Everyone Is Non-Human Except Me [Rebirth] Chapter 69

As soon as he asked that, Qing He seemed to regret it a little. He smacked his hand on the balcony railing, lips curling into a smile that matched his age—a teenager’s smile. “Just kidding. I was just asking randomly.”

He turned and leaned back against the railing, tilting his head. “You know, you can actually leave now. My dad was the one who brought you here, but he’s dead. You don’t have an employer anymore. Whatever contracts or agreements you had—those are all invalid now.” His phoenix eyes lifted slightly, as if he could never truly be upset. “Don’t worry. I won’t stop you.”

Xie Tianfa’s leg shifted slightly. He seemed to want to step forward—but stopped himself.

His silence made Wei Huan think of Yun Yongzhou.

Qing He let out a bitter laugh, lowered his head, and sighed. “I forgot. You don’t understand what I’m saying.” His voice grew quieter. “Why am I talking to myself like this.”

He walked into the room alone and flopped face-first into the cold bed, his posture eerily like his father’s when he was shot.

In the darkness, neither of them spoke. Qing He laid on the bed, back turned, watching the moonlight pour in. His expression was distant. When he finally spoke, he sounded utterly exhausted, his tone slow and heavy, like every word was a weight.

“I’m going to sleep. Don’t make noise when you leave.”

I don’t want to know.

After he finished, there was a quiet click as the lights went out.

But Xie Tianfa didn’t leave. He stood silently by the wall, eyes fixed on Qing He’s back.

Whether it was the empathy from the Possession Eye or not, Wei Huan could fully feel Qing He’s emotions at that moment—his downcast heartbeat, his heavy breathing, his fear, panic, and a trace of hope.

Clearly still just a teenager, and yet he had to endure pain that no ordinary person could bear.

A long time passed before, at last, another voice broke the silence.

“You won’t die.”

He was still responding to that earlier hypothetical.

“I won’t let you die.”

Qing He opened his eyes, still facing away. He had never been asleep.

“I will.” His voice carried a trace of laughter. “Now that I’ve lost my backing, anything could happen. What if one day my whole family gets killed? It’s not impossible.”

The more he spoke, the more animated he seemed. “Today, while I was kneeling at the mourning hall, all I could think about was which way of killing myself would be cleaner, quicker, and less painful. Pills don’t seem good—too slow. I heard that if someone saves you after you overdose on sleeping pills, you end up mentally unstable. Maybe like my mom. So forget that. Hanging is too old-fashioned, not cool at all. Jumping off a building… also leaves an ugly corpse. Thinking it over, maybe a gun is best…”

Lying on the bed, Qing He was the kind of child who should have been counting his joys and dreams before falling asleep—but instead, he was seriously discussing how he might die in the future.

Halfway through, he stopped.

Wei Huan could sense the sudden shift in his emotions. It was like something blocked his heart—his blood couldn’t flow.

“Don’t think I’m joking. I really don’t want to live all alone. When that day comes, I will—definitely will—end it.”

That sentence sounded like a childish vow, but more than that, it was a powerless threat.

“Don’t let me be the only one left alive in this world.”

Maybe it was because Wei Huan already knew how it all ended, that these words felt like a prophecy come true. The child who had spoken so surely of seeking death ultimately broke his promise. Even after more than ten years of brushes with death, even after enduring unbearable humiliation and pain—he was still alive, stubbornly so.

As time went on, the sense of an impending tragic ending grew stronger.

The illusion shifted into a snowy night. Outside the window, thick snowflakes danced in the darkness. In Qing He’s eyes was his nearly unhinged mother—only this time, she seemed uncharacteristically calm and composed. She wore a beautiful, dignified red coat, just like when she was still the First Lady.

She touched Qing He’s cheek with her cold, gloved hand. “Little He, I’m sorry. Things will get better now, Mom promises.”

Qing He showed little expression and said nothing.

His Mother seemed to have expected this, so she only smiled. At the door, the housekeeper knocked twice. “Madam, the clothes have been pressed.”

“Leave them there, I’ll take care of it,” His Mother said, patting Qing He’s head, then picked up the camel-colored coat and smiled as she spoke. “Do you remember how naughty you were as a child? Every time the maid dressed you, you were never satisfied and would always come looking for me.” She mimicked his childish voice: “Mommy, this is uncomfortable, that’s uncomfortable.”

“You always insisted I dress you myself.” She gently adjusted the coat’s collar and looked up, her eyes full of warmth. “And now, in the blink of an eye, you’re all grown up.”

Qing He muttered a quiet “thanks,” his tone distant.

The butler’s voice came from outside. “Madam, the car is ready outside. Shall we…”

“Alright.” Qing He’s mother stood up, picked up the scarf from the table, and carefully wrapped it around his neck. “We’ll be right down.”

“Where are we going?” Qing He finally asked.

Her hand rested lightly on his shoulder. “We’re moving—to a place where no one can find us.”

“What about Xie Tianfa?” Qing He blurted out instinctively. From his perspective, Wei Huan could see that His Mother’s expression didn’t change—she had anticipated this question. “I originally didn’t plan to bring him. But he came to me personally and asked to come along. He said he didn’t need payment—just wanted to fulfill an old promise. So I agreed.”

She took his hand, and they went downstairs together. “He should already be in the car.”

“A promise…” Qing He murmured.

So it was because of a promise, after all.

The butler placed his luggage in the trunk and opened the door for him. Qing He got in and saw Xie Tianfa sitting in the front passenger seat, dressed all in black with a black felt hat. When he entered, Xie Tianfa slightly turned his head and called out softly, “Young master.”

The address sounded unfamiliar. Since Wei Huan had entered this memory, Xie Tianfa had hardly ever called Qing He that. After all, he was always in standby mode. Such a formal and distant term would surely upset him, Wei Huan thought.

Qing He simply turned his head toward the side window, not responding. His Mother got in and sat beside him. Only then did he speak: “Why didn’t you tell me in advance that we were moving?”

His Mother removed her gloves. “Telling you ahead of time would’ve been dangerous. You know that.”

Qing He didn’t press further. His eyes were fixed on the rearview mirror up front, watching the driver reflected in it.

“Where’s Uncle Liu?” he asked again. “Why isn’t he driving today?”

“He went ahead first,” His Mother explained. “This is Uncle Chen.”

“I know,” Qing He replied bluntly. “He’s the new guard who came after Dad died. I’ve seen him.”

Xie Tianfa turned his face slightly and glanced at the driver. Guard Chen just nodded. “Shall we go, Madam?”

The car drove smoothly out of their residence. As they passed through downtown, the giant screen on a skyscraper was broadcasting the news. The newly appointed Song Chengkang was speaking eloquently about Fanzhou’s future. “Ending war and developing peace” had become his most frequently used slogan since taking office. Qing He snorted softly and shut his eyes.

“Take a nap,” His Mother said softly. “We woke you at 2 a.m. You must be tired.” She wrapped an arm around him, resting his head on her shoulder. “Mom will hold you. When you wake up, we’ll be at the new house.”

His hazy consciousness drifted, and the world slowly darkened.

Jing Yun sped up the memory’s progression. Maybe the timing was off—suddenly the scene in front of them flipped entirely. One moment it had been the peaceful interior of the car. The next, everything was chaos. Even the windshield was shattered by bullets.

Yang Ling was a little surprised. “What happened?”

Yun Yongzhou spoke up. “An assassination attempt. Just like the one with You Su before.”

Wei Huan frowned. He seemed to have heard of this. Even though the demon realm and Fanzhou had always been at odds, leadership transitions in Fanzhou were still a major event—there was always some discussion in the demon realm. When Song Chengkang came to power, there were all kinds of conspiracy theories. Even Wei Huan’s father had maliciously characterized it. The most ironic part was that Song Chengkang was supposed to be the leader of the peace faction.

Yang Ling asked again, “But he’s already in power now—why would they still…”

“Taking precautions. Wiping them out completely,” Yan Shanyue said calmly.

“That incident back then was actually tied to an internal coup in Fanzhou. Qing He’s mother must have realized it too, which is why she tried to leave with the child,” Yun Yongzhou paused for a beat. “As far as I know, there was news coverage back then saying the family of Fanzhou’s former prime minister died in a car crash.”

Jing Yun was confused. “But Qing He didn’t die…”

The memory illusion grew chaotic. The vision lurched and trembled. Gunfire echoed non-stop, and the night outside was pitch black and windy. The attackers hid in the shadows, leaving no trace to be found.

“Madam, watch out!” Guard Chen yanked the steering wheel hard, nearly hitting the guardrail. On the street, the assassins finally appeared—clad in black and masked, surrounding the car from all sides. A bullet struck Guard Chen’s right arm. The wheel slipped, and the car was in danger of losing control. Amid the panic, Qing He saw Xie Tianfa, seated in the front passenger seat, lunge across to grab the wheel and, at the very last moment, steadied the car.

Clutching his arm, Guard Chen sat upright. “I’ll take it from here.” As Xie Tianfa returned the wheel to him, he seemed to hear something. Looking in the rearview mirror, he spotted a black car in pursuit. His senses instantly sharpened. “Madam, duck! It’s dangerous!”

Everything happened too fast. The machine gunfire shattered the car windows before Qing He’s mother could even react. Though she had never received any training, instinct made her throw herself over Qing He, shielding him with her body the moment danger approached.

The world turned dark. Gunshots rang in his ears, followed by the sickening sound of bullets hitting flesh.

Qing He’s breathing came in ragged gasps. His mind was blank. The car sped up. Xie Tianfa pulled out a weapon and returned fire, while all Qing He could do was watch His Mother’s body slowly slide down in front of him, like a dead leaf spiraling to the ground. Even reaching out, he caught nothing.

“Mom… Mom, don’t move… I’ll bandage you, I, I…”

Qing He’s voice trembled with sobs. He tried hard to steady himself, but he couldn’t stop the shaking in his throat.

The night was set ablaze by human desire and slaughter, lit with blood-red light that burned in every pair of eyes. Amid the chaos, a boy in his early teens once again witnessed the brutal death of his loved one. He could grasp nothing but his bloodstained hands.

The car finally managed to shake off the pursuit and turned into a tunnel. Guard Chen was saying something, but Qing He couldn’t make it out. In his blurred and dazed vision, he saw the one who had promised to always be his shadow open the car door and grab his shoulder. Qing He tried to listen but only caught fragments—

Things like: “You go first.” “Run.”

Qing He shook his head. “What about my mom? What about her?”

“It’s dangerous here! Qing He!” Xie Tianfa, unusually emotional, gripped his shoulder tightly. “Qing He! Focus!”

The moment his name was called, it was as if a hand had pulled him out of the fog.

“I…” He calmed down a bit and understood clearly that Xie Tianfa was going to make him leave. He reached out with his bloodstained hands and clutched tightly at the black coat on Xie Tianfa. “Come with me. Don’t leave me.”

“You have to survive.” Xie Tianfa’s voice was steady—far too composed for someone his age.

“No!” Qing He was almost hysterical, shaking his head repeatedly, sobbing in desperation. “I can’t survive! Not alone!”

Suddenly, the vision went black.

Yang Ling said, “What’s going on?”

Jing Yun, still operating the spell, replied, “He lost consciousness.”

Wei Huan spoke. “Xie Tianfa probably knocked him out.”

Jing Yun quickly adjusted the memory timeline. After a long stretch of darkness, light returned. They were still in a car, but a different one—this vehicle was much older, full of dust. As Qing He regained consciousness, their vision gradually cleared. At the driver’s seat was still Guard Chen.

Something felt wrong. Qing He looked down—and realized he was tied up. What startled him more was that his clothes had been changed. He was now wearing the black coat that Xie Tianfa had been wearing earlier. Even the black felt hat had been placed on his head.

“What the h*ll is this!” Qing He shouted toward Guard Chen at the front. “Where’s Xie Tianfa?!”

Guard Chen glanced at him through the rearview mirror. Just that glance made Qing He’s skin crawl—he could feel the malice. Even Wei Huan, outside the scene, could sense how dangerous things had become.

“Why did you look at me like that?” Qing He struggled, but couldn’t break free. He repeated the question that mattered most to him: “Where is Xie Tianfa?!”

“He switched clothes with you. Made himself your decoy.”

Qing He froze mid-struggle.

“What did you say….”

“He wanted to be the bait, so I let him. He even begged me to protect you,” Guard Chen said with a smile—one of triumph and cruelty. “He knew they wouldn’t stop until every root was cut out, so he took your place as that root. You should be grateful. Otherwise, you’d be the one dead right now.”

The chill radiating from Qing He passed through the Eye-possessing Spell and reached Wei Huan’s body. This kind of empathy might not even restore one-tenth of the original owner’s emotions, but even so, Wei Huan couldn’t bear this pain.

Even Jing Yun gasped, “So that’s why Qing He didn’t die…”

No wonder. No wonder.

Wei Huan had never understood why Qing He wanted to summon a soul—whose soul he was trying to summon.

Perhaps what had supported him through all these years of struggle in the mire was this faint glimmer of hope.

“Why would you do this?” Qing He still couldn’t understand. “Who are you, really? Why would you do this?”

The smile on Guard Chen’s face slowly faded. He tapped a few buttons on the car’s control panel, and a photo was projected. In it was a boy of around seven or eight, hugging a big tree, grinning with his eyes scrunched shut—pure and adorable.

“This is my child. If he were still alive,” Guard Chen glanced at Qing He in the rearview mirror again, “he’d be about your age.”

Qing He stared into the mirror, watching his tightly furrowed brows. “He had just started elementary school. The next day—just the next afternoon—he was kidnapped by black-market traffickers on his way home. I reported it to the police the moment I found out. There was surveillance footage. It showed the car heading into the dark zone.”

His facial muscles twitched with emotion. “I tried everything. But at the time—d*mn it—no one was allowed into the dark zone. They called it a ‘sensitive period.’ But what about the police? If I couldn’t go, couldn’t they?! They didn’t do anything. Day after day, they just dragged it out.”

“I had no other way. I petitioned at the Prime Minister’s residence. I waited at the gates. But that d*mn You Su never showed up!” His laughter turned deranged. “So I waited. I kept waiting. Until my kid could never come home again. He was so small, so pitiful. Tell me, how cold must the nights have been for him alone? I didn’t even dare to imagine!”

“Later, I saw on the news that your father had died. I was ecstatic. Finally, the heavens opened their eyes. That short-lived b*stard paid with his life for my son.”

“And as for you…” He slammed on the brakes and took a deep breath, as if regaining composure. Getting out from the driver’s seat, he walked around and yanked Qing He’s door open, grabbing his chin. “I got myself assigned to your household as a guard just so I could make you suffer like my son did. I bet he never imagined that one day, the precious son of that lunatic who knelt for days in front of the Prime Minister’s residence would also end up in h*ll! Hahahaha! Hahahahahaha…”

Qing He was just about to speak, but the next second, he lost consciousness. Everything turned into a hollow black void.

It had all come so suddenly—Wei Huan hadn’t expected the truth to be so cruelly ironic. Because of this twisted, deranged hatred, Qing He had become a complete and utter sacrifice.

When the memory resumed, Qing He had already been sold into the dark zone. He was tied up like livestock, lying on the ground. The so-called Guard Chen stood beside him. In the distance, Wei Huan looked up and saw a familiar figure.

“Isn’t that the limping man we saw in the memory at Yanshan Desert?” Yang Ling asked.

Yan Shanyue nodded. “Yes, he’s the one who sold Qing He to the Yanshan Desert.”

Wei Huan spoke slowly, “So that’s why Qing He had been trying to find that man—not to seek revenge, but to use him to find Guard Chen.”

Yang Ling: “So Guard Chen is his real target for revenge?”

Yun Yongzhou said, “No. What he truly wants is to get information from Guard Chen—about what happened to Xie Tianfa after he left that night.”

Even though Qing He probably knew the answer—those people had stopped chasing him, which clearly meant the one who disguised himself as Qing He, Xie Tianfa, had been killed. After all, under his father’s years of protection, hardly anyone knew what the real son of the Prime Minister looked like. That last-ditch identity swap allowed Qing He to survive—yet also completely upended his fate.

Overnight, he transformed from a chosen son of Fanzhou into a black-market commodity with a price tag. From pampered luxury, he was thrust into daily beatings and abuse. To survive, he had to fight like a dog for scraps of foul, barely-edible leftovers against other enslaved people. Even as his pride was trampled and crushed, he had to live on.

Trapped with more than a dozen others in a hot, airtight container, he vaguely heard people talking about demon clan branding.

“They say once you get the family mark, there’s no escape.”

“You’re still thinking of escaping? Are you crazy?! You’ll die if you run!”

“You think staying with the demons means survival? You know how many have been tortured to death?”

“I heard some demon masters find face-branded people unlucky. When they see them, they just toss them aside—not wanting to be bothered.”

“But it’s random, right? You never know where the brand lands—and those things are terrifying…”

“Someone said there’s a drug. If you dare to take it, it’ll work…”

To get that drug, Qing He tricked a black-market dealer, knocked him out, and took half a bottle. The side effects nearly killed him.

But his ruthlessness paid off. In the end, the demon mark branded itself onto his eyes—those beautiful, unforgettable eyes.

In their vision, Qing He—with shackles on—walked slowly out of the crowd. His vacant gaze reflected the gaudy chaos of the world, and all around were all sorts of watching demons, faces filled with surprise or cruel curiosity—absurd and ironic.

From the crowd emerged a strikingly handsome boy, a basketball tucked under one arm. From afar, he cast a gaze in Qing He’s direction.

Qing He lifted his head. Their eyes met for just an instant.

He was different from the rest—his eyes held a silent compassion.

“That’s Brother Huan Huan…” Yang Ling stared at the boy in disbelief.

Wei Huan’s entire body froze.

This moment of brushing past each other replayed, transforming into a reunion after many years apart.

The same pride of heaven, the same shattering of arrogance and severing of brilliance, the same refusal to accept fate.

But back then, no one could have anticipated that the passerby before him would resemble another version of himself in this world.