Everyone Is Non-Human Except Me [Rebirth] Chapter 56

Being protected by Wei Huan was a gift from the heavens—Su Buyu had once firmly believed that.

Even knowing that Wei Huan had someone like Yang Sheng, who had grown up with him, Su Buyu never doubted the special place he held in Wei Huan’s heart.

“Buyu is the kindest and gentlest boy I’ve ever met.” Wei Huan always said this. It became like a beautiful shell encasing him, one he gradually stopped trying to escape. So Su Buyu tried harder—harder to be kind, gentler, so Wei Huan would like him more and wouldn’t leave.

Yang Sheng loved to bicker with Wei Huan. The two would squabble endlessly over the smallest things.

“It’s not what you said at all—why are you so stubborn?”

“I’m stubborn? I’m obviously right, and you just won’t believe it.” As he argued, he would habitually grab Su Buyu’s hand, “Buyu, be the judge—don’t you think I’m right?”

Yang Sheng would grab his other arm, “Buyu, be honest—isn’t he wrong?”

“Buyu, I’ll buy you snacks! A whole train car of dried shrimp!”

“I’ll get you a whole plane!”

“I can’t eat that much…”

Su Buyu always felt that the three of them were just right—eating together, playing together, training together. He knew Wei Huan loved to fly in the sky, loved to be the most dazzling main force in a crowd, so he stayed quietly in the background, in Wei Huan’s shadow. If he could stay by his side for a lifetime—even if he was always the one nobody noticed—he would be perfectly content.

Then Yun Yongzhou appeared.

He came from the sky, just like that, and took away Wei Huan’s most dazzling spotlight. Wei Huan, the favored son of the heavens, suddenly met his match. Even his trusted Soul-Splitting Technique was instantly seen through by Yun Yongzhou—it was like he’d met his natural counter.

Su Buyu thought Wei Huan would hate him—after all, Wei Huan had never lost before, and now he’d been completely and utterly defeated.

He thought Wei Huan would push Yun Yongzhou into opposition. But he was wrong.

As unwilling as he was to admit it, Wei Huan’s eyes always looked different when they landed on Yun Yongzhou. He chased after him constantly—no matter how resistant or cold Yun Yongzhou was, Wei Huan didn’t seem to care at all.

From then on, the balance between them was broken. He watched as Wei Huan, mid-conversation, would suddenly run off to Yun Yongzhou’s side, joking and teasing him, using up all his patience just to later run away like a prank.

Yun Yongzhou never even smiled at Wei Huan—he was so indifferent. But Wei Huan’s eyes never left him.

That kind of admiration—Su Buyu had never received it.

He still remembered clearly the day Wei Huan’s parents passed away. Their Group 7 happened to be out on a mission. Yang Sheng and Su Buyu had received word from the school, but Wei Huan was still busy clearing out the last remnants of an enemy faction. No one dared to tell him.

When the mission ended, Wei Huan was cheerfully slinging his arms around their shoulders.

“Same as always! Let’s go drink—this time I want the cherry-flavored one I missed last time~”

Yang Sheng gave Su Buyu a look, then turned to Wei Huan.

“Wei Huan.”

“You should go home first.”

At that moment, he didn’t know what to do. He looked at Wei Huan’s confused and bewildered face and said the hardest words he’d ever spoken in his life:

“Uncle Wei… something happened.”

Wei Huan froze for half a second, then tremblingly opened a portal and left without another word.

They had thought the blow would devastate him, that he’d spiral into grief and sorrow.

But the next day, Wei Huan returned to Shanhai to report back as usual. Rumors swirled around him. His mother was still trapped on the battlefield and unable to return, but he acted like nothing had happened—smiling, laughing, doing what he always did. Anyone who came to offer condolences received only a polite, “I’m fine.”

But Su Buyu knew very well that he was not fine.

One day after training, Wei Huan sat alone on the steps outside the drill grounds, his hands shaking so badly he couldn’t hold his water bottle. But the moment anyone approached, he smiled—always finding some excuse to cover up the cracks.

Su Buyu had tried to get him to open up, to vent, to lean on him.

But Wei Huan always smiled and said, “I’m really okay. Don’t worry about me. Life and death is fate—I know that.”

“Life and death is fate”—it sounded like a prophecy. Half a month later, Wei Huan’s mother passed away too.

Just like that, only one Nine Phoenix remained in this world.

Su Buyu never imagined that the first time he saw Wei Huan in a suit would be at his parents’ funeral. He was calmly handling all the arrangements, receiving guests, acting completely grown-up. That boy who had always seemed careless and unserious had grown up overnight.

Shanhai had given him three months’ leave, but Wei Huan refused. He threw himself into missions more intensely than ever. Every time he had the chance to save someone, he did.

“You don’t actually have to take on responsibilities beyond your tasks—you’ll wear yourself out,” Su Buyu once advised.

But Wei Huan replied seriously, “If I just take a few minutes—even less—I can save someone. Then their family won’t have to…”

That was when Su Buyu understood.

Everyone whispered behind his back, calling Wei Huan heartless, claiming he didn’t grieve for his parents at all, laughing and playing as usual.

But in truth, he was always thinking—if only his parents had been saved, maybe things would be different.

He worked so hard to become strong—just so there would be one less child like him in the world.

After the funeral, during their second mission, Wei Huan suddenly disappeared.

Yang Sheng grew anxious. “I’m afraid something’s happened to him. Let’s split up. Buyu, you go to the ancestral tomb. I’ll go to where Aunt Lin died. Yun Yongzhou, you…”

Yun Yongzhou turned around with a cold expression, didn’t say a word, and just walked away.

“Forget it,” Yang Sheng shook his head. “It’s not really his business anyway.”

But Su Buyu didn’t think that at the time. He reached out toward Yun Yongzhou’s retreating back, and a wall of water rose from the ground, blocking his path.

“Wei Huan treated you so well. How can you be this indifferent?”

Yun Yongzhou didn’t even spare him a glance. He simply spread his wings and flew away.

Su Buyu searched the entire night. When dawn came and he returned to Shanhai, he saw Yun Yongzhou carrying Wei Huan on his back, walking into the boundary of Shanhai. All he felt was irony—bitter and powerless.

It felt like fate. The one who could always find Wei Huan was Yun Yongzhou.

Wei Huan hadn’t slept all night. When he went out and came back, he saw Qing He in another room asleep over a stack of documents, not moving at all. He had originally wanted to walk over and tell Qing He to rest early. But just as he got close, Qing He suddenly jolted awake, full of vigilance.

Wei Huan took a half-step back. “You scared me.”

Qing He let out a long breath and didn’t say anything.

Wei Huan wasn’t sure why, but he felt a little heartache. Maybe it was due to childhood experiences—Qing He was always on high alert. Wei Huan pulled over a chair and sat down across from him, resting his head on the desk, tilting it to look at him.

“What are you looking at?” Qing He gave him a side glance in disdain and pulled out the documents that had been crushed under Wei Huan. His eyes flicked toward the door. “Is he alright now?”

Wei Huan lowered his eyes. “Much better, the wound doesn’t hurt anymore.”

Qing He’s tone was laced with sarcasm. “So you still know whether he’s hurting or not.” He had thought Wei Huan would refute him, but even after a long while, Wei Huan just stayed silent.

“Don’t worry. From what I see, your teacher is pretty tough. Doesn’t look that fragile.” Qing He wasn’t great at comforting people, so he just said whatever came to mind.

Wei Huan hummed. “He is strong. That’s why I’m worried.”

Qing He understood what he meant. “That demon puppet today was indeed very powerful. I was just looking through the files—there’s mention of a confidentiality agreement, seems like all information about demon puppets is classified.”

Wei Huan took the file. “That’s normal. If those demon puppets are ever deployed on the battlefield, they’ll be secret weapons.” He buried his head into his arms, his voice muffled. “If all the demon puppets are on this level…”

The more he thought about it, the more terrifying it felt.

“Do you think that’s likely?” Qing He asked. “You seem really strong yourself. And you go to Shanhai, a university only top-tier demons can enter. Based on your experience, are there likely to be many puppets like that?”

Qing He had a point. Though this particular demon puppet was incredibly strong, it was carrying a powerful demon spirit like Nine Phoenix. That alone could explain its terrifying ability. The strength of a demon puppet should be limited by the original demon’s power.

“There probably aren’t many. But if they pile them up with sheer numbers, that’ll be trouble too.” Wei Huan looked up at Qing He. “These demon puppets are essentially humanoid weapons. They have no thoughts, no identities. To those controlling them, their deaths might not even matter.”

Qing He sighed. “What I’m thinking now is—these demon puppets come from 137. They look like weapons made by humans to fight against demon legions. But…” His gaze turned cold. “Once someone has control over an army like that, no matter who they are, they’ll be one step closer to the peak of power.”

Power is the real destroyer of humanity.

Wei Huan was surprised by those words. He hadn’t expected Qing He to see that far ahead. After all, he was just a human—he should be viewing demon puppets from the standpoint of ordinary people. But clearly, he was seeing much more.

That only made Wei Huan more curious about Qing He’s past.

“Your organization…” he tried to start, “how many people do you guys have?”

“Why do you ask?” Qing He shot him a look. “If you’re trying to pry, just be direct.”

Wei Huan rested his chin on his arm. “I’m just curious. You seem really capable—you hack, you shoot, your intel work is good too. Did you develop all those skills after joining the organization?”

Qing He twirled his pen in silence. “More or less.”

Wei Huan was a little surprised—he hadn’t expected Qing He to actually answer.

“After I left the demon realm, I lived in the dark zone alone for a few years, hiding like a rat. Later I met the boss—he took me into the organization, gave me a place to stay. That’s where I met Leah, Ah Zu, and the others. He also asked me, ‘What do you like to do? What are you interested in?’” Qing He took off his eye mask. “I didn’t want to go out, so I chose hacking.”

It sounded like that boss was a good person. Wei Huan said, “He treated you guys pretty well. How did you meet him?”

“You know that area in the dark zone where you can see the screen on the tallest building in Fanzhou? I remember it was raining that day. I was passing by and saw a news broadcast.” Qing He suddenly chuckled. “I had bought food supplies for the next week, but I was so focused on the news I bumped into a half-demon. He and his buddies beat me half to death.”

The image appeared vividly in Wei Huan’s mind.

“They beat me until I couldn’t even get up off the ground. When they left, I crawled up and gathered the stuff I dropped. Everyone around had left, afraid of getting involved. But the news broadcast was still going—the two polished-looking anchors were still chatting away. I just stood there and watched till it finished.”

“Then the boss came over. He gave me an umbrella.” Qing He shrugged lightly. “So I went with him.”

Wei Huan was puzzled. “So… what was the news about?”

“The demon race.” Qing He didn’t seem to care. He pulled out a stick of gum, snapped it in half, and handed a piece to Wei Huan. “I didn’t know that demon, but I knew Nine Phoenix was one of the stronger demons. The news said Nine Phoenix’s entire unit was wiped out, the young one lost both parents within a year, and in the end, died on the battlefield too…” He chewed twice, frowned at the taste, and spat it back into the wrapper.

Wei Huan hadn’t expected the news to be about himself—he froze.

“Why were you watching it for so long?” He tried to act calm, feigning confusion. “That person should count as a human enemy, right?”

“Humans like to use hatred as an excuse for their own downfall.” Qing He lowered his head. “Back then, I just felt… he was kind of like me.”

Like?

Wei Huan couldn’t ask anything more. He knew with Qing He’s intelligence, he’d soon notice something off if he pushed further. He’d have to find out from somewhere else.

If Qing He met the leader of the organization there, it meant that person was watching the news too—but why?

“Does your leader have a name? I always hear you all call him that, makes me think he doesn’t have one.”

“Of course he does.” Qing He stretched with a yawn, clearly tired from sitting too long. “He’s called Yu Sheng.”

“Which characters?”

“No idea, probably the ‘yu’ for rain. We’ve only heard it, never seen him write his name.”

Wei Huan still had lingering doubts—could the leader of that dark zone organization be someone he knew?

Suddenly Qing He remembered something. “Hey, what about the stuff from the safe today? That watch.”

Thinking about how the safe was opened, Qing He still found it unbelievable. “How did you even have clearance to open that?”

Wei Huan reached into his pocket. “No idea. My hand even got pricked and bled when opening it.” He pulled out the watch to show Qing He, who frowned thoughtfully. “You said it drew blood? Don’t tell me the safe required DNA access?”

“Isn’t that a bit far-fetched?” Wei Huan was skeptical.

“Not at all. That Yang guy from 137 made his fortune in biotech. And I remember your access name was ‘Little An’…” Qing He’s brows knitted. “Could you be a genetic clone of that Little An?”

Wei Huan found the theory quite plausible. “But there’s no proof yet, and Little An’s identity is still unclear.”

Qing He shook the watch. “I feel like there’s some clue in here.” As he examined the digital watch, something struck him. “Wait, this thing’s broken. Did you drop it?”

“How could I? I didn’t even touch it.” Wei Huan tried to take it back, but Qing He dodged.

Qing He glanced at the wall clock, then back at the watch. “Look—it’s already 4 AM, and this thing still says 8:10. Definitely broken.”

8:10?

Wei Huan bolted upright from his seat. “Broken, it’s really broken…”

“Why are you copying me now? You reincarnated as a parrot or what?” Qing He tucked the watch away. “I’ll try fixing it tomorrow.” He watched Wei Huan opening the boundary to teleport. “Hey hey, where are you going?”

“I had an appointment…” Wei Huan was flustered, not even looking at him as he spoke. “So much happened, I completely forgot.”

“Wait, at this hour, they’re probably long gone…” Qing He curiously stuck his hand into the glowing portal ring, then pulled it out to examine.

Right.

It was already 4 AM…

Wei Huan dispiritedly closed the portal. “Should I call him…”

Qing He yawned. “Now? If you called me at this hour, I’d kill you. Just send a message, explain and apologize. Talk to him in person tomorrow. Just don’t ghost people again.” He waved a hand, done with the conversation. “Hey, tell your teacher I’m crashing on this bed. Too tired.”

Since he said that, Wei Huan didn’t press further. He wished him good night and left the room.

He had remembered it. And still forgot his promise to Buyu. Guilt welled up in his chest. After hesitating, he still sent a message.

[Teacher Su, I ran into something really tricky today and wasn’t able to meet you. I’m sorry. I’ll come see you tomorrow, if that’s okay with you.]

After sending the message, Wei Huan sat dazed in the living room. He didn’t know how much time passed before a sudden pain yanked at his chest.

He jerked up, clutching his chest, and rushed back to Yun Yongzhou’s room.

Had he moved?

Back at the bedside, Yun Yongzhou seemed to have just turned over, his brows tightly furrowed. Wei Huan leaned over. The pain in his chest lessened.

He quietly stared at Yun Yongzhou’s face. It was a strange sensation—he could use their link to sense Yun Yongzhou’s condition and even help bear his pain.

But if it didn’t hurt anymore, why was he still frowning?

Wei Huan reached out and gently placed his fingers on Yun Yongzhou’s brow. After confirming he hadn’t woken, he slowly smoothed the furrow between his brows.

Suddenly, the supposedly fast-asleep Yun Yongzhou reached out and caught his hand.

His amber eyes snapped open, reflecting Wei Huan’s startled face.

“Y-Yun Instructor Yun… you’re awake?” Wei Huan stammered, awkwardly trying to withdraw his hand, unsure of what to say.

Sweat beaded at Yun Yongzhou’s temples. His eyes were still dazed, as if just jolted from a nightmare.

Only when the dream had fully faded did he belatedly let go of Wei Huan’s hand, turning over and covering his eyes with the back of his arm. His voice was hoarse. “Why didn’t you leave?”

Wei Huan dumbly retracted his hand, rubbing the spot where he’d been gripped red. He wasn’t sure what to say. Was he supposed to leave? Maybe he was.

He didn’t know why, but it made him a little sad. His chest ached, and he couldn’t tell if it was from Yun Yongzhou or himself.

Wei Huan smiled and tried to explain, “Well, I was going to go, but when I woke up it was already really late, curfew had passed…”

“Ah, come to think of it, I’m really sleepy too. If you don’t mind, Instructor Yun, I’ll stay a little longer,” he said as he stood up. “I’ll squeeze in with Qing He and nap for a bit before heading back to school.”

Before he even walked out the door, Wei Huan felt as if his heart had already tripped and stumbled several times. He tried hard to ignore the strange ache in his chest and hurried a few steps—when suddenly, something lightly wrapped around his wrist.

Looking down, he saw it was Yun Yongzhou’s light-thread. Rather than binding, it was more like it softly draped over his wrist—not pulling, just hanging there like the hand of a child asking to be held back.

Soft. Pathetic.

“I mind.”

Yun Yongzhou’s hoarse voice came from behind.

Wei Huan didn’t turn around. Facing the door, he misunderstood Yun Yongzhou’s words. “Then I… I’ll just go back to school now?”

The two pitiful fools started a muddled conversation.

“I mind that you’re going to sleep with Qing He.” Yun Yongzhou finally said it. It was difficult for him, as if he’d already carved open his chest halfway—just a little more, and Wei Huan would see the bloody truth of his heart.

After a long pause, Wei Huan finally turned around, confused. “What?”

He saw Yun Yongzhou had already sat up. In the moonlight, with bandages wrapped around him, he looked especially good.

“Come here.”

Wei Huan didn’t know what happened to him—he just obediently walked back. The light-thread floated around him once before vanishing with a soft ding.

He stood by the bed, frozen like a block of wood.

“Lie down.”

Wei Huan was completely baffled. “L-Lie down?”

Yun Yongzhou’s expression was calm. “I won’t do anything to you.”

I know. Wei Huan, like a sulky child, mentally muttered a retort.

He lifted the blanket and got in, turning his back to Yun Yongzhou, staying as far away as he could, lying stiffly like a plank.

“Turn around.”

Wei Huan didn’t want to. His heart was pounding like crazy. He remembered the last time Yun Yongzhou did something like this—calling him to his dorm in the middle of the night.

He felt like his shell had gone stiff, but his heart had turned into a wildly thumping rabbit, making him restless and helpless. “Why? You… can’t sleep again and want to look at the stars?”

“I want to look at you.”

The frantic little rabbit was caught—frozen, not daring to move.

Wei Huan felt like even breathing had become difficult. He struggled—should he turn over or not? What would happen if he did? He didn’t dare look at Yun Yongzhou, didn’t know what to say. What would Yun Yongzhou do, what would he say? Had he already figured out that he was…

Suddenly, Yun Yongzhou hugged him from behind.

“If you won’t turn around, then I’ll hug you.”

The little rabbit was about to die.

Yun Yongzhou’s arm wrapped around him, sliding to the front. He ruffled Wei Huan’s soft hair, then gently and tenderly patted the crown of his head, like a gesture of comfort.

Wei Huan didn’t know why—just moments ago, he had everything figured out, all his thoughts sorted out—but now, just from this hug, he suddenly felt wronged again. But he didn’t dare show it, didn’t dare move.

Yun Yongzhou’s warmth seeped through their touching bodies and spread into Wei Huan’s heart—soothing, secure.

Wei Huan had no idea how much of a challenge this small gesture was for Yun Yongzhou. All he knew was that he was incredibly nervous now. This rabbit was beyond saving—seriously ill.

Yun Yongzhou placed his hand on Wei Huan’s cheek.

“You’re tired.”

I… I am really tired. Wei Huan pressed his lips together, his eyes covered by Yun Yongzhou’s fingers, lashes brushing softly against his skin. He remembered how last time, when they were looking at stars, he also insisted on hugging Yun Yongzhou.

Was Yun Yongzhou trying to comfort him the same way now? But what was there to comfort? Yun Yongzhou didn’t even know what had happened.

Realizing this, Wei Huan tried to sound relaxed. “Instructor Yun, I think you misunderstood. I’m not tired—I was just talking to Qing He just now, that’s all. Nothing happened. You don’t need to comfort me.”

Yun Yongzhou buried his face in the back of Wei Huan’s neck, his usually cool voice carrying a faint sigh.

“It’s not comfort.”

And then his arm tightened slightly.

“I just want to hug my caged pet—is that not allowed?”