…”

“You said you were leaving.” Yun Yongzhou’s cool voice rang from behind, making Wei Huan freeze mid-step.

Right.

He had said that.

Was he really going to slap his own face twice today?

Wei Huan’s face twisted up in frustration, but when he turned around, he was all smiles again. “That was just angry talk. I’ll still make the noodles.” He disappeared into the kitchen and shut the door behind him.

What the h*ll.

Mind spinning, he opened the fridge, grabbed some ingredients, and started boiling water for the noodles. His clothes were soaked and clinging uncomfortably, so he peeled off the wet shirt with one hand and tossed it aside. But his head was still in a strange place—he couldn’t stop thinking. As he cooked, his mind wandered.

He even remembered the first time he’d come here. Yun Yongzhou had almost blown up the kitchen back then. Wei Huan had to take over, and he’d accidentally cut his hand in the process.

The noodles bubbled in the boiling water. Wei Huan leaned against the counter, lost in thought.

He remembered—because of the pain-transfer effect of the blood pact, he hadn’t felt a thing when he got cut.

Some odd, indescribable emotion stirred in his heart. He couldn’t quite say what it was—only that it felt vaguely… pleasant.

The boiling water and white foam pushed the lid of the pot open, and steam rushed out eagerly. Wei Huan snapped out of his thoughts and hurriedly turned off the heat. Just eating noodles seemed a bit plain, so he figured he’d make a couple of side dishes. But his hands and mind were clearly out of sync—he couldn’t stop overthinking. In the end, he only managed to cook two dishes: one ended up with salt added twice, and the other had none at all.

When he brought the food out, Wei Huan even forgot he wasn’t wearing a shirt. As he set the plates on the table and saw Yun Yongzhou walk over and visibly pause, he suddenly remembered. Instinctively trying to smooth things over, he spoke first, “My shirt was too wet, so I took it off. Instructor Yun, can I borrow one of yours?”

Yun Yongzhou nodded and sat at the dining table.

“Thank you,” Wei Huan said gratefully, then went to the bedroom and opened the wardrobe. He had meant to just grab something at random, but accidentally spotted the black shirt Yun Yongzhou had let him wear the first time he visited.

Something clicked in his mind. He took the shirt out and looked inside.

Sure enough, there were two embroidered letters: WH.

It really was his shirt.

Learning the truth didn’t feel like a good thing—especially when his mind was already a mess. He slowly put the shirt on, buttoned it, and walked out of the room to sit across from Yun Yongzhou.

Yun Yongzhou was quietly eating noodles, his glasses placed to the side. He ate with refined manners—head slightly lowered, silent, long lashes drooping, his lips glistening slightly, redder than usual.

Realizing he was staring at Yun Yongzhou’s lips again, Wei Huan hurriedly tried to redirect his focus. He picked up his chopsticks. “Does it taste okay?”

“Mm.” Yun Yongzhou still didn’t look up.

Wei Huan picked up a bit of one dish—it was so bland, it was nearly tasteless.

He frowned and tried the other one. It was so salty he almost spat it out.

“How is this good?” Wei Huan poured himself a glass of water, feeling guilty. “Stop eating, Instructor Yun, this meal is a total failure.”

Yun Yongzhou didn’t reply. Wei Huan assumed he was just being polite and didn’t want to admit it, so he took the initiative to pick up a plate. “I’ll throw it out. Let’s eat something else—”

But as soon as his hand touched the plate, a flurry of glowing blades appeared around him—dozens, all pointed at him. He froze in fear. However, this time the menacing weapons only lasted a couple of seconds before vanishing. Wei Huan had no idea what just happened, but he quickly pulled his hand back and heard Yun Yongzhou mumble, “Sorry.”

The atmosphere instantly turned strange.

“No, I should be the one apologizing. It tastes awful.” Wei Huan stirred his noodles with his chopsticks, winding them clockwise, then unwinding counterclockwise. “I wasn’t trying to get back at you or anything, it just… happened.”

Yun Yongzhou said nothing. Instead, he picked up a portion of the unsalted dish and put it into Wei Huan’s bowl, then added some of the over-salted one and mixed everything with the noodles before withdrawing his chopsticks. His face still wore the same cold expression, but somehow, at this moment, he looked unusually serious. “Now it’s just right.”

Wei Huan looked down at his bowl, and his lips curled up into a smile. He pursed them, then coughed lightly.

What the heck.

His mind suddenly threw out a word—one completely ill-fitting for someone like Yun Yongzhou, especially coming from his own mouth.

But still, he was kind of cute.

He took a bite of noodles. Strangely enough, it really didn’t taste so bad anymore—not too salty, not too bland. Just right.

The two of them quietly ate their noodles, each lost in their own thoughts. This kind of moment felt unfamiliar to Wei Huan. Even in his past life, it had been a long time since he’d sat down and properly shared a peaceful meal with someone. Ever since his parents died in the line of duty, he had lacked a sense of security. Despite always being surrounded by people—Yang Sheng, Buyu—it was lively but still felt empty inside. Like the people around him would one day leave, one after another. In the end, he would always be alone.

Wei Huan looked up at Yun Yongzhou. He was almost finished eating. For the first time, Wei Huan noticed that maybe Yun Yongzhou wasn’t as cold as he seemed—or at least, not as cold as he used to be.

Being reborn gave him the chance to observe more closely, to get a little closer. Now he saw that Yun Yongzhou actually had many expressions, and even his voice carried subtle changes in tone. If you paid attention, it wasn’t hard to read his emotions.

Sure, he still summoned those glowing blades when he got annoyed—but at least now they only lasted one second.

“If you don’t eat, how am I supposed to feel full?”

Yun Yongzhou looked up and stared straight at Wei Huan. Reflexively sarcastic, Wei Huan shot back, “Love alone can fill the belly.”

But he immediately realized the phrase didn’t quite fit this context, so he added quickly, “Anyway, I’m already full.”

“So you’re leaving?” Yun Yongzhou asked.

By now, Wei Huan could more or less understand what he meant. He felt like some sort of gifted whisperer, able to communicate with the most difficult little creature in the world—one that didn’t speak human language, often said the opposite of what it meant, and mostly didn’t speak at all. What it took was patience and genius-level insight.

Exactly. Wei Huan nodded solemnly to himself.

“I’m not leaving.”

Yun Yongzhou’s lips curved—just slightly. Really slightly. Luckily, Wei Huan was watching closely, or he might’ve missed it.

Correct answer!

He cheered inwardly.

Wei Huan got up to clear the table. Yun Yongzhou didn’t say anything, but he also picked up his own bowl. As he glanced at the black shirt he was wearing, Wei Huan asked, “Instructor Yun, can I wear this shirt home?”

“You can,” Yun Yongzhou replied as he put the dishes in the kitchen. Then, as if remembering something, he added, “But remember to bring it back.”

“Can’t you just give it to me?” Wei Huan asked, stepping behind him.

“No, you can’t. This is mine.” Yun Yongzhou spoke firmly and decisively, then turned away.

Wei Huan blurted out instinctively, “But this is clearly…”

Facing Yun Yongzhou directly, the kitchen felt a little cramped for the two of them. The distance between them shrank in an instant, and he could almost feel the warmth radiating from Yun Yongzhou.

Yun Yongzhou reached out and took the bowl and chopsticks from his hands, asking indifferently, “Clearly what?”

Clearly my clothes…

Wei Huan squeezed past Yun Yongzhou and the countertop with a grin, “Clearly a cat the kid next door used to have when I was little. Super good-looking, but with a terrible temper.”

Here he goes again, spouting nonsense.

Yun Yongzhou placed the bowls and chopsticks into the sink, but Wei Huan’s muttering, growing softer and softer, still lingered in his ears.

“…Because he was good-looking, a lot of people liked to pet him, so he got really angry, always had a long face, and wouldn’t talk. He was sullen and moody, but still good-looking. And since he was a good-looking little cat, we forgave him…”

Yun Yongzhou quietly washed their dishes and dried his hands. It seemed like he had never experienced this kind of feeling before—so calm. There was no endless training, no rigid rules that allowed no failure, no instinct to fight to the death.

All he needed to do was sit here and quietly listen to Wei Huan talk about whatever came to mind. He didn’t need to think about where he would rush off to next, didn’t need to wonder when he would finally find him.

Yun Yongzhou walked out of the kitchen and saw Wei Huan sitting on the sofa, hugging a now much larger little furball, tugging on its fluffy fur. Wei Huan looked up at him, and the little furball took the chance to shrink in size and sneak out of his arms, bouncing its way over to Yun Yongzhou as if it were about to complain.

“Tch, with that much fur, pulling a couple of strands won’t make it go bald, right?”

Every little expression of his fell clearly into Yun Yongzhou’s eyes.

It was at this moment that Yun Yongzhou finally understood—in the eyes of many, he had always been that untouchable, otherworldly golden crow. But in reality, he longed more than anyone for these plain, warm, simple things.

Wei Huan was his spark of earthly life.

Only when Wei Huan was here, Yun Yongzhou was not just a beautiful, unfailingly accurate weapon. His existence wasn’t limited to those sharp, deadly edges—he could also be a firefly, or a star, if he wanted to be.

The blade could become fireworks.