When the Cannon Fodder Male Supporting Role Picks Up the Script - Chapter 147

The Fengtian Temple stood at the heart of Wu City, directly beneath the towering stone statue that loomed above all else. It was also the center of the city’s richest spiritual energy.

At night, the city gates were sealed. No one was permitted to leave. Only a dozen small patrol squads moved through the quiet streets, their cultivation no higher than the Jindan stage.

Under the dim glow of spirit lamps, Yun Zhuoran used a subtle illusion technique to deceive them, leading his companions silently through the winding alleys.

As they neared the inner city, his expression darkened. 

Around Fengtian Temple, he sensed at least ten Nascent Soul cultivators stationed in secret—and deeper within, several auras of Deity Transformation strength.

The temple’s defenses were far tighter than expected. Without Yun Zhuoran, Li Jianming would never have dared approach. 

Fortunately, Yun Zhuoran’s cultivation was more than enough to crush these sentries should it come to that. Carrying both Weiran and Li Jianming through the barrier posed no difficulty.

At last, they stopped in the shadows opposite the immense statue’s base. The solemn stone temple beneath it glowed faintly in the lamplight, silent and imposing.

Fengtian Temple was surrounded by unseen watchers. Though Li Jianming could not match Yun Zhuoran’s perception, he could feel the oppressive spiritual pressure radiating from within. Even the faintest trace that seeped through the barrier was enough to make his heart tremble. Leaning against a wall, sword in hand, he exhaled.

“I heard Wu City is built atop a nine-sided Spirit-Gathering Array,” he murmured. “It must converge here. To sustain so many Wu Clan cultivators, they must have spent a mountain of spirit stones.” He gave a low whistle. “Fortunately, our Kunwu Sword Sect has a natural spirit vein.”

Weiran, refreshed after his earlier rest and now in high spirits beside Yun Zhuoran, was uncharacteristically talkative. Curling his lips, he said lazily, “So this is what you call strong? You said the most powerful in Wu City are only at the Deity Transformation stage. How is it that your Sword Sect can’t handle such weaklings?”

Li Jianming shot him an aggrieved glare. “Little Island Master, that’s not fair. Wu City is thousands of miles from Jialan City. The wastelands around it crawl with beasts. The righteous sects send disciples here in rotation just to clear the monsters—it’s no easy task. And don’t underestimate the Wu Clan’s so-called limits. Rumor says Wu City and the tribes downstream together have nearly a hundred cultivators at the Deity Transformation stage. Add the mysterious priests of Fengtian Temple—who aren’t even Wu—and no one truly knows their strength.”

Weiran merely said, “Oh.”

Li Jianming frowned, realizing that the Little island master’s indifference came not from arrogance, but confidence. Someone who had once crushed a Mahayana cultivator could hardly take the Wu Clan seriously. 

He sighed. “In truth, the Wu Clan has long been at odds with the righteous sects. Only recently have they grown so brazen. Fengtian Temple itself is the hardest to breach. When my master tried to rescue those trapped here last time, the Saintess was too strong.”

Wen Jianxian had never had time to explain all this before withdrawing to heal. Hearing Li Jianming now, Weiran’s interest sharpened. “He fought Yun Duo?”

“Yun Duo?” Li Jianming blinked, then nodded. “Yes—the Saintess. Senior Brother said Master fought her briefly but had to retreat to save others. The Saintess was at least as strong as him. Their battle stirred half the Wu Clan, and Master had no choice but to withdraw.”

Weiran sneered. “Yun Duo is nothing special. Your master was simply too cautious.”

Li Jianming dared not agree, but he didn’t argue either. The Little island master’s strength was unfathomable, and Yun Zhuoran’s was terrifying. Against the two of them, even the Saintess might not prevail. 

Somehow, that thought steadied him.

Still, what truly weighed on him wasn’t the temple’s defenses—it was Xu Zhichun.

If his adoptive father truly was inside Fengtian Temple…

The thought made his chest tighten. He forced it aside and glanced toward Yun Zhuoran, who remained utterly still, his gaze locked on the colossal statue rising above the temple. His expression was unreadable.

“The spiritual energy here is overwhelming,” Li Jianming said softly. “Fengtian Temple must sit at the array’s core. The barrier’s seamless. How do we get in?”

“Destroy the Spirit-Gathering Array,” Yun Zhuoran replied.

Li Jianming froze. “What?” 

The array spread beneath the entire city—destroying it would be impossible. Moreover, it only powered Wu City’s cultivation; it wasn’t directly tied to the temple’s warding formation. Even if they did destroy it, the shrine’s own barrier would remain intact.

Weiran nodded solemnly. “Exactly, brother. You’re absolutely right.”

Li Jianming nearly choked. “Stop joking. Even I know that much.”

Yun Zhuoran looked over. “Nervous?”

Li Jianming gave a strained laugh. “What do you think?”

“You’ve been talking too much tonight,” Yun Zhuoran said quietly. He reached out, and Weiran immediately took his hand. “Come. There’s a weak point in the barrier. Follow me.”

“So soon?” Li Jianming blurted. Watching them walk off hand in hand, he sighed and hurried after them. “Wait for me!”

They moved toward the northern side, where the mountain slope rose close to the temple wall. 

The “weak point” was simply a thinner section of the warding array—one Yun Zhuoran could tear open with care. Avoiding the patrols took time, but at last, a faint shimmer split before them. Yun Zhuoran guided the others through soundlessly.

He had never intended to attack the temple before Lu Yu’s arrival. But if Xu Zhichun truly served as the other priest beneath the Saintess, and if he was here tonight, then retreat was no longer an option.

Li Jianming followed closely, awed by how effortlessly Yun Zhuoran had breached the outer ward. “The Saintess commands several Deity Transformation cultivators,” he whispered, “and there’s the priest who never reveals himself… I heard he was once powerful enough to defy heaven. A century ago, he found a method to ease the Wu curse—but it nearly cost him his cultivation. If Meng Zhou was right, that priest must be…”

He fell silent. 

Both Yun Zhuoran and Weiran understood.

It was Xu Zhichun.

The temple grounds stretched wide—multiple stone halls arranged in concentric circles around the divine statue. Even from outside, its towering figure loomed high above the rooftops. 

Following the statue’s alignment, Yun Zhuoran led them straight toward the main hall beneath it.

Neither he nor Weiran replied to Li Jianming’s mutterings. They moved through the shadowed gardens until Yun Zhuoran suddenly halted, hand shooting out to pull Weiran back.

“There’s someone ahead,” he said quietly.

Li Jianming tensed. “Who?”

“Not Yun Duo,” Yun Zhuoran murmured.

Weiran sniffed disdainfully. “She’s hiding. The scent of blood was strong earlier—but now it’s gone. I can’t smell her at all.”

Li Jianming stared at him, dumbfounded. “You track people by smell?”

Yun Zhuoran pinched Weiran’s nose lightly. “Any objections?”

Li Jianming waved both hands in surrender. “None! The Little island master is… very capable.”

Weiran gave a pleased hum and nuzzled Yun Zhuoran’s palm.

Their easy intimacy made Li Jianming sigh in defeat. “Do you two even remember why we came here tonight?”

Yun Zhuoran lowered his hand. “Will you come inside with us?”

Li Jianming hesitated, then nodded. “Fine. But could you stop… doing that? I’m still a poor swordsman without a partner.”

Yun Zhuoran’s lips curved faintly. Taking Weiran’s hand again, he said, “What did you say?”

Li Jianming was speechless. 

The faintest smile tugged at Yun Zhuoran’s mouth as he turned away, leading Weiran onward. The heart demon laughed softly and waved back. “Get used to it. Let’s go.”

Li Jianming followed helplessly, sword in hand, shaking his head with a grin. Yun Zhuoran had indeed changed—but he had also become more human.

They slipped past the inner patrols, heading straight for the grand hall beneath the statue. From this close, the figure was no longer a blurred outline but a divine colossus, illuminated by firelight from the temple’s many braziers.

Li Jianming couldn’t help whispering, “A statue this large must have taken generations to build.”

Yun Zhuoran, however, was silent. The sight stirred something in him. The colossal effigy before him was almost identical to the black wooden idols secretly worshipped by the high priest of Yun City. Its features were vague, but the aura was unmistakable.

Pure, vast spiritual energy radiated from the stone body. Unlike the ominous idols he’d destroyed before, this statue exuded an almost sacred brilliance—a divinity born not of artifice, but of belief itself.

Could the Wu Clan’s centuries of devotion have given the idol true power?

He was still pondering when Weiran frowned. “Strange. The stench of blood is gone. It was strong before.”

He had followed that scent all the way here. Yun Zhuoran trusted his senses; he had suspected this was where the Wu performed their blood exchanges. Yet now, the air was clean, the altar immaculate.

“No one’s inside the temple,” Yun Zhuoran said softly.

The Saintess didn’t always pray before the statue. Seizing the moment, he stepped toward the closed doors. 

Weiran followed, silent.

The two climbed the steps together. 

Behind them, Li Jianming suddenly realized they’d gone ahead without him. Slapping his forehead, he hurried after them. “I swear, I keep forgetting how dangerous this place is. But really—this statue feels… wrong. Like it’s clouding the mind.”

Yun Zhuoran knew what he meant. Even he had nearly lost focus earlier. But with no overt danger, he simply pushed at the massive door.

It creaked open a crack. No barrier.

A beam of golden firelight spilled through the gap, illuminating several carved faces within.

Suppressing the urge to rush in, Yun Zhuoran narrowed his eyes. 

The main hall was circular, built against the mountain wall, the statue’s feet at its center. Rows of stone pillars carved with ancient totems surrounded it, winding lines forming a vast array across the floor. Dozens of braziers burned beneath the pillars, their flames lighting the entire space in a red-gold glow.

Above, the ceiling opened to the night sky, encircling the statue like a crown. Its head vanished beyond the roof, forcing all who entered to crane their necks upward.

Li Jianming stood at the threshold, transfixed.

Yun Zhuoran frowned. The heart demon was unaffected—only curious. When Yun Zhuoran glanced at him, Weiran met his gaze with a mischievous smile.

“There’s something wrong with this statue,” Yun Zhuoran said quietly, glancing toward Li Jianming. The proof was right before him.

The heart demon nodded. “I can’t sense any corruption, but if it’s harmless—how could it steal a man’s soul?”

Li Jianming snapped out of his daze, rubbed his nose, and muttered, “I heard that. My soul’s still here. I just think this statue feels… strange. Have either of you been to Tianqing Sect? Their Buddha statues look similar, but this one—this one’s different.”

The heart demon frowned at the name. “Brother, you once had the chance to go to Tianqing Sect. But now? Do you think they’d still welcome you?”

Li Jianming realized he’d touched a nerve and coughed lightly. “Well… of course not. But truly, I can’t sense anything wrong with this statue. That’s what’s so odd—it looks completely normal.”

Yun Zhuoran understood immediately. “The Saintess and the followers of Fengtian Temple commit atrocities, yet the statue itself radiates purity. That contradiction alone is abnormal.”

“Yes, exactly!” Li Jianming nodded vigorously. “That’s what I was trying to say! Capturing people and draining their blood—that’s not what the Wu Clan stands for. It makes no sense.”

He scratched his head. “But if that’s true, then maybe Fengtian Temple itself isn’t the culprit. Maybe it’s only the Saintess and her disciples.”

Yun Zhuoran turned toward his heart demon. 

Weiran didn’t have an answer, only muttering, “Yun Duo is definitely not a good person. And that scent of blood earlier—it wasn’t ordinary.”

“Then should we go in and check?” Li Jianming asked, already stepping forward.

“Don’t—” Yun Zhuoran’s voice sharpened as he reached out to stop him. 

Li Jianming froze, startled, and stumbled against the threshold before catching himself with a hand to his chest. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Weiran asked quietly.

At the same time, both he and Yun Zhuoran looked down. 

Li Jianming followed their gaze—only to realize his foot was already on the temple’s threshold.

——

Inside one of the inner halls of Fengtian Temple, a young Wu clansman tending to Xu Zhichun’s injuries suddenly stiffened, his blue eyes flickering with light.

Xu Zhichun frowned. “Meng Ye?”

The youth blinked, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “An outsider has entered the temple.”

Xu Zhichun’s face paled. “Isn’t the Saintess still avoiding you?”

Meng Ye’s tone carried open disdain when he mentioned Yun Duo. 

He raised his hand, and a compass appeared on his palm, faint light spinning above it. “Let’s see who dares trespass into the temple guarded by me, Meng Ye.”

——

Yun Zhuoran and Weiran stared at Li Jianming’s foot as it crossed the threshold. The swordsman shifted uneasily. “Is this… safe?”

“Don’t move.”

Before Yun Zhuoran could finish, Li Jianming jerked his foot back—then looked up, confused by his own reflex.

Yun Zhuoran didn’t respond. He merely studied him for a long moment.

Li Jianming gave a dry laugh, but before he could speak again, Yun Zhuoran’s expression darkened. In one smooth motion, he caught Weiran’s wrist and shoved Li Jianming aside. 

A split second later, a sheet of blazing flame erupted behind them, licking at the gate.

Startled, Li Jianming spun around and instinctively drew his sword. “What—what is this?!”

The air rippled with oppressive heat. Yun Zhuoran immediately pulled Weiran close, sensing danger. But as soon as Li Jianming spoke, he realized what was wrong. The flames weren’t ordinary—they formed a barrier, cutting off their retreat entirely.

Weiran’s grip tightened on Yun Zhuoran’s sleeve. “Brother—the door’s closing!”

Indeed, the massive stone doors were already sliding shut, the fire curling inward like a living tide. 

Li Jianming tried to rush out but was driven back by the searing wall of heat. “Yun Zhuoran!” He turned, expecting panic—only to find Yun Zhuoran watching the closing gate with composed detachment. The flames shrank around them in a circle of crimson light. Li Jianming darted closer. “What do we do?! It’s closing in!”

Weiran pouted. “Brother, I’m tired of this. Let’s just kill whoever’s behind it.”

Yun Zhuoran’s tone was calm. “Fine—but let’s see who they are first.”

Li Jianming gawked. “You’re not even nervous?!”

The heart demon laughed softly, his tall figure brushing against Yun Zhuoran’s. “Afraid? Of this? Daring to play with fire before us… He’s bold, but foolish.”

Yun Zhuoran’s eyes glinted faintly. “It’s the Lihuo Formation.”

——

Elsewhere, Xu Zhichun frowned as he saw Meng Ye manipulating the compass. “We don’t even know who they are. Perhaps they entered by mistake. Don’t act recklessly.”

Meng Ye smirked. “The Great Wuzhu is too kind. That’s why people dare to trample over you. Thieves are thieves, whoever they are. I’ll just teach them a small lesson and toss them out.”

“Don’t,” Xu Zhichun warned.

“I know,” Meng Ye said breezily—but the gleam in his eyes betrayed him. 

The compass in his palm spun faster, feeding the flames. The Lihuo Formation roared to life, its blaze surging to lethal strength.

——

Inside the temple, the sea of fire blazed higher, its roar deafening. Li Jianming was nearly frantic, while Yun Zhuoran and Weiran stood unmoving amid the inferno.

The two stood shoulder to shoulder, hands still clasped, leaving no space between them. 

Li Jianming paced helplessly, sweating under the heat. “What now?! The flames are closing in!”

Yun Zhuoran’s gaze never wavered. He gave a faint pat to the back of Weiran’s hand. The heart demon hesitated, then reluctantly released his grip.

“Are you ready?” Li Jianming asked.

Yun Zhuoran didn’t reply. He lifted his hand, his pale fingers flicking lightly. A spark of golden-white flame appeared at his fingertips.

Li Jianming stared in horror. “You’re playing with fire now? That’s not—wait, that flame—”

Before he could finish, the wisp of Taiyin True Fire fell into the crimson blaze and vanished.

An instant later, a thunderous boom tore through the hall. The seething scarlet flames were devoured at once by the pale gold fire, the searing heat collapsing into an eerie, bone-deep chill.

Li Jianming froze. He didn’t notice the hair-thin thread of Taiyin True Fire that slipped silently into the compass in Meng Ye’s hand.

Meng Ye gasped as his compass cracked open. A pale flame burst from within and struck him squarely. Agony lanced through his sea of consciousness. He screamed, collapsing.

“Enough!” Xu Zhichun’s face changed. He lunged forward, catching the youth before he fell completely. 

Meng Ye’s skin had turned deathly white, cold sweat pouring down his temples. Xu Zhichun grasped his wrist, channeling spiritual energy to stabilize him.

Inside the temple, the flames vanished completely.

Yun Zhuoran’s expression remained unreadable. He tightened his hold on Weiran’s wrist and said flatly, “The ones controlling the formation are nearby. Follow them.”

Li Jianming stood dazed until Yun Zhuoran shot him a sharp look. He jolted back to awareness, hurrying to pull the door open. “Little Island Master, after you!”

Weiran laughed softly. “You’re quite sensible.”

Yun Zhuoran gave a brief glance and shook his head. “We can’t stay. Let’s move.”

Li Jianming nodded—but before he could speak, a cold voice rang out from the doorway he had just opened, stopping him in his tracks.

“You injured a member of the Fengtian Temple, and you think you can simply walk away? You underestimate us.”

The air trembled. Xu Zhichun stepped through the doorway, clad in dark violet robes, his hand supporting the trembling Meng Ye. 

His expression was glacial—until his eyes fell on the intruders within.

Then, all at once, his fury gave way to shock. “…Ming’er?”