When the Cannon Fodder Male Supporting Role Picks Up the Script - Chapter 149

The next morning, when Yun Zhuoran and Weiran stepped out, Meng Ye and Li Jianming were already seated in the main hall. 

Seeing everyone gathered, Meng Ye rose at once. “Let’s go. I’ll take you out of the city now.”

Xu Zhichun’s decision to send them away that very morning was clearly urgent. Yun Zhuoran and Weiran stood by the doorway just as Li Jianming rose as well. 

Meng Ye nodded with satisfaction. “At least you’re sensible.”

But unlike his cold detachment from the night before, Li Jianming smiled faintly. Turning to Yun Zhuoran and Weiran, he said, “We finally made it to Wu City, but we didn’t get to see much yesterday. Why not take a walk before leaving? I haven’t even seen what the city looks like in daylight.”

Weiran yawned, rubbing his eyes. “Exploring this early in the morning?”

Yun Zhuoran simply nodded. “Fine.”

Without waiting for Meng Ye’s response, Li Jianming strode out of the room, cheerfully calling back to them, “Come on.”

Meng Ye’s face darkened as he hurried after them. “What’s the meaning of this? You’re not leaving?”

“I never said I was,” Li Jianming replied lightly. He knew Meng Ye wouldn’t dare act recklessly—not with Xu Zhichun’s protection hanging over them. Ignoring the man’s glare, he waved to Yun Zhuoran and Weiran. “Let’s go. I saw something interesting last night.”

Meng Ye’s azure eyes widened in disbelief as he watched the three walk away so casually. 

Meng Zhou, standing beside him, looked uncertain. “But, Uncle, the High Priest told you to escort them out of the city…”

“As if I don’t know that?” Meng Ye snapped. His temples throbbed at the thought of the strange flame that had nearly burned through his sea of consciousness. Even now, the pain lingered faintly. Furious as he was, he didn’t dare strike. Grinding his teeth, he strode after them. “Let’s see how long they can keep this up!”

“Uncle, wait for me!” Meng Zhou cried, scrambling to catch up.

Once they left the clan leader’s residence, Yun Zhuoran, Weiran, and Li Jianming—followed by their reluctant escorts—wandered openly through Wu City. 

The sight of unfamiliar faces walking so boldly in broad daylight drew curious, wary glances from every direction. Yet no one dared approach. Everyone knew that the blue-eyed guardian of the Fengtian Temple, Meng Ye, was following close behind, and that these strangers had come from the clan leader’s household. 

Though many whispered in disgust, none dared cause a scene.

Li Jianming paid no mind to the hostility. He strolled ahead with the two Penglai Island Masters, who showed little interest in the city. 

Grinning, he teased, “Why so quiet? It’s a fine morning. Little Island Master, you look half asleep. Didn’t get much rest last night?”

Yun Zhuoran gave him a frosty look. Li Jianming gasped in mock alarm, lowering his voice. “No way—don’t tell me you two were actually—”

Weiran blinked at him, puzzled. “What?”

Seeing the genuine confusion on his face, Li Jianming let out a breath of relief. “Ah. I thought you were cultivating together.”

Weiran’s cheeks flushed red.

“You’re too idle,” Yun Zhuoran said coolly.

Li Jianming smirked. “This is revenge. Someone kept me up all night pacing on the roof.”

Yun Zhuoran ignored him. The man seemed to feed on irritation. If not for their shared history, Yun Zhuoran would have silenced him long ago.

Seeing Weiran blush, Yun Zhuoran reached over and took his hand. “Ignore him. Still sleepy?”

Weiran shook his head quickly, his face turning even redder. His gaze softened as he looked at Yun Zhuoran—bright, shy, and full of quiet anticipation.

Yun Zhuoran’s eyes narrowed slightly. He made a mental note to settle accounts with Li Jianming later.

They walked for a while without aim, yet by chance, Li Jianming’s whim led them to an unexpected sight.

At the heart of the city lay a wide square filled with incense smoke and offerings. Several stone statues stood there—a smaller replica of the towering figure from Fengtian Temple, another of the Saintess, and a third depicting a priest. But this priest was not Xu Zhichun, who now served as the Wu Clan’s High Priest, but rather his senior—someone Yun Zhuoran recognized instantly.

It was the same man who had perished in Yun City more than twenty years ago.

The square was thick with incense haze. But when the three outsiders approached, the praying residents quickly withdrew, watching from afar while whispering among themselves. The three ignored them and stopped before the Saintess’s statue.

For Li Jianming, it was not his first time seeing such idols. The Kunwu Sword Sect had once captured Wu clansmen carrying small versions of this very statue. The Saintess’s likeness seemed more widely revered than even the Fengtian deity’s—perhaps because she had once walked among the people herself.

Weiran frowned at the statue. “Brother, if we destroy Yun Duo’s statue, wouldn’t that weaken her faith and reduce her power?”

His reasoning was sound. Yun Duo’s strength clearly didn’t come from cultivation alone but from the faith of her followers.

But before the mountain of flowers and fruit piled at the statue’s feet, Yun Zhuoran shook his head. “There are too many such statues. Even if we destroy this one, it would make no difference—only stir needless chaos.”

Weiran pursed his lips and muttered, “Fine.”

Meanwhile, Li Jianming circled the row of statues, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Something about these feels wrong. They’re different from the ones at Fengtian Temple.”

Yun Zhuoran had noticed that too. If they all depicted the same figures, why did only the statues within Fengtian Temple radiate that strangely pure aura?

“Hmm. There’s another one over there.” Li Jianming pointed toward a banyan tree at the corner of the square, where Meng Ye and Meng Zhou stood beneath its shade. 

Beneath the tree sat a neglected statue half-covered in moss and leaves.

The closer they drew, the clearer the difference became. Unlike the gleaming Saintess’s statue, this one was ancient and weathered. Paper talismans hung from the banyan’s branches, obscuring half the statue’s stern, solemn face.

“The Wu God,” Yun Zhuoran murmured.

Meng Zhou stooped to place a few wildflowers at the base of the statue. Compared to the abundance of offerings before the Saintess’s shrine, the flowers here were pitifully few.

Meng Ye stood with arms crossed, watching coldly. Hearing Yun Zhuoran’s words, he arched a brow. “You recognize the Wu God?”

“Not personally,” Li Jianming said lightly. “But I know he’s the Wu Clan’s deity. After all, he was worshipped for thousands of years. Strange that his followers abandoned him so quickly once Fengtian Temple appeared. Even the High Priest’s statue has more offerings than his.”

Meng Ye snorted. “A god who can’t protect his people isn’t worth believing in. The Wu Clan learned that long ago.”

Meng Zhou frowned. “But… we’ve worshipped the Wu God since ancient times.” Under Meng Ye’s hard stare, he lowered his head. “Uncle’s right. To break the curse, we can only rely on ourselves.”

Li Jianming nodded faintly, though his curiosity deepened. 

If Meng Ye and Meng Zhou both scorned the Fengtian Temple, why did they still come here to offer flowers? Weren’t they its devotees? He asked, “You don’t seem very devoted to the Fengtian Temple yourselves.”

Meng Ye sneered but didn’t answer. Meng Zhou, after a moment’s hesitation, explained, “Faith in gods is useless. Uncle believes only the Great Wuzhu can free our clan from the curse.”

Weiran laughed softly. “Isn’t your Great Wuzhu the Fengtian Temple’s high priest?”

“That’s completely different!” Meng Zhou protested, his tone indignant. “The Fengtian Temple was only allowed into Wu City because the previous High Priest couldn’t refuse. The Temple’s god may ease the pain of the curse, but the High Priest—he’s one of us. He truly understands our suffering.”

“The High Priest is of the Wu Clan?”

Yun Zhuoran’s brows lifted. The Great Wuzhu he remembered from his youth, the one who had plotted to sacrifice Yun City, had never looked like a Wu clansman.

Meng Ye’s tone was cold but steady. “He was the first of our clan to truly resist the curse. His strength came from enduring it, not escaping it.”

Li Jianming frowned. “But the curse still hasn’t been broken, has it?”

Meng Zhou shook his head. “No. The Great Wuzhu could only ease its pain, but he gave us hope. He was the son of the previous Great Wuzhu—the rightful successor. He couldn’t stop the Fengtian Temple from entering, but after its arrival, he vanished. Only when the Saintess returned years later did we realize he had already fallen. She claimed to be his disciple, bearing the results of his research.”

The words made Yun Zhuoran’s expression harden. He and Weiran both knew Yun Duo’s “research” for what it truly was—the horrific blood transfusion ritual already tested on Yan Changtian’s child.

Li Jianming, unaware of these details, could only think of Xu Zhichun. “When did my adoptive father join the Wu Clan?” he asked.

Meng Zhou froze, glancing nervously at Meng Ye. When the elder man remained silent, he finally answered, “That was… a long time ago. Over a hundred years, I think.”

“One hundred and twenty-three years,” Meng Ye said flatly, fixing his gaze on Li Jianming. “He came to us then, badly injured. The previous Wuzhu saved his life. Since that day, he’s been one of us. After the former Great Wuzhu passed, he succeeded him.”

Meng Zhou clasped his hands reverently. “The Great Wuzhu bore the curse himself to ease our suffering. To us, he is the new Wu God.”

Li Jianming’s breath caught. “How did he do that?”

“He took the curse upon himself,” Meng Ye said quietly.

Meng Zhou looked as though he wanted to add more, but when Meng Ye’s cold eyes swept his way, he fell silent.

Li Jianming’s face turned pale. “So… it’s still not lifted?”

Meng Ye shook his head. “No.”

Li Jianming’s voice trembled. “No wonder my foster father keeps avoiding me.”

Meng Ye’s tone sharpened. “That’s why you should do as he said and leave Wu City. Don’t make things harder for him.”

Li Jianming gave a faint, bitter smile. “So you told me all this just to send me away. But I’m not leaving yet.”

Meng Ye’s expression darkened. “Believe what you like.”

Li Jianming said nothing more. Yun Zhuoran, who had been watching quietly, finally spoke. “I haven’t seen any children since we entered Wu City.”

The Wu Clan was cursed—its people immortal, their appearances forever young—but indeed, not a single child had been seen since their arrival.

Meng Zhou answered before Meng Ye could stop him. “I heard they were sent downstream to remove the curse. I don’t know what method they’re using.”

Yun Zhuoran’s gaze sharpened. “Didn’t you say before that they were sent to the temple to have the curse lifted?”

Meng Zhou frowned, uncertain. “That’s what I thought too. But last night, the clan leader said all the children had been sent downstream. Maybe they had to worship the gods first—to gain Fengtian Temple’s protection before lifting the curse. But when they came back… they always had this strange smell on them. Like blood—”

“Cough, cough!” Meng Ye’s expression darkened. He broke into a violent cough, cutting Meng Zhou short. 

Meng Zhou froze, trembling. “Enough. Don’t ask me anymore. I won’t say another word!”

Realizing he wouldn’t get anything more, Yun Zhuoran glanced at Weiran and Li Jianming. 

Li Jianming gave a knowing nod and waved lightly. “We’ve seen enough here. Let’s head elsewhere.”

Yun Zhuoran nodded, took Weiran’s hand, and continued down the street with Li Jianming.

Behind them, Meng Ye’s face turned pale. He clenched his fists until his knuckles whitened, forcing himself to let go. He reminded himself over and over—this was the Great Wuzhu’s adopted son. He couldn’t touch him. No matter what, he couldn’t kill him.

By the time they returned toward the clan leader’s residence, the sun had reached its zenith.

Near the gate, they once again spotted Yan Changtian’s youngest son—Xiao Xu—standing outside. He was the only child they had seen in all of Wu City. Then Li Jianming noticed another small figure crouched behind the stone beast beside the entrance, peeking out nervously as if ready to flee.

Li Jianming softened his voice. “Hey there.”

The boy flinched. 

Li Jianming approached with an easy smile and blocked his path. The child ducked behind the beast again, glancing anxiously at the guards as if seeking help.

“Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.” Li Jianming crouched down, his tone patient and coaxing. “I just want to ask one question. Answer me, and I’ll let you go straight home. See? Do I look like a bad person?”

The boy hesitated, half his face peeking out. Before Li Jianming could continue, Meng Ye strode up behind him, sneering. “So this is what you’ve sunk to—threatening children, you—”

He stopped mid-sentence. Two figures had moved in unison, stepping in front of him. Yun Zhuoran and Weiran blocked his path, their expressions calm.

Meng Ye scowled. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“Nothing much,” Li Jianming said mildly. “Just asking a question, that’s all.” He turned back to the child and smiled. “I heard you almost broke the curse. My adoptive father was cursed too. Can you tell me how you were cured?”

Meng Ye froze, half a step forward, his body rigid.

Children were easy to sway, and Li Jianming’s words struck the right note. 

The boy hesitated. Hearing that someone else shared his pain, his guarded eyes softened. After a pause, he whispered, “I… don’t know. The Saintess gave me medicine. I fell asleep after drinking it…”

Li Jianming’s tone stayed gentle. “And then?”

Everyone held their breath—Yun Zhuoran, Weiran, even Meng Ye and Meng Zhou.

The boy’s shoulders trembled. “Then I woke up… and the curse was gone.”

Silence fell.

Yun Zhuoran was the first to speak. “We won’t get anything more.”

Li Jianming rose slowly, disappointment flickering across his face. 

At that moment, Xiao Xu darted past him, running straight to the doorway. “Father!”

All eyes turned.

Standing in the entrance was Yan Changtian, the Wu Clan leader himself. He lifted his son with an indulgent smile. “I heard you’ve been touring Wu City. Half a day wandering around—you must be tired.”

“Not at all,” Yun Zhuoran said calmly.

Yan Changtian’s smile widened. “It’s nearly lunchtime. Would you honor me by staying for a meal?”

Li Jianming instantly brightened. “Food? Perfect. I won’t be polite, then.”

Without waiting, he strode straight inside. 

Yun Zhuoran and Weiran exchanged a look before following. Passing by the clan leader, Yun Zhuoran gave a courteous nod. “Excuse me.”

Yan Changtian’s smile stiffened. “You’re welcome.”

Yun Zhuoran raised an eyebrow but said nothing, leading Weiran through the gate.

Meng Ye’s composure finally snapped. He glared after them, then spun on his heel. Meng Zhou started to follow, but Meng Ye stopped him. “Stay here. I’ll find the Great Wuzhu.”

“…Alright.”

Meng Zhou hesitated, then bowed toward Yan Changtian before following the others inside.

The guards dispersed. Only Yan Changtian, his son, and Yan Que remained at the door.

 The smile vanished from Yan Changtian’s face. His expression chilled as he patted Xiao Xu’s back, eyes fixed on the direction Meng Ye had gone.

Yan Que, however, looked uneasy. “Chief, if they still refuse to leave… the men we stationed outside the city—”

Yan Changtian cut him off coldly, not caring that his son could hear. “No rush. Meng Ye’s gone to fetch the Great Wuzhu. If even he can’t deal with this, we’ll use other means. We’re not the only ones in Wu City who want Wen Jianxian’s disciple. We’ll adapt as needed.”

Understanding dawned on Yan Que. He gave a faint smile. “You’re right, Chief.” Then he remembered something and frowned. “By the way—Su Pengpeng was taken away by the Great Wuzhu last night. She hasn’t returned.”

Yan Changtian waved it off. “She’s Wu Clan by blood. So what if she stayed in the Kunwu Sword Sect for years? The Great Wuzhu is softhearted—he won’t hurt her. He might even heal her.”

“But…” Yan Que hesitated. “She was still injured when she came back yesterday—”

Yan Changtian smiled, clapping his shoulder. “If you’re so worried, go check on her. She’s back for good now. You’ll have plenty of chances.”

Yan Que flushed faintly, bowing his head to hide it.

As Yan Changtian had said, Xu Zhichun was indeed tending to Su Pengpeng’s injuries.

While he stepped away to prepare medicine, she sat waiting in the quiet hall.

Despite having shed her Kunwu robes, the years of sect discipline still clung to her—her back straight, her eyes clear, her aura sharp as a sword’s edge.

When Xu Zhichun returned carrying several pill bottles, she immediately rose.

Setting them on the table, he said gently, “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“You’re welcome, Wuzhu,” Su Pengpeng replied softly.

He pushed the bottles toward her. “We’ve known each other for years, yet I never knew you carried Wu Clan blood. I asked you to watch over Ming’er more than once. Think about it—one of us on the mountain, one below—we both watched him grow. In Ming’er’s eyes, you mean no less to him than a senior brother.”

She accepted the medicine, lowering her gaze. “You flatter me. I’m only Wu Clan by blood.”

“You know what I mean,” Xu Zhichun said quietly, his tone weighted with intent. “You betrayed Kunwu, and they still spared your life. So I ask the same of you—spare Ming’er. Don’t expose who he is. Not to anyone. Not even the clan leader. I don’t believe you’d harm him.”

Su Pengpeng’s fingers tightened around the bottles. Did he truly think Yan Changtian didn’t already know? His order to capture Li Jianming had made that perfectly clear.

Xu Zhichun leaned forward, frowning. “As long as you keep his secret, I’ll grant whatever you ask in return.”

She looked up, startled. “Wuzhu…”

“As a father, I only want my son safe. As the Wuzhu of this clan, I don’t want our people destroyed by dragging outsiders into our war. Precisely because they’re the Island Masters of Penglai, we cannot afford to provoke them. The clan leader’s path will bring calamity. If Penglai moves against us, Wu City will fall.”

Su Pengpeng fell silent.

“Wuzhu!” Meng Ye’s voice rang from outside. A heartbeat later, he burst through the doors, breathless. Seeing Su Pengpeng, he stopped briefly, then turned back to Xu Zhichun, seething. “Wuzhu, those outsiders are intolerable! They refuse to leave—and they’re eating at the clan leader’s table as if they own the place!”

Xu Zhichun, braced for something far worse, exhaled quietly. “Ming’er won’t leave?”

“Exactly! He’s flaunting himself in the streets! Wuzhu, you must drive them out—I can’t stand it!”

Xu Zhichun frowned and sat down, shaking his head. “Leave them be. This is just Ming’er’s way of forcing me to see him. If I don’t appear, he’ll leave eventually.”

Meng Ye stared at him, stunned. “So we’re just going to let them wander around freely?”

“Not freely,” Xu Zhichun corrected. “Keep watch on them. But don’t expose their identities, and don’t start a fight. I only have one child left. I just want him to leave Wu City safely.”

Meng Ye froze, his anger fading to guilt. “Wuzhu, don’t say that…”

Xu Zhichun didn’t respond.

For a while, only silence filled the hall.

Then Su Pengpeng lowered her head.

Meanwhile, Yun Zhuoran and Weiran were watching Li Jianming devour his meal at the clan leader’s table. Afterward, the three sampled spirit-infused fruits from the Wu Clan’s orchards.

Li Jianming, full and satisfied, began grumbling that the Kunwu Sword Sect was hopelessly poor—too proud to pursue wealth, yet forced to spend fortunes maintaining swords and forging spirit steel.

Yun Zhuoran and Weiran ignored him, quietly enjoying the fruits. They were sweet and rich with spiritual energy. Li Jianming, grinning, grabbed a handful and shoved them at the two, as if sharing could make up for his rambling.

Yun Zhuoran bit into one, then casually fed the next to Weiran, who smiled and returned the gesture.

Li Jianming nearly choked in disbelief, glaring daggers at them as they exchanged quiet amusement.

He sulked through the rest of the afternoon.

The three wandered until dusk but discovered little new—except that nearly everyone in Wu City now recognized them on sight. When they returned to the clan leader’s residence, Yan Changtian, making no effort to hide his scheming, even offered them rooms for the night.

Li Jianming accepted immediately, shameless as ever. Yun Zhuoran and Weiran followed without comment.

But Yun Zhuoran’s expression was calm only on the surface. After so much exposure, Fengtian Temple would surely take notice soon. Whether Yun Duo herself acted—or the god behind her—it was only a matter of time.

By his reckoning, Lu Yu should arrive soon.

Yet he wasn’t the only one who would.

The next morning, as Yun Zhuoran and Weiran followed Li Jianming out once more, they suddenly found their path blocked.

A crowd of armed tribesmen—at least several dozen—had surrounded them. Their clothes and markings were different from those of Wu City’s natives.

At their head stood a tall man whose expression was dark and grim. His gaze swept over the three before locking onto Li Jianming.

“Which of you is Wen Jiuchuan’s disciple, Li Jianming?”

The ones seeking him had made their move first.

Yun Zhuoran and Weiran instantly stepped back, leaving Li Jianming alone at the front—the true target.