When the Cannon Fodder Male Supporting Role Picks Up the Script - Chapter 153

When Yan Changtian and his companions arrived at the temple, hundreds of people had already gathered in the vast courtyard outside. 

Alongside the Fengtian Temple guards stood more than a hundred Wu Clan children under the age of ten, surrounded by their anxious families.

Yan Changtian had told Xu Zhichun that these families had long been sent to the downstream tribe. In truth, they had remained here all along—close to Xu Zhichun—awaiting the day they would supposedly leave the Wu Clan and begin new lives once the curse was lifted.

Perhaps because they were about to embark on a long journey, many clansmen carried luggage. Among them were a number of selected cultivators with solid foundations, prepared to rebuild the Wu Clan elsewhere.

The temple gates were tightly shut. Yan Changtian set his youngest son down, patted his head, and told him gently to play with his friends.

 Watching the boy toddle away, Lan Ge, standing beside him, frowned at the closed gates.

“The Saintess hasn’t appeared yet, and it’s nearly noon. Is it too late?”

“We’ll wait a little longer,” Yan Changtian said, though worry clouded his face. “We didn’t want to alarm the Great Wuzhu or let him know what’s happening today. Everyone has been hiding this from him. But Wen Jianxian’s sudden arrival today… I can only hope the Great Wuzhu can hold him off.”

Lan Ge’s frown deepened. “That’s uncertain. The Great Wuzhu’s cultivation is no longer what it once was. He even struggled to block my arrow that day.” She sighed. “I have a bad feeling. Could the Great Wuzhu truly have failed to notice the children all this time? Even if Li Jianming distracted him, Meng Ye guards the temple day and night. What if he’s already discovered something?”

“You’re overthinking it,” Yan Changtian said evenly. “Meng Ye doesn’t interfere in others’ affairs. As long as the Saintess is present, he won’t approach the temple. If the Great Wuzhu had truly known, those children would have been rescued long ago.”

Lan Ge shook her head. “No. Given the current situation, even if the Great Wuzhu knows, he might not confront us.”

“We’ve already wronged him too deeply,” Yan Changtian murmured.

His words silenced Lan Ge. After a long pause, Lan Ge lowered her head and whispered, “Great Wuzhu… please hold on a little longer.”

Yan Changtian’s expression grew bleak. Noon was still a quarter of an hour away.

Could Xu Zhichun really withstand Wen Jianxian, a half-step Mahayana cultivator capable of challenging true Mahayana experts? Even if Xu Zhichun had once stood at that height, he was now only in the late Nascent Soul stage. Holding on for a quarter of an hour would be too much to hope for.

Inside the gates, Yun Duo knelt before the statue. Her subordinates had just reported Wen Jianxian’s incursion into Wu City.

Fengtian Temple had long merged with the Wu Clan, and the Saintess was as aware of the city’s movements as the Clan Leader himself. Yet even after hearing the news, she remained still. 

Her silence stretched so long that one subordinate finally ventured, “Saintess?”

Yun Duo spoke slowly. “I see. Has Shen Lingshu still not returned?”

“No.”

“What a useless creature,” Yun Duo said coldly. She fastened a veil adorned with silver bells over her face, concealing the faint scar on her cheek. Then, lifting her skirt slightly, she rose and looked up at the statue. “Everyone is here. Let’s begin.”

The subordinate hesitated, startled. “But it’s not yet noon!”

“The Wu Clan is ready,” Yun Duo said flatly. “We’ll begin early.” She turned toward the temple gates, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Wen Jianxian has arrived. He’s likely already at the shrine.”

The subordinate bowed and signaled for the gates to open.

The heavy doors creaked apart, sunlight spilling across the courtyard. 

The gathered clansmen fell silent, faces alight with tense excitement. At the priest’ signal, they began to file into the temple.

Yan Changtian and Lan Ge both exhaled in relief. Calling their son back, they prepared to follow.

But before they could step forward, Yan Que came running, his voice low and shaking with urgency. “Clan Leader, Li Jianming has escaped! He’s already met Wen Jianxian!”

The relief on their faces vanished instantly.

“Where is Wen Jianxian now?” Lan Ge demanded. “Did he leave with him? What about the High Priest?”

Yan Que’s expression darkened. “They haven’t left Wu City. They stopped the Great Wuzhu and are demanding he hand over the foreign children we captured.”

“So they don’t intend to come here?” Lan Ge muttered. “Good. Better if they stay away.”

Yan Changtian had the same thought and almost relaxed—until realization struck. His eyes widened. “Wait. You said Li Jianming escaped—what about the two Penglai Island Masters who were with him? Where are they now?”

Yan Que froze.

“Wen Jianxian would never come to Wu City alone!” Lan Ge said sharply.

Yan Changtian’s expression turned grim. “Send more people to search. Pray they don’t come here.” The idea of those two powerful figures loose in the city made even him uneasy. “We can only hope the Saintess finishes the blessing quickly.”

Yan Que hurried off toward the outer shrine.

Just as he passed the gate, a dark shadow flickered at the edge of his vision. He stopped, turned sharply, but the guards stood trembling in place. Nothing seemed wrong. Frowning, he rubbed his temple—perhaps nerves were getting to him.

“Who’s there?!” The guards’ sudden shout snapped his head around. 

Several cultivators were chasing a white-robed figure. 

Shocked, Yan Que sprinted back toward the inner hall—but by the time he arrived, the cultivators were already lying unconscious on the floor. The white-robed intruder had vanished.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted a fresh sword mark carved into the base of a statue. 

His face went pale. “Not good…”

Lan Ge’s earlier words echoed in his mind—Wen Jianxian definitely didn’t come alone. That sword mark could only belong to the Sword Sect.

But the intruder was gone.

Yan Que’s face grew darker. Gritting his teeth, he ran deeper into Fengtian Temple.

The moment he left, Ji Ruo and the others hiding among the flowers exhaled in relief.

Ji Ruo patted his chest, but before he could speak, Yun Shaowei grabbed his wrist. “Stay close to Senior Penglai Immortal,” he whispered. “If we stray outside his spell range, we’ll be exposed.”

Ji Ruo muttered an obedient “oh,” glancing toward the Penglai group ahead.

Penglai Immortal crouched behind a column, peering at Yan Que. His silver hair spilled across his crimson robe, the faint light reflecting off his fine, otherworldly features. 

Ji Ruo couldn’t help but stare, a mix of admiration and envy stirring in his heart—why were all the Penglai people so effortlessly beautiful? Worst of all was Yun Zhuoran, handsome and untouchable both.

Penglai Immortal moved with elegant leisure, following Pei Heng, Song Shao, and Song Yun toward the temple’s interior. 

Ji Ruo nearly gave away their position watching him, but Yun Shaowei yanked him back in time.

Fortunately, Yan Que never noticed that the fleeing white figure was not the same shadow he’d glimpsed before.

The group trailed him quietly until he stopped before a massive stone beast deep within the temple. Yan Que pressed his palm to it, and the beast shifted aside, revealing a hidden passage beneath. 

Without hesitation, he entered. The entrance sealed itself, and the beast returned to its original form.

At that moment, another white figure appeared near their hiding spot—Pei Heng, Wen Jianxian’s eldest disciple. 

Sword in hand, he bowed to Penglai Immortal.

Penglai Immortal raised a hand toward the stone beast. “Xiao Zhuoran was right. There really is an underground palace here.” He lifted the compass Lu Yu had given him. “The signal is coming from below.”

Pei Heng said firmly, “The children are down there.”

They were searching for the foreign children the Wu Clan had captured.

Wen Jianxian’s arrival had thrown Wu City into chaos, drawing every eye away from Fengtian Temple. Taking advantage of the distraction, they had slipped into the temple undetected.

Their certainty that the captives were hidden here came largely from Meng Ye. He had told them that Xu Zhichun had been secretly investigating the missing children since his return—information gathered through his own quiet observation. 

Meng Ye and Meng Zhou, who had lived in Wu City for years, knew the clan’s movements well.

Meng Ye believed the Wu children had never been sent away. He had overheard that Yun Duo intended to hold a prayer ceremony today for the final blood transfusion ritual. Though Yan Changtian claimed the children had been sent downstream two nights ago, they had in fact been hidden within the temple. No one in Wu City had moved for days—not even Lan Ge, who had stayed inside the temple until the ceremony began. It was clear now that the Wu children were here—and the foreign children whose blood sustained them could not be far.

The second clue came from the heart demon, who had sensed an unusually heavy scent of blood lingering around the temple. If it wasn’t above ground, it had to be buried below.

Penglai Immortal and his companions had hesitated at first, but after following Yan Que into the depths of Fengtian Temple, they finally saw the Wu children with their own eyes. Only then did they fully believe Meng Ye’s words.

Song Shao whispered, “That clansman just revealed the entrance by accident. Before he realizes what’s happening, we need to get down there and rescue them.”

“Yes, yes! By the time he reacts, it’ll be too late!” Penglai Immortal clenched his fists, excitement flashing in his eyes. “Let’s go!”

Song Shao and Song Yun exchanged faint smiles, as though humoring him.

Pei Heng quickly examined the stone beast. 

After some effort, the passage reopened. Firelight flickered faintly below, but no guards were visible. They seized the chance and descended.

The underground palace was far larger than expected, branching into countless tunnels. The magical tools Penglai Immortal had borrowed from Lu Yu failed to function here. 

After wandering through several turns without progress, they agreed to split up. Penglai Immortal continued with Song Shao and Song Yun, while Pei Heng took Yun Shaowei and Ji Ruo.

Pei Heng barely knew the two younger men, and old misunderstandings involving Su Pengpeng made the air tense. Even so, their division was sound—Song Shao and Song Yun’s cultivation matched that of Yun Shaowei and Ji Ruo, and the latter pair carried plenty of protective treasures. The teams were balanced.

They moved in silence through the narrow tunnels. After avoiding several dead ends, they finally heard faint voices ahead. As they crept closer to a stone chamber, the sound suddenly stopped.

The three exchanged wary looks. Pei Heng tightened his grip on his sword and was about to enter when a hand caught his hilt.

Startled, he turned.

“Don’t go in. It’s a trap.” The voice was calm and familiar to two of them—but not to him.

“Su—!” Ji Ruo almost blurted out the name, but Yun Shaowei clapped a hand over his mouth.

Su Pengpeng gave them only a glance, released Pei Heng’s sword, and strode toward a side passage. “Follow me.”

As she passed, Su Pengpeng’s fingers brushed the edge of his purple gauze sleeve. His eyes flickered briefly with recognition before he followed, sword in hand.

Yun Shaowei tugged Ji Ruo after him and shoved Pei Heng forward, snapping him back to focus. Together, they slipped into the shadows behind Su Pengpeng.

Su Pengpeng spoke briskly as they moved. “There’s no one in that chamber—only formations. This entire underground palace is filled with traps. You were about to walk straight into one. Take this path and go forward—you’ll reach a way out.” She stopped at a fork and pointed to a narrow tunnel.

Pei Heng didn’t move. “You sided with the Wu Clan. Why help us now?”

Yun Shaowei also watched her warily.

Su Pengpeng hesitated, eyes darting away. “The road is there. Whether you take it or not is your choice.” She turned to leave.

Pei Heng grabbed her arm. “You still haven’t said—”

A cold voice interrupted him. “So there really was a rat sneaking around.”

Yan Que emerged from behind, his face pale and grim.

Pei Heng’s expression hardened. He drew his sword at once—but Yan Que struck first, without a word. 

In the narrow tunnel, there was barely space to dodge; sword-light scraped the walls, sparks scattering like ice.

Yan Que’s attacks were sharp and relentless. Injured and only at the Nascent Soul stage, Pei Heng quickly fell behind. 

Just as a claw-shaped strike arced toward his chest, a purple shadow rushed forward, shoving him aside.

Su Pengpeng stepped between them.

Her veil and hair were torn loose by the wind. The moment Yan Que saw her face, his expression changed drastically—he withdrew his attack in panic. But Su Pengpeng seized the opening and countered with a flurry of strikes. Within moments, the cold wind dissipated, and Yan Que stood frozen, unable to move.

Her eyes flickered with guilt. “Thank you for holding back. I’m sorry.”

Then she seized Pei Heng’s wrist and pulled him along the path she had shown. 

Yun Shaowei hesitated only briefly before dragging Ji Ruo after them.

Only when they had gone far did Su Pengpeng release Pei Heng’s hand. His gaze had softened—not anger now, but something more complex.

At last, they reached a massive stone door. A blood-red beast was carved across its surface, the only path forward through its open jaws.

Su Pengpeng stopped. “Beyond this is the central hall. The traps thin out past here. I don’t know where the children are—you’ll have to find them yourselves.”

“You’re not coming?” Pei Heng frowned.

“I am Wu Clan.”

Ji Ruo blurted out, “But you just saved us! Won’t your clan call you a traitor?”

Su Pengpeng’s face was calm, unreadable. “I won’t leave.”

Before Pei Heng could argue, shouts echoed down the tunnel. “They’re here! After them!”

“They’ve found us!” Yun Shaowei cried.

Su Pengpeng didn’t hesitate. She pushed the stone door open. “Go! And remember—doors like this are often traps. Be careful.”

Pei Heng caught her hand, refusing to move. “Then come with us!”

The footsteps behind them grew louder. Yun Shaowei pushed Ji Ruo through the door. Su Pengpeng frowned, then abruptly shoved Pei Heng in as well.

A flash of silver light cut through the air. Her body trembled; color drained from her face.

“Junior Sister!” Pei Heng shouted, catching her hand.

Her lips curved faintly. “This time, I’ll call it my duty to save the children.”

She tore her hand free, slammed the door shut, and sealed it from the outside.

“Junior Sister!” Pei Heng pounded on the door, but it didn’t move.

Outside, Su Pengpeng leaned against the cold stone, blood flowing down her back. 

The sword in her hand clattered to the ground. Her vision blurred as the approaching Wu clansmen—and Yan Que—closed in. Yet there was no despair on her face, only quiet release.

Meanwhile, in another corridor, Penglai Immortal had found the captives. Using Lu Yu’s half-functional artifact, he peered through a crack into a vast stone chamber. 

Inside were at least ten cultivators of the Deity Transformation stage—some Wu Clan, others outsiders.

Iron cages lined the walls. The faint cries of children echoed through the air.

But what stopped his breath was the pool of blood at the center. Above it hung two small figures, drenched in crimson, their bodies limp, blood still dripping from their wrists and ankles.

Even a single glance was enough to chill the soul.

After surveying the scene, Penglai Immortal’s voice was low and steady. “I’ll go first. You two follow after a moment.”

Having traveled with him for some time, Song Shao and Song Yun knew that tone. Penglai Immortal rarely lost his composure—but in front of this, no one could remain calm.

The two nodded, exchanging grim looks.

Penglai Immortal stepped into the chamber alone. 

Song Shao and Song Yun waited until the noise inside faded before following. Even prepared, the sight that met them turned their faces ashen.

Dozens of blood-soaked children huddled inside iron cages. Beneath each cage ran a narrow groove, channeling their blood into the central pool, drop by drop, until it nearly overflowed.

How many lives would it take to fill a pool ten feet wide?

The only mercy was that the chamber’s cultivators now lay motionless—Penglai Immortal had already struck, leaving none alive.

“Don’t just stand there—open the cages!” he ordered sharply.

The two immediately moved. 

Penglai Immortal had already lowered the two hanging bodies. Their small frames were ice-cold, wrists and ankles sliced, throats faintly marred by blades. They were long dead—drained dry.

“That’s enough,” Penglai Immortal murmured. He gently closed their eyes. “You won’t hurt anymore.”

Song Shao and Song Yun exchanged wordless looks and began unlocking the cages.

But the imprisoned children only shrank away, huddled in terror, too broken even to move. Even when the doors opened, none dared step out. The two could only continue, one cage at a time.

Behind one, they found a pile of small corpses—more than a dozen—stacked carelessly together. Each bore the same shallow wounds, drained dry before they could heal.

“These Wu people…” Song Shao ground his teeth.

“Damn them,” Song Yun said flatly.

“Most of these are from Fengtian Temple,” Penglai Immortal said, his voice quiet but cold. “The Wu Clan caught the children—but it was the temple that harvested their blood. None of them are innocent.”

The two disciples fell silent.

“There are more than 150 children here,” Song Shao reported. “Counting the bodies, that matches the number Master Wen said were missing. These deaths happened within the past two days—any older remains must’ve been removed already. I’m afraid all the Wu Clan children taken for the ritual are here.”

“The rest,” Penglai Immortal said softly, “were discarded once their blood ran out.”

“The children are too frightened to move,” Song Yun added. “They won’t even respond.”

“That’s easy enough.”

Penglai Immortal knelt beside the blood pool and smiled gently at the terrified children. His voice was calm, his tone kind. “Come to my island. There are no bad people there.”

The warmth in his voice—paired with that serene, celestial smile—softened even the trembling ones. 

One by one, the children began to crawl forward.

Song Shao nearly fell backward. “Wait, what did you just say—your island?”

“Penglai Immortal Island,” Song Yun muttered, her face pale.

This wasn’t some small island that drew power from Penglai’s spiritual veins. This was the true Penglai Immortal Island—the living island sustained by the Immortal’s own essence. Only its master could reside there.

And he had just invited the rescued children to live upon it.

No wonder even gods feared the Penglai Immortal—his mercy could be as terrifying as his wrath.

At noon, the prayers at Fengtian Temple ended a quarter-hour earlier than usual. After blessing the Wu Clan children, the Saintess distributed a pill to each of them. The children had already taken two of these since the first curse-breaking ritual a month ago. 

Their parents immediately fed the pills to them.

It was said this elixir was essential for breaking the curse—every bit as vital as the blood transfusions. Only the Saintess possessed it, and none were permitted to take it outside the shrine. Anyone who did so would lose the Temple’s protection.

Yan Changtian also received a pill. 

Watching the Saintess personally place one between a child’s lips, his expression darkened as he turned the pill in his hand.

“Time is short,” Lan Ge reminded quietly.

Yan Changtian drew a long breath. “I won’t be going to the underground palace. I must see Wen Chuan. Nothing can happen to the Great Wuzhu.”

“Then your son…” Lan Ge hesitated.

“Please.” Yan Changtian bowed deeply. 

Lan Ge pressed her lips together but did not refuse. Turning her back on the veiled Saintess surrounded by the children, she said only, “Then hurry.”

Yan Changtian looked down at his young son tugging anxiously at his sleeve. Sighing, he knelt and held the pill to the boy’s mouth.

Xiao Xu didn’t swallow at once; worry clouded his eyes.

“Father, is Wuzhu Brother in danger?”

“Yes,” Yan Changtian answered softly. “Father is going to help him.” He smoothed the child’s hair and pressed the pill closer. “Be good, Xiao Xu. Take it. When the curse is lifted, the pain will stop. Then, when you’re well, you can help Father and Wuzhu Brother.”

“Really?” Xiao Xu’s eyes brightened.

Yan Changtian smiled and nodded.

Trusting without question, the boy swallowed the pill in one gulp. Beaming, he clenched his fists. “When I get better, Father and Wuzhu Brother won’t need to worry about me anymore. If bad people bully you, I’ll fight them!”

But the bad people are us. Yan Changtian didn’t say it. He only smiled, patted his son’s head, and stood. “I’ll leave this place to you,” he told Lan Ge.

Her gaze was complicated. “Take care—”

Before she could finish, a commotion broke out at the door. 

The Saintess, who had been calmly feeding the children, startled and turned.

Yan Changtian frowned. “What’s happening?”

No answer came.

The dozen shrine cultivators guarding the entrance were suddenly hurled inside, screaming as they hit the floor. 

Panic swept through the crowd. The clansmen shrank back, revealing three figures walking in—Yun Zhuoran, Weiran, and Lu Yu.

The closer they came, the more the crowd retreated. The fallen cultivators dared not rise, and the path cleared on its own.

Hands clasped behind his back, Lu Yu smiled. “How polite—making way for us.”

The Wu Clan members recognized Yun Zhuoran and Weiran, but not Lu Yu. 

Yan Changtian and Lan Ge stepped forward warily. “Are you the two Penglai Island Masters?”

Yun Zhuoran’s cold gaze swept the hall, searching in vain for Shen Lingshu. His eyes settled instead on Yun Duo, standing shielded in the center of the crowd.

“Stop hiding,” he said. “I’ve come.”

Yan Changtian and Lan Ge exchanged uneasy looks. Why would the Penglai masters confront their Saintess?

But Yun Duo—usually serene and gentle—now wore a face twisted by hatred. Her eyes burned as she stared at Yun Zhuoran. “I knew you would come. I’ve waited a long time. Brother Zhuoran, let’s end this today.”

Yun Zhuoran inclined his head. “That’s best.”

The heart demon’s voice was colder. “Then stop hiding. Step forward.”

At once, the Wu Clan closed ranks around Yun Duo.

Lu Yu chuckled. “And me? Do I get a turn?”

Meanwhile, deep within the underground palace, Pei Heng stood before the sealed stone door, faint echoes of battle still reverberating beyond it. He lingered for a moment, then tightened his grip on his sword. “Let’s go.”

Yun Shaowei glanced at the door. “What about her?”

“I don’t know.” Pei Heng’s tone was flat. “I’ve never been able to change her mind.” 

Without looking back, he strode down the path Su Pengpeng had shown them.

Yun Shaowei hesitated, but Ji Ruo tugged his sleeve. “Cousin, don’t overthink it. We need to find the children first.”

Together, they pressed forward. 

Soon, real voices—not illusions—echoed ahead: Fengtian Temple patrols. The nearer they drew to the central hall, the heavier the guard became.

All three reached the same conclusion—the central hall must be where the children were held.

But when they arrived, the vast chamber was empty. Only vivid reliefs adorned the walls, and above them, a tightly shut stone door guarded by eight cultivators.

They exchanged quick glances. Unaware that Penglai Immortal had already found the children elsewhere, they assumed the captives must be behind that door. Whispering plans on how to enter, they failed to notice the patrol that had just passed doubling back.

“Someone’s in the underground palace!”

Caught off guard, they barely avoided the first volley. The eight guards at the door rushed over to join the patrol, cutting off every escape.

Pei Heng gauged their aura and knew they were stronger. Fending off blows, he shouted, “We can’t take them head-on—find a way out!”

Yun Shaowei and Ji Ruo were far weaker. Both came from noble families whose cultivation depended more on resources than strength. Against sword cultivators, they were hopelessly outmatched.

Pei Heng struggled to hold the line while Yun Shaowei shielded Ji Ruo, expending talismans and weapons to block attacks. 

The encirclement tightened; retreat was impossible.

Yun Shaowei gritted his teeth and pressed Ji Ruo’s shoulder. “Xiao Ruo, I’ll draw them off. You find a chance and go—”

Ji Ruo had already reached for the magic bead Yun Zhuoran had returned to him, intending to summon the ghost infant. He refused to flee, believing he could control it now.

But one of the eight men suddenly appeared behind him, palm raised to strike. Seeing it, Yun Shaowei shoved Ji Ruo aside and formed a quick hand seal to counter. Too slow. The blow descended—

He braced for impact, despair rising, when the strike never landed. A wave of spiritual force swept past his face, then froze.

With a deafening roar, golden-white fire erupted from his body, racing up the attacker’s arm and engulfing him whole.

“Ah—!” the man screamed as the Taiyin True Fire devoured him.

The flames coiled outward, surrounding Yun Shaowei and Ji Ruo before surging across the hall. The air filled with shrieks. The guards writhed in the sea of fire, bodies twisting in agony.

Yun Shaowei stood frozen, then hurled a talisman toward Pei Heng—one the fire had yet to touch. “Fellow Daoist Pei—quickly!”

Pei Heng, startled but quick, broke free from the fray. 

The instant he caught the talisman, his body blurred and reappeared beside them. He steadied himself, glancing down at the faint ashes in his palm. “A short-range teleportation charm.”

Yun Shaowei’s ears flushed. “I’m afraid we don’t have much time left,” he murmured.

Pei Heng frowned, but a blood-curdling scream behind them cut off his reply. 

The patrol was now burning—pale golden fire tinged with white. It gave no heat, only a deathly chill. Those it touched collapsed, clutching their heads and howling as if their souls burned instead of flesh.

Pei Heng felt a cold sweat break over his back. If not for Yun Shaowei’s charm, he would have shared their fate.

Yun Shaowei, staring at the writhing figures, let out a faint, shaken laugh. Ji Ruo blinked at him in awe. “Cousin, how did you get so strong all of a sudden?”

“It’s not me.” Yun Shaowei smiled, excitement flickering in his voice. “It’s Ninth Uncle. Don’t you remember? This is Ninth Uncle’s Taiyin True Fire.”

“Yun Zhuoran?” Ji Ruo gasped, eyes wide with envy. He grabbed Yun Shaowei’s arm. “Why don’t I have it? Did Yun Zhuoran only give it to you?”

Nearly shaken senseless, Yun Shaowei patted his cousin’s head helplessly. 

Outside the fading circle of flames, the last enemies crumbled to ash.

When silence returned, all three turned toward the stone door.

“Shall we take a look?”

Pei Heng nodded. 

Yun Shaowei tugged the sulking Ji Ruo along. 

At the threshold, Pei Heng still went first. None knew how many times Yun Zhuoran’s fire would protect them—perhaps only once.

He pushed the door open slowly. A pale light spilled from the crack.

Inside was silence. When the door swung fully wide, no one waited within. The chamber was dark, lit only by a faint spiritual glow from a raised platform at the back.

They approached—and froze.

The platform was an altar, its four corners bound by heavy chains covered in talismans. The source of the light struggled weakly at its center.

It was shaped like a man—half real, half illusion.

“Ah! That guy!” Ji Ruo squinted against the glare. After a moment, he leapt up, pointing excitedly at the figure on the altar. “It’s him! Yun Zhuoran’s master from the Tiandao Sect!”