When the Cannon Fodder Male Supporting Role Picks Up the Script - Chapter 151

Since being sent back, Li Jianming had remained motionless on the threshold.

Yun Zhuoran had taken his heart demon, who hadn’t eaten properly for days, into the Floating City for a meal. 

When they returned and pushed open the door, dawn had already broken—yet Li Jianming was still sitting there at the entrance.

On closer look, he had fallen asleep where he sat, leaning against the frame, his sword clutched tightly in his arms.

The heart demon shrugged, crunching on a tasteless spirit stone as he stepped past him into the house.

Yun Zhuoran followed, half-amused, until his expression suddenly shifted. He caught his heart demon by the wrist and, under the latter’s confused stare, silently drew him back outside.

At the courtyard gate, the Wu clansmen who had stood watch through the night remained in place. 

But now, someone unexpected was there among them—Xu Zhichun.

He stood at the door without entering, head slightly lowered, his eyes shadowed, unreadable.

Yun Zhuoran spoke first. “Master Xu, are you here to see Li Jianming?”

Xu Zhichun’s shoulders stiffened as if caught off guard. His unfocused gaze sharpened at once, though indifference lingered beneath it.

“It seems you two are living quite comfortably here, even under guard.”

“I’m used to it,” Yun Zhuoran replied evenly.

Xu Zhichun’s tone turned cold. “You’ve been wandering around Wu City these past two days for one reason only—to force me to appear.”

The heart demon, sensing the unusual tension, stuffed the spirit stone into his mouth, chewed twice, swallowed, and finally gave Xu Zhichun a serious look.

Yun Zhuoran caught the bitterness beneath Xu Zhichun’s words but stayed composed. “Master Xu, you understand.”

“I don’t want to understand.” Xu Zhichun’s face hardened. “Yes, you won yesterday. And I finally realized something—I’ve allowed you too much freedom. In your eyes, that has become my weakness. You’re clever, but you’ve worn my patience thin. I didn’t come today to let you go.” He paused, voice sharp as a blade. “I came to sever ties—with my so-called foster son, Li Jianming.”

It was the first time Yun Zhuoran had seen him this cold.

“Master Xu, are you serious?”

“I always am.” Xu Zhichun’s words were deliberate, his expression grave. “I gave you a chance to leave, but you refused. Then stay in Wu City. I won’t protect you anymore.”

They had parted amicably the day before—how had it come to this so abruptly?

The heart demon frowned. 

Just then, a hoarse voice came from behind them. “…Foster father really doesn’t want me anymore?”

It was Li Jianming.

Yun Zhuoran and the heart demon turned and stepped aside.

Li Jianming’s face was pale with exhaustion. Clutching his sword, he stood rigidly in the doorway, staring at Xu Zhichun.

Xu Zhichun sneered. “When have I ever spoken falsely? You never take my words to heart. You came just in time—you must have heard me. I’ll repeat it so you’re clear: Li Jianming, you’ve disappointed me beyond measure. From this moment on, the bond between us is severed.”

Shock clouded Li Jianming’s eyes. “Foster father—”

“Don’t call me that!” Xu Zhichun cut him off sharply. “You’ve brought me nothing but trouble.” His tone was cold, tinged with contempt. He didn’t even look at Li Jianming again; instead, he turned his gaze on Yun Zhuoran. “I know what you’re plotting. I am not only the Wu Clan’s Great Wuzhu, but also a priest of the Fengtian Temple. To move against both the Temple and the Clan, of course you’d use me. But you don’t understand—I was the one who brought Fengtian Temple into the Wu Clan. I’m no innocent. Their fate is bound to mine. I won’t help you. From now on, you stand alone.” His voice rose, trembling with restrained fury. 

The heart demon bristled, about to retort, but Xu Zhichun had already turned and strode away.

“Hmm!” the heart demon spat, glaring at Xu Zhichun’s retreating figure. He turned to Yun Zhuoran in protest, but Yun Zhuoran only shook his head, signaling him to let it go.

Li Jianming wanted to chase after him, but his hand gripped the doorframe until his knuckles turned white. He could only stand there, staring blankly at Xu Zhichun’s back, unable to believe what had just happened.

Not far away, Xu Zhichun met Meng Ye, Yan Changtian, and several others. They exchanged terse words—perhaps even quarreled—before he departed coldly, Meng Ye and the rest following in haste.

Had he truly come only to cut ties with Li Jianming? Yun Zhuoran watched his fading figure, deep in thought. 

Behind him, Li Jianming finally stirred and walked back into the courtyard without a word. 

His silence was heavy; even the heart demon frowned, muttering as he clung to Yun Zhuoran’s arm, “Brother, he’s really too much.”

Yun Zhuoran’s eyes lingered on Li Jianming’s back. He said nothing.

By the time Meng Ye and Yan Changtian reached the gate, Xu Zhichun was gone.

“The Great Wuzhu has never been this angry,” Yan Changtian murmured uneasily.

“It’s all Li Jianming’s fault,” Meng Ye snapped. Then, softening slightly, he added, “Still, at least the Great Wuzhu has finally come to his senses. Outsiders are outsiders—he’s cut off that burden at last. But after all the suffering the Great Wuzhu endured because of him, I, Meng Ye, can’t just swallow this.”

Yan Changtian’s expression flickered. “Meng Ye, they were father and son. Don’t be impulsive.”

Meng Ye’s voice rose. “It’s because of him the Great Wuzhu was injured! The Clan Leader couldn’t bear to punish him, but I can’t stand it.”

Yan Changtian gave a thin smile. “Even so, the Great Wuzhu still has him in his heart. Don’t make trouble for yourself.”

“I know my limits,” Meng Ye said impatiently. Then he sneered, eyes narrowing. “I’ll only teach him a lesson. The Great Wuzhu won’t even notice.”

Yan Changtian frowned. “What are you planning? If he finds out, he’ll be furious.”

“Don’t concern yourself,” Meng Ye said, waving him off. “I’ll take care of it tonight.”

“Don’t be reckless!” Yan called after him, though a faint smile tugged at his lips.

When Meng Ye disappeared, Yan Que, who had been silent in the shadows, stepped forward with a sly grin.

“Clan Leader, Meng Ye plans to act tonight. It’s a perfect chance. Shall we send a few men to assist him? If Li Jianming vanishes in the confusion, it won’t be on your hands.”

Yan Changtian gave him a meaningful look. “You’re learning.” He sighed softly. “Even when the boy’s right under my nose, I’m uneasy without a leash on him.”

Yan Que bowed. “I’ll see to it.”

“Wait,” Yan Changtian stopped him, his voice lowering. “Tonight, I’ll send Xiaoxu downstream to prepare for the next blood-transfusion ritual. You’ll accompany me. None of us will remain in Wu City.”

Yan Que nodded, understanding immediately. “Yes.”

Yan Changtian clasped his hands behind his back, eyes fixed on the distant rooftops. “Wen Jianxian’s disciple isn’t strong. As for those two Penglai masters—yesterday they hid behind him, all bluff and no substance. Handle it quietly. Don’t fail.”

Meanwhile, Li Jianming—crushed by Xu Zhichun’s rejection—seemed even more desolate than the night before. Back at the threshold, he squatted like a solitary mushroom, questioning his very existence.

When Yun Zhuoran or the heart demon approached, he forced a smile and insisted he was fine.

They could only sigh and retreat indoors.

Given his temperament, perhaps sleep would steady him.

The heart demon sulked, venting his frustration by gnawing through several spirit stones in irritation. 

Yun Zhuoran sat cross-legged nearby, meditating amid the crunching noise. He had made no firm plans before Lu Yu’s arrival—never expecting that after leaving the Tiandao Sect, he would again be treated as a pawn, caught inside yet another web.

Night fell.

Meng Ye, absent all day, finally returned. Learning the Clan Leader was gone, he ignored it and crept toward the courtyard where Li Jianming and the others stayed—unaware that several shadows followed.

Yan Que, returning from outside the city, passed on new orders.

“Once Meng Ye acts, seize the opportunity to capture the two men. As for Li Jianming—let Meng Ye have his fun first.”

The masked Wu clansmen nodded.

By then, Meng Ye had already slipped into the courtyard. 

Yan Que gestured for the others to scatter and quietly followed him.

Inside, the heart demon—lounging beside Yun Zhuoran, chin propped on one hand, a storybook in the other—suddenly wrinkled his nose.

Yun Zhuoran, deep in meditation, didn’t stir.

The heart demon thought for a moment, closed the book, and tiptoed out.

The courtyard was dark. Li Jianming hadn’t moved all day, nor lit a lamp. He sat by the door, staring blankly at the sky, lost in thought.

A hand reached from the shadows and yanked him inside.

Startled, Li Jianming was about to cry out when a low voice said behind him, “It’s me.”

The Little Island Master. Li Jianming blinked and made out two figures waiting in the darkness—one his height, one taller. Before he could speak, he was shoved behind. 

Confused but trusting, he stayed silent.

The heart demon crouched by the doorway. 

Li Jianming followed his gaze through the narrow gap. 

A dim glow flickered from Yun Zhuoran’s room—light glinting off Meng Ye, creeping toward it with deliberate stealth.

At once, Li Jianming understood. His eyes widened in admiration. A night raid! Fortunately, the Little Island Master saw it coming—otherwise, he’d have caught us off guard.

But the heart demon wasn’t interested in admiration. A wisp of black mist slipped from his fingertips, gliding soundlessly across the courtyard to pool at the door.

By then, Meng Ye was almost upon it.

The heart demon suddenly shoved Li Jianming out.

Li Jianming stumbled into the open, stunned. Had the Little Island Master betrayed him? 

Still dazed, he staggered toward the door—and came face-to-face with Meng Ye.

Startled, Meng Ye lunged.

Li Jianming drew his sword—but Meng Ye suddenly convulsed, as if seized by invisible hands, and crashed to the ground at Li Jianming’s feet.

“Ah—!”

The muffled cry was so abrupt that Li Jianming thought it a feint—until he saw two strands of black mist coiled tightly around Meng Ye’s ankles.

Both men froze. Li Jianming’s lips twitched. Pointing his sword at the fallen figure, he muttered, “Was this the Little Island Master’s doing?”

The heart demon crouched beside Meng Ye, smiling faintly.

Choking on dust, Meng Ye regained his senses. Seeing someone approach, he slammed a palm to the floor, flaring his spiritual power with a blade strike. 

Li Jianming reacted instantly, shoving the heart demon aside.

Meng Ye struck the ground, flipped up, and ignored the black mist still twined around his legs. Producing an array plate, he began etching a formation in the air, aura light surging.

Li Jianming knew Meng Ye’s expertise well and dared not step inside. He grabbed the Little Island Master and pulled him out of the room.

The glow within flickered violently. Though half-bound, Meng Ye kept weaving his formation—as long as his target stayed nearby, he could still exert control.

The heart demon, idle now, merely watched with interest as Li Jianming and Meng Ye exchanged blows.

Meanwhile, several masked shadows slipped toward the wing where a faint light glowed. 

Yan Que, hidden in the dark, observed closely, ready to intervene should the man in red make a move. Yet Meng Ye’s actions did not unfold as expected.

The reason was simple—the black mist entwining his legs blended perfectly with the darkness. From afar, no one could tell why he wasn’t advancing.

The heart demon’s attention drifted from the duel. His eyes darkened; he turned toward the wing. 

But before he could reach it, several masked Wu clansmen were hurled screaming from the doorway, collapsing in a heap.

Everyone froze.

A figure appeared beside the Little Island Master. 

His eyes lit up, and he rushed forward. “Brother!”

Yun Zhuoran tapped the heart demon’s forehead lightly, exhaling a quiet sigh. “You promised to protect me. Why were you just watching?”

The heart demon bared his teeth guiltily. “I didn’t think he’d bring so many people. Next time, I swear!”

“I didn’t bring them!” Meng Ye shouted, slashing wildly mid-fight in self-defense.

Yun Zhuoran ignored him. His gaze lifted toward the gate—where Yan Que, hidden among the shadows, suddenly met those cold black eyes.

A chill pierced straight through him. Instinctively, he stepped back.

Before he could retreat farther, Yun Zhuoran flicked his fingers. A thread of pale spiritual energy shot toward him.

Yan Que had taken the white-haired youth for a harmless ornament—elegant, expressionless, no trace of killing intent. He stood his ground, ready to block it.

But when the attack struck, his eyes widened in disbelief.

It pierced his defenses effortlessly.

He slammed into the wall, blood spilling from his mouth as his consciousness spun.

His cultivation was on par with Meng Ye’s—yet he couldn’t even withstand a single, casual strike.

This man… was terrifying.

“…Yan Que?” Yun Zhuoran tilted his head, studying the mask that now hung askew. 

Though his face was mostly hidden, Yun Zhuoran remembered that pallid complexion clearly—from their encounter in the snowy mountains, when he had rescued Wen Jianxian.

Even Meng Ye froze, instantly realizing what had happened. Yan Que and his men had acted without orders, using his name to cover their scheme.

How dare they!

Ignoring Li Jianming, Meng Ye turned his attacks toward Yun Zhuoran instead, summoning a grander array.

A luminous circle descended, enclosing Yun Zhuoran and the Little Island Master.

“Oh?” The heart demon tilted his head, intrigued.

Yun Zhuoran’s eyes flickered. Meng Ye had actually targeted him. But the formation was incomplete. 

He sighed softly and raised his hand.

A pale-golden flame blazed upward, consuming the formation in an instant.

Meng Ye’s strongest array—erased before it could even form.

Instead of rage, a feverish excitement flickered in Meng Ye’s eyes. “It’s you! That fire—it really is yours!”

But before he could continue, a crushing spiritual pressure bore down on him. His knees buckled; he nearly collapsed. Only by clinging to the doorway did he remain upright.

Around him, Wu clansmen dropped to the ground, Yan Que included—all gasping for air.

They stared at the white-robed youth with silver hair, faces pale with awe and fear.

A cultivator utterly beyond their reach.

“I—I can’t take it anymore!” Meng Ye gasped.

The Little Island Master smirked. “Then I’ll take it for you.”

Yun Zhuoran cast him a cold glance. Seeing the black mist still clinging to Meng Ye’s legs, he said quietly, “If your clan leader has grievances, tell him to come to me directly.”

His words were meant for Yan Que.

Meng Ye barked hoarsely, “I was avenging the Great Wuzhu! You angered him this badly—just you wait—!” His rant cut short as the pressure forced him flat to the floor.

Yan Que felt the weight on his chest ease slightly. Realizing Yun Zhuoran had deliberately spared them, he hastily gestured to the others. “Go!”

They scrambled out, trembling. Even as Yan Que fled, he shuddered at the memory of that suffocating power.

Behind him, Meng Ye shouted after them, “What are you running for?! Don’t set anything on fire, damn it—!”

Yan Que only ran faster.

Yun Zhuoran, meanwhile, had not even used the Taiyin True Flame—only a wisp of spiritual suppression. 

Once he confirmed that Li Jianming and the heart demon were unharmed, he withdrew it. The black mist around Meng Ye’s legs dispersed.

Meng Ye remained crouched, dazed. “You’re… not going to kill me?”

Yun Zhuoran glanced at Li Jianming.

Li Jianming sheathed his sword slowly. “How’s your Great Wuzhu after today?”

“I won’t tell you,” Meng Ye said warily. He studied them for a moment; when no attack came, he rose, dusted himself off, and stalked toward the gate. “I wasn’t ready tonight. Next time, I’ll be prepared.” He stopped briefly before Yun Zhuoran, his tone full of grudging defiance. “Especially you—the one who burned me last time.”

Not long after Yan Que and his group fled, Meng Ye also limped out of the courtyard. 

The Wu clansmen on watch took one look at his dark expression and wisely kept their distance.

That night, Fengtian Temple remained eerily calm.

At the Clan Leader’s residence, Yan Changtian had just tucked Xiaoxu into bed when he heard hurried footsteps outside.

He turned—and saw Yan Que, pale and battered, waiting at the door. 

Yan Changtian’s expression darkened. “Was it Li Jianming who did this?”

Yan Que lowered his head. “Not Li Jianming. His companions.”

He recounted the events in full, occasionally clutching his chest as blood rose in his throat. “That white-haired man is terrifying. I’m afraid… he’s no weaker than Wen Jianxian.”

“Who is so strong?” Lan Ge entered just then. The sarcasm in her voice faded as soon as she saw Yan Que’s injuries. “He’s badly hurt.”

Now that they were tied by circumstance, Yan Changtian didn’t hide the truth. “It’s that white-haired youth. We underestimated him. If he’s truly that strong, he’s been concealing his cultivation all along. I’m afraid he came to Wu City with a purpose.”

“I don’t care what purpose he has,” Lan Ge said coldly, though unease flickered in her eyes. “As long as he doesn’t interfere with the ritual.”

“I’m afraid he will,” Yan Changtian said, his face growing grim. “That man and the one in red look exactly alike. Both are powerful—and inseparable. If my guess is right…”

Lan Ge cut him off impatiently. “Spit it out. Who are they?”

Yan Que’s gaze flickered with curiosity as well. Yan Changtian exhaled slowly. “If I’m not mistaken, they’re the two Island Masters of Penglai. If that’s true… we’re in serious trouble.”

“Island Masters of Penglai!” Lan Ge and Yan Que both drew sharp breaths.

Even the distant Wu Clan had heard tales of the Penglai Divine Island  and its masters—especially of Yun Zhuoran, disciple of the Tiandao Sect’s leader, Lord of Penglai Island, and the newly crowned Master of Floating City.

None of them dared take him lightly now.

A heavy silence fell. Then Yan Changtian spoke again. “Where is Su Pengpeng? She was with the Kunwu Sword Sect for years—she might have seen them before.”

Yan Que answered, “Ever since the Great Wuzhu brought her back, she’s been with him constantly.”

Xu Zhichun had been in a foul mood of late. None of them dared to disturb him over this—at least, not yet.

“It’s best not to provoke them for now.” Yan Changtian finally spoke, his expression uneasy. “We’ll have to set aside Li Jianming for the time being. We’ll need the Great Wuzhu’s assistance.”

Yan Que nodded in agreement. 

Lan Ge, in her usual sardonic tone, said, “Yesterday you were talking about sending the Great Wuzhu away, and today you’re depending on him again. Truly fitting—for someone like you.”

Yan Changtian’s face darkened. “If it weren’t absolutely necessary, I wouldn’t disturb the Great Wuzhu again.”

Lan Ge sneered, clearly displeased. “You’re frightened, aren’t you?”

Yan Changtian gave a thin smile instead of denying it. “Aren’t you?”

The three fell silent.

After Meng Ye left, Li Jianming mentioned the matter with a sigh. 

Lighting a candle, he sat opposite Yun Zhuoran and Weiran. “Your identities are practically exposed. It’s only a matter of time. After all, Shen Lingshu escaped long ago—it’s strange you’ve stayed hidden this long.” He gave a short laugh. “Do you think the Wu Clan’s afraid now?”

The heart demon, lounging lazily against Yun Zhuoran’s shoulder, played with his slender, jade-white fingers. “Of course they should be afraid. Next time, I’ll eat them.”

“Don’t,” Yun Zhuoran said mildly. “Wu Clan members are cursed. You can’t.”

“Oh. Fine.” The heart demon obeyed instantly.

Li Jianming listened to their banter, half-smiling. “You two really have been joking around a lot lately.”

Yun Zhuoran only smiled faintly and said nothing.

Suddenly the heart demon sat upright. “Huh?”

“What is it?” Both Yun Zhuoran and Li Jianming tensed immediately.

The heart demon pointed toward the door. “Someone’s coming.”

Yun Zhuoran arched a brow.

Li Jianming’s hand went to his sword as he stood. “Really? Who is it?”

“Me.” A figure stepped through the doorway—red robes, long curls, eyes gleaming faintly gold.

“Senior Lu!” Li Jianming exclaimed. 

Yun Zhuoran and Weiran also rose to greet him.

Lu Yu curved his lips in a faint smile as he strode in, several people following close behind. 

Li Jianming’s expression shifted from surprise to joy. He hurried forward. “Master! Senior Brother! Oh—Young Master Ji, and Young City Lord Yun are here too?”

Before Yun Zhuoran and Weiran could even see clearly, Li Jianming was already calling out names—though he faltered halfway, then brightened again. “Fellow Daoist Song! Wait—this is…”

Another figure entered behind them, draped in a loose black cloak.

Song Shao and Song Yun followed close behind. Beneath the cloak, a glint of scarlet cloth flashed—a slender silhouette framed by the light.

Yun Zhuoran felt an odd sense of familiarity the instant he saw him.

The newcomer lowered his hood, revealing snow-white hair and a pale, arrestingly beautiful face.

Li Jianming’s voice cracked in astonishment. “Penglai Immortal!”

The Penglai Immortal’s luminous eyes curved into crescents. “Little Zhuoran, long time no see.”

Yun Zhuoran and the heart demon exchanged a silent glance, both smiling helplessly. Yun Zhuoran had already said the Penglai Immortal might come—and he had been right.