Everyone Is Non-Human Except Me [Rebirth] Chapter 93

Government troops disembarked and surrounded them. Several burly men grabbed Yang Ling’s arms and twisted them behind her back. Her fiery temper flared, and lotus fire surged into her palms. “What are you doing?! Open your dog eyes and look clearly—I’m the youngest daughter of the Bifang family! A student from the Shanhai Combat Preparedness Unit! Instead of catching puppets, you’re coming after us?!”

This was a chain trap.

Wei Huan silently watched them.

“Little Ling, don’t use force,” Yang Sheng reminded her aloud, then turned to the government soldiers and added, “Please be gentle—if you push my sister too far, she might blow you to bits, and there’ll be nothing left to patch up.”

The government soldiers froze slightly. They knew full well that the Bifang clan wasn’t just some random little demons. Their attitudes shifted, becoming much more courteous than before. “Miss Yang, please cooperate. We’re just following orders from above.”

Yang Ling gave them a glare and reluctantly withdrew the lotus flame from her hands.

Two other soldiers tried to grab Yan Shanyue’s arms, but no matter how much force they used, they couldn’t get close. A cold blue foxfire coiled around her fingers, spreading to the soldiers’ wrists.

“Don’t touch me,” Yan Shanyue said coldly. “I’ll walk on my own.”

Jing Yun wasn’t nearly as tough. Pinned by the soldiers, he didn’t dare make any sudden moves. One careless action and he might accidentally fling a soldier fifty meters away—and that could get him into even more trouble. Qing He set the gun in his hands on the ground, watching as the soldiers from the Demon Domain government picked it up and recognized the Shanhai insignia. “You’re a human—how do you have a Shanhai-issued weapon?”

Qing He, wearing an eyepatch, let his visible eye glance around but didn’t respond rashly.

“I gave it to him.”

A cold, clear voice broke the silence.

Wei Huan looked over at Yun Yongzhou. He stood there, proud and aloof, not at all like someone ready to confess guilt or accept arrest. He hadn’t surrendered, and none of the soldiers dared approach him casually.

From the helicopter, a figure descended and unfurled his wings with a loud whoosh. Wei Huan instantly recognized his Tengu demon aura.

Zhao Yuecheng clearly hadn’t expected the “chaos element” he’d been ordered to arrest would turn out to be such familiar faces. When his eyes landed on Yun Yongzhou, his expression showed particular surprise. Landing on the ground, he walked up to Yun Yongzhou. “Yongzhou, what are you doing here?”

Yun Yongzhou glanced at him but said nothing. He knew Zhao Yuecheng was just another pawn and couldn’t be bothered to explain. When he didn’t answer, Zhao Yuecheng’s gaze shifted to Wei Huan. “Hey, human—what’s going on? What are you all doing here?”

Hearing Zhao Yuecheng’s tone, Yang Ling—fearless as ever—snapped back in irritation, “What’s with ‘human’ this and that? You Tengu got goldfish brains or something? Can’t remember names?”

“You—!”

Wei Huan interrupted, giving him no face. “If you’re going to arrest us, then do it. Save the chatter.”

Zhao Yuecheng shot him a displeased look, then sighed at Yun Yongzhou and ordered his men, “Take them back. Be careful with all of them.”

Counting both lives, this was Wei Huan’s first time truly going to prison—specifically, a high-security single-cell prison. He’d originally thought that with eight of them, they could at least make up two tables of mahjong. But the government troops, likely thinking they were too dangerous, had split them all up.

Wei Huan sat cross-legged on the hard wooden bed, touching the broken demon core pendant at his neck. The reason he’d been able to unleash wind power earlier was probably because of the demonic energy lingering in that shattered core.

Thinking this, he lowered his head to examine the wristband on his arm. A deep crack had already formed—it probably wouldn’t survive much more strain. He looked around the room. On the wall hung a Demon Domain Federation emblem, embroidered in colorful silk thread. He took it down, conjured a light blade, cut open the outermost layer, and pulled out one of the threads—long and strong.

After checking through them, he chose a red thread, pulled out a large bundle, tossed the emblem aside, and carefully wrapped the red thread around the wristband’s crack. Though he did it carefully, it still didn’t look very pretty. Bathed in moonlight from the small window, Wei Huan quietly stared at the wristband now bound with red thread.

Even though he knew that, with Yun Yongzhou’s identity, nothing bad would happen to him—he was still worried. Still afraid.

Afraid that Yongzhou might do something reckless for his sake.

He tried to connect with him via their heart link, but for some reason, there was no response from the other end.

“Pick up…” he murmured, head down, picking at the bedboard with his fingers. “Yun Yongzhou, pick up—I want to see you…”

Still no response. That was very strange.

“It was always open before…” Wei Huan scratched his head and let out a long sigh. Unable to reach the link, he had no choice but to give up, sitting at the head of the bed trying to sort through everything.

Yang Shu, in order to escape the Fanzhou government’s pursuit, had fled to the dark zone. He stored all the nearly-finished demon puppets at this power plant. Hoping to extend his life long enough to see his son again, he even turned himself into one of them. But the Fanzhou government was actually under Yun Ting’s control, with no real authority. His arrest wasn’t even really about human rights violations.

So Yang Shu was just another pawn discarded by Song Chengkang.

At the end, Song Chengkang even used that pawn to lure them over and trigger the demon puppets using their demonic energy. Wei Huan frowned. He understood Song Chengkang’s actions. As a die-hard radical, the man just wanted to burn all bridges with the Demon Domain, using the puppets as bargaining chips.

But then what was the government army doing there? They tolerated the puppet plan, stole the credit—there had to be a reason.

Wei Huan tried to think from Yun Ting’s perspective.

If he were the Prime Minister of the Demon Domain Federation and wanted to turn Fanzhou into a de facto demon colony, what would he need to do right now…

The Demon Domain barrier wasn’t something ordinary demons could break through, so most of these demon puppets couldn’t enter. That might be why Yun Ting allowed them to exist. They hadn’t yet reached the battlefield—they were just causing border chaos, not real damage to the demon population. Wei Huan recalled the earlier scene—most of the demon puppets flew toward Fanzhou.

That destination was likely Song Chengkang’s order—to build up a fighting force.

But why wasn’t Yun Ting afraid of that? In fact, he wasn’t just unafraid—he publicly had the government army hunt down demon puppets and had the media hype it up. This was the opposite of his usual behavior, which had always been to suppress news…

Suddenly, a flash of light went off in his mind.

He was wrong.

Wei Huan shot to his feet. From Yun Ting’s perspective, he finally understood everything—the part that had always felt off to him had finally been unraveled. What Yun Ting lacked in turning Fanzhou into a colony was a justifiable reason.

Once the demon puppets truly entered Fanzhou, he would have the perfect excuse—to “protect peace between the two races.” He could then openly provide so-called “military assistance” to Fanzhou, using the noble pretense of helping humans eliminate demon puppets, while in reality using it for military coercion.

His scalp tingled. The scale of this scheme was immense. One person might think they’d set a brilliant trap, yet that trap, in the eyes of another power, was nothing more than a pawn easily used for their own purposes.

And all the seemingly insignificant people involved—himself included—were merely dust caught in the eye of a storm within a storm.

Wei Huan sat back down on the bed. He was slightly injured and felt some pain. Before long, government troops broke through the door, cuffed him, and forcibly dragged him into an interrogation room. They shoved him roughly into a chair, slapping various patches onto his arms and temples. Blinding white light shone directly into his eyes. The interrogator sitting across from him adjusted his glasses and tapped on the control panel on the desk.

“Monitoring system activated.”

Wei Huan heard the system voice and looked up at the interrogator—who had long, pointed demon ears. The man looked back, cleared his throat, and his voice was so sharp it was like nails scraping a chalkboard, making Wei Huan’s skin crawl.

His tone was arrogant and rude. “Do you know what crime you’ve committed?”

Lounging back in his chair, Wei Huan suddenly let out a snort of laughter.

The interrogator’s expression darkened. “This is the Demon Domain Federation’s interrogation room. Show some respect.” Then his pointed ears twitched, and his eyes revealed a hint of disdain as he sized up Wei Huan’s face. “I bet you don’t even know demon law. You,” he pointed to the soldier on Wei Huan’s left, “read him the—”

Wei Huan interrupted, “Article 137 of the Demon Domain Federal Criminal Procedure Law states: Interrogators and investigators must first ask whether the suspect has committed a crime, allowing them to explain incriminating details or provide a defense, before proceeding with further questions.” He recited it fluently, tilted his head slightly, smiled at the man across from him, and even whistled.

The interrogator’s face turned red and pale by turns. He’d clearly lost face and knew he’d just used a leading question, violating protocol. So he lowered his head, pretended to take notes, and hastily asked according to regulation, “Suspect Wei Huan, have you committed any crimes?”

Wei Huan deliberately dragged out a long “Hmm… let me think…” as if seriously considering it, his eyes darting around before ending firmly, “Nope.”

The interrogator looked disgusted. “I’ll give you one more chance. Think carefully. If you confess now, your sentence may be reduced.”

“Alright, alright, I’m thinking, I’m thinking…” Wei Huan mumbled, head down, swaying as he repeated, “Any criminal behavior…” Suddenly, he raised his head. “I know!”

The interrogator straightened, waiting for a confession.

But to his surprise, Wei Huan grinned, his cuffed hands resting on the table. He beckoned with his fingers, signaling for the interrogator to come closer. When the man hesitated but leaned in slightly, Wei Huan leaned forward too, his expression all caution, and lowered his voice behind the semi-transparent interrogation screen.

“I seduced your Demon Domain Prime Minister’s son.”

Then he broke into a laugh—arrogant and childish.

The interrogator’s face turned even uglier. “You!”

Wei Huan smirked, “What? You don’t believe me? I can give you details. Your interrogation rules require full disclosure, right? You want the censored version or the uncensored?”

The interrogator, realizing he wouldn’t get anything useful, reached for the control panel to end the session. But just as he did, Wei Huan piped up, “Dear Interrogator Sir, allow me to remind you—” He raised his cuffed hands and pointed at the patches near his temples. “According to the honorable Demon Domain Federal Criminal Code, every interrogation must be recorded in full, and if the suspect files a complaint or accusation, they have the right to retrieve the footage as evidence. Oh no, I forgot…” He glanced slyly at the interrogator. “Isn’t excessive use of force during an interrogation grounds for dismissal?”

The interrogator’s hand froze, his teeth clenched tight.

“Tsk,” Wei Huan clicked his tongue. “So what do you say—we stick to proper procedure and go through complaint channels? Or should I just let the Prime Minister’s son—” He paused deliberately, then added, “Oh, right, that’s my boyfriend—take you down for abusing your power? I’m super democratic, you get to choose.”

Nothing came of the interrogation, and the interrogator was left fuming. Wei Huan was dragged back to the solitary cell by two soldiers, uncuffed, and locked inside again.

Watching them leave, Wei Huan scoffed and turned away, sprawling onto the bed.

Back when he was fighting on the battlefield, these people were probably still leeching off the Federation from some shady corner.

Still, Wei Huan couldn’t help worrying about the younger ones. With Yang Ling’s explosive temper, she probably wouldn’t say much—maybe even blow up the interrogation room. Yan Shanyue would be fine, but Jing Yun… he was the one Wei Huan feared might be coerced.

But worrying wouldn’t help. The government troops had separated them precisely so they couldn’t communicate. His hands couldn’t reach out to help. Anyway, nothing would happen to Yun Yongzhou—no one would dare touch him.

With the resolve to endure to the bitter end, Wei Huan began analyzing the tangled mess of the situation again. As he thought, his mind began to drift—he hadn’t had any proper rest in days. While sorting through the thoughts in his head, he accidentally drifted off. Who knew how long he slept—until in a daze, he heard noises. The door to the cell opened, and someone seemed to be speaking.

Wei Huan rolled over, sat up, rubbed his eyes, and looked toward the door.

“You can leave now.”

Wei Huan got out of bed. Still groggy, he shuffled out of the confinement cell, flanked by two soldiers. He saw that Yang Ling and the others were also being released around the same time. Wei Huan asked, “Why are they letting us go?”

No one answered him.

Seeing that everyone seemed safe and hadn’t suffered any major punishment, Wei Huan’s gaze swept over them—but he quickly noticed that Yun Yongzhou was missing.

“Where’s Yun Yongzhou?” he asked again, but still received no reply.

Su Buyu walked up to him. “Let’s head out first. With his status, he’ll be fine.”

Of course Wei Huan understood that logic, but he couldn’t get past the unease in his chest. With so many others around, though, he couldn’t make a scene and drag everyone down with him. In the end, he had no choice but to compromise and follow them back to Shanhai. What surprised him was that even someone like Qing He, a human, was released.

“I thought I’d be deported,” Qing He said to Wei Huan on the way back. “I’m not from the Demon Domain. I don’t have student credentials for Shanhai, and I don’t even have a Fanzhou residency permit anymore—completely undocumented, yet they still let me out.”

Wei Huan said nothing. After a while, he asked, “Where are you going now?”

Qing He seemed to catch his meaning and shot the question back, “What about you?”

As everyone activated their teleportation fields, preparing to return to Shanhai, Wei Huan paused and looked at Qing He. “I’m going to the Dark Zone.”

Su Buyu seemed to have anticipated his thoughts. He walked over and grabbed Wei Huan’s arm. “You’re injured. Get that treated first. If you head off somewhere now and get arrested again on other charges, what then?”

Wei Huan smiled. “I’ll be careful. But there’s something I need to find out.”

Even Yang Sheng, who was usually the moderate one, spoke up for once. “Yun Yongzhou has warned you multiple times—not to investigate the Demon slayer alone.”

Hearing that name, Wei Huan opened his mouth but didn’t speak. That was his weak spot, and they’d hit it directly.

“Just come back with us first.”

Suddenly, a gust of wind blew.

Now that his Nine Phoenix power was gradually returning, Wei Huan had become much more sensitive to the wind. He frowned and glanced at Su Buyu, as if he wanted to say something. Su Buyu noticed the shift in his expression, raised his brows slightly, as if to ask, “What is it?”

Wei Huan shook his head and didn’t speak. He simply turned and walked into the teleportation field with Qing He. “I’ll go back—but not now.”

From Kunlun Void to the Dark Zone was like descending from heaven into h*ll. Demon puppets and anarchist groups fought in the streets. Burned houses, toppled electric poles across the roads, smashed vehicles from chain collisions, panicked humans and half-demons fleeing in all directions—the chaos was overwhelming.

“What was that look just now?” As they ran, Qing He suddenly asked.

“Huh?” Wei Huan was caught off guard.

“When Su Buyu was talking to you—your expression changed.”

“Sharp eye for someone with one eye,” Wei Huan muttered, surprised Qing He had noticed. But he didn’t hide it. “I smelled the scent of Bian flowers on him again.”

“Again?”

Wei Huan nodded. “Something about him feels off. But he won’t tell me what’s going on.”

Qing He guessed, “He probably made some kind of trade at Wuqi again.” But then frowned. “Wait, that can’t be right. We’ve all been to Wuqi, and the smell of Bian flowers doesn’t last that long. Did he go back again?”

Wei Huan felt unsettled. He didn’t want to believe Su Buyu had changed, but the clues were too suspicious to ignore.

“I don’t know. I’ll have to make another trip to Wuqi eventually.”

Demon puppets began to attack them, but they were ordinary types—Wei Huan could handle them on his own.

“By the way,” Qing He asked while reaching for a gun—only to remember all his weapons had been confiscated. “You’re here looking for that Demon slayer, right? In this chaos, you might just run into him.”

“I am looking for him,” Wei Huan replied, slashing an airborne demon puppet in half with a blade of light that appeared instantly in his hand. Then he added suddenly, “But first, I need to go to your organization.”

They were running toward an area with fewer demon puppets when he said that. Qing He looked at him in surprise. “What for? They’re probably busy fighting monsters right now.”

Wei Huan was unusually calm. “I need to go in. I want to know exactly what kind of organization it is—its goals, how many members, how big its influence is.”

Qing He had long suspected that Wei Huan would make this request, but not this late. He’d thought Wei Huan didn’t care about politics or factions. But now, here he was, asking questions. They came across a delivery truck with its windshield shattered and blood on it. Qing He ran over and saw that the bleeding driver had tried to escape but collapsed outside the door, never getting back up.

He sighed and tilted his head toward Wei Huan, gesturing for him to get in. He managed to get the vehicle running and let out a breath of relief before continuing the conversation. “Why do you want to go?”

“I want to join.” Sitting in the passenger seat, Wei Huan spotted an unopened lollipop, unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth.

The vehicle started. Qing He drove aggressively. Along the way, countless small demon puppets hit the windshield—some so mangled their flesh stuck to the glass. The wipers smeared the blood around, staining the windshield a dark red. Wei Huan clicked his tongue.

“Yeah, it’s gross,” Qing He said. “Just don’t look at it.”

Wei Huan shook his head. “I’ve seen worse on the battlefield.”

Qing He gave him a sideways glance. “Things have gotten too messy lately. If you join the organization now, it’ll only get more complicated. If you just need help investigating something, you can say so directly. We’re all in this for mutual benefit anyway.”

“That’s the issue,” Wei Huan pulled the lollipop from his mouth and looked at Qing He. “I want to know exactly what that ‘mutual benefit’ entails. What is the organization’s purpose? I don’t even know its name. Don’t you guys even have a code name?”

Qing He kept his eyes on the road, hands gripping the steering wheel. After a long silence, he finally spoke. “There is one. Rebels.”

Rebels—those who rebel.

Wei Huan let out a chuckle. So it really was a rebel force. He’d been suspecting it for some time. Though the members he knew—Ah Zu, Leah—had focused their investigations on Research Institute 137, it was becoming clear that the institute was only the tip of the iceberg. The true scope stretched far beyond—into the battles and struggles between two, even multiple, factions.

Then what about this Dark Zone organization that had been investigating 137 all this time? Could it be one of those warring factions too? And that elusive, never-seen leader—what kind of figure was he?

Now, with all the chaos unfolding before him, Wei Huan was certain that this was connected to the ambush seven years ago—undoubtedly tied to his own death. Otherwise, why go so far as to brand him a traitor? He died, his entire Nine Phoenix Clan was exterminated—wasn’t that enough? Why the need to add the label of betrayal?

There was only one possibility: someone wanted to ensure the Nine Phoenix Clan would never rise again.

Which meant, at the very least, one of these powers stood in opposition to the Nine Phoenix.

Wei Huan had begun to suspect that his parents’ deaths back then might not have been so simple.

He glanced at the car’s radio system, pressing a few buttons as he resumed the conversation from earlier. “You’ve got humans, half-demons, and full demons—so who exactly are you rebelling against? The Demon Domain? Or Fanzhou?”

Before Qing He could answer, a virtual screen appeared before them. It looked like a news broadcast. Wei Huan swiped his finger across it to change the channel, and suddenly, he saw a familiar face.

“Yun Ting?” Qing He glanced over too. “What’s this?”

“Looks like his speech about the demon puppet attacks.” Wei Huan took a deep breath. It was probably a live broadcast. He leaned back into the passenger seat, arms crossed, staring at the hypocrite politician on the screen.

“We’re low on fuel. I’m going to find a charging station,” Qing He said.

Yun Ting was dressed in a sleek, perfectly tailored suit, standing at the podium in the opulent Federation hall. Behind him stood his ministers and chief secretary. The entire scene, viewed through the broken, blood-smeared lens of Wei Huan’s memory, felt grotesquely ironic.

“We offer our heartfelt condolences to the victims and families affected by the recent demon puppet attacks. At the same time, we strongly condemn all experiments that violate both demonic and human ethics. The Demon Federation has already launched a special investigation. We’ve received a request for assistance from the Fanzhou government. Our hearts are united, and in a time where both races suffer together, we must set aside past grievances and cooperate hand-in-hand…”

Wei Huan bit down with a crack, shattering the candy in his mouth. “F*cking shameless,” he muttered.

Just as he cursed, Qing He got back in the car after refueling. He glanced at Wei Huan and noticed his stunned expression. “Hey, what’s wrong—” He followed Wei Huan’s gaze to the screen.

In the center of the screen, Yun Ting was still spouting his usual false platitudes. But someone new had appeared behind him, replacing the previous minister standing at the Prime Minister’s back. That figure stood still, expressionless, eyes fixed forward.

Wearing a dark green military coat of the government army, military cap on his head—it was Yun Yongzhou. His amber eyes were cold and distant. As Yun Ting turned to salute the government officers fighting the demon puppets, Yun Yongzhou also raised a gloved hand and returned the salute in official military fashion, his face unreadable.

The uniform fit him perfectly—as though he’d been born to wear it. No—he should be wearing something of even higher rank. Brigadier General, at least. Or a full general.

He’d lain low in Shanhai for seven years, only to step right back onto the same road paved for him in childhood—a road leading straight to destruction.

Qing He lowered his gaze and saw that Wei Huan’s fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles had gone white. He sighed softly. “So it really was because of him that they let us go.”