When the Cannon Fodder Male Supporting Role Picks Up the Script - Chapter 157

Despite everyone’s efforts to restrain him, Xu Zhichun never again spoke of taking his own life to atone.

Wu City gradually returned to a fragile peace, but the losses were staggering. 

The Fengtian Temple had become the symbol of deepest hatred among the Wu people. Many demanded its statues be torn down, unable even to look at the shrine that had destroyed their children. 

Yet Xu Zhichun’s condition was grave, forcing them to carry him to the former clan leader’s residence to recover.

He had been ruthless toward himself—the wound that nearly ended his life showed how close tragedy had come.

Yun Zhuoran and the others followed. After that day, the Wu people no longer regarded them as enemies. Even those who had once doubted them, like Meng Zhou, now served tea and water respectfully. The hostility in their eyes had shifted to gratitude and awe toward these outsiders who had fought beside them.

When the witch doctor finished tending Xu Zhichun’s injuries, he sent word that the Great Wuzhu wished to meet. Li Jianming and Meng Ye stayed by his side.

When Yun Zhuoran and the others entered, Xu Zhichun—still pale, still weak—lifted his head. Encouraged by the quiet words of those beside him, he spoke hoarsely but with steady resolve.
“I will earn redemption for the Wu Clan. I promise—I’ll lead you to him.”

Yun Zhuoran studied him. “It seems you’ve regained your composure.”

Xu Zhichun leaned back against the headboard, trying to sit straighter. The effort pulled at his wounds; his brow tightened in pain. Li Jianming and Meng Ye moved to support him, but he waved them off, pressing a hand to his chest until he steadied himself. His face was drawn but determined. “He must answer to me—for what happened to the Wu Clan.”

“You were close to him?” Yun Zhuoran asked. The question carried weight—suggesting reverence once given to that so-called deity.

“Not truly,” Xu Zhichun said. His tone was calm, yet resentment flickered in his eyes. “Years ago, I was gravely wounded, wandering the snowfields, ready to die. I took shelter in a deserted palace on a mountain and heard his voice. He stopped me from ending my life, saying it would be a waste. When dawn came, he told me to travel north to Wu City, where I might find purpose again. I obeyed—and found the Wu Clan. I stayed ever since.”

Li Jianming hesitated. “Foster father… you once…”

“The past is gone.” Xu Zhichun’s gaze dropped. “I don’t wish to speak of it.”

Yun Zhuoran said nothing. Everyone carried scars they preferred unspoken. When Xu Zhichun had first come to the Wu Clan, he had barely reached the Nascent Soul stage. To win their trust, he must have spoken with honesty then.

“I thought he was a god,” Xu Zhichun continued quietly. “That first voice on the mountain—that was the closest I ever came to him. Later, the previous High Priest guided me. After her death, I inherited her post and dedicated myself to breaking the curse. His voice reached me rarely after that—until my junior brother proposed building the Fengtian Temple. At the start, that voice offered guidance for the curse. Over time, our conversations grew familiar. I began to think of him as a friend. The shrine, however, was my junior brother’s idea. I was foolish enough to agree.”

A bitter smile tugged at his lips. “After the shrine was built, my junior brother left Wu City often. I don’t know where he went. I stayed to guard the temple. Then he vanished, and Yun Duo appeared. She was skilled with poison; I with medicine. We could never see eye to eye. To keep the peace, I left each year to search for herbs, returning only briefly.”

Silence settled.

Meng Ye, anxious that the outsiders might doubt him, said quickly, “It’s true. Yun Duo and the Great Wuzhu argued constantly. I couldn’t stand her arrogance. She wanted to seize the temple from the Great Wuzhu. He left to find medicine to avoid more conflict.”

Xu Zhichun gave a weary sigh. “There’s no need to justify anything now. Looking back, I think that palace I stumbled into was his dwelling. My memory has grown hazy, but I’m certain he led me there. I don’t know if I can find him again—but if you’ll trust me, I’ll try.”

Wen Jianxian exhaled softly. “Beyond this, what else do you know about him?”

Xu Zhichun’s eyes dimmed. “Too little, Sect Master Wen. I never pressed him for answers. But after all Yun Duo has done to the Wu Clan—and what my junior brother did in Yun City—do you think their god was unaware?”

Yun Zhuoran’s disappointment was clear. He had hoped Xu Zhichun had met the deity face-to-face, but it seemed he had only ever heard a voice. The pattern matched other deceptions—Ji Yan’s assassination attempt on Gu Shenshu, driven by a voice claiming divine will. Whoever that “deity” was, his manipulation was precise and far-reaching.

Still, this was only Xu Zhichun’s account. Could it be trusted?

Xu Zhichun drew a slow breath. “If you doubt me, search my soul. Should you find his trace, I will die without regret.”

The room fell silent.

Soul searching—an act that could scar the spirit beyond repair. Even the most careful often emerged broken or insane. Yet Xu Zhichun offered without hesitation.

Li Jianming gripped his arm in alarm. “Godfather, your injuries—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Xu Zhichun said with a faint, bitter smile. “If it helps you find him and avenge the fallen, one more wound means nothing.”

His calm resolve stilled the room.

At last, Wen Jianxian broke the tension. “When you’ve recovered, we’ll speak of this again. For now, rest.”

Xu Zhichun nodded faintly but kept his eyes on Yun Zhuoran, searching for approval. 

Yun Zhuoran glanced at Li Jianming, then at Wen Jianxian, and remained silent. Since master and disciple trusted him, he would wait.

After a pause, Yun Zhuoran asked, “Master Xu—were you at the Fengtian Temple twenty years ago?”

Twenty years ago—the year Gu Shenshu fell, and Yun Peiran, guided by that same voice, sought the temple.

Xu Zhichun shook his head. “No. I was traveling between Changchun Pavilion and the Sword Sect. Ming’er was still small, and I could only return to Wu City at the winter solstice to see Meng Ye before departing again.”

The timeline didn’t match. Yun Zhuoran remembered that when he left Yun City, it had not been winter.

Meng Ye caught his unease. “I’ve always been in Wu City. I rarely guarded the temple, but I knew most of what happened there.”

Yun Zhuoran thought of Yun Duo’s reaction when he mentioned Yun Peiran’s visit—she had seemed unaware. If even she hadn’t known, then Xu Zhichun likely didn’t either. Still, he asked, “Did any outsiders visit the temple that year?”

Meng Ye frowned in thought. “There are outsiders every year—mostly Yun Duo’s acquaintances. Some worked with her. One was called Ji Yan. Strong fellow.”

Yun Zhuoran’s gaze sharpened. “The man I’m looking for is my brother. A Buddhist cultivator—he resembles me.”

“A Buddhist cultivator?” Meng Ye blinked. “You mean bald? No, never seen him.”

Yun Zhuoran had expected as much, yet disappointment flickered in his eyes. 

A gentle warmth brushed the back of his hand—the heart demon’s fingers, reassuring. 

He exhaled slowly. Perhaps Yun Peiran had bypassed Wu City altogether and gone straight to the deity. The temple might have been only a façade.

His voice cooled. “Master Xu, you claim ignorance—but how do you explain Gu Shenshu’s remaining spirit trapped beneath the underground palace?”

“What?” Li Jianming blurted.

Yun Zhuoran said nothing more, watching Xu Zhichun closely. Wen Jianxian stayed silent as well; he already knew from Pei Heng. Only Li Jianming and Song Shao, who had followed from the shrine, looked shocked. Their reactions seemed genuine. 

Xu Zhichun and Meng Ye, however, went pale.

“Gu Shenshu…” Xu Zhichun whispered. “You mean the Tiandao Sect leader—the Young Island Master’s teacher?”

Meng Ye frowned. “The underground palace was always under Yun Duo’s control. Didn’t you find those captured foreign children there?”

Yun Zhuoran’s eyes darkened.

No wonder the deity had left Xu Zhichun alive but carried Yun Duo away. Perhaps Xu Zhichun truly had no part in it.

Even so, they couldn’t decide what to believe. Xu Zhichun’s offer to submit to soul search implied sincerity—or confusion too deep to fake. His mind was fractured; perhaps his memory truly blurred.

With his body still weak, they chose not to press further. 

Xu Zhichun seemed to understand their silence. A faint, self-mocking smile crossed his lips. Trust was fragile. He knew Yun Zhuoran still doubted him.

In the following days, Wen Jianxian left Li Jianming behind to care for Xu Zhichun and went to meet his fellow Daoists who had finally arrived. Their first task was to eradicate the Fengtian Temple’s remaining followers hiding across Wu City; their second was to return the rescued foreign children home.

That duty fell to Penglai Immortal, who had taken the children onto his island. Bathed in immortal energy, their bodies and minds were healing rapidly.

The influx of outsiders naturally alarmed the Wu Clan, but under Xu Zhichun’s order through Meng Ye, they remained quiet. After all, reconciliation between the Wu people and the outside world could not happen overnight.

When the Sword Sect disciples arrived, the children remained aboard the cloud-boat, waving farewell to Penglai Immortal as it ascended into the mist.

After sending them off, the island received a new guest—Gu Shenshu, rescued from the underground palace.

His remnant soul was faint, nearly hollow. Freed from the soul-locking formation, he hovered between existence and dissolution, needing the island’s spiritual essence to survive.

That night, while Wen Jianxian and his disciples purged the last remnants of Fengtian Temple.

Yun Zhuoran, Penglai Immortal, Lu Yu, and Weiran gathered in the courtyard beside Xu Zhichun’s quarters. Yun Shaowei, Ji Ruo, Song Shao, and Song Yun had retired early, unaware that Yun Zhuoran and the others were already on Penglai Immortal’s island.

Penglai Island was less convenient than the Floating City, but its celestial energy far surpassed it. Gu Shenshu’s soul was placed above the valley’s richest spiritual vein. Lu Yu and Penglai Immortal worked meticulously to weave a formation that would keep the soul from scattering further.

The four stood watch for a long time. Gu Shenshu never stirred.

“That trapping formation siphoned his spirit,” Lu Yu said quietly. “It drained his power into the statue to feed the temple. Whoever designed it was merciless—they used him as the temple’s core.”

Penglai Immortal’s face darkened. “Whoever trapped him wanted him dead. Little Zhuoran, your master’s soul has been eroded for years. Even with the island’s energy, waking him will be difficult.”

“He’s not my master,” Yun Zhuoran said softly. “I never became his disciple formally.” Yet his gaze lingered with unspoken warmth. “Is there truly no other way to restore him?”

Lu Yu spread his hands. “He’s the only one I’ve seen whose soul hasn’t collapsed under such damage.”

Penglai Immortal’s eyes brightened suddenly. “There might be a way.”

The others turned to him. 

He flushed under their stares. “The Fengtian Temple used his half-immortal soul as their divine anchor, drawing faith from the Wu Clan. Faith can restore a soul faster than spiritual essence. If we return him to the statue—now that the suppressive formation is gone—he could absorb that faith directly. It would strengthen him far faster than the island’s energy.”

Lu Yu gave him a look of disbelief. “The Wu Clan despises the Fengtian Temple now. Who would still worship that statue? Don’t dream, it’s useless.”

Penglai Immortal scowled, but Yun Zhuoran’s expression shifted—thoughtful, almost calculating.
“Isn’t that simple enough?” he murmured.

The heart demon spoke first. “Brother, there’s still the Tiandao Sect.”

That single reminder lit a spark in Yun Zhuoran’s mind. Even if Gu Shenshu reclaimed the statue, the Wu Clan would never again offer him faith. But within the Tiandao Sect—the sect he founded—he still remained a god in their hearts.

Penglai Immortal straightened proudly and threw a smug glance at Lu Yu. “See? Even the little demon has more sense than you.” Then he looked at Yun Zhuoran expectantly.

“It seems this method could work,” Yun Zhuoran admitted.

Both the heart demon and Penglai Immortal brightened immediately, waiting for praise like two eager children. 

Yun Zhuoran couldn’t help a faint smile. “Your idea is sound. But we can’t leave just yet. Searching Xu Zhichun’s soul isn’t urgent. Don’t forget—Yun City is still in danger.”

Their smiles faded. 

Yun Zhuoran continued calmly, “The Taiyin True Fire that clung to Yun Duo went out soon after Shen Lingshu took her. That confirms she’s dead. But the conflict between Yun City and the Tiandao Sect hasn’t ended. Even with the Fengtian Temple destroyed, the Tiandao Sect won’t simply retreat.” He closed his eyes briefly, his expression unreadable. “We’ll have to return to Yun City.”

Penglai Immortal raised his hand eagerly. “I’ve always wanted to see your birthplace. Count me in.”

The heart demon immediately stepped forward as well. 

Lu Yu, resigned, spread his hands. “Fine. Do as you like.”

Yun Zhuoran smiled faintly. “The problem is, we can’t leave Wu City yet.”

The others exchanged glances. “Because of Xu Zhichun.”

Yun Zhuoran nodded. If only Xu Zhichun remembered more—his fragmented recollections had revealed too little.

Plans were made to depart for Yun City the next day. But before they could even inform Yun Shaowei and Ji Ruo, messengers from the Demon Palace arrived in Wu City with urgent news.

“The Palace Master has already acted,” the envoy announced. “The Tiandao Sect, fearing a combined counterattack, has withdrawn from Yun City.”

Ji Ruo’s eyes widened with pride. “See? My father is unmatched! One move, and the entire Demonic Path trembles!”

Yun Shaowei, hearing that Yun Tianqing and Yun Fushuang were safe, finally exhaled in relief.

Yet it was time to part. The Demon Palace had sent the Left Protector to escort them home. 

When Ji Ruo realized the purpose, both he and Yun Shaowei looked crestfallen—reluctant to leave despite everything.

Yun Zhuoran naturally hoped they would return soon. He arranged for their departure that same day, along with plans to visit the Tiandao Sect afterward.

In Wu City, Lu Yu remained to oversee reconstruction, aided by Wen Jianxian and his disciples.

Before boarding, Ji Ruo lingered at the dock, sneaking glances at Yun Zhuoran. 

Yun Shaowei too hesitated. Their time together had been brief and tense, yet parting now left a hollow weight in their chests.

Just as they were about to board the cloud boat, Ji Ruo suddenly turned and ran back. His face, so like Yun Zhuoran’s, flushed red. “You—earlier—you gave the Taiyin True Fire to my cousin,” he stammered. “Why… why not to me?”

The heart demon rolled his eyes. “What’s the difference?”

“Of course there’s a difference!” Ji Ruo protested. “He’s him, and I’m me!”

Yun Zhuoran’s expression remained cool. 

Ji Ruo bristled at his indifference, his frustration and shyness tangling until he wanted to cry. He had been bullied from the start, and now he wouldn’t even say goodbye. Furious, he spun on her heel.

“Wait.” Yun Zhuoran’s cold voice stopped him.

He turned warily. “What? Don’t think you can boss me around just because Mother told me to call you Uncle!”

The heart demon opened his mouth, but Yun Zhuoran lifted a hand to silence him. He simply patted Ji Ruo’s shoulder, then waved dismissively. “Alright. Go on.”

The gesture was too casual—like sending away a pet. 

Ji Ruo seethed, but before he could retort, a flicker of pale golden flame sank into his shoulder. His anger faltered.

He blinked in surprise, then bit his lip and said quietly, “I still owe you a favor. If you ever need help, come to the Demon Palace. Maybe one day, I’ll be the Palace Master myself.”

The heart demon chuckled. “So ambitious—planning a coup against your father already?”

Ji Ruo’s eyes went round. “Nonsense! You’re so annoying…” he stopped himself, remembering the heart demon’s strength, and quickly looked back at Yun Zhuoran instead. “Don’t forget! If you need me, find me at the Demon Palace!”

He waved, beaming now, and ran to join Yun Shaowei.

The heart demon muttered, “Idiot.”

Yun Zhuoran smiled faintly, brushing his fingers through the heart demon’s long black hair as they watched Ji Ruo and Yun Shaowei board the cloud boat.

“Looks like he’s grown up,” Yun Zhuoran murmured.

“Yeah,” the heart demon said lazily. “Used to be all noise—now he’s just slow to think.”

Nearby, Penglai Immortal sighed dramatically. His expression was half fond, half melancholy. He still remembered the days when Yun Peiran and little Yun Zhuoran had tutored him in Penglai—how he’d been scolded endlessly for his mistakes, yet still guided patiently in the end.

Noticing his mood, Yun Zhuoran patted the heart demon’s shoulder and told him to stand. Then he turned to Penglai Immortal. “We’ll head to the Tiandao Sect next. We may need to stay for some time. Thank you for helping.”

Lu Yu only shook his head. “I’ll manage things here. Try not to cause trouble.”

With that, Yun Zhuoran, the heart demon, and Penglai Immortal stepped onto the teleportation array. 

A burst of white light enveloped them—and in an instant, they were gone.

Song Shao, Song Yun, Yun Shaowei, and Ji Ruo followed soon after, leaving Lu Yu alone in Wu City.

When Yun Zhuoran returned to the Tiandao Sect, snow blanketed the mountains.

The disciples at the gate froze at the sight of the familiar figure in white descending through the storm. For a heartbeat, none dared speak. Then one of them dropped his sword in shock and ran inside, shouting at the top of his lungs.

“Yun Zhuoran—he’s back!”

Panic and excitement rippled through the sect. No one in Tiandao could fail to recognize that face. His likeness had been spread throughout the cultivation world after he escaped, and since the truth of Gu Shenshu’s fall had been revealed, his name had only grown heavier in people’s mouths.

Standing once more at the mountain gate after a full year, Yun Zhuoran felt a quiet rush of emotion. 

When he had last left, his heart demon had not yet taken human form.

Now, amid drifting snow and whispering pines, they returned together.