When the Cannon Fodder Male Supporting Role Picks Up the Script - Chapter 145

A place like Wu City—surrounded by miasma and the beasts prowling in the wasteland—naturally required a protective formation.

Although leaving the city was forbidden at night, people still came and went freely by day, so the formation’s restrictions were not especially tight. 

Yun Zhuoran and Li Jianming entered without difficulty. The heart demon had relied on the teleportation ability of the spiritual resonance artifact shared between Dao companions. By the time they reunited within Wu City, the Wu Clan remained unaware that several outsiders had already slipped inside.

Morning came, yet along both banks of the Black Moon River, countless Wu cultivators were still searching for intruders—never suspecting that Yun Zhuoran and the heart demon had already met within the city’s bounds.

Li Jianming was startled when Yun Zhuoran mentioned the artifact’s power to transport people across thousands of miles. Watching the two embrace, he felt awkward lingering in the courtyard. Mindful of their relationship, he rubbed his temple, turned, and decided to investigate the person the little island master had thrown down when he arrived.

Meng Zhou’s courtyard was small—a rough fence enclosing a modest stone house. Without the concealment barrier Yun Zhuoran had laid, any passerby could have noticed them instantly.

When Yun Zhuoran and Meng Zhou first infiltrated Wu City, they had studied the patrol patterns closely. Meng Zhou explained that nighttime patrols were especially strict: each squad contained at least one Golden Core cultivator, and nearly every street had a team on watch.

These patrols were less about guarding against intruders than protecting their own—ensuring that those driven to despair by the Wu Clan’s curse would not take their own lives, and that any incidents would be discovered swiftly. 

The system was meticulous, leaving no blind spots. Every patrol was required to memorize the faces of all residents. If anyone went unseen for three days, they would personally check the home to ensure that person was still alive.

Wu City also maintained a vast spirit-gathering formation; without it, so many Wu cultivators could never have survived, let alone cultivated. Children like Meng Zhou, who endured their first “molting period,” were given special care. Passing that stage meant they had gained the ability to withstand the curse. As long as they weren’t completely talentless, Wu City would help them begin their path of cultivation.

Meng Zhou was one such youth—still in the Body Tempering Stage, but training diligently.

Hearing all this as they entered the city, Yun Zhuoran and Li Jianming were both quietly moved. 

The Wu Clan truly cherished its own. No wonder so many would willingly sacrifice themselves for their people—just like those who had escorted Li Jianming here, or Su Pengpeng, who had once betrayed the Kunwu Sword Sect for their sake.

Among the nearly ten thousand inhabitants of Wu City, most were cultivators. Beyond the Golden Core stage, however, the number dwindled sharply. At present, the city’s most powerful cultivator might only have reached the Spirit Transformation Realm. 

The Black Moon Tribe fared even worse. Compared to a great sect like Kunwu—rich in experts but stretched thin across countless fronts—these cultivation levels were insignificant. Yet, for reasons known only to the higher powers, none of the righteous sects had moved against the Wu Clan.

Returning to the present—Li Jianming soon realized that the man the heart demon had tossed into the courtyard was none other than his old acquaintance, Shen Lingshu.

One was sprawled gracelessly on the ground; the other crouched beside him, observing with curiosity.

Li Jianming raised a hand at once. “Hey! LittleIsland Master, why did you bring him here? That’s Shen Lingshu!”

At the name, Yun Zhuoran’s faint smile vanished. He gripped the heart demon’s shoulder, pushing him aside, though the latter clung stubbornly to his arm. 

Glancing past him, Yun Zhuoran saw the black-clad figure being lifted by Li Jianming. Wasn’t that indeed Shen Lingshu?

Disheveled and bound, his face streaked with dust, Shen Lingshu stood with difficulty. Yun Zhuoran, immaculate in white, stood before him—a sharp contrast of restraint and desolation. 

Shen Lingshu turned away, refusing even Li Jianming’s offered hand, unwilling to meet Yun Zhuoran’s eyes.

Since their separation in Floating City, they had met only once more—in Yun City, where Shen Lingshu’s betrayal had poisoned what little remained between them. Now, Yun Zhuoran’s gaze held no warmth—only quiet indifference, as if the man before him no longer existed.

He turned to the heart demon, doubt flickering in his eyes.

“We already caught him,” the heart demon said carelessly. “Can’t just let him crawl back to Fengtian Temple and report to the enemy, can we? I’ll hand him to Tiandao Sect later—let them keep him locked up.” His tone was dismissive, eyes instead fixed on Yun Zhuoran, tinged with grievance. “Brother, I missed you so much.”

Shen Lingshu’s expression darkened. Hearing his fate decided so casually before his face was an unbearable humiliation, yet he forced himself to remain silent.

The heart demon, utterly unconcerned, leaned closer to Yun Zhuoran for comfort, pouting as though unaware of anyone else’s presence. 

Yun Zhuoran frowned, pinched his cheek, and pushed him back.

“Take him inside,” he told Li Jianming. “Don’t worry about the rest. I’ll speak with him outside.”

Then, seizing the heart demon’s wrist, he pulled him toward the rear of the stone house. 

The heart demon only laughed and followed, waving brightly over his shoulder. “Don’t let him run! If he escapes, I’ll come after you!”

Li Jianming shivered. He wanted to ask what on earth was going on—but when he turned, Shen Lingshu’s eyes were fixed on the retreating figures, filled with killing intent.

Startled, Li Jianming frowned. 

Yun Zhuoran had never told him what happened in Yun City, and he had no idea what grudge lay between them. The last time he had seen Shen Lingshu was in Floating City. Though they’d often disagreed, Li Jianming bore him no ill will. After all, they had once been comrades.

“Let’s go inside,” he said carefully.

Shen Lingshu shot him a cold look before striding into the house.

That single glance made Li Jianming’s heart tighten. Only then did he realize how much the man had changed—the pride of a once-celebrated prodigy had been eroded, leaving behind nothing but hollow rage.

Puzzled and uneasy, Li Jianming scratched his head and followed him in.

Meanwhile, the heart demon cheerfully allowed Yun Zhuoran to guide him into the narrow shadow beneath the eaves, where a tall stack of firewood blocked out most of the morning light. 

Though the concealment barrier already hid them from view, Yun Zhuoran still pulled him deeper into the dim corner.

The heart demon’s crimson eyes gleamed faintly. “Brother…”

“You—” Yun Zhuoran began, but the heart demon suddenly kissed the corner of his mouth.

Yun Zhuoran froze, caught off guard. 

The heart demon smiled, eyes shimmering with mischief.

“I didn’t kiss you yesterday,” he murmured, holding up two fingers, “and I haven’t kissed you today. So, you owe me two.”

Yun Zhuoran caught his hand and pressed it down, momentarily forgetting his own reproach.

“Will that count?” he asked softly.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” the heart demon said anxiously. “I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”

Always so insecure. Yun Zhuoran sighed inwardly. Perhaps he had never given enough reassurance. 

After a pause, he cupped the back of the heart demon’s head and kissed him gently on the lips—a brief, familiar warmth.

The heart demon blinked in surprise, then smiled and leaned back against the wall. His arms looped around Yun Zhuoran’s waist, and before Yun Zhuoran could pull away, he pressed forward, deepening the kiss.

When Yun Zhuoran tried to push him back, the heart demon only brushed light kisses against his lips, his reddened eyes full of pleading. 

Yun Zhuoran’s resolve faltered. His hand slid from the heart demon’s shoulder to his nape, fingers threading through his hair.

After an unknown span, his lips tingled from the heat, and he could scarcely breathe. Yun Zhuoran finally drew back, catching his breath. His lips were flushed, his composure returning bit by bit.

The heart demon, face red and eyes gleaming, leaned against the wall, licking his lips with satisfaction. He looked thoroughly pleased—pacified by a single kiss.

Before he could speak, Yun Zhuoran said, “It’s still early. We’ll talk tonight.”

It wasn’t refusal—merely restraint. The heart demon always grew clingy after kisses, but Yun Zhuoran himself was still far too inexperienced. Even now, his hands had trembled against the other’s skin. This was neither the place nor the time.

The heart demon nodded, smiling sweetly. “Okay, brother. But you have to kiss me first tonight.”

Yun Zhuoran sighed, exasperated. “Blushing now? We already kissed—that counts for last night.” He pinched his cheek lightly. “Now tell me. You caught him at Changchun Pavilion, didn’t you?”

Though Yun Zhuoran didn’t name him, both knew he meant Shen Lingshu. The heart demon’s smile only widened. “I saw him there. It would’ve been a waste not to catch him.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” The question carried no anger—only curiosity. Yun Zhuoran already guessed the answer. When his own expression cooled, he straightened and tugged the heart demon’s sleeve.“You caught him. You deal with him. I’m not taking responsibility. Let’s go back—Li Jianming still has more pressing concerns.”

Still blushing, the heart demon trailed after him. “Really? Not even one more kiss?”

“…Business first.” Yun Zhuoran adjusted his robe collar, tugged loose by the earlier exchange, and led him back toward the house.

The heart demon sighed in disappointment but obediently followed.

Their hands brushed—and naturally intertwined. Then, as if remembering something, the heart demon tugged Yun Zhuoran’s reddened ear.

“Brother, don’t keep touching your ear. With this telepathic instrument, I can hear everything you say. It’s amazing—it brought me here from so far away, and even dragged that annoying Shen Lingshu along.”

“I only wonder how many uses it has left,” Yun Zhuoran said thoughtfully. “It’s indeed one of the Floating City’s finest treasures.” Then his eyes narrowed. “Did you tell Lu Yu before you came?”

The heart demon looked smug. “No—but Lu Yu said he’d come himself.”

So Lu Yu would arrive eventually. 

Yun Zhuoran glanced sidelong at him. The heart demon cared for no one but him—not even Lu Yu, his supposed ally. It was both endearing and troubling. If Yun Zhuoran were gone one day, what would become of him?

Yet looking at the bright smile still lingering on his face, Yun Zhuoran knew—such worries meant nothing to him.

He squeezed the heart demon’s hand lightly and led him inside.

Li Jianming was waiting by the door, clearly restless. 

Inside, Meng Zhou lay bound on the bed, unable to speak, while Shen Lingshu sat in a corner, his aura cold enough to chill the air. Li Jianming, wary of the tension, hadn’t dared move closer.

He had waited so long for Yun Zhuoran to return that he nearly went looking himself. But when Yun Zhuoran and the little island master finally reappeared—calm, neatly dressed, not a hair out of place—he felt a strange mix of relief and exasperation. They looked as if nothing had happened.

Blushing faintly, he laughed. “You’re back.”

Yun Zhuoran nodded slightly, ignoring the two captives as though they weren’t there. He guided Weiran to the only empty chair, then turned to Li Jianming.

“Have you decided when to meet the Great Wuzhu?”

At the mention of the title, Meng Zhou whimpered through the silencing spell, his eyes wide with fear, as if begging them not to harm him.

Li Jianming froze at the sudden question. Truthfully, he was still torn. Now that he had calmed down, he could no longer deny it—Xu Zhichun might indeed be the Great Wuzhu of the Wu Clan, bound by ties to Fengtian Temple. But how could he face the man who had raised him… the one he still called Father?

Seeing Li Jianming remain silent, Yun Zhuoran understood. 

Unfazed by the others in the room, he said calmly, “I came to Wu City for Fengtian Temple. It’s inconvenient to move around during the day, so I’ll go there after dark. Perhaps I can find my brother’s whereabouts.”

Li Jianming nodded slowly. “Your eldest brother disappeared inside Fengtian Temple. Of course you’d want to look for him.”

“What about you?” Yun Zhuoran asked.

Li Jianming hesitated.

Yun Zhuoran’s tone softened slightly. “If the Wu Clan’s Great Wuzhu truly is your adoptive father, you should confirm it soon. He’s been gone from the clan for years—there’s no telling when he might leave again.”

Li Jianming knew he was right, but unlike Yun Zhuoran, he couldn’t stay calm. He longed to find his adoptive father, yet feared what he might discover. He didn’t want Xu Zhichun to be the Great Wuzhu, nor did he wish to stand as his enemy.

Yun Zhuoran glanced out the window. The sun had just risen, gilding the misty roofs of Wu City. 

“Think it over,” he said gently. “We won’t leave until nightfall. But if he really is your adoptive father, you should at least give him the chance to explain.”

Li Jianming nodded absently, took his sword, and went to sit outside on the threshold.

The stone house fell quiet once more. 

Meng Zhou didn’t fully understand their conversation, but his wary eyes darted between Yun Zhuoran and Li Jianming. Bound to the bed, he kept glaring defensively, afraid they might harm him.

Shen Lingshu, however, sat motionless in the corner with his eyes closed, as if resting—or perhaps avoiding Yun Zhuoran’s gaze. Whether out of guilt or pride, no one could tell.

The heart demon noticed how Yun Zhuoran deliberately ignored Shen Lingshu. His own expression flickered between satisfaction and annoyance. 

When he saw that there were only two stools in the room—one already taken by him, the other by Shen Lingshu—he immediately stood up.

He would never let his brother sit where Shen Lingshu had been.

Pushing Yun Zhuoran gently down, he said sternly, “Brother, sit here.”

Yun Zhuoran saw the seriousness in his face and couldn’t help but smile faintly. “You’ve been running all night. Aren’t you tired?”

The heart demon’s eyes brightened. Though he was a little sleepy, that was nothing compared to following his brother. 

He shook his head quickly—only to catch Shen Lingshu stealing a glance at them. His expression soured in disdain. He longed to go over and hit him but restrained himself. Instead, he leaned close and pressed a light kiss to Yun Zhuoran’s cheek, smiling sweetly.

“Brother’s the one who’s tired. I’m fine.”

The kiss was crisp and unrestrained, echoing in the silent room.

Meng Zhou, who had been watching in secret from the bed, froze in shock. 

Shen Lingshu could no longer pretend not to see. His face darkened instantly, eyes burning with barely contained fury.