When the Cannon Fodder Male Supporting Role Picks Up the Script - Chapter 144

Xu Zhichun was the Great Wuzhu of the Wu Clan—and also a priest of Fengtian Temple.

Yun Zhuoran was surprised, though only faintly. Xu Zhichun had long shown sympathy toward the Wu Clan, so he had already suspected it. 

Still, hearing confirmation unsettled him.

But there was one person who could not accept it—Li Jianming.

Xu Zhichun was Li Jianming’s adoptive father. Worse still, Li Jianming had descended the mountain precisely to find him. Who could have imagined that Xu Zhichun held such an exalted position, not only among the Wu Clan but also within Fengtian Temple itself? Who would dare capture a man like that?

A possibility flashed across Yun Zhuoran’s mind. Perhaps everything—the capture, the exchange, even their current predicament—had all been arranged by Li Jianming’s adoptive father.

Meng Zhou, seeing both men silent for too long, grew anxious. “Do you know the High Priest?” he asked quickly. “If you’d met him, you’d believe me!” He glanced nervously at the spirit sword hovering before him, its tip still trained on his chest. “I’ve told you everything already. Could you… take this sword away first?”

Li Jianming’s face was pale, his expression unreadable. His composure was almost unnatural—too calm. “You trust us that easily?” he asked coldly. “Would you betray your own Great Wuzhu just like that?”

Meng Zhou curled his lip, unconcerned. “I only said a name. The Great Wuzhu’s been out searching for medicine for a long time. Everyone in Wu City knows him. When we get there, ask anyone—you’ll see I’m telling the truth.” He jabbed a finger toward the hovering sword. “You hate Fengtian Temple, and I hate Fengtian Temple too. That makes us friends, right? So put that thing away. I’ll take you to Wu City.”

His tone was so matter-of-fact that Li Jianming’s grip on his scabbard tightened unconsciously. 

Meng Zhou’s face turned even paler.

When he still didn’t act, Meng Zhou turned pleadingly to Yun Zhuoran. “Could you at least lower your spirit sword? It’s too scary!”

Yun Zhuoran’s expression didn’t change. He raised his hand slightly, and under Meng Zhou’s hopeful gaze, the blade hummed—and shot forward, piercing the back of the boy’s collar and hoisting him clean off the ground.

“Ah!” Meng Zhou screamed, flailing helplessly. “What are you doing, foreigner?! Put me down!”

Li Jianming blinked, startled from his daze. But Yun Zhuoran’s next words were calm and low.

“Someone’s coming.”

Yun Zhuoran flicked his fingers, sealing Meng Zhou’s voice with a silencing spell, then turned from the riverbank and began to climb the hillside, the sword dragging Meng Zhou along behind him.

Li Jianming, regaining his senses, followed quickly. “He’s lying! Those must be his companions! He’s leading us into a trap!”

The spirit sword held Meng Zhou aloft by his collar with exact precision; no matter how he twisted or kicked, he couldn’t escape. 

His eyes darted between them, silently pleading his innocence.

He wanted to shout that he had no companions, but the silencing spell smothered his words. 

Li Jianming, however, was too on edge to believe him anymore.

“There are quite a few people ahead,” Yun Zhuoran said quietly, scanning the path ahead. “Perhaps, as you said, they’re the Wu clansmen who brought you here—waiting to capture you.”

Li Jianming could tell from his tone that Yun Zhuoran did not dispute Xu Zhichun’s identity as the High Priest. That silence said enough. 

A hollow ache formed in Li Jianming’s chest. He had been so desperate for someone to affirm his faith in Xu Zhichun, only to find himself alone in his conviction.

He didn’t want to accept that his adoptive father was both the Wu Clan’s Meng Zhout and a high priest of Fengtian Temple.

Yun Zhuoran did not speak again. He, at least, had accepted it as fact—but he would not force Li Jianming to do the same. 

His spiritual sense brushed outward; at least a dozen cultivators of Nascent Soul level or higher were searching the riverbanks, their auras moving closer. Whether they had been drawn by Meng Zhou’s earlier noise or were after Li Jianming himself was uncertain. Either way, staying was unwise.

“Take another route.” Meng Zhou struggled frantically, trying to gesture that he could lead the way.

Yun Zhuoran ignored him. Watching the searchers scatter across the Black Moon River’s banks, he turned decisively toward the mountains.

He hadn’t forgotten that following the river upstream would eventually lead to Wu City. 

The group veered off the main path and climbed through the dark hills. From time to time, strange beasts—creatures twisted by the Wu Clan’s miasma—slunk out from the shadows, their eyes glowing faintly. But one cold glance from Yun Zhuoran, one flare of his suppressed power, was enough to send them fleeing.

By dawn, Yun Zhuoran, Li Jianming, and a thoroughly miserable Meng Zhou—still dangling from the spirit sword—finally reached Wu City.

From their vantage point on a hillside, the view stretched across the entire settlement.

Wu City’s architecture was distinct and otherworldly. Constructed from massive stone blocks, its houses were simple but sturdy, clustered along the upper reaches of the Black Moon River. The city nestled at the foot of a wide slope, sheltered from the desert winds, the sandstorms, and the beasts that roamed the wasteland.

Dominating the city was a colossal human-shaped stone statue, leaning against the mountain’s base. From afar, the entire city seemed to radiate outward from its feet like ripples from a stone cast in water. Even from across the river, Yun Zhuoran could feel the dense, pulsing spiritual energy emanating from it.

A calm, resolute voice broke the silence. “Fengtian Divine Palace”

Li Jianming stood rooted in awe. The statue towered into the pale morning light, majestic and solemn, its presence steeped in divine power. 

For the Wu Clan, it was the perfect place to cultivate—a sanctuary blessed by both faith and spirit.

With a flick of his sleeve, Yun Zhuoran released Meng Zhou from the sword and dispelled the silencing spell.

The boy landed hard, coughing as he scrambled upright—only to hear Yun Zhuoran’s cold voice.

“Now. Take us into the city.”

Wu City had no walls. By daylight, people came and went freely to trade and gather supplies. From the hillside, they could already see small groups of Wu clansmen moving about. 

Meng Zhou explained that leaving the city at night was forbidden, making morning the safest time to enter unnoticed.

After being suspended all night, Meng Zhou could barely stand. Muttering under his breath, he glared at Yun Zhuoran but didn’t dare resist. “All right, all right—we’ll go now.”

But Yun Zhuoran and Li Jianming looked nothing like Wu clansmen. Even if Meng Zhou guided them through the quietest routes, they would still draw attention. They needed disguises before entering.

By the time the three of them finally slipped into Wu City, Xu Zhichun and the Wu child had already returned.

The news of the Great Wuzhu’s return spread quickly. 

The moment Xu Zhichun stepped into the city, the Wu clansmen ran to inform their leader, Yan Changtian.

When Yan Changtian heard the report, his emotions were tangled. Just hours earlier, he had been searching desperately outside the city for his missing son and Wen Jianxian’s young disciple.

After all, it was for that very child that they had traded five of their most powerful Nascent Soul cultivators—a decision recorded in the dying message of one of their own. Since the transmission had been done hastily, even the one who triggered it hadn’t known exactly where the boy would arrive.

Determined to retrieve his son and ensure that the Kunwu Sword Sect’s disciple survived, Yan Changtian himself had led several of his clansmen into the wastelands, fearing the boy had been taken by the Black Moon Tribe. But after searching the entire night, they found nothing.

Then came the news: the Wu Clan’s Chief Great Wuzhu had returned—with the Wu child in his care.

“Xiao Xu was brought back by the Great Wuzhu?” When Yan Changtian heard that the child had been taken to Xu Zhichun’s own residence, he grew anxious. 

Wasn’t Li Jianming—the Kunwu disciple—supposed to be their hostage? Even if his son was safely back, Li Jianming was still within the Wu Clan’s grasp. There was no reason to release him. Capturing him again would ensure their advantage over the Sword Sect.

“Find Li Jianming,” Yan Changtian ordered sharply. “If you see him, keep him outside the city. Don’t let the Great Wuzhu find out.”

It was this frantic back-and-forth that delayed Yan Changtian’s return. He wouldn’t arrive in Wu City until daybreak—never realizing that the very person he sought had already slipped inside.

Morning light had just broken over the horizon when Yun Zhuoran and Li Jianming entered Wu City.

Meng Zhou led them along a narrow, seldom-used path, keeping his head low. Even so, every footstep made him tense. Only when they reached the eastern quarter did he exhale in relief and point toward a small stone house ahead. “That’s my home. Follow me.”

Moving through the city in broad daylight was risky, but it was also their best chance. Meng Zhou’s home, remote and unremarkable, was the safest place to hide.

He had no wish to take them there, of course. In Wu City, a single shout would bring a dozen clansmen to his aid. But Yun Zhuoran’s quiet menace chilled him to the bone. He feared the sword would pierce his heart the instant he defied him. There was no choice but to comply.

At a wide intersection, several townsfolk passed by. 

Li Jianming, draped in a black cloak and talisman-marked illusion charm, darted across like a thief, heart pounding. Only when he reached the other side did he breathe again.

Yun Zhuoran walked at an unhurried pace behind him. Midway, he suddenly stopped, tilting his head slightly. “Hmm?”

The sound startled both Meng Zhou and Li Jianming. 

Meng Zhou turned and glared at him nervously.

Yun Zhuoran had only been adjusting his disguise charm, but when Meng Zhou looked back at him, he froze briefly, as though momentarily dazed by the faint, unearthly beauty hidden beneath the illusion. Then he quickly averted his gaze and hurried ahead.

Li Jianming noticed Yun Zhuoran’s faint smile and asked, “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing.” Yun Zhuoran’s gaze lifted to the stone house ahead. “That’s the one, isn’t it?”

Meng Zhou nodded reluctantly. “Wu City’s been strict lately. Patrols will be here soon. Follow me.”

Yun Zhuoran nodded, his demeanor softer. 

Li Jianming caught the change but said nothing.

Meng Zhou, still terrified of being discovered with outsiders, quickened his pace. 

The two followed behind, their steps steady and composed, utterly unfazed by the risk of exposure.

He had just reached the small courtyard gate and was about to push it open when someone stepped out from the opposite yard.

“Meng Zhou? You’re up early… Hey, your friends look unfamiliar.” It was a young woman’s clear voice—the girl who lived across from him.

Meng Zhou froze. Before he could answer, he felt a heavy weight on his shoulder. Turning, he met Yun Zhuoran’s gaze—calm, dark, and with the faintest hint of a smile. The silent warning in those eyes made his heart drop.

Forcing a grin, Meng Zhou called out, “Sister Yan! Out so early? Heading somewhere? These two are friends I met in the west of the city—they’re visiting my home.”

Wu City was large, but its active population was small. Faces were familiar, even if names were not. Still, because of the clan’s afflictions, many rarely left their homes. Meng Zhou’s family lived in the eastern quarter, far from the city’s center, and he often relied on the cheerful girl next door to identify strangers.

The girl stepped out, a basket of flowers in her arms, and smiled brightly. “Oh, I heard the Great Wuzhu has returned. Aren’t you going to see him?”

Meng Zhou’s eyes widened. “Really? The Great Wuzhu is back?”

Li Jianming stiffened. The Great Wuzhu—his adoptive father, Xu Zhichun. 

His hands clenched before he caught Yun Zhuoran’s subtle gesture for silence.

A low voice brushed against Meng Zhou’s ear, calm yet commanding—“You’re not allowed to go.”

Startled, Meng Zhou turned toward her, his earlier excitement instantly quenched like cold water on a flame. 

The young girl, unaware of the tension in the air, spoke with bright enthusiasm. “I heard the same! No one’s seen the Great Wuzhu in ages, and the moment word spread that he’s back, everyone started talking. I even made some snacks to bring him. If it weren’t for him, many of us wouldn’t still be alive. Meng Zhou, do you want to come with me?”

He wanted to agree, but Yun Zhuoran’s quiet, steady gaze silenced him. 

Swallowing hard, he forced out a smile. “We just got back. Let us clean up first—then we’ll go visit the Great Wuzhu.”

The girl nodded knowingly. “I thought so. You adore the Great Wuzhu. You’d want to wash and burn incense before seeing him—you wouldn’t go like that.” She smiled brightly. “All right, I’ll head there first. You two take your time.”

She waved cheerfully at Yun Zhuoran and Li Jianming before walking off with her basket. 

Yun Zhuoran watched her radiant smile fade into the distance, a quiet thought flickering through him.

In a place like the Wu Clan, the people lived far more peacefully than one might imagine. Neither the girl nor Meng Zhou showed any trace of the curse said to plague the Wu from birth.

As the girl disappeared around the corner, Meng Zhou’s eyes dimmed with a mix of envy and sadness. But when he turned back and met Yun Zhuoran and Li Jianming’s gazes, he quickly looked away, sniffed, and pushed open the courtyard gate with a forced air of indignation.

Only after the girl had gone did Yun Zhuoran release Li Jianming’s arm and follow Meng Zhou into the courtyard. 

Calmly, he said, “We’ve already reached Wu City. There’s no need to hurry.”

Meng Zhou lived alone. In the Wu Clan, it was rare for an entire family to survive together. Though still young and uninitiated, he was already on his own. His stone house was sparsely furnished—a single table and two chairs, a simple bed, and little else.

As they entered, Yun Zhuoran took in the surroundings while Meng Zhou’s mind raced. The Great Wuzhu had returned. He wanted nothing more than to go see him, even if it meant risking defiance. His eyes flicked toward the door.

Yun Zhuoran caught the movement. A flick of his fingers sent a thread of light curling through the air, binding Meng Zhou in place. Before he could even cry out, a silencing spell sealed his lips. In one smooth motion, Yun Zhuoran lifted him and set him down on the bed.

Li Jianming turned in shock. He had looked away for only a moment—why was Meng Zhou suddenly tied up?

“To prevent him from doing anything foolish,” Yun Zhuoran said evenly.

Meng Zhou glared furiously, his muffled protests lost beneath the spell. 

Yun Zhuoran ignored him, pacing slowly around the room as he set up a protective barrier.

When he finished, he turned to find Li Jianming still standing by the doorway, sword in hand, staring out at the overcast sky.

The news of the Great Wuzhu’s return—at the very moment they themselves had entered Wu City—had clearly shaken him. Anyone else in his place would have felt the same.

Yun Zhuoran adjusted the small magical communicator at his ear and approached. 

As if sensing him, Li Jianming spoke quietly, his voice heavy. “Yun Zhuoran, tell me honestly—do you think my adoptive father is lying to us? How could it be such a coincidence? He disappeared yesterday, and today the Great Wuzhu returns to Wu City.”

From Li Jianming’s perspective, the truth was unbearable. He didn’t want to believe that Xu Zhichun—the man who had raised him—was both the Wu Clan’s Great Wuzhu and a high priest of Fengtian Temple.

Yun Zhuoran couldn’t give him an answer.

“We’ll know when we see him,” he said calmly.

Li Jianming looked troubled. “If it really is him… what should I do?”

“Many here say the Great Wuzhu is a good man,” Yun Zhuoran said after a pause, his voice gentler now. “Besides, we haven’t met him yet. Perhaps this Great Wuzhu isn’t your Master Xu.”

After seeing the cheerful Wu girl earlier, Yun Zhuoran had begun to sense that the clan might truly have prospered under the Great Wuzhu’s care. Perhaps Xu Zhichun was not the enemy they imagined.

Even if he served Fengtian Temple, Yun Zhuoran would reserve judgment until the truth became clear.

Li Jianming blinked, then forced a laugh. “Are you trying to comfort me? Ever since you started traveling with the little island master, you’ve become… human.”

Yun Zhuoran glanced at him, momentarily taken aback. “Human?”

Li Jianming nodded seriously, feigning casualness. “Yes! You never used to comfort me.”

“You’ve never faced anything like this before,” Yun Zhuoran replied mildly. His fingers brushed the magical communicator again, the faint glow pulsing between his fingertips.

For a fleeting moment, he realized Li Jianming was right. He had changed since Weiran appeared. He couldn’t say he understood the “human touch” Li Jianming mentioned—but he had learned patience.

Li Jianming’s tone lightened. “More than that! You even smile more these days. And you joke now. Who would’ve thought?”

Seeing his companion’s spirits return, Yun Zhuoran allowed a faint smile. “Hmm?”

Li Jianming, now calmer, finally noticed the device Yun Zhuoran kept adjusting. A faint spiritual glimmer flashed each time his fingers brushed it. Curiosity got the better of him. “Why do you keep touching your ear?”

Yun Zhuoran shook his head lightly, his eyes drifting toward the courtyard beyond. In a low voice, he murmured, “All right. Come.”

“Huh?” Li Jianming blinked. “Are you… talking to me?”

Before he could finish, a dark figure suddenly dropped from above, landing in the courtyard with a dull thud and a muffled cough. 

Startled, Li Jianming drew his sword—but before he could react further, a streak of crimson light shot down from the sky and swept past him into the doorway.

The red shadow moved so fast that he saw only an afterimage before hearing a familiar, lilting voice—“Brother! I’ve been looking for you for six hours!”

The tone was half complaint, half affection.

Yun Zhuoran staggered slightly as the figure in red collided with him, clinging tightly around his waist. 

He sighed, resigned, and patted the heart demon’s back. “I used a magical device to summon Weiran here,” he explained to Li Jianming, who was still staring, speechless, at the pair.