When the Cannon Fodder Male Supporting Role Picks Up the Script - Chapter 146

Yun Zhuoran carried the Floating City with him, along with ample provisions. If not for his concern for Li Jianming, he would never have crowded into Meng Zhou’s small room with so many people. 

Noticing the heart demon’s fatigue, he saw no reason to make him stand. Finally, he drew a chair from his storage ring and placed it beside him for the heart demon to rest.

The heart demon was truly drowsy. He leaned against Yun Zhuoran, muttered a few words, and soon drifted asleep at the table.

There was still time before nightfall. Yun Zhuoran could have questioned Meng Zhou about the current state of Wu City—after all, Meng Zhou had lived there for years and knew the place far better than anyone from the Kunwu Sword Sect. 

But the boy, dazed and exhausted, had also fallen asleep. Since both he and the heart demon were resting, Yun Zhuoran did not disturb them.

Li Jianming had slipped out at some point, likely to clear his thoughts. 

Alone in the quiet room, Yun Zhuoran gently brushed aside the strands of black hair that had fallen across the heart demon’s face, his expression uncharacteristically soft.

At last, Shen Lingshu’s voice broke the silence. His gaze was fixed on Yun Zhuoran’s hand. “You finally caught me. Why don’t you kill me?”

Even in the still air, Shen Lingshu’s low voice made the heart demon frown in his sleep. 

Yun Zhuoran withdrew his hand and quietly covered the heart demon’s ear, his indifference sharper than any blade. 

Shen Lingshu gritted his teeth. “This chance won’t come again. You’ll never get another.”

His eyes burned with hatred, almost pleading for Yun Zhuoran to turn around, to look at him, to finish what he started. 

When Yun Zhuoran ignored him, he laughed bitterly. “Junior Brother Yun, do you really think you can capture me again once I’m under the protection of Fengtian Temple’s gods?”

Yun Zhuoran’s hand paused, fingers idly brushing through Weiran’s dark hair. His tone was calm, almost amused. “Is it really so hard to capture you?”

Shen Lingshu flushed, forcing composure back into his face. “Don’t be arrogant. The gods of Fengtian Temple are no weaker than Master Gu himself. You alone cannot overthrow them.”

“Then what should I do?” Yun Zhuoran asked.

The question caught Shen Lingshu off guard. It sounded so natural—so familiar—that for a fleeting moment, it almost felt like the past. 

He stared at Yun Zhuoran’s profile, perfect and untouchable, but no joy stirred within him. For years, he had never understood Yun Zhuoran’s heart, had never pierced that veil. Now, fearing it was mockery, he smothered the faint hope that rose within him and said coldly,

“Fengtian Temple isn’t something you few can fight. I may not be your match, but within its walls are countless masters. Yun Duo alone is more than enough for you. You can’t win. Leave while you still can.”

Yun Zhuoran let out a low laugh, tilting his head slightly to glance at him sidelong. “Since you’ve already chosen Fengtian Temple, why bother warning me?”

Shen Lingshu’s face went pale. That small spark of hope vanished at once, stripped bare and exposed. He turned away in shame, then suddenly faced him again with desperate anger. “Then why don’t you kill me?”

“Immortal bone.”

The words struck like ice. Yun Zhuoran’s expression was detached as he continued, “I don’t have time to unravel the protection Master Gu left on you. Killing you was never my goal. The one who will destroy you… is yourself.”

Shen Lingshu stiffened. “Me?”

“You fled the Tiandao Sect, escaped punishment, stole your master’s immortal bone, and took refuge in Fengtian Temple. Tell me—what have you gained?” Yun Zhuoran’s voice was cool and precise. “Gu Shenshu never taught you the Way of The Emotionless Dao. By now, you should realize your nature was never suited for it. Yet the immortal bone he left has shielded you for years, even after his death. With the protection of Tiandao’s greatest figure, who could touch you? And still, you chose this path. That choice—and its consequence—are yours alone.”

Shen Lingshu’s jaw tightened. The immortal bone had saved his life countless times, and he knew it. Yet he refused to yield. “But Tiandao Sect demands I return it! Without it, I’ll have nothing left!”

Yun Zhuoran’s lips curved faintly. “You’ve clung to that bone all this time. And what has it brought you?”

Shen Lingshu faltered.

Yun Zhuoran finally turned, meeting his gaze. The face Shen Lingshu had dreamed of for years—one he could never draw a smile from—remained as calm as ever. 

Panic rose in his chest. Yun Zhuoran saw through him too easily, stripping away every trace of pride and resentment with a single look. He didn’t want to admit it, but he had gained nothing.

He had chosen Fengtian Temple. He had driven his sword through Yun Zhuoran’s body. And now, he was left with nothing.

The Tiandao Sect still hunted him. The righteous sects would never take him in. His family name was in ruins. He had mocked Yun Duo’s fear of Yun Zhuoran—but was he any different? Both lived in hiding, shackled by their own choices, too afraid to belong to anyone.

Regret clawed at him. Why had he listened to that voice urging him to seize the Taiyin True Fire in the name of the gods? Why had he struck Yun Zhuoran? He had told himself he didn’t care—that he would rather destroy Yun Zhuoran himself than lose him. But the moment he did, regret had devoured him whole.

How had it come to this?

Silence swallowed the room once more. Shen Lingshu could say nothing. Yun Zhuoran hadn’t killed him, but the truth had cut deeper than death.

The man who had once shattered him now sat quietly at the table, gently smoothing the hair of the youth in red sleeping beside him. His touch was patient, almost tender. 

The heart demon’s fingers, still clutching Yun Zhuoran’s sleeve, slowly loosened. His breathing steadied.

From sunrise to noon, Xu Zhichun waited.

In the Wu Clan’s main hall, he sat with a child named Xiaoxu in his arms, receiving clan members who came to greet him one after another. When the room finally emptied, only silence remained. The child slept peacefully against him as he stroked the boy’s back, his own face pale and drawn.

At last, footsteps approached. Wu Clan Leader Yan Changtian entered, waving off his attendants before stepping forward with forced cheer.

“The great Wuzhu has returned! I hear you’ve brought Xiaoxu back!” His booming voice startled the boy awake. 

Xu Zhichun tried to soothe him, but Xiaoxu, recognizing his father, wriggled free and cried out, “Daddy!”

Yan Changtian caught him up at once, laughing as father and son embraced. 

Xu Zhichun stood slowly, his arms now empty, his expression unreadable.

“The Great Wuzhu doesn’t look well. Are you unwell?” Yan Changtian asked, setting the boy down.

Xiaoxu blinked up anxiously. 

Xu Zhichun’s tone softened slightly. “Clan Leader, I have something to ask.”

Yan Changtian smiled faintly, taking his son’s hand. “I thought those Kunwu thieves had taken him for good. Thanks to you, he’s home safe. But the child looks unwell—I’ll take him to the healers first. We can speak afterward.”

“Do you doubt my skills?” Xu Zhichun’s tone cooled. “I’ve waited half a day, and now you make excuses? Are you hiding something from me?”

Yan Changtian forced a laugh. “You’re overthinking. I’ve only been—”

“You can’t deceive me.” Xu Zhichun’s voice hardened. “Do you think I wouldn’t notice the blood exchange in Xiaoxu’s eyes? You wrote that the Black Moon Tribe was behind the attack and that you were already seeking a cure.”

Yan Changtian’s smile faltered. His silence was an admission.

Xu Zhichun let out a cold laugh. “So it’s true. Who told you that blood sacrifice could break the curse? Fengtian Temple?” His words dripped with disdain. “I told you—I had already found a way. If you had only waited, I could have removed the curse completely. Why rush to this? Don’t you see you’re courting disaster for the Wu Clan?”

“Wuzhu—”

“No need.” Xu Zhichun’s interruption was sharp. “Stop this at once. Send those children back. I’ll take responsibility for what follows.”

Yan Changtian’s eyes darkened. “It’s not that simple. We’ve already gone too far to stop. The method may be cruel, but it’s our only hope.”

Xu Zhichun’s disappointment was palpable. “So you would sacrifice others’ children for the clan’s sake? Whether Wu Clansmen or outsider, they are all lives! Clan Leader—you are blind.”

Yan Changtian scoffed. “We’ve long lost the Wu God’s protection. Even if it defies the heavens, as long as it can break the curse, what can’t we do?”

Xu Zhichun could see how far he’d fallen—stubborn, desperate, blind to consequence. Such recklessness would only doom the clan. 

Just then, he felt a tug at his robe. Looking down, he saw Xiaoxu’s small, pale face. The child clung to him, trembling.

“Wuzhu, don’t be angry,” he whispered.

“I’m not angry,” Xu Zhichun said softly. “I’m only trying to reason with your father.” He forced a smile to ease the boy’s fear, but Yan Changtian suddenly dropped to his knees before him. Startled, Xu Zhichun asked, “What are you doing?”

“Please, Wuzhu, help us.” Yan Changtian’s voice trembled. “You may not be of the Wu Clan, but I believe you understand our suffering. We can repay you with our lives. But Wuzhu… we can wait—our children cannot.” He beckoned to his son. “Xiaoxu, kneel.”

The boy hesitated, confused, but obeyed. 

Yan Changtian’s voice grew hoarse. “I never meant to hide this from you, nor drag you into it. Just pretend you don’t know. But you, more than anyone, understand how much the children suffer. When they cry in pain and we can do nothing—can you understand what that feels like?”

Yan Changtian’s plea was raw, sincere. When he finished, his eyes glistened. He glanced at his son beside him—so young, so innocent.

“Wuzhu, if we could, we’d bear their suffering ourselves. But we can’t. This is all we can do. Look at him—doesn’t Xiaoxu already seem better?”

Xu Zhichun said nothing. It was true that the child looked stronger, but this method—this blood exchange—was a curse of its own.

Yan Changtian mistook his silence for doubt and pressed on. “This blood transfusion method came from the Black Moon Tribe. For the clan’s future, I sent all the children there. Three transfusions are enough to lift the curse. Xiaoxu has already undergone two—the curse on him is nearly gone. One more, and he’ll be just like any normal child.”

Xu Zhichun’s voice was low. “And what of Fengtian Temple?”

Yan Changtian answered, “They have nothing to do with it. The Saintess only pitied us and offered help. Wuzhu, with this method, the children will finally be free from suffering. Isn’t that what we’ve all wanted? Can you truly bear to see them continue like this?”

At that, silence fell between them. 

At this point, refusing would only make him look like a villain.

Xu Zhichun gave a quiet laugh. A thin line of crimson slipped from the corner of his pale lips. He quickly swallowed the metallic tang of blood that rose in his throat.

Yan Changtian, seeing this, was suddenly struck by horror. Only then did he realize how much the Wuzhu had shouldered for the Wu Clan all these years. He had relied on him because he trusted him—as one of their own. The sight of him faltering now filled Yan Changtian with guilt and fear.

“Wuzhu!” he cried.

Xu Zhichun waved him off, turned away, and slowly sank into the chair, his face drawn and frail. 

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then his lips moved hoarsely. “Go back… No.” He pushed himself upright, gripping the armrest for support. His gaze fell heavily on the two kneeling figures—father and child—before turning toward the door. A faint, wry smile crossed his lips. “I forgot. This is the Clan Leader’s house. I should be the one to leave.”

“Wuzhu!” Yan Changtian stood at once, clutching his son. 

Instinctively, he took a few steps forward before stopping. 

Xu Zhichun paused at the doorway, his figure thin against the gray sky. After a long silence, he sighed. “The Wu Clan is yours, after all. Do as you please.”

Yan Changtian’s heart clenched. Was the Wuzhu truly abandoning them? He dared not ask. He only knew that Xu Zhichun would no longer stand in their way. Whether that brought relief or despair, even he could not tell. When his attendants arrived outside the hall, he merely patted Xiaoxu’s shoulder and walked out alone.

Outside, Yan Que approached quickly. “What’s the Wuzhu doing?”

Yan Changtian shook his head, unwilling to explain. Instead, he asked curtly, “Have you found the outsider?”

Yan Que lowered her head. “No. We searched all night with no trace. Could he have gone to the Black Moon Tribe? Should we ask the Saintess at Fengtian Temple for assistance—or send men downstream to investigate?”

“Most likely,” Yan Changtian murmured, frowning. But he quickly dismissed the thought. “The Saintess is in seclusion. She won’t receive anyone easily. Take some men and find him, no matter the cost. And above all, do not let the Chief Witch Doctor know there are outsiders in the city.” His voice dropped. “Hide the others too.”

“Yes,” Yan Que said softly.

As the sun tilted westward, Li Jianming finally made up his mind. Sword in hand, he returned to Meng Zhou’s courtyard.

Inside, Yun Zhuoran sat cross-legged, eyes closed in meditation. The youth in red, now well-rested, watched him quietly from across the table.

Meng Zhou, the young Wu clansman, was sprawled on the bed in deep sleep. Earlier, Yun Zhuoran had kept watch while the heart demon rested; now, the little island master stood guard while Yun Zhuoran cultivated.

Li Jianming hesitated at the doorway, debating whether to interrupt. 

Before he could speak, Yun Zhuoran’s eyes opened. The faint glow of spiritual energy dissipated as he exhaled and looked up—clearly, he had sensed Li Jianming’s return all along.

Li Jianming cleared his throat and tried to sound composed. “I’ll go with you tonight.”

Yun Zhuoran’s tone was even. “To meet the Great Wuzhu?”

Li Jianming’s eyes flickered. “Let’s stop by Fengtian Temple first. I’ll keep watch for you.”

“That’s fine.” Yun Zhuoran pressed no further. He already suspected that Lu Yu was on his way, and perhaps Wen Jianxian would also arrive soon to retrieve his disciple. Whether Li Jianming chose to face Xu Zhichun was his own decision. Yun Zhuoran rose and said simply, “Weiran, let’s go.”

The heart demon nodded, instinctively taking Yun Zhuoran’s wrist. 

But upon remembering Shen Lingshu’s presence in the corner, he frowned. “Brother, if we all leave, will he try to run?”

Shen Lingshu, who had been quietly listening, stiffened. Now exposed, he hesitated—his eyes flicked to Yun Zhuoran, then dropped.

Meng Zhou was still asleep and securely bound. His meager cultivation and the barrier surrounding the courtyard made escape impossible. Shen Lingshu, however, was different. The immortal bone within him might yet give him a chance.

The heart demon waited for Yun Zhuoran’s answer. 

His voice came cool and distant. “Leave him. He’s only here because Yun Duo sent him to create trouble. He isn’t worth our time.”

Shen Lingshu’s eyes widened. So Yun Zhuoran had already seen through him.

The heart demon murmured softly, “Alright.”

Yun Zhuoran ruffled his hair and led him out, Li Jianming following. 

Shen Lingshu stood frozen, staring after them. A question rose to his lips—why leave him alive? Keeping him here could expose their plans to Fengtian Temple.

But as he met Yun Zhuoran’s departing figure, understanding dawned. This too was a choice placed before him.

Yun Zhuoran no longer trusted him, yet did not deem him worth killing.

He knew Shen Lingshu too well—knew that even with an immortal bone, he could never surpass him. Perhaps Yun Zhuoran was offering him the chance to return to Tiandao Sect and atone, or perhaps this was mockery.

Because no matter which path Shen Lingshu chose now, there would be no good ending.