Everyone Is Non-Human Except Me [Rebirth] Chapter 94

Qing He knew Wei Huan’s mood must be terrible right now, so he tested the waters. “You still want to go? Or do you want to head back to the Demon Domain first?”

Wei Huan shook his head. “No. Once he’s made up his mind, there’s nothing I can do to stop him.”

He turned off the screen, pretending to be indifferent. “Even if he didn’t go, Yun Ting would’ve forced him into the government army before the election anyway.”

He turned to look out at the gloomy, overcast sky.

Qing He hesitated, then asked, “You really want to join the Rebels? Yun Yongzhou is part of the Demon Federation military now. Are you sure you want to end up on the opposite side of him?”

But what Wei Huan cared about was something else. “Is it really that easy to join?”

“If it’s you, probably not a problem. I’ll talk to Yu Sheng,” Qing He said, turning the wheel and pulling up to an abandoned building. It started to rain. Rainwater mixed with the Dark Zone’s thick, dirty air, making the atmosphere even more tense. They got out of the car.

All the buildings looked the same. Qing He led him toward one of them. Wei Huan could feel a layer of transparent barrier—but no trace of demon energy.

“What kind of barrier is this?” he asked.

Qing He looked clueless, glancing around. “Barrier? There’s a barrier?”

Wei Huan didn’t reply. He’d almost forgotten Qing He was fully human.

“There is a barrier,” Wei Huan said, reaching out to touch it. Oddly enough, the barrier didn’t keep him out. The energy in it was fluid, like water—transparent, but without any identifiable type of demon energy.

“Come on in.” Qing He led him inside the building. The lighting was dim, and Wei Huan vaguely heard a low electronic sound—quiet but frequent. “What’s that sound?” he asked.

“You’ve got sharp ears.” They crossed an open hall and stopped in front of a wall. “That’s our system. It does dual recognition—facial and chip scan. If the person isn’t part of the Rebels, the system triggers an alarm. If there are too many intruders, it auto-triggers the purge protocol.”

Wei Huan watched as Qing He stopped in front of a glass emergency panel. He placed his right palm on it. The glass lit up with a virtual screen. After a moment, a black emblem appeared.

Wei Huan had seen that symbol before—on the uniform of a Rebel member. It looked like a horizontal crescent moon, split down the middle by a vertical line.

After the scan completed, the seemingly smooth and intact wall suddenly recessed inward, then slid open to the right, revealing a pair of metallic double doors. Slowly, the doors parted—it was an elevator.

“This is the headquarters,” Qing He said as he walked in. “To be honest, it’s kind of similar to 137—it’s an underground city too.”

Wei Huan joked, “Every time I see an underground facility now, I get this villainous vibe.” He pointed to the crescent logo next to the buttons. “What does this mean?”

Qing He glanced at it. “No idea. It was already there when I joined. I even asked Ah Zu about it back then, and he didn’t know either.”

“Your group’s corporate culture is seriously lacking,” Wei Huan teased. “Don’t know what the logo means, haven’t even seen your boss’s face. Maybe it’s some tall old lady.”

When the elevator doors opened, the scene reminded Wei Huan of when Ah Zu had taken him to see the clones—but this place had even more high-tech equipment, and way more people. What surprised him most was that nearly half of them were half-demons or full demons.

Thinking of what Wei Huan had just said, Qing He remarked deliberately, “Actually, I think I might’ve seen our leader’s face.”

Wei Huan paused. “What do you mean?”

Even as he asked, he already had suspicions of his own—he just hadn’t said them aloud.

“It’s just a feeling,” Qing He replied, glancing at him. “But I think he’s at least connected to you. When I met him, he just happened to be watching the news about your death and the 137 Research Institute. At first, our goal was to uncover the mastermind behind the human experiments, but coincidentally, all of it ties back to you. Also, here’s another thing—every time you’re around, Yu Sheng never appears.”

As they walked, Qing He pushed open a black door. Inside were several connected rooms, like offices. He led Wei Huan into the innermost room—filled with computers and mechanical parts. More than twenty monitors lined the room. On the floor was half of a mechanical leg, mid-assembly, which Wei Huan nearly tripped over.

Wei Huan steadied himself against the wall. “Who do you think it is?” he asked. “Say the name and let’s see if it matches who I’m thinking.”

Qing He plopped into his swivel chair and tapped a virtual keyboard. All the monitors in the room lit up.

“Su Buyu,” he said. “I think he’s the one. What about you?”

Wei Huan leaned back into the couch, staring at the ceiling. “Well…”

He had suspected him too.

Qing He opened a drawer, pulled out a pack of candy, unwrapped one, and tossed it into his mouth. As he typed quickly, he added, “Honestly, you’re too emotional. Your feelings for Su Buyu cloud your judgment.”

Wei Huan glanced at him, then flopped back down again. He couldn’t really refute that.

He knew better than anyone that something was off with Su Buyu—he’d changed a lot compared to before.

“You know,” Wei Huan said, “if it were the old Buyu, I’d never peg him for this. He used to be really mild.”

“The milder someone is, the more you can’t read their suppressed emotions. Who knows—maybe one day they’ll snap. And he’s got every reason. As a half-demon, he doesn’t get proper respect from either side. Do you know how many half-demons are stranded in the Dark Zone? Probably more than in all of Fanzhou combined.”

Wei Huan had considered this before.

“If it really is him,” he said, “then maybe that’s a good thing. Better him than someone with worse intentions.”

Then Qing He posed his own question. “What I don’t get is—why would he hide it? Just because he’s a teacher in Shanhai?”

“Next time you see him, just pull off the mask,” Wei Huan replied.

Qing He finished his setup and showed the screen to Wei Huan. “Look.”

All twenty-some screens were now displaying processed data entries and blurred portraits—they could see the number of entries but not clear faces.

“This is our member database. I can tell you right now, the size will blow your mind.”

Wei Huan looked stunned. “What kind of scary cult is this? Why are there so many of you?”

“You’re the cult.” Qing He shot back. “From what older members say, there weren’t nearly this many at the beginning. It started after a purge by the Demon Federation. A lot of persecuted demons had nowhere else to go and fled to the Dark Zone. That’s when a small organization started up—it wasn’t even a real group yet. More like a gang—killing, looting, all kinds of chaos. Then people started resisting, including half-demons. There was a long period of turf wars.”

“It’s said that Yu Sheng showed up and beat those scumbags so badly they never dared show their faces again. After that, the rebels who resisted started gathering around him.”

“Sounds kind of legendary,” Wei Huan said. “So he’s basically the guy who cleaned up a mess and took over a violent gang?”

“I told you—it’s just what people say. It was years ago. Those who know say he’s insanely strong, but no one’s actually seen him. They say at first he didn’t even want to lead anything. He rejected everyone. But along the way, he saved a bunch of people. His reputation in the Dark Zone grew, and people started flocking to him. Back then, the Dark Zone wasn’t like it is now—dead bodies everywhere. No one could survive alone.”

So the people just wanted a savior, and Yu Sheng was pushed onto the throne. It was kind of ridiculous.

Wei Huan said, “He doesn’t sound like someone with a grand plan. So your organization exists mainly to investigate the 137 Institute?”

Qing He shook his head. “Not just that. Each zone has its own focus. We’re on this. Those stationed in Fanzhou look into the Fanzhou government. There are a few in the Demon Domain, but not many.”

“Figures. It’s already hard enough just to get in.”

After that, Qing He restored the screens to their previous surveillance feeds. Each monitor showed a different location, and given how rampant demon puppets had become, most feeds showed brutal battles in progress.

“Most of the Rebels are out here in the Dark Zone, dealing with demon puppets,” he said. Then he looked to Wei Huan. “What are you going to do next?”

Wei Huan covered his eyes with the back of his hand and murmured, “Next step… I feel like I’m playing a puzzle game. The picture’s too big, but I only have a few pieces.”

Qing He shrugged. “So what, you’re just going to sit there staring at your few pieces?”

Wei Huan smirked.

“Yeah, I’m done piecing it together.” He spotted an old tennis ball on the couch, picked it up, tossed it against the wall, then caught it again. “Because I realized someone else seems even more eager than me to complete this puzzle—and they want to make it even bigger.” He looked at Qing He and tossed the ball to him. “They’re not the only ones who know how to play ‘mantis stalks cicada, unaware of the oriole behind.’”

In that moment, Qing He genuinely admired Wei Huan. If it were him, he probably would’ve been pacing in frustration by now, running around like a headless chicken looking for clues. Yet this guy just… stopped. Waited. Let the lead actor in this political drama step into the spotlight on their own.

“But I still have to look into the demon slayer,” Wei Huan said, looking down at his palm. “That feels like the most important piece I’ve got.”

Once he found where that piece belonged, everything else might start to fall into place.

He’d stayed in the Dark Zone for several days, hoping to wait out Mo Tong. But unexpectedly, the guy hadn’t shown up at all. Even Qing He’s surveillance couldn’t track him. After the battle in the ruins, Mo Tong’s demon resonance seemed to have disrupted the communication system in the student rings, and Wei Huan only realized it once he got to the Dark Zone. Thankfully, their Group still had their exoskeletal communicators, and Wei Huan—who had basically become an unofficial member of the Rebels—helped them clear out demon puppets daily. Wearing the comm device meant he was always in touch with the team, sometimes even chatting idly with Jing Yun mid-battle.

“Hey, you’ve been here for days, and I haven’t seen you contact Yun Yongzhou at all,” Qing He handed him a can of synthetic peach juice. “You guys communicate telepathically every day or what?”

“How’d you know?” Wei Huan pulled the tab and took a sip—overly sweet with chemical flavor. “He even told you that? I thought he was mute around everyone except me.”

“Wow, you’re actually jealous.” Qing He sat beside him. They were on the rooftop of an abandoned building, with the slums of the Dark Zone behind them. The sky hovered between dusk and full dark, tinted faint red, with a light gray drizzle falling. Wei Huan had pulled the hood of his black sweatshirt up, giving off a weirdly punk vibe. Qing He explained, “I asked him, okay? He barely said five sentences to me. If you don’t believe me, ask him via the heart link. I won’t hear it anyway.”

Wei Huan scoffed, “I turned that thing off.”

“You’re not still mad at him, are you?”

Wei Huan sipped his peach juice, accidentally brushing the wound at the corner of his mouth—left over from fighting demon puppets a few days ago. It still hadn’t fully healed. He pulled a band-aid from his pocket, patched it up, and said, “He didn’t tell me anything. You know how many times I tried to connect with him that day I was locked up? He didn’t answer once. Wouldn’t you be pissed?”

“Me?” Qing He looked at the darkening sky. “If it were the old me, I’d definitely be mad. Might even go a whole month without talking to him. Now…” he laughed self-deprecatingly, “now I can’t even bring myself to stay mad.”

Wei Huan gave him a glance, then zipped his hoodie all the way up. With his head lowered, he looked like a depressed banana wrapped in a giant black trash bag.

Qing He started counting in his head.

Five, four, three…

Two.

Wei Huan suddenly lifted his head and chugged the rest of the pink peach juice.

Knew it. Qing He sighed and called after him as Wei Huan walked farther away, “I’m not leaving the door unlocked for you tonight!”

“Shut up.” Wei Huan didn’t even look back, just threw a middle finger over his shoulder.

Night fell completely. Outside the Demon Federation Army Headquarters, guards stood at attention. Wei Huan wore a black baseball cap with the hood of his sweatshirt pulled over it. He held Qing He’s last remaining lollipop in his mouth, teeth biting down on the slender white stick.

He was seated at an outdoor table across the street from the building, at a café on the corner. Although he’d refused to contact Yun Yongzhou and pretended they were in a cold war, he had been using their blood pact connection to track his location. Normally, he would never do that—it felt like invading someone’s privacy—but this was the first time he’d done it. Unfortunately, Yun Yongzhou’s life was absurdly consistent. If not at the Prime Minister’s residence, he was here at the military HQ. Ever since leaving Shanhai, he had fully resumed his privileged, young-master routine: driving to work, home by night, completely by the book.

Wei Huan glanced up at the clock tower, then silently activated a barrier and vanished from the café.

The elevator was crowded. Yun Yongzhou stood at the back. Everyone who got in greeted him with flattery; he barely looked at them. Today, there was an extra—a pretty female officer, probably from the mermaid tribe, with a blue scale on her forehead.

The elevator descended floor by floor, the crowd thinning out. The female officer finally spoke, poised and composed, “Captain Yun Yongzhou, do you have time later? A new restaurant just opened nearby—I’d like to treat you.”

As the doors opened, Yun Yongzhou walked out coldly. “No need.”

The officer, confident in her looks, followed persistently. “How about a drink, then? Or coffee?”

As they walked through the main hall, Yun Yongzhou suddenly sensed something and stopped, frowning slightly.

“Coffee, maybe?” she tried again. “There’s a nice café just across the street—let me—”

Before she could finish, Yun Yongzhou waved his hand, and his figure vanished into a concealment barrier.

Crouched nearby, Wei Huan watched silently as the car’s four tires deflated one by one under the cuts of his light blade. He clapped his hands clean and was about to turn when he was slammed against the car.

A tall body pressed up against him. One hand gripped the back of his neck, the other pinned his arm in a swift, practiced motion. Wei Huan was startled—he hadn’t sensed the other person’s presence at all. Instinctively, he used his combat skills to counter—elbowing the figure hard and twisting to break the hold. In that moment, he finally sensed the concealed demon energy the other had been hiding.

A little bit at a time, it leaked out—like some kind of deadly poison gas.

Wei Huan saw Yun Yongzhou in full military uniform, breathing heavily as he leaned against the black car. Beneath the double brims of his hats were those mismatched-colored eyes. Ever since his last outburst, his eyes would now demonize at the slightest agitation.

Yun Yongzhou stepped closer, lowered his head to glance at his tire, and said in a deep voice, “So you’re willing to contact me now?”

Wei Huan zipped his hoodie all the way up, the high collar covering most of his face. His eyes glanced to the side. “Captain Yun Yongzhou is now a rising star of the Demon Federation—both a military and political golden boy. You’re so busy, how would I dare casually bother you with a message from a nobody like me?”

The words were sharp—cutting, even. Wei Huan liked to talk, but he rarely threw barbs like this at someone. At least, Yun Yongzhou had never heard him speak like this before. He took a step forward—his military coat nearly touching Wei Huan’s chest. The metal insignia on his belt clinked against the zipper of Wei Huan’s hoodie, making a crisp sound.

Like a warning bell.

“You don’t dare contact me,” Yun Yongzhou said, reaching into Wei Huan’s hood with his gloved hand to cup the side of his face, giving it a light squeeze, “but you do dare come vandalize my car.”

Wei Huan turned his head and bit down hard on his fingers. He looked up at Yun Yongzhou, then released the bite and tugged on the tip of the leather glove with his teeth, pulling it off. Letting go, he caught the glove and flung it over Yun Yongzhou’s shoulder.

After all these days apart, the moment they met again, he acted like a little delinquent.

Yun Yongzhou held out his left hand toward him. Wei Huan glanced at it, then deliberately made a disgusted face. With those heterochromatic eyes of his, he looked exactly like a sulky Persian cat.

“I thought you liked taking off my gloves,” Yun Yongzhou said, lips curving faintly.

“I like taking off your clothes.” Wei Huan tilted his head and tugged at his belt. “I hate seeing you in this uniform—especially when you put it on without a word.”

The distance between them shrank even more. In the pitch-black underground garage, the damp fabric from the rain, the soft and slightly wet skin of Wei Huan’s cheek beneath the hood—everything combined to create a dangerously charged atmosphere.

“My bad,” Yun Yongzhou said, his voice a little hoarse, like breath pushing through storm clouds. His long fingers gently tugged at the small oval metal pull on the zipper of Wei Huan’s hoodie. The close-fitted teeth of the zipper made a delicate sound as it opened. The moment felt like peeling a banana, or like damp teeth slowly loosening their grip on something stubborn.

His sharp jawline, that Adam’s apple bobbing like driftwood, and the thin, almost too-fragile neck.

Yun Yongzhou gently caressed the side of Wei Huan’s face. His gaze dropped from Wei Huan’s eyes to his lips. “Did you miss me?”

Wei Huan looked at his face. Something inside him was on the verge of overflowing, everything threatening to pour out—nothing left behind.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled off his baseball cap and grabbed Yun Yongzhou by the collar, kissing him.

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