Everyone Is Non-Human Except Me [Rebirth] Chapter 74

Return the favor…

After Yun Yongzhou spoke, he braced one hand against the soft bed and lifted himself halfway up, enclosing the already overwhelmed Wei Huan within his arms. Their originally face-to-face position now became one above and one below. The pressure radiating from Yun Yongzhou made Wei Huan even more uneasy. Usually he could joke around about anything, but now his neck was flushed red.

What was he planning?

Was he really going to kiss him?

Maybe his mind was spinning out of control, but suddenly Wei Huan recalled the time he passed breath to Yun Yongzhou in the illusion mirror cave—only this time, their roles were reversed. He tentatively met Yun Yongzhou’s gaze, looking into the eyes of someone who had once been unconscious beneath the sea.

That secret might remain unknown to Yun Yongzhou forever.

But what if he found out?

What if he discovered Wei Huan was Nine Phoenix?

Suddenly he didn’t dare to think further. His eyes fluttered in panic. If Nine Phoenix were still who he once was, maybe he would’ve already torn this disguise away. But now, Wei Huan really wasn’t sure. Yun Yongzhou had never liked him much in the past—let alone after he’d been framed as a traitor. Someone like him, who had crawled across the battlefield in disgrace, would surely be despised.

The more he thought, the more conflicted he felt. As long as he didn’t expose himself, at least he could stay like this—as Yun Yongzhou’s pact partner. There was nothing to boast about in that identity, except that it made him a bit more special than the rest.

While he was lost in thought, Yun Yongzhou reached out, brushed aside the hair that had fallen over Wei Huan’s forehead, and gently rubbed the golden dot he had branded between his brows, soothing the creased brow beneath.

“Do you hate it that much?”

Hate?

Hearing Yun Yongzhou speak caught Wei Huan off guard. He had assumed Yun Yongzhou would just act on impulse without asking—after all, he’d always been like that. But now, his words sounded like he was seeking permission.

“Hate what?” Wei Huan met his gaze squarely, suddenly bold. “If by hate you mean kicking and punching, then yeah, I’d hate that a little. I’ve never been beaten to tears in my life.”

Seeing him like this, a faint smile tugged at Yun Yongzhou’s lips. His fingers slid lower. The half-open uniform collar revealed a slender, pale neck. He frowned faintly and pushed the fabric aside. Wei Huan flinched instinctively from the ticklish touch. “What are you doing…”

Yun Yongzhou leaned in even closer, then directly began unbuttoning Wei Huan’s uniform shirt with one hand. Wei Huan, always a beat slow, only realized what was happening when the buttons were already undone down to his chest.

“Hey, what are you doing?!” Wei Huan yanked his shirt closed and slipped out from under Yun Yongzhou in a flash, sitting upright like a startled pigeon, wings flapping as he wrapped himself up.

Yun Yongzhou also sat up and let out a silent sigh. “You’re hurt.”

“Huh? Really?” Wei Huan looked down and cautiously peeked through his shirt.

Yun Yongzhou’s tone was calm, just stating a fact. “There’s an injury on your neck. Let me see.”

His voice didn’t sound flirtatious at all. Wei Huan looked up and gave a sheepish smile. “Heh, I can handle it myself. Anyone on a mission gets hurt, right? No need to trouble Your Highness.” Then he added quietly, “Scared me half to death…”

Yun Yongzhou said nothing, just reached for Wei Huan’s arm and pulled him close. Wei Huan, sitting cross-legged on the bed, was dragged right up to him. Yun Yongzhou firmly grasped the hand that was still clutching his shirt and began prying open his fingers. Even though Wei Huan was technically human now, he was half a demon—his grip was strong, and once he grabbed something, he wouldn’t let go.

“Be good.”

He only furrowed his brows and said those two words, and that was enough to make Wei Huan want to give in from the bottom of his heart. Why did he have to realize he liked Yun Yongzhou? Now it was really over—his weakness had been completely exposed, and he couldn’t say no to him at all. Even his fingers disobeyed him, letting go on their own.

The little dove ultimately obediently spread his wings. Yun Yongzhou, satisfied, moved his hand aside and gave it a gentle squeeze as he let go.

If I’m this obedient, wouldn’t it be nice if you liked me just a little more?

Wei Huan thought that to himself, but didn’t dare look at him. All his usual sharp wit was suddenly useless in front of Yun Yongzhou—he turned a single phrase over and over in his mind but still didn’t dare say it out loud. Yun Yongzhou moved with such care. If he’d been rougher, even just yanked off the shirt, Wei Huan might have felt more at ease. After all, they were both men. Whatever he had, Yun Yongzhou had too. Nothing special.

But Yun Yongzhou just had to be unbearably gentle.

Wei Huan really was hurt. Below his ribs was a sizeable bruise, and there was a wound at his waist too—likely from when those faceless creatures attacked him in Wuqi. Though the wound wasn’t deep, it was long, stretching from his side to his back. Because he’d been focused on seeing Yun Yongzhou again, everything that happened before had been pushed from his mind—including the pain.

Sitting face to face with his shirt hanging open, Wei Huan felt awkward, so he tried to fill the silence. “Um… look at my abs!”

Yun Yongzhou obligingly glanced down. “Mm.”

That “mm” was basically a slap in the face to his abs! Wei Huan swallowed his frustration. Fine. His human body now was no match for the one he’d had as a demon. If only he hadn’t forgotten the password to his real form—how could Yun Yongzhou be walking all over him like this?

“I do have them, look,” he poked his abs with his finger, then pulled Yun Yongzhou’s hand over. “Here, poke them. They’re hard.”

Yun Yongzhou let his finger be dragged and poked twice. “Mm, very hard.”

They used to be even harder. Eight-pack, chocolate-bar-level!

While Wei Huan mentally hyped himself up, Yun Yongzhou stretched out his hand. A flash of golden light coiled around the medicine box under the table, pulling it to his side. He opened it, took out medicine, and dipped a cotton swab into the powder.

“It’ll sting a little.”

At those words, Wei Huan’s heart clenched. For no reason at all, memories of his death surged back—clearer than ever. Bullets had ripped through his flesh, leaving hole after hole. Some were buried deep inside—just moving hurt. Then there were those metallic wires launched from fighter jets, each tipped with sharp hooks, tearing into his wings, trying to rip them off with the force of flight.

No one told him then that it would hurt.

He hadn’t felt pain, either. Once you step onto the battlefield, what’s pain compared to death?

But now, with Yun Yongzhou treating him so tenderly, it really did hurt—so much it made him want to cry.

Yun Yongzhou noticed Wei Huan had turned his head away in silence and paused. “Does it hurt?”

Wei Huan shook his head and forced a grin. “How could it? It’s just a tiny cut, looks like a worm.” But Yun Yongzhou still looked unconvinced and glanced at the cotton swab in his hand. “Was I too rough?”

That one question squeezed Wei Huan’s heart even tighter, and the sour feeling spilled over. He sniffled. “No, way better than before. Though yeah, you are kind of clumsy. What can you do, you’re the Young Master—number one young master in the Demon Realm.” He laughed as he spoke, trying to take the swab from Yun Yongzhou’s hand. But Yun Yongzhou was quicker, pulling his hand away.

“Fine, fine, I won’t fight you.” Wei Huan withdrew his hand, thinking at least Yun Yongzhou wasn’t like he was right after their bond—always threatening him with his glowing blades at the drop of a hat.

Yun Yongzhou carefully finished applying the medicine and wrapped the wound slowly and attentively. It still wasn’t the prettiest bandage job, but way better than before. Wei Huan couldn’t help but wonder—had Yun Yongzhou been treating his own wounds like this these past seven years? With no one to pester him or insist on tending to him?

“Let me see your back,” Yun Yongzhou said.

“Oh.” Wei Huan turned around quickly, flinging his shirt off to avoid the awkwardness. “My back’s been sore. Felt it when I was lying down earlier.”

Yun Yongzhou’s eyes immediately landed on the golden sun totem at the center of Wei Huan’s lower back. He had to force himself to look away, shifting his gaze upward. There were multiple bruises on Wei Huan’s back—especially on the raised shoulder blades, which were purple and swollen from what must’ve been blunt impact.

“Is it bad?” Wei Huan turned his head and saw Yun Yongzhou pouring medicine oil into his palm. “What’s that?”

“Human medicine oil.”

Wei Huan froze. Why would he ask something like that? He nearly gave himself away. He scrambled to recover, “Oh, right, yeah—medicine oil. I used it a lot before.”

Yun Yongzhou didn’t expose his slip. He placed his palm directly on Wei Huan’s shoulder blade before he could react. Wei Huan flinched, his shoulder blades trembling slightly as his muscles tensed and drew back—like a fragile butterfly trying to tuck in its wings in a storm.

“Does it hurt?”

No. Not because of the pain. Wei Huan was just flustered. Yun Yongzhou’s hands were warmer than average, and the moment they touched his skin, Wei Huan had the illusion that a scorching brand had been pressed to his chest, leaving behind Yun Yongzhou’s name.

Without an answer, Yun Yongzhou continued. He gently massaged the bruises, pressing into the tender flesh. Wei Huan didn’t know what was happening—maybe the wind had gotten in, maybe he was weak—but he could clearly feel goosebumps rising all over his body. Under Yun Yongzhou’s slow, steady motions, even his scalp started tingling.

“That’s enough, really.” Wei Huan quickly turned around, threw on his shirt, and began buttoning up with trembling fingers. “No broken bones. I’ll be fine in a couple of days.”

He really couldn’t take it anymore like this. It was too tormenting.

Yun Yongzhou wiped his hands and forcibly grabbed his hand. Wei Huan, who was halfway through buttoning up, looked up in confusion—he saw the flame-like demonic markings on Yun Yongzhou’s temple glowing red. The next moment, he felt a surge of scorching demonic energy injected right between his brows.

“You—” Wei Huan widened his eyes at him. “You removed the sensory link?”

Yun Yongzhou didn’t speak—seeming to silently confirm it. Seeing this, Wei Huan grew a little unhappy. “Why?”

“Why did you do it?” Yun Yongzhou stared straight into his eyes, speaking unusually much. “Just because I got hurt in the dark zone? Or you wanted it to be fair—once for each of us?”

It was neither. I just wanted to. Wei Huan’s pupils trembled, unsure how to answer. He only gave a vague hum in a low voice like a schoolboy before puberty. Then, as if to show his attitude, he tried to pull his hand away from Yun Yongzhou’s grip—like he didn’t want to talk to him anymore now that the link was gone.

That look was absurdly cute. Yun Yongzhou couldn’t help but chuckle softly and lowered his gaze.

He rarely smiled, but when he did, it was devastating—prettier than all the school queens in Shanhai combined. Wei Huan stole a glance and found his anger fading fast.

Good looks really were unfair. You couldn’t even stay mad at him.

Wei Huan looked uncomfortable and hesitated for a long while before tentatively speaking, “Um… how did you know I was in Wuqi? You found me right away.”

He felt like a nervous little hamster, digging through a mountain of colorful balls in his room, picking one out, opening the door a crack, tossing it out, and slamming the door shut—waiting for the golden crow outside to pick it up.

“Was it hard?” Yun Yongzhou snapped the medicine box shut with a click. “When have I not done that?”

Fair point. That ball was a dud. No use.

“But… well,” Wei Huan furrowed his brows in frustration, trying to find the right words, which Yun Yongzhou promptly reached out and smoothed out with a bit too much force, pushing his head back until he had to brace himself with both hands on the bed to stay upright. “But I heard that Dark Witch Princess said… you’ve been there before.”

The moment he said that, he clearly saw Yun Yongzhou’s expression change—like he was a bit unhappy. But only for a second, before it went back to normal. “And you just believed her?”

“Well, she looked pretty miserable,” Wei Huan said bluntly. “Like the whole world owed her a few million credits. That kind of person doesn’t seem like they’d lie. And besides, you looked super familiar with the place too. You even said you’d been caught in the Nightmare Realm before.”

As he spoke, a mischievous spark of curiosity lit up. He leaned forward, grabbing the bed between them with both hands and looking up at Yun Yongzhou like a kid, “What was your nightmare realm like?”

He thought Yun Yongzhou would look away or stay silent—his usual tactics. But to Wei Huan’s surprise, he leaned in, closing the distance between their faces until their noses were just about to touch.

The late summer breeze carried the last remnants of heat, fluttering the edge of Wei Huan’s school shirt and revealing the golden sun mark on his back.

And the distance between him and the real sun—

Was just one kiss away.

He was about to be buried in those amber eyes, never to escape, not even in ten thousand years.

“Beautiful,” Yun Yongzhou murmured, lashes low.

Because it had you in it. All of it was you.

Wei Huan’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. He stared back, unblinking. His mind and body seemed to separate—his rational side told him it wasn’t the right time, but his shoulders kept leaning forward, shortening the space between them.

Just one kiss.

And right when reason was about to be overwhelmed—

The ring on his middle finger made a sound.

He had never found that sound more annoying than he did now—so loud it scrambled his thoughts. His body instinctively jerked back. The short distance between them vanished in an instant. In a panic, he tried to press the ring to decline the call, but ended up hitting the accept button.

It was Qing He.

Lifeless, Wei Huan turned his back and muttered weakly, “What do you want?”

“What? Why do you sound like I interrupted something good?” Qing He’s instincts were almost supernatural at times. “You weren’t doing anything inappropriate, were you? Let me see!”

Wei Huan awkwardly lowered the speaker volume, switched to his earpiece, and shot a quick glance at Yun Yongzhou. Seeing his frosty expression and silence, Wei Huan had no choice but to flee to the living room before replying, “Just spit it out, I don’t have time to bicker with you.”

“You actually believe that line yourself?” Qing He scoffed but got to the point. “That electronic watch you found last time at Lab 137? I fixed it. If you’ve got time, come over to the research division. I think you need to see this in person.”

It was actually something important. Wei Huan slumped onto the couch, head practically between his knees. He ruffled his messy hair and said, “Got it. I’ll be right over,” then hung up.

He sat there, sulking for a moment—then suddenly snapped to attention.

Wait a second.

He had almost kissed Yun Yongzhou just now???

Was he out of his mind?!

He hadn’t even confessed yet.

Not that confessing first would’ve made it okay. Just thinking about it made Wei Huan nearly choke. There had to be a proper order—first admit his real identity, then confess, then maybe find a way to kiss him.

As he obsessed over this weird mental checklist, a large shadow suddenly loomed over him. He looked up—and saw Yun Yongzhou standing right in front of him, completely silent.

As expected of an assassin.

Yun Yongzhou crouched down, one knee touching the floor. To Wei Huan’s surprise, he was holding a pair of blue cotton slippers. He grabbed Wei Huan’s ankle and gently helped him into them, one foot at a time.

His voice remained cool and indifferent, like melted snow water flowing slowly—blending both frost and warm sunlight.

“Don’t go barefoot.”

Game over.

Wei Huan looked down at the fair, slender hand gripping his ankle—this hand. He knew very clearly: he’d fallen, and it was right into this guy’s hands.

There was no saving him now. Heaven had given him a second life, and he really had ended up falling for this golden crow. All the immortals had gone into hiding and left him to die on his own.

After helping him put the slippers on, Yun Yongzhou looked up. “Leaving again?”

He sounded like he was saying, I could never stop you anyway. Wei Huan couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt—he thought of last time, when he’d left just like this, charging into Wuqi with a bunch of juniors in tow.

“No, I’m just going to the research department,” Wei Huan explained. “Qing He called. Said there’s something he wants to tell me.”

“And after that?” Yun Yongzhou saw right through him. “Where to next?”

Wei Huan gripped the edge of the sofa tightly. He didn’t know where he’d go next either.
The two of them fell into the same kind of silence they’d always had in the past.

Silence gave Yun Yongzhou time to think. His possessiveness began to stir again. He even thought—if Wei Huan didn’t insist on chasing the past or digging up the truth, that would be fine. As long as he stayed by his side, even if he never remembered how he felt in their past life—this would be enough. He wasn’t greedy at all.

But of course, he knew better than anyone: a Wei Huan who didn’t chase the truth wasn’t Wei Huan.

Just when Yun Yongzhou was about to give up on getting an answer, he heard Wei Huan speak.

“Come with me.”

He looked up and saw the expression on Wei Huan’s face. After saying that one sentence, he pressed his lips together—just like a kid who’d turned in their exam and was waiting to see the score.

“If you don’t have class, if you have time, if you’re not too tired, and… if it’s not too much trouble,” Wei Huan added a whole list of conditions.

Yun Yongzhou stood up and walked into the room. With his back turned, the corners of his mouth finally lifted.

Wei Huan hadn’t gotten a response yet and saw Yun Yongzhou just walk off like that—his heart immediately panicked. It had taken him so much courage to extend that invitation! And now, before he was even ready to reveal his identity, he’d taken the risk—how could Yun Yongzhou just…

“Hey—why’d you go back inside?”

“To change.”

Oh. Wei Huan finally let out a breath. He tapped his fingers happily on the sofa, stretched out his legs, and even wiggled his toes inside the cotton slippers.

Truly, a young master through and through.

Right as he finished that thought, Yun Yongzhou came out wearing a loose white T-shirt and casually asked, “Do you want to change?”

“Me?” Wei Huan looked down at himself. “Sure, yeah, I’ll change.”

“Bottom row of the wardrobe. Anything’s fine.”

He gave an “oh” and shuffled over in the slippers. As he passed Yun Yongzhou, he caught a glimpse of the shirt he’d just changed out of—there was a smear of dark blue across the chest, its lines soft and flowing.

Not thinking much of it, Wei Huan squatted by the wardrobe and grabbed the top black T-shirt on the pile, pulling it over his head. The shirt didn’t have anything on it. He checked himself in the mirror—it was a bit big.

Good enough.

Yun Yongzhou looked him up and down, and his expression actually looked kind of satisfied.

“This isn’t yours, right?” Wei Huan spread his hands. “It’d be too small on you.”

And too big on me.

It felt… weird.

“New,” Yun Yongzhou answered vaguely, like he was dodging the question.

They could’ve used a teleportation array, but Yun Yongzhou didn’t seem to like using it. Which meant they had to walk from the faculty residence all the way to the research wing—basically halfway across Shanhai. Before leaving, Wei Huan still grabbed a cap and pulled it low over his head. Even if he was now contracted to someone, it was best to keep a low profile. Otherwise, Jing Yun would spend every day defending him from rumors on the Shanhai forums.

Just before stepping out the door, Yun Yongzhou suddenly stopped in his tracks. Wei Huan, confused, also paused.

Yun Yongzhou reached up and tugged up the brim of his cap, looking into his eyes. “You owe me one.”

“Again?” Wei Huan was baffled. “What do I owe you now?”

Yun Yongzhou reached out, adjusted his collar, then walked ahead, casually leaving behind a sentence: “Making you cry.”

“That was a dream!” Wei Huan chased after him. “Pfft, I wasn’t even asleep, I didn’t dream, stop pretending! You knew it—I was lying, I never dreamed where I bullied you!”

Yun Yongzhou stayed silent, hands stuffed in his pockets, cold and aloof as he walked ahead.

As they left the faculty area, they strolled straight through Yansui Academy in plain sight. Almost no one didn’t look at them. Yun Yongzhou in casual clothes was already a rare sight, and now he was walking with the human he had a pact with. It was an oddity among oddities. Along the way, students kept greeting him, and he actually nodded in return—very different from his usual icy demeanor. The pressure of all the attention had Wei Huan pressing the brim of his cap nearly to his nose, scared someone would recognize him.

They finally arrived at the research building and headed straight to Qing He’s lab. Qing He was playing a game with Fang Cheng, loud and chaotic. Wei Huan walked over and took off his glasses. Only then did Qing He come back to reality.

“Yo, that was fast.” He rubbed his eyes and jabbed Wei Huan in the waist, whispering, “Hey, you brought your spouse?”

“Spouse your *ss.” Wei Huan panicked, nearly biting his tongue. Qing He just laughed even harder, got up from his chair, and circled around Wei Huan, his eyes flicking between the two of them. “Are you guys wearing a couple’s outfits today?”

Fang Cheng, nearby, jumped in shock and took off his glasses. “What couple? What outfit?”

Wei Huan frowned. “What are you talking about?!”

“Black and white, you know?” Qing He tugged on the fabric at Wei Huan’s back. “The pattern on your back looks just like the one on Instructor Yun’s shirt…”

He glanced at the patch of blue on Yun Yongzhou’s chest and blinked. “Wait—nope. Yours is flame, his isn’t. My bad, my bad.”

Flames?

Wei Huan was genuinely surprised. He twisted his neck desperately, trying to see the pattern on the back of his shirt, but no matter how he looked, he couldn’t see it—like a puppy chasing its own tail.

“Weren’t you saying there was serious business?” Yun Yongzhou spoke up, and only then did Wei Huan give up. He suddenly remembered the main point. “Right, what was it you said you wanted to show me?”

Qing He also finally remembered. “Oh—right.” He grabbed the children’s smartwatch they’d found last time from the table. “I fixed this. The watch looked really familiar to me—like the ones I used to play with as a kid, you know, with communication and holographic projection functions.” He pressed the edge of the dial, and when the third button was pushed, a holographic image popped up above the watch face.

It looked like a very short video.

Wei Huan walked closer, his eyes fixed on the shifting projection. It showed a child of around ten years old, the background seeming to be an amusement park. A woman who appeared to be His Mother was beside him. The child spoke to the camera.

“Daddy, Daddy, come here! I’ll give you one of these, it’s really good!”

The mother reached out. “I’ll film.”

Finally, a man appeared in the footage. He picked the child up and took the food offered by the boy. The scene looked warm, father and son, deeply affectionate.

Wei Huan suddenly furrowed his brow. “Wait a minute, isn’t that…”

“Exactly,” Qing He interrupted. He had already analyzed the footage. He opened up the control panel, and the lab’s large screen displayed a still from the video. With data enhancement, the man’s face became extremely clear. Qing He looked down, continuing to work as he spoke, “Take a guess—who do you think this is?” On the left side of the screen, another image appeared—it looked like an ID photo. The man looked a little older in it, wearing a white lab coat.

“Yang Shu from 137?” Wei Huan’s eyes widened in realization. No wonder the watch ended up in that safe—it was his son’s.

Qing He nodded. “Yep. That utterly heartless b*stard Yang Shu.” Leaning half-against the console, he looked up at Wei Huan and pulled up another still on the screen.

“Take another look at the kid. Doesn’t he look familiar?”