When the Cannon Fodder Male Supporting Role Picks Up the Script - Chapter 150

The Wu clansmen blocking the road were unmistakably from the Black Moon Tribe downstream. Their presence immediately caused a stir among the onlookers—many recognized them, including Meng Ye and Meng Zhou.

Sensing danger, Meng Ye’s expression hardened. He ordered Meng Zhou to return and report, then stepped forward, placing himself squarely between Li Jianming and the newcomers. 

His voice rang cold across the street. “Lan Ge, this is Wu City. Are you openly declaring war by bringing the downstream tribes here?”

At that name, Yun Zhuoran and Weiran understood. The tall, striking woman leading the group was Lan Ge, leader of several Black Moon River tribes and the most militant among the Wu. With sharp brows, phoenix eyes, and a bow as tall as herself slung across her back, her presence was as commanding as it was unyielding.

Li Jianming’s heart sank. He hadn’t expected the Black Moon Tribe’s leader to appear in person. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Yun Zhuoran and Weiran quietly retreating a few steps—their usual “better him than us” maneuver. He glared at them, then turned back toward Meng Ye’s back.

For all his arrogance, Meng Ye had stepped forward without hesitation the moment outsiders arrived. It was likely because of Xu Zhichun—and that alone warmed Li Jianming’s heart. His adoptive father still cared for him.

Lan Ge ignored Meng Ye entirely. Her gaze locked on Li Jianming, cold and proud.

“Outsiders have no place in Wu territory—neither within Wu City nor beyond it. This one is ours. Not even Fengtian Temple will protect him. Take him.”

“Let’s see who dares!” Meng Ye’s reply cut through the air, his voice sharp as steel. 

Li Jianming stared at him, startled by the intensity.

“Still so hot-blooded,” he thought, though a flicker of gratitude welled in his chest.

Lan Ge’s sneer deepened. “So you intend to oppose us?”

The Black Moon Tribe outnumbered them severalfold. Though this was Wu City’s domain, the surrounding clansfolk would never side with strangers. 

Meng Ye’s frown deepened as he scanned the crowd. Then he turned to Li Jianming and muttered under his breath, “Whatever happens, run first.”

Li Jianming blinked, caught off guard.

Meng Ye straightened, glaring at Lan Ge. “Wu City and the Black Moon Tribe have always been separate. Today, Lan Ge, you were the first to provoke me! I, Meng Ye, will defend Wu City’s honor myself!”

With that, he flung out a formation plate. Spiritual power surged from his fingertips, igniting the runes in a flash of light. 

Gasps rippled through the crowd as a half-formed array sprang up beneath Lan Ge’s feet. But before it could settle, she leapt backward, drawing her longbow in one fluid motion.

“So Wu City now shelters outsiders,” she taunted. “Let’s see how long you last!” Her fingers released the string. An arrow of black light tore through the air. “Attack!” she commanded.

At once, more than a dozen Black Moon cultivators lunged forward.

“Run!” Meng Ye shouted again.

But it was too late. The road was already sealed off, their escape blocked by drawn bows and flashing blades.

Li Jianming drew his sword, teeth gritted. “Yun Zhuoran! What now?”

Yun Zhuoran pressed down Weiran’s hand as he began to stir, his tone maddeningly calm. “You block them first.”

Li Jianming almost choked. “You—!” He glanced back to find the two Penglai masters standing leisurely aside, completely unbothered. “You two, help me!” he shouted furiously.

“Alright,” Yun Zhuoran said mildly—and turned away to watch Meng Ye’s battle instead.

Meng Ye’s control of formations had once earned him Fengtian Temple’s trust, but Lan Ge was faster and far more ruthless. Her bow and blade flowed together like wind and thunder. Outside his array, Meng Ye was no match.

Within a few exchanges, he began to falter. Yun Zhuoran’s gaze sharpened, quietly gauging her strength—late-stage Spirit Transformation. Meng Ye was only half a step into it. The gap was vast.

Meanwhile, Li Jianming was cornered again and again, surrounded by the Black Moon tribesmen.

The heart demon tugged Yun Zhuoran’s sleeve. “Brother, aren’t we going to help?”

“Someone will,” Yun Zhuoran said evenly.

“Xu Zhichun?”

“Even if he’s late, a disciple of the Sword Immortal won’t die so easily.”

Li Jianming stumbled through a narrow gap, bruised and furious. “You’re just going to stand there watching me die?!”

“Behind you,” Yun Zhuoran replied lazily.

Li Jianming spun instinctively—just in time to deflect another blade aimed at his back. He cursed under his breath.

Weiran chuckled softly beside Yun Zhuoran, clearly enjoying himself.

Yun Zhuoran remained still, hands clasped behind him. In his eyes, Li Jianming had chosen this path himself. A Sword Immortal’s disciple carried more than enough life-saving treasures. Besides, Xu Zhichun’s appearance was only a matter of time.

And indeed, within a cup of tea’s time, Meng Ye was forced to his knees, blood splattering the ground.

Lan Ge nocked another arrow—this one black-violet, pulsing with spiritual energy. Its power wouldn’t kill, but it would cripple.

Meng Ye’s eyes widened. He had never expected Lan Ge to strike so viciously.

Yun Zhuoran’s gaze flickered. A thread of sword light shimmered at his fingertips—then stilled.

Because before he could move, Li Jianming hurled himself forward, blade drawn, placing his body between Meng Ye and the arrow.

Repaying Meng Ye’s earlier stand, he chose to shield him.

But his strength was far inferior. That arrow would have shattered him.

Weiran’s breath caught. “Brother—?”

“There’s no need,” Yun Zhuoran murmured. “He’s here.”

The arrow screamed toward its mark—then dissolved midair, colliding with a barrier that rippled like liquid glass. The shockwave scattered dust and spiritual residue into the air.

Gasps erupted from the crowd.

Xu Zhichun stood beside Li Jianming, his black-purple robes fluttering in the wind, long hair unbound. The spell’s recoil had drained him; he coughed once, pressing a hand to his chest.

Lan Ge froze, her longbow lowering in disbelief.

“Father!” Li Jianming’s voice trembled with relief. 

Meng Ye pushed him aside and rushed forward instead, catching Xu Zhichun’s arm anxiously.

Xu Zhichun waved him off and fixed his cold gaze on Lan Ge. “This is Wu City, not the Black Moon River. What are you doing here?”

The surrounding tribesmen fell silent. Even the Wu City clansfolk—who had stood watching in fear—now surged forward, forming a circle around their High Priest.

Lan Ge exhaled sharply and shouldered her bow, her expression hard.

From the edge of the crowd, Yun Zhuoran and Weiran stood watching.

Weiran tilted his head. “Brother, what are you thinking about?”

“Xu Zhichun is weaker than I thought,” Yun Zhuoran said quietly. “If this is his true power, he’s nothing like Yun Duo or the former High Priest. He doesn’t carry willpower.”

Weiran frowned. “The Wu Clan doesn’t have any statues of him. No faith, no willpower—what’s strange about that?”

“But he’s still a priest,” Yun Zhuoran replied, eyes narrowing.

The contradiction lingered in his mind. Xu Zhichun radiated no divine aura—only that rare, pure energy threaded with violet light. Was that the reason Fengtian Temple’s god had chosen him? To balance Yun Duo’s corruption—or to conceal something deeper?

Xu Zhichun’s arrival stirred more movement from the shadows. 

Yan Changtian appeared with his men, concern etched on every face. Despite their earlier conflict, the clan’s loyalty to Xu Zhichun ran deep.

Yan Changtian met Lan Ge’s gaze briefly, then stepped forward to assist. But Xu Zhichun brushed past him, disappointment plain in his eyes. Yan Changtian flinched. He knew Xu Zhichun had already seen through him.

Exhaling softly, Xu Zhichun turned back to Lan Ge.

“Tell me,” he said coldly. “Why bring your warriors into Wu City?”

Among the downstream tribes, Xu Zhichun was still respected—he had eased their curse’s suffering where others failed—but they did not revere him blindly.

Lan Ge’s tone, bold and edged, reflected that distance. “The Great Wuzhu should already know,” she said. “We came for Li Jianming.”

Xu Zhichun’s lips curved faintly, almost in mockery. “So you already know who he is.”

Yan Changtian’s guilt was evident. He had wanted to act without taking responsibility, letting the Black Moon Tribe seize Li Jianming instead. 

Xu Zhichun could only feel bitterness. “Clan Leader,” he said softly, “you truly disappoint me.”

Yan Changtian bowed his head. “Great Wuzhu, you know he’s Wen Jiuchuan’s disciple. The Kunwu Sword Sect and the other righteous sects of Xizhou are joining forces against us. If we don’t secure this bargaining chip, will we just wait for annihilation?”

“He won’t attack,” Xu Zhichun said firmly.

Lan Ge laughed coldly. “You overestimate Wen Jiuchuan. If he could sacrifice a child to threaten the Wu Clan, why wouldn’t he destroy us outright? You’re still an outsider, Xu Zhichun. This is our survival at stake. We won’t let you decide for us.”

Xu Zhichun turned away from her, facing Yan Changtian instead. But when the clan leader refused to meet his gaze, the truth became clear.

He let out a short, bitter laugh, then straightened and stepped in front of Li Jianming.

“If you insist on taking him,” he said, voice like frost, “then kill me first.”

“Great Wuzhu!” The cry rose from every Wu throat nearby. 

Even Yan Changtian looked shaken. “Li Jianming is our enemy!” he protested. “Why would the Great Wuzhu protect him?”

Lan Ge’s voice was sharp with fury. “Have you forgotten who you are? You’re the Great Wuzhu of the Wu Clan—not of the Kunwu Sword Sect!”

The crowd fell into uneasy murmurs, trying to persuade Xu Zhichun to rise. 

But he only shook his head, pressed his lips together, and sank to his knees. “Please… let him go.”

The square went deathly still.

No one—neither Yan Changtian, Lan Ge, nor the surrounding clansmen—could find their voices.

To the Wu Clan, the Great Wuzhu was the living embodiment of the Wu God, sacred and inviolable. They could endure many things, but not the sight of their own Wuzhu kneeling before them—least of all for the sake of a foreigner.

Were they wrong?

Li Jianming’s vision blurred. He wanted to step forward, but a strong hand gripped his arm, pulling him back. 

It was Meng Ye. The young man leaned close and hissed under his breath, “If you don’t want to make things worse for him because of you—stay quiet.”

“…Because of me?” Li Jianming froze. 

He had known, deep down, that remaining in Wu City would endanger Xu Zhichun. But he had convinced himself he could bear it. Seeing Xu Zhichun kneeling for him now, shame crushed the air from his lungs.

Then another voice—cold and steady—spoke beside him. “You made your choice. You should have expected this. If you want to see how it ends, then endure it.”

He didn’t need to look. It was Yun Zhuoran. Somehow, that detached calm steadied him more than comfort ever could.

Yan Changtian stepped forward, trying to pull Xu Zhichun up. “Great Wuzhu, why do this? Why oppose us for the sake of an outsider?”

Xu Zhichun drew a shallow breath and moved aside, lowering his head. His voice was hoarse but unwavering.

“He’s no outsider. Ming’er is my son. I beg you—let him leave Wu City. Do what you must; I won’t stop you.”

An uproar tore through the crowd.

The Wu Clan, cursed and childless for generations, regarded children as sacred. Outsiders could be ignored, but never the child of their own Wuzhu.

Because he was the Wuzhu.

Li Jianming stared at the bent figure before him, unable to think.

The hostility around him dissolved into confusion. 

Yan Changtian stood motionless, stunned. In all their years together, he had never questioned Xu Zhichun’s life beyond the clan. That Xu Zhichun had a child—an outsider, no less—was beyond belief.

Lan Ge’s face darkened with fury. “You sent your own son to the Kunwu Sword Sect?” Her voice thundered through the square. “Great Wuzhu, I have to question your loyalty. If we let him return to the Sword Sect and bring their blades against us, wouldn’t that be like releasing a tiger into the mountains? No one leaves until you explain yourself!”

Yan Changtian quickly added, “That’s right. If he truly is your son, then he should stay in Wu City!”

Lan Ge shot him a hard look; Yan’s attempt to shield Xu Zhichun was plain to see.

Even so, most of the Wu Clan still sided with their Wuzhu. They hurried forward to help Xu Zhichun rise. 

But when his worried gaze lingered on Li Jianming, Yan Changtian sighed and stepped back.

“Meng Ye, take everyone back. No one leaves until this matter is resolved.”

Lan Ge’s anger simmered, but this was Wu City, not his territory. He could only swallow it and turn away.

Meng Ye nodded and helped Xu Zhichun lead the clansmen off.

“Foster Father…” Li Jianming whispered, but Xu Zhichun did not look back. He could have followed—but he didn’t. Doing so would only humiliate Xu Zhichun further.

When they returned to the clan leader’s residence, Li Jianming was placed under guard. 

He sat by the doorway, motionless, until Yun Zhuoran and Weiran approached.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked quietly. “He didn’t even look at me when he left. Was it because I made things harder for him?”

Yun Zhuoran’s reply was calm, cutting through the heaviness. “What were you thinking when you decided to stay?”

Li Jianming hesitated. “Just as he stayed in Jialan City for me for over twenty years, I wanted to stay in Wu City for him—to protect him… to save him.”

Yun Zhuoran patted his shoulder once, said nothing more, and returned to his room with Weiran.

Weiran lingered, glancing back at Li Jianming before asking softly, “Brother, can he really save Xu Zhichun like this?”

Yun Zhuoran frowned. “Even if he wants to, Xu Zhichun may not wish to be saved. Wu City is a snare of its own making. No wonder Wen Jianxian hasn’t struck yet. Xu Zhichun’s ties to the clan only complicate things further. But he’s also the key.”

Weiran murmured, “I thought we’d end up fighting today.”

Yun Zhuoran gave a faint smile. “It won’t be long now. The Wu Clan is already divided. Xu Zhichun will have to choose. Yan Changtian and Lan Ge won’t let this rest.”

“What will Xu Zhichun choose?”

Yun Zhuoran’s gaze shifted toward the courtyard, where Li Jianming sat slumped in the fading light.

“Not what we’d hope,” he said quietly. “But at least it will be clear.”

Indeed, it wasn’t only the clansmen who found Li Jianming troublesome—Yun Zhuoran did too. Xu Zhichun’s repeated protection had thrown every plan into disarray. If this was the Fengtian Temple’s design, the one behind it was truly calculating.

And Yun Zhuoran’s instincts were not wrong.

At that very moment, Xu Zhichun was facing a choice he had never prepared for.

After a long silence, Yan Changtian finally spoke, his voice heavy. “Letting Li Jianming go is impossible. Doing so would betray the entire Wu Clan. High Priest, you’ve carried our burdens for years. When we chose the blood-exchange method to break the curse, we were already prepared to die—offering outsiders’ lives in exchange for our own. That’s why we sent our children away first. As long as they live, the Wu bloodline continues. Those of us cursed will stay and fight to the end.”

He gave a faint, resigned smile. “We’ve already accepted death. But you—Great Wuzhu—you don’t have to. You’re not one of us by blood. If you leave now, the righteous sects won’t pursue you. Protecting you is the only repayment our clan can offer.”

Xu Zhichun’s eyes widened. “You… want me to leave Wu City?”

Yan Changtian bowed his head. “The whole clan has agreed. We can’t repay what we owe you, so we beg you not to share our fate.”

Xu Zhichun stood in silence. For the first time, he realized the clan he had dedicated his life to saving might never have wanted salvation at all.

When Yan Changtian left the hall, Lan Ge was waiting outside. “So that’s your plan,” she said coldly. “A retreat disguised as mercy.”

Yan gave a weary smile. “You know as well as I do—the Great Wuzhu will never leave.”

Lan Ge snorted. “Then better he stays here and burdens you city folk than preaches to me downstream.”

Yan’s expression hardened. “The final blood exchange is in a few days. We can’t afford a single mistake.”

“I know.” Lan Ge’s tone was grim. “Old Yan, I’ve staked everything on this. If it fails, I’ll cut you down myself.”

Yan’s voice softened. “Even my own son was sent for the ritual. Do you still doubt me?”

Lan Ge’s gaze shifted upward to the towering statue of the deity. “There’s no turning back. May the gods protect us.”

Yan followed his gaze. “Wen Jianxian has already arrived,” he said quietly. “We may not live to see another dawn.”

“Then so be it,” Lan Ge replied. Her voice was steady, her eyes resolute. “Better to gamble our lives and free our descendants than rot under this curse forever. At least then, our deaths will have meaning.” She glanced sideways at Yan. “I just didn’t expect I’d die beside you cunning Wu City folk—especially you, old fox.”

Yan gave a weary laugh. “Enemies for nearly a century… who would have thought?” He lifted his eyes to the statue and murmured, “For the Wu Clan’s future.”

Lan Ge’s expression was firm.

“For the Wu Clan’s future,” she echoed. “I’ll die without regret.”