Everyone Is Non-Human Except Me [Rebirth] Chapter 75

That kid…

Wei Huan stared at the boy’s youthful face on the screen, saying nothing, but shot a glance at Qing He from the corner of his eye. Qing He was sharp—just one look at Wei Huan’s expression was enough for him to get the picture. His fingers moved away; the AI had already simulated what the child would look like as an adult, but Qing He didn’t open it. Instead, he said: “I found some information about his son.”

The large screen started showing some search results.

Wei Huan’s heart pounded. Luckily, although the child did bear some resemblance to him, it wasn’t to the point of being instantly recognizable. He hadn’t expected that fixing this watch would risk exposing the identity of this body. Otherwise, he would never have brought Yun Yongzhou along.

“There isn’t much public information online,” Qing He continued, “but information is like a web—if you start from one point and trace it, you’ll eventually find what you want.” He operated the panel and a new image appeared on screen. “This was posted on social media by someone who took a picture.”

The screen showed Yang Shu in civilian clothing and a face mask. The accompanying text read: Isn’t this Dr. Yang Shu, the recent gene coding award winner? Is he sick?

“He’s at a hospital known for treating malignant tumors and leukemia. Though this post didn’t get much attention, I followed the lead and found that his account had made massive medical payments to this hospital over the past year—astronomical figures.” Qing He looked up at Wei Huan. “That’s also the year he was dismissed from the Fanzhou Scientific Institute for conducting illegal human experiments.”

Wei Huan hadn’t expected that to be the reason.

“So he moved to the Dark Zone after that?”

Qing He shook his head. “It wasn’t that simple. After leaving, he was headhunted by several corporate powerhouses in Fanzhou—but he turned them all down and formed his own institute. That institute later became the predecessor to 137. It shut down seven years ago.”

Seven years ago.

That number hit Wei Huan like a hammer.

He heard a sound behind him—Yun Yongzhou had pulled out a chair and sat down. Seeing Wei Huan turn around, he raised his eyes and said, “Sit.”

Wei Huan shook his head. “Seven years ago—was it connected to the human surprise attack?”

Qing He clenched his fists and cracked his knuckles. “I’d say it’s related. The company folded at the beginning of the year, and the surprise attack happened later that same year.” His eyes glanced toward Wei Huan. “Right now, a common theory online is that the reason that attack dealt such a heavy blow to the demon army was because of the aid of biotech. The healing inhibitors we use in Fanzhou today actually originated from that battle. But aside from that…”

Wei Huan suddenly thought of something.

The human enemy forces he encountered on the battlefield back then were indeed far tougher than before—not just due to their exoskeletons, but also because of their almost doubled physical abilities.

“All those human soldiers were modified?”

Qing He nodded and looked at Yun Yongzhou with a chuckle. “Kind of weird, the two of us humans talking about this in front of a demon clan Combat Preparedness instructor.”

He was joking, trying to lighten the mood. Unexpectedly, Yun Yongzhou responded seriously: “I was there for that war. I was in the reinforcements.”

His head lowered slightly. “But I arrived too late.”

That sentence hit Wei Huan like a punch.

He hadn’t known Yun Yongzhou had been involved in the counterattack—perhaps that happened after Wei Huan had already died. Back then, everyone thought it was just a minor border skirmish. Since the boundary-crossing technique couldn’t be used in areas with anti-jump wards—and those were nearly always set up in war zones—they could only send support from nearby.

When Wei Huan received the aid request, he didn’t even think twice before flying out. When he arrived, he found very few people there—just a minor conflict, he thought. But what he didn’t expect was that it was a trap. And even more unexpected—he was the only one who had received the aid request.

He remembered that he hadn’t been able to use any signaling spells, and his communicator had been completely broken.

Wei Huan recalled carefully—back then, the only reason Instructor Yang had been able to rush to his aid so quickly was likely because he had been reporting his mission status to Instructor Yang right when he received the emergency request. That made Instructor Yang the only person who knew he was caught in an ambush.

But what about Yun Yongzhou?

Why was he also sent as support? Could it be that Instructor Yang informed Group Seven? But no one else had mentioned anything like that—not even Yang Sheng, who only arrived at the border canyon after the battle.

These questions stirred suspicion in Wei Huan’s heart.

Qing He dragged another news report onto the big screen. “This journalist was covering a protest—most of the protestors were soldiers who had participated in the human assault war, along with their families.”

Wei Huan looked at the crowd on the screen and listened to what they were saying.

“This was after the war? Their bodies had problems?”

“Right,” Qing He explained. “The survivors all experienced varying degrees of genetic rejection after the war. Some severe cases involved immune system collapse and even death. Most of them were young adults in their twenties. A large portion were discharged from the military before their service term ended. But the truth is, they had signed confidentiality and related agreements before the war. So when the protests started, the Fanzhou Prime Minister’s office gave no official explanation. Incidentally, the Prime Minister at the time was Song Chengkang.”

Off to the side, Fang Cheng timidly raised his hand. “Actually, I know about this too. Back then, my fellow disciples and I followed the situation closely. Since we’re all half-demon—you probably know this—a large number of half-demon have undeveloped abilities. In other words, no supernatural powers. But even so, half-demon generally have superior physical capabilities, reflexes, and explosive strength compared to ordinary humans. I think the soldier prototypes in the ambush war seven years ago were just like that—non-powered half-demon.”

But now, their ambition clearly went beyond that.

Yun Yongzhou spoke up, “This genetic modification project might’ve only been a half-finished prototype.”

Qing He snapped his fingers. “Exactly what I was thinking. Anyway, the incident stirred a massive uproar back then. Investigative journalists dug deep and exposed the hidden truth behind the genetic alterations of those soldiers. The project naturally collapsed, and Yang Shu’s first research institute was shut down along with it.”

He shrugged. “But as you all know, Fanzhou’s economy is now basically monopolized by conglomerates. Rumor has it that some major corporate groups secretly backed Yang Shu, giving him the startup and operating funds for a new research institute—and to evade government oversight, they set it up in the Dark Zone.”

Wei Huan let out a cold laugh. “Rather than say they took the initiative to hide it, it’s more like Fanzhou simply turned a blind eye. Their new Demon Puppet Project is basically Genetically Modified Soldiers 2.0. The difference is, soldiers back then could still resist. But now the demon puppets—let’s be honest—are just pure humanoid weapons.”

Suddenly, Yun Yongzhou pointed to the electronic watch. “So what does all of this have to do with that child?”

Qing He and Wei Huan exchanged a glance. “Here’s how I see it—Yang Shu’s career collapsed, and on top of that, his child was gravely ill. Under those dual blows, he spiraled into a mindset of revenge on the world. Of course, we’re not justifying him, but this psychological trajectory makes sense.”

Wei Huan already understood. Qing He couldn’t speak too plainly in front of Yun Yongzhou, but putting the clues together made the truth clear: this body must be a genetic replica of Yang Shu’s son. Back in that warehouse, he’d found so many frozen clones—clearly, they were all just like him. Yang Shu must’ve wanted to use biotechnology to bring his son back to life, but all previous experiments failed.

Except for him. He was the only successful subject.

Seven years ago, Wei Huan had died in the ambush war orchestrated by Yang Shu. Seven years later, his demon soul, summoned back through necromancy, was reincarnated into the clone of Yang Shu’s son.

It was almost too ironic to believe.

He took a deep breath. “So that watch—he must be looking for it now.”

Qing He crossed his arms, leaning on the console. “Let him look. Think he can stretch his hands into the demon domain?”

There would definitely be follow-up actions.

Back when Wei Huan escaped, they had chased him like mad. It was likely because they really believed he had died from Gou Wen poisoning. And it wasn’t easy for humans to access the student records of the demon realm’s top academy. Maybe Yang Shu never even imagined that the experiment subject who escaped his lab would end up at Shanhai—it would’ve seemed absurd.

That was probably how Wei Huan had survived, by pure fluke. Now that they had taken the watch, the whole covert project was basically exposed. Yang Shu would certainly realize he was still alive—and had discovered the truth about this body.

“Ugh, why’s the mood so heavy? Anyone want tea? Little cake?” Fang Cheng pressed a button on his console. A small robot crouched in the corner stood up and opened the fridge.

Wei Huan shook his head. “Thanks, I’ll pass.” He turned to look at Yun Yongzhou, who seemed lost in thought, a flame flickering on his fingertip. Wei Huan walked over, crouched in front of him, and grabbed his hand, pinching out the little flame.

“So hot,” Wei Huan grinned at him.

Yun Yongzhou lifted his eyes to look at him.

“Ugh, this cake is so sour,” Qing He grumbled through a mouthful, “Fang Cheng, what were you thinking buying lemon flavor?”

Fang Cheng looked baffled. “Huh… I thought it tasted fine…”

“Then I guess it’s my problem. I’m just too sour.” Qing He clicked his tongue dramatically and plopped into a reclining chair. “I’m so sour—I must’ve been a pretty little lemon in my last life.”

Wei Huan looked at him with contempt. “I can’t stay here anymore, I’m leaving. Fang Cheng, take care of yourself. This guy could literally annoy someone to death. If you ever get too fed up, come find me—I’ll give you a free therapy session.”

Just as he finished, Fang Cheng quickly set down his cake. “W-Wait, I’ve got something for you.” He jogged to the far end of the lab and stopped in front of a small metal cabinet. Leaning in, it looked like he was unlocking it with a retinal scan. With a click, the cabinet opened. He wiped his hands and took out a small box.

Seeing Fang Cheng carefully carrying the box over, Wei Huan walked up. “What’s this?”

Fang Cheng opened the box. Inside was a matte black metal cube, perfectly regular in shape. He took the cube out and closed the box. “This, uh, last time—”

Yun Yongzhou suddenly coughed.

All three turned to look at him, each with a different expression. Yun Yongzhou had one hand to his mouth as he said, “Sorry.”

Wei Huan found it odd but turned back to look at the cube. Qing He, holding a small cake in hand, was watching like it was a show, eyes darting between Fang Cheng and Yun Yongzhou. The moment Wei Huan looked away, Yun Yongzhou’s gaze changed. That dangerous edge—almost never shown since Wei Huan’s return—flared up in full, his entire face spelling out threat.

Fang Cheng swallowed hard and instantly changed his tone. “This… is something I developed just for you. I’ve watched all your live combat assessments at school and analyzed your combat patterns. This is a lightweight exoskeleton designed around your style.”

“Exoskeleton?” Wei Huan looked puzzled. It didn’t really look the part.

“You’ll need to register your fingerprint,” Fang Cheng said, reaching out to grab Wei Huan’s index finger and press it to the cube. But as soon as he did, he caught sight of Yun Yongzhou’s expression—his right palm had suddenly lit with a crimson flame.

Startled, Fang Cheng immediately let go. “You do it. You do it yourself!”

This kid is so weird. Wei Huan’s face twisted in confusion. Off to the side, Qing He burst into laughter, head tilted back. “Hahaha—Fang Cheng, did you just get electrocuted?”

So jumpy.

Wei Huan extended his index finger and touched the top of the cube, where Fang Cheng had pointed. In the next instant, the black cube began to disassemble from the inside out—elongating, twisting, rotating, morphing into an alien shape like a flower blooming in an explosion. The part touching his finger stuck to his skin, then flowed along his arm, attaching itself to his body—arms, neck, spine, thighs, joint by joint—seamlessly.

“Wow,” Qing He said, finishing the last bite of his cake and rising from his chair. “That’s seriously cool.”

“This might not boost power much for demon-kin students, but for a human physique, it should be very effective.” Fang Cheng looked over at Qing He. “If you want, I can make one for you too.”

“Let’s collaborate,” Qing He said, circling around Wei Huan to inspect the exoskeleton. “I’ll handle the system, you do the hardware. This material must be hard to get.”

“Yeah, this exotic metal… was something I got from… somewhere,” Fang Cheng stuttered awkwardly. “I still have more.”

Qing He chuckled. “Such effort.” He patted Wei Huan on the shoulder. “Aren’t you going to test it out?”

Wei Huan swung his arms experimentally. With the exoskeleton on, his speed had clearly skyrocketed, and his explosive power seemed just as impressive.

“I’ve actually designed a full test suite. If you’ve got time, we can borrow a training room in the next couple days.”

“Let’s just borrow it from Instructor Yun,” Wei Huan said, smiling as he turned to him. “Can we?”

Yun Yongzhou’s gaze softened instantly, and he nodded his approval.

“Does your test include live combat?” Wei Huan pressed a hidden button as Fang Cheng had shown him. The exoskeleton detached and retracted, transforming back into the small cube. Fang Cheng shook his head and crouched down to jot notes. “You’re right, it should include that. But among the students, there really aren’t any with good close-combat skills who can help with that…”

“Instructor Yun can test with me,” Wei Huan said, stepping toward him and tilting his head.

Fang Cheng looked up in a panic toward Yun Yongzhou. Only when he saw the instructor nod did he breathe out.

This Instructor Yun was playing favorites, no question.

Qing He watched the two and then dropped his gaze, plopping into a chair and staring out the window at the blue sky.

When the two left the research center, Wei Huan once again saw the Lovers’ Vine on the small plaza. He recalled how he had sat there last time, yanking out innocent grass in a daze. Like that day, the plaza was filled with couples. Wei Huan immediately felt like detouring, only to be yanked back by the collar by Yun Yongzhou.

“What are you dodging for?”

Wei Huan turned and pulled his cap down. “I’m not dodging—who’s dodging?” He glanced around. “Just seems like there are too many people here. Noisy. I thought we could take another route.”

Yun Yongzhou let go and looked up at the towering red Lovers’ Vine.

“Do you know what this is?”

Wei Huan hadn’t expected the question and panicked. “Huh? Isn’t this just a demon tree? Just looks a bit weird.” He joked, “Doesn’t it look like a tangled DNA strand?”

The wind picked up, fluttering Yun Yongzhou’s white short sleeves and ruffling his soft-looking hair. He stood in the grassy square, looking up at the vine—a picture of serenity, like a painting in spring. Wei Huan thought: this Yun Yongzhou didn’t look anything like the blood-soaked, blade-edge fighter he usually was.

“This is the Sky-Connecting Tree,” Yun said, lowering his gaze. “Most people call it Lovers’ Vine. It’s famous here in Shanhai. That’s why there are so many people.”

Wei Huan already knew that—but a little thought crept in. So he deliberately asked, “Instructor Yun, back when you were a student, did lots of people confess to you? This place is so well-known. I bet girls asked you out here all the time.”

Yun Yongzhou looked back at him, silent.

Wei Huan started to get nervous, so he added quickly, “Just something I heard—heard you were really popular back then. School heartthrob and all. People lining up from here to Yansui to try and win you over.”

As soon as he said that, Wei Huan noticed a lot of people turning to look their way. Yun Yongzhou really did stand out too much. Before Yun Yongzhou could respond, Wei Huan snatched off his own hat and plopped it on Yun Yongzhou’s head, adjusting it carefully to cover him.

Yun Yongzhou felt a bit puzzled and didn’t immediately react, just let him put the hat on and pull the brim low.

“There are too many people watching you,” Wei Huan’s expression was easy to read, like a kid who doesn’t want to share his toys, “We need to keep a low profile.”

“Aren’t you afraid of people looking at you?”

“Let them look.” Wei Huan raised his eyebrows proudly. “I’m good-looking, not afraid of being looked at.”

He looked exactly like the shameless Little Nine Phoenix from seven years ago. Yun Yongzhou’s heart warmed a little, hidden beneath the shadow of the hat brim.

“I heard that confessing under the Sky-Connecting Tree will fail.” Suddenly, Yun Yongzhou spoke this sentence. Wei Huan was a bit surprised, “Really? Who told you that?”

What surprised him more was that someone like Yun Yongzhou would believe hearsay.

“Many people.” Yun Yongzhou vaguely brushed it off.

For some reason, Wei Huan imagined Yun Yongzhou standing there facing someone else. His heart felt like it was pricked by a tiny needle — just once.

“Have you… ever tried?”

Wei Huan immediately regretted asking after the words left his mouth. Under the premise of hiding the truth, he seemed to always seek a safe distance — within that range, he could delicately balance the relationship, intimacy, and conversation with Yun Yongzhou — all safe. But he realized that once he recognized this heart, he uncontrollably wanted to break through that safe distance.

Yun Yongzhou was silent for a moment, about ten seconds or maybe longer, long enough for Wei Huan to be sure he was really stepping out of that safe zone, stepping into dangerous territory.

“No.”

Wei Huan softly made an “oh” sound.

“Fly!”

A child’s voice suddenly rang out behind him. He turned around and saw a woman in a staff uniform squatting in front of a little toddler, her index finger held up to her lips. “Shh, baby, be good, don’t talk so loudly.”

But the child still stretched out their chubby little hand, pointing at the towering tree. “Fly! So high!”

Wei Huan suddenly thought of himself as a child, before he had learned to fly. Back then, he always wished he could. His father had once taken him to the edge of Kunlun Void, and that was the first time he realized—the city they lived in was a sky city, floating in midair. Standing at the edge, he had timidly looked down. It felt like he could reach out and grasp the clouds.

He looked up at the lovers’ vine twining upward into the sky, and softly said, “It must be beautiful from up there, looking down.”

If only he could fly.

Whoosh.

Suddenly, the sound of wings unfurling filled his ears.

He turned his head in surprise. Sunlight poured freely over a pair of enormous, snow-white wings. For a moment, it was as if he had gone back to the very first time he saw him.

[This guy doesn’t look like a demon at all—more like an immortal.]

That’s what he had thought at the time.

And he was right—like a deity.

Yun Yongzhou reached out and wrapped an arm around his waist, lifting him straight into the clouds. The wind howled past his ears, like countless trains hidden in the air roaring by, driving through his chest. It was wind—familiar, yet now so strange. His heavy body was once again wrapped in wind; every joint, every nerve ending in his limbs was floating, flying. Air flowed through the gaps in his body.

A surge of energy welled up in his chest.

That massive sky-reaching tree looked like it could reach heaven itself. Two deep red vines split the pale sky, stubbornly entwining upward. But even they had an end—and Yun Yongzhou caught up to it.

Wei Huan found it wondrous. As a former Nine Phoenix, he had passed by this place countless times—but never once had he flown to the top.

His first time… was actually with him.

The snow-white wings paused high in the air. At the top of the heavenly tree, where red vines curled around to form a small platform—just big enough, it seemed, for two people. Yun Yongzhou gently placed Wei Huan down as if setting down fragile porcelain. Then he sat beside him, wings still unfurled, unwilling to risk any mishap.

“Hold on to me.”

Wei Huan hummed in response and grabbed his arm. Perhaps because he had grown up flying, he wasn’t afraid of heights at all. His legs swung happily as he looked down. “It really is beautiful.”

The full view of the mountains and seas—no, of the entire Kunlun Void—spread before them: cities, rivers, birds, beasts, all manner of demons. Even the arcs of light from various barriers shimmered in different hues, beautiful and glowing like auroras under the clouds.

“You’d better protect me,” Wei Huan said, feigning fear. “I can’t fly. If I fall from up here, I’ll die for sure. Then you’ll have to find another pet to keep.”

As soon as he said that, he felt Yun Yongzhou reach an arm around from behind, grabbing the red vine beside them and circling it around him protectively.

The brim of Yun Yongzhou’s hat cast a faint shadow over his face.

“Is it beautiful?” he asked softly.

“It is,” Wei Huan answered without even thinking.

Yun Yongzhou was quiet for a moment, then said, “I used to sit here a lot.”

Wei Huan was surprised—he had never known this. “Why? You were by yourself?”

“As long as I was here, no one could find me.”

Yun Yongzhou looked into the distance—toward the tallest building in the heart of Kunlun Void. Wei Huan followed his gaze and realized: that was the Golden Crow’s residence.

Suddenly, he felt that the one sitting beside him wasn’t the 28-year-old Yun Yongzhou, but the 18-year-old he first met—the caged golden canary. Across a span of ten years, they now sat side by side, looking out at the same view he had once seen.

Wei Huan placed his hand over Yun Yongzhou’s.

“Do you hear it?”

Yun Yongzhou turned his face toward him.

“The wind.” Wei Huan closed his eyes. The clean wind of the heights tousled his hair, blowing it into a fluffy mess. And in that moment, Yun Yongzhou seemed to see the Nine Phoenix of the past again—that soul he had once envied so deeply: unrestrained, free.

That energy welling in Wei Huan’s chest grew clearer—a collision between soul and flesh.

With his eyes closed, he saw red and blue.

The clash of light and wind.

He recalled what Yun Yongzhou had just said: confessing under the Sky-Connecting Tree seemed destined to fail. But what about from above? Would it surely succeed there? It was so beautiful up there, with lazy clouds just within reach. No one would come to disturb them. It should work, right? But if he were to confess, something still felt missing.

If only he still had the Wind-Controlling Transformation Technique — a gentle squeeze and he could produce a flower.

Preferably a blue forget-me-not.

Wei Huan opened his eyes, furrowing his brows slightly. A faint blue glow appeared at his fingertips — so pale it was almost invisible. He clenched his hand and felt as if he had grasped the tangible form of the wind. The sensation was so familiar.

Opening his hand again, a blue forget-me-not appeared in his palm.

He was somewhat stunned, hurriedly clutching his palm. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at Yun Yongzhou, who was still gazing into the distance. Quietly, Wei Huan withdrew his hand. Yet the excitement inside him bubbled up uncontrollably like carbonated water escaping a broken bottle.

His power was truly recovering.

Up in this transparent sky, Wei Huan even felt heat radiating from his shoulder blades, as if wings would sprout any moment. He could dive down and fly back up, fly to Yun Yongzhou’s side. Though he knew it wasn’t that soon yet.

“I wish I could fly,” Wei Huan said, “like you.”

Yun Yongzhou’s silhouette was sharply outlined by the light, stretching gracefully in the wind.

“You will.”

That answer exceeded Wei Huan’s expectations.

“You belong to the sky.”

His heart pounded, as Yun Yongzhou quietly held that tiniest core of Wei Huan’s soul. Wei Huan’s fingertips gently turned the small forget-me-not flower.

“Look, there’s a plane over there.”

Following his finger, Yun Yongzhou looked, and in that brief moment, Wei Huan hurriedly stuffed the forget-me-not into the small pocket of Yun Yongzhou’s white T-shirt near his heart. His heart raced wildly — more thrilling than any mission before.

No matter — though it wasn’t the right process, he hadn’t told him who he was, nor confessed yet, but he had this one flower, his very first. He had to give it to him.

A rehearsal, so to speak.

“Oh, I was mistaken,” Wei Huan cheerfully swung his legs, while Yun Yongzhou looked on worriedly, reaching out to steady them.

Wei Huan tilted his head back, sunlight pouring down softly as if they were wrapped in the luminous silk Yun Yongzhou once conjured in the Garden of Fireflies.

“Today’s light is gentle,” a smile curved naturally at his lips.

Yun Yongzhou closed his eyes, softly replying:

“Today’s wind is gentle, too.”