When the Cannon Fodder Male Supporting Role Picks Up the Script - Chapter 152

The Penglai Immortal had never been one to sit still, and Yun Zhuoran hadn’t wanted him to come at all. But since he was already here, there was no sending him away now. 

Yun Zhuoran could only sigh inwardly as the Penglai Immortal smiled at him with guilt.

His gaze shifted to Ji Ruo, unusually subdued today. Not only him—Yun Shaowei too had his head lowered, looking troubled.

Could it be that both had been bullied by Lu Yu again?

In truth, Yun Zhuoran was overthinking. As soon as he looked over, Yun Shaowei automatically took out a letter and handed it to him with a dejected expression.

“Uncle,” he said quietly, “Yun City is under siege by the Tian Dao Sect. My father and aunt haven’t been able to leave. This letter came through the Demon Palace before the blockade—it’s for you.”

Yun Zhuoran froze. He already knew that Young Master Yin had died in Yun City, and the Tian Dao Sect would not rest until they took revenge. But to receive news of the siege now—just as he was in Wu City—was too well-timed to be coincidence.

This was deliberate. Yun Duo’s move against Yun City, coinciding with his presence in Wu City, was clearly meant to divide his attention.

Spare the Fengtian Temple, and Yun City would be safe.

Sensing his hesitation, Ji Ruo frowned sharply. He snatched the letter from Yun Shaowei’s hands, shoved it into Yun Zhuoran’s, and said stubbornly, “My uncle only told you to take care of me and my cousin! He never said we had to go back! Don’t worry—Yun City is trapped, but my father will definitely save my mother!”

The heart demon slapped Ji Ruo’s hand aside, took the letter, unfolded it, skimmed through, and passed it to Yun Zhuoran.

While Yun Zhuoran read, Yun Shaowei clasped Ji Ruo’s wrist and said earnestly, “This was all arranged by my father. Uncle, don’t worry. If we were meant to return, I wouldn’t have come to Wu City in the first place.”

Ji Ruo glared at the heart demon, his voice firm but trembling with emotion. “What’s the Tian Dao Sect compared to my father? Yun City has him to protect it! Yun Zhuoran, I’m warning you—don’t let that venomous woman Yun Duo manipulate you! If you abandon Wu City now, I’ll never forgive you! We must destroy the Fengtian Temple first—only then can we save Yun City!”

While the two boys argued, Yun Zhuoran finished reading the letter. 

It was indeed Yun Tianqing’s handwriting, but it said nothing about any siege. It only entrusted Ji Ruo and Yun Shaowei to his care—nothing else.

He fell silent for a long moment, then quietly tucked the letter away.

When he looked up, Ji Ruo was glaring at him again.

“What! Are you thinking of going back?” Ji Ruo asked anxiously, afraid Yun Zhuoran really would rush to Yun City. “Even if we leave Wu City now, who can guarantee that Yun Duo will actually make the Tian Dao Sect retreat? My mother always said Yun Duo will never let us go! We won’t let her use us again. Besides, Yun City and Wu City are so far apart—by now, my father’s probably already brought the Demon Palace to Yun City to help. We don’t need you!”

Before Yun Zhuoran could answer, Ji Ruo had already spoken both his fears and his pride. It was clear Yun Fushuang and Yun Tianqing had prepared him for this conversation before sending him away from Yun City.

The heart demon frowned, covering his ears. “Noisy.”

Ji Ruo winced and fell silent, but his eyes were still full of worry as he repeated stubbornly that Yun Zhuoran must not leave.

“I understand,” Yun Zhuoran said calmly.

His gaze shifted toward Li Jianming and the others chatting in the corner.

Ji Ruo eyed him suspiciously. “You ‘understand’? What does that mean?”

Yun Zhuoran only chuckled softly and didn’t reply.

Ji Ruo blinked, then turned away quickly, his face red. He had almost been deceived by Yun Zhuoran’s expression.

Still, after venting, both boys looked visibly more at ease.

Lu Yu, setting aside his arrogance, squeezed in beside Penglai Immortal and sat down—though he was a head shorter. “I received a letter from Xian’er just before I left, so I waited another day,” he said casually to Yun Zhuoran. Then, turning to the Penglai Immortal, he spread his hands. “See? I told you they’d be fine. I protected them before, didn’t I? I’m not like Yun Peiran—I actually keep my promises.”

Whether or not he had truly protected anyone, Yun Zhuoran didn’t expose him. It was obvious Lu Yu wanted to take credit. He and the Penglai Immortal were clearly close, though Yun Peiran’s name still lay unspoken between them.

Yun Zhuoran was curious, but now wasn’t the time. 

He gently pulled Weiran to sit down beside him.

Seeing Yun Zhuoran’s faintly sullen expression, the Penglai Immortal hurried to explain, guilt written all over his face. “I heard you say brother went to Fengtian Temple before he disappeared, so I came to see for myself.” As he spoke, he glanced nervously at Yun Zhuoran, afraid of angering him.

The heart demon wrapped an arm possessively around Yun Zhuoran and pouted. “Don’t look at him like that.”

Penglai Immortal blinked. “Why not?”

“MY brother,” the heart demon declared solemnly.

Penglai Immortal didn’t quite catch the meaning. “He’s also my little master.”

Yun Zhuoran, long used to Weiran’s behavior, immediately recognized the challenge in Penglai Immortal’s words. This was, after all, a reunion between old acquaintances—and clearly, both were trying to stake their claim.

Suppressing a laugh, Yun Zhuoran patted the heart demon’s back, gently pushed him aside, and turned toward Wen Jianxian and his three disciples, who had just entered.

“Master Wen.”

Wen Jianxian nodded. “Ming’er has always been impulsive. I must trouble the Young Island Master to forgive him for these past few days.”

By now, Lu Yu had already cast a sound barrier over the courtyard to prevent eavesdropping. 

Yun Zhuoran didn’t waste time and gestured for everyone to sit.

Lu Yu leaned back lazily. “What happened to you? Did they lock you up?”

“It’s a long story,” Yun Zhuoran said, but Li Jianming interjected quickly, “Allow me.”

Yun Zhuoran inclined his head. 

Li Jianming recounted everything that had happened in Wu City. When he finished, he sighed. “Because of me, my adoptive father is in an impossible position.”

Lu Yu tutted. “Who would’ve thought Xu Zhichun was actually the Wu Clan’s Great Wuzhu.”

The room fell silent.

The Penglai Immortal, unfamiliar with the name, asked, “Then what now? Little Zhuoran, is brother really inside Fengtian Temple?”

“Not confirmed,” Yun Zhuoran said, glancing at the heart demon. “We’ve been there, but Weiran didn’t sense his presence.”

The Penglai Immortal’s eyes dimmed. “Then… he’s probably not there.”

Yun Zhuoran didn’t answer. Instead, he turned to Wen Jianxian. “Master Wen, are you planning to return to Kunwu Sword Sect?”

Wen Jianxian shook his head. “I came not only to retrieve my disciples but also to save the children captured by the Wu Clan. According to our findings, over a hundred have already perished, and more than two hundred remain unaccounted for. I suspect they’re still held somewhere within the Wu Clan’s territory.”

The number made everyone’s faces darken. Even Ji Ruo and Yun Shaowei fell silent.

Wen Jianxian continued evenly, “With the Young Island Master, Senior Lu, and Senior Penglai Immortal all here, how could we miss this opportunity? If we destroy the Fengtian Temple and free the Wu Clan from the curse, it would benefit all under heaven.”

Lu Yu snorted. “You’re just trying to drag us in. If you want our help, at least make it sound nice. Why should we do it for free?”

Wen Jianxian’s tone remained mild. “Senior Lu knows well that no reward from the Sword Sect could tempt guests of Penglai.”

“Then flatter me,” Lu Yu said. “I might consider helping.”

Li Jianming jumped in eagerly. “Then I’ll do it! Esteemed Seniors, please lend us your aid!”

Lu Yu waved him off. “Too loud. Go cry somewhere else. Your old-fashioned master’s more pleasant to talk to.”

Wen Jianxian smiled faintly, unfazed.

Lu Yu leaned toward the Penglai Immortal, muttering something incomprehensible. The Penglai Immortal only looked at him, confused.

Wen Jianxian turned to Yun Zhuoran. “Young Island Master, what’s your plan for Fengtian Temple?”

He already understood that Yun Zhuoran’s target was not merely the temple, but the root of its influence.

“Deal with the Wu Clan first,” Yun Zhuoran said calmly.

“How?” Wen Jianxian asked.

“The full moon.”

Wen Jianxian’s eyes sharpened. “When the full moon rises, the curse will reactivate. They’ll be at their weakest.”

The heart demon muttered, “Taking advantage of their weakness?”

Everyone turned toward him, but Yun Zhuoran only smiled faintly.

Wen Jianxian nodded. “The Sword Sect planned the same. We just didn’t have the strength to act sooner.”

Pei Heng warned quietly, “If we want to save the captives, we might not be able to wait that long.”

Lu Yu tapped his chin. “True. It’s only the first of the month—we can’t sit here doing nothing.”

The Penglai Immortal sat upright, hands folded neatly in his lap. Seeing the silence stretch on, he asked softly, “Then… what should we do now?”

He, Song Shao, and Song Yun were new to this and had no grasp of Wu City’s inner workings.

“I have news,” Yun Zhuoran said. “The day after tomorrow, all Wu Clan children under ten will undergo the final blood transfusion to break the curse. At noon, they’ll be gathered in Fengtian Temple for the Saintess’s blessing.”

“The final break?” Lu Yu raised an eyebrow. “And where did you learn that?”

The heart demon leaned lazily against Yun Zhuoran’s shoulder. “Someone from the Wu Clan tried to ambush us earlier. One of them—Meng Ye, who’s connected to Xu Zhichun—told us himself before leaving.”

No one commented on the heart demon’s familiar closeness with Yun Zhuoran—they were long used to it. But hearing Xu Zhichun’s name again after the recent fallout drew every gaze toward Li Jianming.

Li Jianming smiled faintly. “Meng Ye wouldn’t have told us that unless it was my adoptive father’s will.”

Lu Yu asked, “Can we trust it?”

Wen Jianxian added, “And what does he want from us in return?”

Yun Zhuoran wasn’t surprised. He had asked Meng Ye the same question, and the man’s answer had been steady and unwavering—

“For the Wu Clan’s survival.”

Lu Yu muttered, “The Wu Clan destroyed itself long ago, yet he still clings to saving them…”

The Penglai Immortal said coldly, “If he were truly as noble as they claim, he should have abandoned the Wu Clan’s burden long ago.”

Lu Yu shook his head. “He isn’t just the Wu Clan’s Great Wuzhu—he’s also a priest of the Fengtian Temple. Most of what we know about him is rumor. Now that he’s clearly aligned with the Wu Clan, are you sure you can still trust his word?”

Li Jianming frowned, his lips parting slightly as if to defend Xu Zhichun, but in the end he said nothing. His gaze swept across the others, yet no one spoke—not even Yun Zhuoran.

No one believed in his adoptive father?

Li Jianming lowered his head, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“I believe him.” The quiet voice belonged to Wen Jianxian. 

Li Jianming’s head snapped up, disbelief and relief flashing in his eyes. 

Wen Jianxian met his gaze steadily and said, “I trust Xu Zhichun. I’ve known him for many years, lived and fought beside him for many more. He’s not the kind of man who would betray what matters most—least of all you, Ming’er.”

“Master…?” Li Jianming’s voice trembled.

Wen Jianxian continued, calm as ever. “Your adoptive father has only one child. His affection for you runs deeper than you think. No position or oath could change that.”

His master’s tone was composed, almost detached, yet warmth welled quietly in Li Jianming’s chest.

“If no one has any objections,” Yun Zhuoran said evenly, “then it’s decided.”

Lu Yu stared at him. “Did you even give us a chance to object?”

Yun Zhuoran and the heart demon both turned toward him, their identical dark eyes steady and unreadable. They didn’t say a word, but the weight of their silence spoke for itself.

Penglai Immortal blinked, glancing between them in confusion, while Lu Yu clicked his tongue, slumped back down in his seat, and muttered, “Fine. Then tell me what you want me to do.”

“The Wu Clan and the Fengtian Temple intend to use Xu Zhichun to keep us in check,” Yun Zhuoran said, his tone cool and measured. “But Xu Zhichun himself is also their weakness. If we move carefully, we can turn him into our advantage.”

Li Jianming frowned slightly at that, uneasy, but chose not to interrupt.

The rest followed Yun Zhuoran’s lead without protest.

Unable to sit still through the long planning, Ji Ruo clenched his fists and burst out, “Whatever! As long as we’re fighting the Fengtian Temple, my cousin and I will fight with you!”

The words were more like a brawler’s challenge than a pledge of loyalty. 

Yun Shaowei glanced at him, the corner of his mouth twitching, but he still nodded firmly.

Yun Zhuoran looked at the two young men, then turned to Wen Jianxian and his disciples. 

Wen Jianxian’s lips curved faintly. “I’ll follow the Young Island Master’s lead.”

That evening, Meng Ye returned to Fengtian Temple later than Yan Que. 

Before stepping into Xu Zhichun’s quarters, he straightened his rumpled robe and hair. Just then, a voice called from the courtyard.

“Great Wuzhu, I’ve finished planting!”

It was Meng Zhou, filthy and covered in dust, crouching in a newly cleared patch of soil with a shovel in hand. He was planting herbs in the temple courtyard in the middle of the night. 

Meng Ye cursed inwardly—idiot.

Xu Zhichun came out just then and handed Meng Zhou a cup of water himself.

Meng Zhou flushed scarlet, accepted it, and eagerly hurried off to fetch the watering jar. 

Xu Zhichun crouched to inspect the tender seedlings, unconcerned that his robe brushed the damp earth.

Meng Ye was about to enter when he stopped short. 

Su Pengpeng stepped out of the hall and approached Xu Zhichun.

Xu Zhichun straightened, brushing the soil from his hands. “This is a medicinal herb I’ve searched for a long time. I asked a friend to help me find it. When it matures, I’ll add it to a new prescription. It may not break the curse, but it can at least ease the pain.”

“But Great Wuzhu,” Su Pengpeng said, “the Clan Leader has already found a way to break the curse.”

“His method works only for children under ten,” Xu Zhichun replied coldly. Pointing at the small pits in the soil, he said, “Have you forgotten the rest? The abandoned ones. Meng Ye, Meng Zhou—people like you.”

“We don’t matter,” Su Pengpeng said flatly. “What matters is the Wu Clan’s future.”

“Whether you matter or not isn’t yours to decide.” Xu Zhichun’s gaze sharpened. “Can you speak for them?”

Su Pengpeng faltered, her smile fading.

“In my eyes, those standing before me matter most,” Xu Zhichun said firmly. “If you can’t even protect the present, what ‘future’ are you talking about? You’ll only regret it later.”

Su Pengpeng lowered her head, silent.

Just then, Meng Ye coughed and stepped in, drawing their attention. He was pale and disheveled. 

Xu Zhichun hurried forward to support him. “Where have you been? What happened?”

“I sparred with Yan Que,” Meng Ye said lightly, glancing at Su Pengpeng. He winced and let Xu Zhichun guide him inside. “Great Wuzhu, I think I’ve injured my knee.”

“Let me see.” Xu Zhichun frowned and led him past Su Pengpeng. As they disappeared into the inner room, his voice drifted back. “If you want to leave, then go. But don’t regret your choice later.”

Su Pengpeng stiffened. Meng Ye cried out in pain, diverting Xu Zhichun’s attention, and she left without another word.

Watching her departing back, Meng Ye muttered, “Why waste your breath on her? They don’t care whether we live or die.”

“If they don’t care, then I do,” Xu Zhichun said quietly, settling Meng Ye down. 

The wound was shallow, but he treated it with care. 

Meng Ye’s eyes glistened. “I’ve always believed in you. Use me for your trials as many times as you need. As long as you’re here, the Wu Clan still has hope.”

Xu Zhichun only gave him a sidelong look. “Stay put. If anything happens, call Meng Zhou. I’ll fetch the medicine.”

Meng Ye lowered his head, muttering, “Those outsiders are despicable. They beat me, took what they wanted, and still refused my terms.”

Xu Zhichun paused, then patted his shoulder. “Don’t brood. It’s just a small wound.”

When he left, Meng Ye sat hugging his knees, looking pitiful. 

Xu Zhichun smiled faintly at the sight, but once outside, the smile vanished. His face darkened with guilt.

Over a hundred years ago, Meng Ye had volunteered to test his medicines. Even now, Xu Zhichun still had not found a cure. The early, unrefined prescriptions had left Meng Ye with injuries that would never fully heal.

And yet Meng Ye still believed in him. Most of the Wu Clan still did.

Later that night, Yun Zhuoran and Weiran returned to the Floating City, giving their rooms to Ji Ruo, Song Shao, and the others. 

Penglai Immortal and Lu Yu followed—both first-time visitors, the former full of curiosity, the latter quietly intrigued.

After settling the newcomers, Yun Zhuoran withdrew. Their cultivation levels were so high that even the Penglai Immortal could sense his presence at once, leaving no risk of his heart demon losing control. 

It was already late, and Yun Zhuoran intended to take Weiran back to the City Lord’s Mansion to rest. 

But when he turned, he found Weiran unusually quiet.

“What’s wrong?” Yun Zhuoran asked. For a moment, his heart sank—was Weiran jealous again because he had brought others into the Floating City?

Weiran looked at him with faint distress, then suddenly wrapped his arms around his waist. “Brother, why haven’t Penglai Immortal and Song Shao asked about us? Are we not close enough?”

Yun Zhuoran hadn’t expected that. 

Suppressing a laugh, he asked, “Weiran wants to tell everyone that we’ll be Dao companions in the future?”

“Yes. But they won’t ask. How am I supposed to tell them that you’re my Dao companion—and that I’ll protect you from now on?”

Amused and touched, Yun Zhuoran said, “Penglai Immortal doesn’t know, but Lu Yu does. They came in a rush and haven’t noticed. If Weiran wants them to know sooner, he can tell them himself.”

Weiran’s eyes brightened. “But I want to hear you say it—tell everyone that Weiran is your future Dao companion, your only Dao companion.”

Yun Zhuoran’s eyes widened slightly. His heart demon was getting bolder. 

Then, with complete seriousness, Weiran added, “Brother, Weiran isn’t happy today. Can you give him an extra kiss before bed?”

Yun Zhuoran pinched his cheek. “You’re getting ambitious, heart demon.”

Weiran leaned closer, smiling like a spoiled child. “Please, Brother?”

Yun Zhuoran sighed, at a loss for words. He truly didn’t know who had taught his heart demon to become this shameless.

Reality did not disappoint him. The next morning, when Penglai Immortal went to the City Lord’s Mansion to find Yun Zhuoran, he discovered the two still sharing a room. 

Before he could enter, Lu Yu stopped him—and so he, too, learned of their closeness.

From that day, Penglai Immortal followed Yun Zhuoran and Weiran like a restless spirit, his thoughts in chaos. 

How could the two have become Dao companions so quickly? The last time he saw them, Yun Zhuoran had already startled him with that affectionate, lovestruck demon who looked exactly like him. Now, they had truly embraced one another.

The plan to find a Dao companion for the Young Island Master was finished. The Young Island Master would never take another.

The gentle boy he once remembered as “Little Zhuoran” was gone forever.

When the group emerged from the Floating City, Penglai Immortal gloomily shared the news with Song Shao and Song Yun. Yet the two only nodded, unbothered—as if it were perfectly natural.

That made Penglai Immortal, who hadn’t left Penglai Island in centuries, begin to question his own worldview. He seemed to be the only one shocked, like some out-of-place rustic.

Thanks to Lu Yu’s barrier and the warning Yun Zhuoran had given Yan Changtian, no one disturbed the courtyard during the following two days. Even the Clan Leader’s own household stayed cautious. 

Yet the stillness only confirmed Yun Zhuoran’s suspicions—their identities were already exposed. The Wu Clan’s silence was merely the calm before a storm.

That unease lingered until Wen Jianxian suddenly appeared in Wu City, demanding the Wu Clan hand over his disciple.

His open declaration sent the entire city into uproar. The ordinary clansmen dared not face him and hurried to report to the Clan Leader.

At that time, Yan Changtian was escorting his young son to the temple for the Saintess’s blessing. 

When the news reached him, his expression changed instantly. 

So did Lan Ge’s beside him. They ordered their men to seek Xu Zhichun’s aid at once.

Lan Ge gave him a cold look. “You call yourself ashamed before the Great Wuzhu, yet you’re the first to push him forward whenever trouble comes.”

Yan Changtian’s tone was grim. “We meant to keep this from him, but now it’s the perfect reason to move him away.” He covered the child’s ears and said softly, “It’s late. We should enter the temple. Wen Jianxian appearing now, of all times, can only mean one thing—only the Great Wuzhu can stop him. I just hope we’re not too late. Once the curse is broken, take the children away.”

For once, Lan Ge did not argue. “Your son—this little crybaby—is a nuisance. You should send the children yourself.”

With that, she strode down the corridor toward the towering statue.

According to their original plan, she was supposed to be the one escorting the children to safety and continuing the clan’s bloodline. But his words had shifted the task onto Yan Changtian instead.

Yan Changtian watched his retreating back for a moment, then followed with the boy in his arms. Despite his anxiety, he forced a gentle smile. “Xiao Xu, listen well to the Saintess’s words. Once the curse is lifted, you’ll feel no more pain.”

The boy nodded, trusting his father completely.

Near noon, in Wu City’s central square, Wen Jianxian swept his sleeve, driving back the Wu clansmen. Standing alone, sword aura radiating cold and awe, he made even the boldest hesitate to take a step.

When Xu Zhichun and Meng Ye arrived, they saw one man facing hundreds—unshaken.

Amidst the murmurs of the Great Wu Masters, Xu Zhichun walked forward, momentarily dazed at the sight. “I never thought the day would come when Sect Master Wen would stand against me.”

“If the Wu Clan hadn’t fallen to evil—if you were not their Great Wuzhu…” Wen Jianxian’s voice carried both grief and resolve. He lifted his hand, releasing a surge of cold sword energy. “Since it has come to this, Pavilion Master Xu—let us begin.”