Everyone Is Non-Human Except Me [Rebirth] Chapter 80

To reveal one’s true self to another is always a dangerous thing.

But to Yun Yongzhou, no danger could ever match the fierce longing he had for Wei Huan. So when he tried to finally speak the words he’d hidden for years, his heart felt both relieved and deeply uneasy.

He had no idea how Wei Huan would see this side of him.

“I don’t know why,” Wei Huan suddenly spoke, as though lost in thought. “I feel like… I should have fallen for you a long time ago. This timing feels… wrong.”

Even the fireflies in the air seemed to pause at those words. A moment later, they resumed their floating dance.

He smiled. “Even if I don’t know everything you’ve done… I like you. No, actually—even if you’ve done nothing for me, I’d still like you.” He kept correcting himself, fumbling through the mess of his own memories and thoughts, searching for some kind of proof. But his feelings felt like an unfinished puzzle—no matter how he pieced it, something was always off. In the end, he gave up.

But one thing remained perfectly clear—he’d never forgotten how he felt the very first moment he saw Yun Yongzhou.

Rarely ever serious, Wei Huan now stared at him earnestly. “Though, that thing you said about the rib… it actually feels pretty accurate.” He turned and grabbed Yun Yongzhou’s face, forcing him to look straight at him. “Guess. Back at the freshman competition, when I first sat across from you at the game table… what do you think I was really thinking?”

Yun Yongzhou shook his head slightly.

“‘I’m screwed.’” Wei Huan closed his eyes, like recalling the scene—or maybe because he couldn’t bear to look at him while saying this. “The very first real opponent in my life had finally appeared.”

“God must’ve thought I was too arrogant. So he snapped one of my ribs and made you—to tame me.”

Then he laughed, still closing his eyes.

“I was like Kuafu, always chasing the sun. Every time, I just wanted to beat you. Losing made me upset, winning… somehow still felt like I was just one breath short. It was strange, and I could never figure it out.”

Wei Huan let out a long breath and opened his eyes. “Now I finally know what was wrong all along.” As he spoke, he rested his forehead against Yun Yongzhou’s collarbone, his voice soft and low. “I never actually wanted to defeat the sun.”

“I just wanted… to win it.”

The night was deep, moonlight flowing quietly. He felt something—a gentle kiss, as light as a cloud—fall softly on the top of his head.

He closed his eyes.

Now… everything finally felt right.

He didn’t even remember how that night ended. Somehow, he must’ve fallen asleep in Yun Yongzhou’s arms, wrapped in a warm cocoon spun from snowy white wings. Everything after became a blur.

When he woke up the next morning, Wei Huan was surprised to find they were back at Yun Yongzhou’s little cabin by the lake. Birdsong woke him.

Lying in bed in a daze for several seconds, it wasn’t until full clarity returned that he flipped over—only to realize Yun Yongzhou wasn’t beside him. He scrambled out of bed barefoot, dashed out of the bedroom—then suddenly turned back, put on his cotton slippers, and rushed to the living room.

“Where did he go…” Wei Huan muttered, feeling like he could turn the entire house upside down looking. Then, out of nowhere, he heard a voice—it came from within his mind.

[You’re awake.]

Wei Huan froze. Instinctively, he turned around—only realizing after a beat that it was mind-link.

[Did you leave? Where are you?]

Don’t tell me… last night really wasn’t just a dream…

[I’m in the underground detention chamber at Shanhai. Xie Tianfa almost escaped this morning. But it’s handled now.]

[What?!] Wei Huan jumped.

[I’m coming too. Wait for me.]

Before Yun Yongzhou could refuse, Wei Huan had already cut off the heart-link unilaterally. He hurried to throw on clothes while muttering, “I swear, this little golden crow has me completely lovestruck. I’ve turned into a romance-brained idiot. I still have a grand future to chase. Beauty is a dangerous distraction… Beauty is dangerous…”

The underground detention chamber was originally a punishment room for students in Shanhai’s early years. But the first headmaster—a phoenix—believed that kind of punishment was meaningless, so it was abandoned. Later, when the combat division was established, the place was repurposed to hold certain beings that couldn’t be handed over to either the federal police or government—mostly dangerous demons awaiting further processing.

Normally, students weren’t allowed anywhere near the underground chamber. For all Shanhai’s freedom, that place was considered too dangerous. Access required instructor approval.

The entrance was a large bronze-carved wall standing between Jiahui Academy and the administrative building’s plaza. One side of the wall was engraved with dozens of mythical creatures—said to be the original founders of Shanhai. At the very center was the phoenix. The reverse side bore the school’s motto: “From destruction comes creation—benevolence is invincible.”

Wei Huan stood in front of the memorial wall, letting out a long sigh.

I shouldn’t have hung up that quickly…

With lingering guilt and a bit of luck-hoping, he reconnected the mind-link. To his surprise, it didn’t take long at all.

[So, um… I’m here now. Can you come get me?]

Yun Yongzhou’s voice sounded cold on the other end.

[Beg me.]

Apparently, things really were fine—he even had the energy to tease. But Wei Huan was nothing if not adaptable. Fine. Begging’s no big deal.

[I’m begging. Please, please, come get me. Just come up here and take me down, alright?]

It felt like that still wasn’t sincere enough, so Wei Huan added:

[You are the merciful, compassionate number one young master of the demon realm. The kindest, most beautiful Golden Crow. A living bodhisattva. The sun god himself. You are—]

Before he could finish, Yun Yongzhou’s figure emerged from the wall like a creature stepping straight out of a painting. He wore a gray knit sweater, no longer in his transformed demon form. His hair was back to short brown, and his eyepatch had turned black—looking for all the world like some cold, elegant assassin.

“What am I?” Yun Yongzhou didn’t forget to press the joke.

Wei Huan refused to answer unless he was brought inside. Yun Yongzhou didn’t actually refuse—he led him into the dimly lit detention chamber.

After passing several strict layers of security, Wei Huan finally opened his mouth again.

“You’re… the poor little swan I bullied.”

He said it while grinning mischievously, waiting for Yun Yongzhou’s reaction.

But Yun Yongzhou didn’t get angry—instead, he nodded slightly.

“I won’t forget this grudge.”

Wei Huan felt like something was off. He was about to say more when suddenly a roar startled him into silence. He turned his head and saw a yaksha locked in a glass cell, eyes glowing red.

“This yaksha looks familiar…” Wei Huan muttered.

“You brought him back years ago,” Yun Yongzhou replied.

“No way?” Wei Huan didn’t quite believe it. “Sh*t, there must be a bunch of my enemies locked up here.” He glanced around while following Yun Yongzhou down the elevator. It went all the way to the lowest level, where the most dangerous prisoners were kept. The barriers here were so strong that even demon like the Chongming Bird with immense strength couldn’t easily break through.

As soon as he stepped out, he saw the only room emitting light. From a distance, it was bathed in blue demon aura.

“He’s locked up all the way at the bottom?”

“He’s very dangerous,” Yun Yongzhou said. “Right after the seal on the nine tails was broken, she was stabbed five times and severely wounded. I sent her away.”

Wei Huan tensed up, worried. “Is Shanyue okay? Is she in the hospital?”

“She’s a high-level demon. Her regeneration is strong.”

Xie Tianfa was too dangerous. His current body had clearly been through some kind of training to make slaughter his first instinct.

“But there’s something strange.” As they approached the room, Yun Yongzhou placed a hand on Wei Huan’s shoulder and gently pushed him—Wei Huan passed through the transparent, heavily enchanted barrier and entered the room.

Even if Yun Yongzhou hadn’t said anything, the moment Wei Huan saw the scene inside, he knew what was odd. Xie Tianfa was confined in a narrow cylindrical metal chamber—Shanhai’s highest-security containment device. Through the glass on the front, his face and chest were visible. He seemed unconscious. Surrounding the chamber were layers of protective enchantments from both the Nine-Tails and the Golden Crow.

There was a soul-calming spike embedded in his chest, temporarily disabling his spiritual energy and preventing him from using the soul-splitting technique. The entire room was airtight, with air so still it felt solid.

But he wasn’t the only one in the detention chamber.

Outside the golden barrier, Qing He sat silently on the ground.

“He won’t hurt You Qing He.” Yun Yongzhou spoke again.

As soon as those words fell, they heard Qing He let out a self-deprecating laugh—a sound that seemed to come straight from his thin chest, shaking even his bowed head.

Wei Huan walked over and sat beside Qing He. He didn’t know what to say, so he simply stayed silent.

Qing He was slow to react. After a long while, he finally noticed someone was sitting next to him. He stared at Wei Huan for a moment, then suddenly jolted as if grabbing onto a lifeline, clutching Wei Huan’s arm. “They won’t listen to me. Can you… can you talk to them for me?”

There was no trace of color on his face, which only made the demonic markings on his skin look even more vivid. In just two days, the light in his eyes was completely gone. “He remembers me. He didn’t try to kill me just now. Tell them—he can still be saved.”

Wei Huan looked up at Yun Yongzhou.

Yun Yongzhou answered, “You were there. He almost killed the Nine-Tailed Fox.”

Qing He looked like a puppet whose strings had just been cut. Yun Yongzhou’s words shattered him entirely.

“…Yeah.” Qing He had to admit. “There was so much blood.”

Wei Huan gripped his wrist. “How long have you been stuck here?”

Qing He shook his head slowly. “I don’t remember. Feels like… a long time.”

“You can’t go on like this, Qing He.” Wei Huan was about to persuade him, when he suddenly noticed Qing He’s hands and arms were wrapped in bandages. There was a faint heat emanating from them—likely burns. “What happened? What’s wrong with your hands?”

Yun Yongzhou said nothing. Qing He didn’t answer either. Right at that moment, Jing Yun walked in. Seeing Wei Huan surprised him a little. “Ah—” He quickly corrected himself. “Wei… Senior Wei.”

“Don’t call me that. Just ‘Ah Heng’ is fine.” Wei Huan asked, “Why are you here?”

Jing Yun held a lunch box in his hands. “I’ve been here the whole time. I just went out to get Qing He some food.”

Thinking about it, Wei Huan realized it made sense. In this situation, stopping Qing He from doing something foolish but not hurting him—only Jing Yun could manage that.

Jing Yun placed the lunch box in front of Qing He and carefully opened it layer by layer. “Qing He, this stuff’s really good. Humans can eat it too. Just eat a little, okay?”

Jing Yun’s words made Wei Huan frown. “Has he… not eaten this whole time?”

Jing Yun nodded anxiously. “Not eating, not drinking either.” Noticing Wei Huan was holding Qing He’s wrist, he added, “Earlier when Xie Tianfa went berserk, Qing He ran over and grabbed him from behind. He accidentally got burned by fox fire.”

“That Xie Tianfa was terrifying. He tried to kill anyone he saw, nearly strangled Qing He to death. But then… he seemed to let go. He didn’t kill Qing He. I don’t know if it’s because Qing He’s human… or maybe he actually recognized him.” Jing Yun hesitated.

That sentence seemed to hit a switch in Qing He. He hurriedly defended, “He does recognize me! He really does! He didn’t kill me—look, I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

Wei Huan glanced at the bruises around his neck and said coldly, “Eat something first. We’ll figure the rest out after.”

Qing He rasped, “I… I can’t eat.”

“Are you insane?” Wei Huan finally snapped. “You Qing He—after struggling to survive all these years, you just want to die before him? Die right in front of him?”

Qing He gritted his teeth so hard that the muscles in his jaw trembled.

“I know you’re in pain,” Wei Huan sighed, “but think about it clearly. He’s like this now because someone is using him. He has no reason left, no space to think for himself. If they keep brainwashing him, he’ll kill even more people. If you really want to save him, then go after the ones controlling him. Find out what’s going on. Figure out if he still has a chance of regaining his memory—of getting his mind back. He can’t do that himself.”

Wei Huan squeezed Qing He’s hand.

“Only you can save him.”

The floor made a soft pat sound as Qing He’s tears finally fell. Wei Huan’s last words hit him like a pardon, dragging him back from the brink of collapse—forcing him to stay awake, to stay alive.

Qing He picked up the lunch box, using his burned hand to hold the chopsticks, and mechanically shoveled food into his mouth. He messily wiped away his tears with the back of his hand, but the more he wiped, the more they flowed. Veins bulged at his temple from holding it all in.

Wei Huan knew it all too well. Qing He had a face that looked delicate and noble, but beneath that was a kind of stubbornness that nothing could grind down.

He didn’t need comfort.

What he needed was someone to hold a torch in the dark and tell him—it’s not over yet. There’s still a road ahead.

That torch… was Xie Tianfa.

Even if he had to crawl, he would crawl to him.

Qing He choked down his food, crying until he suddenly laughed.

“Why is life so hard for me… Living is so painful, and I’m too scared to even die.” His voice was hoarse, but he still forced out that familiar joking tone. “I’m so pitiful.” Halfway through speaking, his smile faded.

“…I pity myself.”

Wei Huan looked at him—like looking at his past self when he had just come back, having lost everything, even branded a traitor. Back then, he too was utterly hopeless.

But at least then, Yun Yongzhou had reached out a hand and pulled him out of that abyss.

“Qing He, you’re not pitiful. Not pitiful at all.” Jing Yun gently patted his hand. “Don’t panic. We’ll help you. Look—he’s still here, right? You thought he was dead before, didn’t you?”

Jing Yun got flustered as soon as he started talking too much, stammering, “N-no! I don’t mean… I’m not cursing him! I just mean, now is actually… sort of… well—not good, but…”

Wei Huan sighed. “What he means is, it’s not the worst-case scenario yet.”

Jing Yun nodded rapidly, like seeing a savior.

“After everything you’ve been through, now that he’s back, you’re telling me you can’t handle it?” Wei Huan squeezed Qing He’s shoulder. “No matter how big the problem is—we’ll carry it together.”

Qing He raised his red eyes to look at him. “…You don’t hate him?”

Wei Huan lowered his gaze. “When I saw him for the first time—you were there too—you must’ve seen it. If I said I didn’t hate him… that’d be a lie.” He laughed softly and shook his head. “But after the anger passed… I knew who I should really hate.”

He raised a brow. “A weapon isn’t right or wrong. The fault lies with those who made him and used him.”

He knew exactly what Qing He was worried about. And he didn’t try to hide it—just met his gaze, honest and direct.

“I’m waiting for him to get better too. I don’t want my demon heart to die again.”

He gently tapped Qing He’s cheeks with both hands. “We’re both little lost souls in this vast world, and it just so happens we once knew each other—what a rare and fateful connection this is.”

Jing Yun quietly interjected beside them, “Ah, when will I ever learn to talk like that…”

“In dreams,” Wei Huan’s smile faded a little and grew more serious.

“Qing He, I’m not going to give you those empty, lofty speeches about living for yourself. Using that kind of talk to persuade you to come out of this is just showing off how noble I am. I know what you want to live for, and you know it too, right?”

Qing He nodded with difficulty.

“Then go get him back with everything you’ve got.”

Qing He looked at him like he was looking into a mirror. Within it, he saw his own confusion, struggles, and repeated hesitation—and also the clearer future self he would become.

“He will come back, believe me.”