When the Cannon Fodder Male Supporting Role Picks Up the Script - Chapter 171

Across the iron chain bridge, several half-buried ruins lay scattered beneath the snow. At their center rose a steep, narrow staircase of gray stone, leading straight to the palace crowning the mountain.

At its base stood Rong Wuduan, waiting.

Yun Zhuoran and the Heart Demon advanced side by side through the falling snow. 

Yun Zhuoran’s pale face was cold, his fingers tightening around the Demon-Slaying Sword. His gaze lingered on the golden-red pillar of light piercing the heavens from the palace roof—then lowered to meet Rong Wuduan’s faintly smiling eyes. Murderous intent flickered in the depths of his calm black irises.

“Rong Wuduan.”

Rong Wuduan’s smile deepened. “I didn’t expect your companions to sacrifice themselves just to bring you here. What a pity. They died for nothing. I told you before—you could’ve spent your final moments with Yun Peiran. You didn’t listen.”

Yun Zhuoran’s grip tightened, knuckles whitening. His voice was hoarse. “Rong Wuduan!”

“You seem angry,” Rong Wuduan said pleasantly. “You’ve lost companions at every step along the way. Anger is natural.”

At the word companions, the Heart Demon’s eyes narrowed. He reached out to steady Yun Zhuoran’s hand, his tone cutting. “What happened to Penglai Immortal, Lu Yu, and the others?”

Rong Wuduan’s expression did not change. “Them? Once you pass the Hundred Demons Tower, the barrier of Tianyan Palace will collapse. They will perish with the world.”

A tremor of rage ran through Yun Zhuoran. The Demon-Slaying Sword flared with pale gold light, a violent surge of sword energy bursting forth—but it struck only air. Rong Wuduan’s form dissolved like mist.

Yun Zhuoran lifted his head. At the top of the stairs stood a tall, slender figure clad in black-and-white Taoist robes.

Rong Wuduan’s mocking laughter echoed across the snow. “Come, then. Let’s see if Gu Shenshu’s sword is truly worthy of its name.”

Yun Zhuoran charged forward, sword in hand. Behind him, the red-robed youth melted into black mist, reappearing at his side an instant later. They struck in unison, but Rong Wuduan raised a single hand and parried effortlessly. 

Yun Zhuoran was thrown backward, landing heavily at the base of the steps—only for the Heart Demon’s afterimage to reappear behind him, intercepting Rong Wuduan’s next blow.

Rong Wuduan’s palm descended, but the Heart Demon twisted aside, dark mist spiraling around him like a storm. When Rong Wuduan’s hand turned to a claw, reaching to seize him, the red figure darted aside—and the golden blade of the Demon-Slaying Sword cleaved toward him instead.

Together, Yun Zhuoran and Weiran pressed their assault, driving Rong Wuduan’s clone back across the snow. Swordlight and black mist surged in tandem—two streaks, one gold, one red, cutting through the storm.

But after several fierce exchanges, Rong Wuduan began to match their rhythm. His movements flowed with frightening precision, leaving no openings. Yun Zhuoran and Weiran were gradually forced back.

Yun Zhuoran refused to yield. The Demon-Slaying Sword thrummed in his hands, its edge keen as if Gu Shenshu’s spirit still guided it. He had not yet summoned the Taiyin True Fire—nor gone all out—but he drew Weiran back to a safer distance.

The Heart Demon followed obediently, though confusion clouded his eyes.

“No,” Yun Zhuoran murmured, realization dawning. “This isn’t his true body. He shouldn’t be here.”

His gaze lifted to the blazing pillar of light at the mountaintop. “Gu Shenshu said Rong Wuduan sacrificed heaven and earth to forge a new world. His true form must be there. This is only a clone. He’s delaying us.”

Weiran’s eyes widened. “Then we must go—now!”

Yun Zhuoran nodded. Abandoning the clone, he sprinted up the stone steps, Weiran close behind.

Rong Wuduan’s smile thinned as he moved to block their ascent. 

Yun Zhuoran and Weiran exchanged a glance and attacked together, their strikes weaving seamlessly. 

The clone resisted, laughing coldly. “You are clever indeed. No wonder Gu Shenshu gave his life for you. But even a mere clone of mine is enough to stop you.”

Yun Zhuoran ignored him. 

The golden-red light above them pulsed violently, the mountain groaning beneath its weight. The world itself seemed to wail in despair. Time was running out.

He lifted the sword, golden energy surging around him, and struck with renewed fury. The Heart Demon followed, his dark aura twisting with the sword’s brilliance. Their combined power forced the clone back several steps—until Rong Wuduan countered, blasting Yun Zhuoran into the snow once more.

The Heart Demon caught him, black mist swirling to form a cage around the clone. “Brother, go!” he shouted, shoving Yun Zhuoran toward the steps.

Yun Zhuoran grasped his wrist. “No—let’s go together—”

Weiran smiled faintly, his eyes soft. “Brother.”

Golden light flickered between their joined palms. Yun Zhuoran’s eyes widened as warmth flooded his body.

“Weiran… stop!”

The Heart Demon’s tone remained calm, almost coaxing. “I’ve known for a long time—the Taiyin True Fire can’t be complete without me. I’ll return its core to you.” His voice was soft, resolute. “Brother, go ahead. I’ll follow soon.”

Yun Zhuoran’s breath caught. “No! Don’t you remember what you said?”

The Taiyin True Fire surged violently within him as the fire core fused into his spirit. 

He understood Weiran was right—but that didn’t make it easier to accept.

Weiran lifted his hand, brushing Yun Zhuoran’s eyelids with a smile that was both tender and unyielding. “It’s just a clone, brother. I’ll handle it. I’ll come to you soon.”

Yun Zhuoran blinked rapidly, forcing back tears. He knew the decision was right—yet every part of him rebelled against it.

“Brother,” Weiran murmured. “We still have the Lingxi Mirror. I can reach you through it anytime. If you’re worried, just call me. I’ll answer.”

Yun Zhuoran’s fingers loosened. 

Weiran pried them gently apart and pushed him toward the stairs. “Go. Maybe you’ll finish before I do and come back for me. Go!”

Yun Zhuoran’s throat tightened. “…Alright.”

He turned away, sword in hand, eyes rimmed red.

“You must come back,” Weiran said seriously, smiling faintly.

Yun Zhuoran nodded once, then dashed up the mountain without looking back. He knew—if he turned, he would never climb again.

If no one stopped Rong Wuduan, the world would end. He could not fail.

Behind him, the Heart Demon stood amid the storm, crimson eyes burning, blood at the corner of his mouth—but his smile did not waver.

The stone staircase stretched endlessly upward. Yun Zhuoran’s strength waned; his white hair fell loose, whipping in the wind. He ignored the ache, climbing without pause.

Then, through the Lingxi Mirror at his ear, a faint sound reached him—a muffled groan.

He stopped short. “Weiran?”

Static answered him. Panic clawed at his chest. “Weiran, talk to me! Are you alright?”

No response.

Rong Wuduan’s voice drifted from above, calm and cruel. “So confident, leaving that little shadow behind? Aren’t you afraid I’ll kill him? Seems I overestimated your bond.”

Yun Zhuoran ignored him, gripping the earring tight. “Weiran!”

At last, a weak, breathless voice replied, “You’re so noisy…”

Yun Zhuoran froze. Relief mingled with fear.

The Heart Demon’s next words came clearer, teasing through exhaustion. “Not you, brother. I’m talking about Rong Wuduan. He’s irritating.” His tone steadied. “I’m fine. Keep climbing.”

Yun Zhuoran exhaled shakily. “I’m almost there—just a little more.”

“You’re amazing, brother. Are you tired?”

A small smile touched Yun Zhuoran’s lips despite himself. “I’m fine. Not tired.”

“Thank you, brother.”

“No,” Yun Zhuoran said quietly. “Thank you. Don’t fight head-on. Hide if you must. I’ll be back for you soon.”

“Alright. I trust you, brother.” The Heart Demon’s voice grew fainter, rough but warm. “Don’t worry. I’m fine now.”

Then came a different voice—smooth, mocking.

“Isn’t it cruel to lie to him like that?” Rong Wuduan’s laughter echoed down the mountain. “He’s not fine at all, Yun Zhuoran. Why don’t you turn back and see?”

Yun Zhuoran’s pulse quickened. “Weiran, answer me!”

“Brother, don’t listen to him, I—” The Heart Demon’s voice cut off abruptly. Only the sound of a ragged cough followed.

“Weiran?!”

Far below, the red-clad figure knelt in the snow, his breath shallow. Blood streaked his mouth. 

Rong Wuduan stood nearby, looking down with a smile that chilled the air. “Still trying to hold on, little one? You can’t stop me. Better call your brother back—at least you can die together.”

Yun Zhuoran stopped climbing. His vision blurred, chest tightening painfully.

“Weiran… you’re hurt.”

Below, the Heart Demon pushed himself upright, wiping the blood from his lips. Though his voice trembled, it carried steady through the Lingxi Mirror. “That’s not true, brother. Don’t listen to him. I just need to deal with this clone. Keep going. Don’t believe a word unless you hear it from me.”

Rong Wuduan’s expression flickered with intrigue as he studied the youth’s unwavering defiance.

Yun Zhuoran tried to respond, but the connection fell silent. The link had been blocked.

He stood motionless for a moment, staring up at the golden-red light that swallowed the heavens. Then, gripping the Demon-Slaying Sword, he forced himself onward—climbing toward the summit where Rong Wuduan’s true form awaited.

Each step was heavy. The stone staircase lay silent beneath the crimson barrier, swallowed by darkness.  Every breath scraped against his lungs. With each step upward, Yun Zhuoran’s panic deepened. He regretted his impulsiveness—he wanted to turn back.

But even when distant, the Heart Demon’s voice was there, steady and warm, pushing him forward.

Each step became a conversation.

“Weiran… can I really stop Rong Wuduan once I reach the top?”

He climbed another step.

“I’m just one person—with only the Demon-Slaying Sword and the Taiyin True Fire. Can these really defeat him?”

Snow brushed past his sleeves. His hand trembled, but he gripped the sword tighter.

“Weiran… it would be nice if you were here.”

He counted in his head—three hundred steps. Halfway.

A sliver of hope flickered. He was close.

“Weiran… I’m a little scared.”

The number of steps dwindled: one hundred, then fifty. 

The palace gates came into view, framed beneath the golden-red pillar of light that pierced the sky. The pressure of spiritual force bore down on him, but he refused to bow. His knees did not bend; his back remained straight.

“I’m so tired,” he whispered. “Weiran, I’m tired.”

Blood filled his mouth; he swallowed it down and kept climbing. “This road… it’s so long.”

Silence.

No voice answered him. He lowered his head, pushing through the pain. The last twenty steps felt endless.

Then, softly—“Brother… Weiran is still here.”

Yun Zhuoran froze. His heart pounded wildly. The Heart Demon’s voice was weak but clear, threading through the spiritual link.

“There’s fifteen steps left,” Yun Zhuoran said quickly, half breathless. “I’m almost there. You’re hurt—I’ll come back for you!”

“No,” Weiran said, his tone rushed, as if afraid Yun Zhuoran would hesitate. “Don’t worry. I’m safe. I swallowed Rong Wuduan’s clone. I’m amazing, right? Just… a little bloated now, but once I’ve rested, I’ll come find you.”

Yun Zhuoran almost laughed from disbelief and relief. “Really? But Weiran—I can’t see you.”

“Brother, you can hear me, can’t you?” The Heart Demon’s tone was light, teasing. “Keep going. The Taiyin True Fire and Demon-Slaying Sword can destroy all demons. I just need a moment. I’ll catch up soon. By the time I do, you’ll probably complain that I’m too slow.”

“No,” Yun Zhuoran said firmly. His steps quickened. The last dozen steps blurred together, his exhaustion replaced by determination.

The final ten steps were easier—the Heart Demon’s voice carried him forward.

At the top, the crushing pressure vanished.

The Heart Demon’s voice bubbled faintly with curiosity.

“Brother… I’ve never really seen Penglai. What’s it like? Is it like the fairy island? With jade branches on the mountains, red flowers on the ground, and wooden houses between the clouds? Last time, I was in such a hurry, I barely saw it. I don’t even know where you lived as a child… Brother, I want to go see it.”

Yun Zhuoran exhaled, gazing up at the palace shrouded in light. His strength steadied. Holding the sword, he walked toward the gates. His voice was quiet, but resolute.

“We lived there before. When we find Penglai Immortal, we’ll go back. He said he arranged a room for you—right beside mine.”

“I don’t want it,” the Heart Demon said immediately. “I want to live with my brother.”

Yun Zhuoran smiled faintly. “Alright. We’ll share one room.”

He pushed open the heavy palace doors. 

Light burst from within, flooding the hall. A massive formation pulsed at the center, its golden-red beam shooting upward to merge with the pillar in the sky.

The Heart Demon must have sensed it. “Brother, are we there?”

Yun Zhuoran’s gaze hardened. “Yes. Rong Wuduan’s true form is here. The formation is nearly complete—but it’s also the weakest point.”

He stepped closer, his eyes sharp. The arrangement was flawless, but that perfection made it fragile. Rong Wuduan, as the formation’s core, had sealed himself within it—one mistake would destroy everything.

He wasn’t sure if the Demon-Slaying Sword or the Taiyin True Fire could kill him, but even if he failed, destroying the formation now would delay him for centuries. That alone would be enough.

“Brother,” the Heart Demon asked curiously, “does his true form look strange?”

Yun Zhuoran’s gaze settled on the figure within the circle—a child no older than six, dressed in black-and-white Taoist robes. Between the child’s brows burned the golden-red fire mark.

Rong Wuduan.

A faint sneer curved Yun Zhuoran’s lips. “A five or six-year-old child… I didn’t expect his true form to be so small.”

The Heart Demon laughed softly—but it turned into a violent cough.

“Weiran?” Yun Zhuoran’s chest tightened.

Inside the formation, the child stirred. Perhaps hearing the mockery, he opened his eyes. The golden-red light within them blazed with fury. His voice was clear yet eerily young, echoing through the hall.

“You actually made it here!”

At that same moment, at the mountain’s base, the Heart Demon coughed again, lowering his hand to see black blood staining his palm. He smiled coldly. “No wonder you dream of becoming the Creator. You’re nothing but a child who never grew up.”

Rong Wuduan’s youthful face twisted with rage.

“Weiran, wait for me. I’ll be there soon,” Yun Zhuoran murmured, tightening his grip on the sword. He could see it clearly now—Rong Wuduan’s true body was trapped at the core. That was his weakness.

The Heart Demon’s fingertips were fading, his form turning translucent. “Brother… you’ve found a way to stop him, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” Yun Zhuoran said quietly. “I’ve found it.”

He touched the Lingxi Mirror at his ear, sending a faint pulse of energy. 

The Heart Demon felt it and answered softly, “Brother.”

“Wait for me. I’ll come find you.”

A quiet smile. “Okay. Don’t worry, brother. I’ll be there soon.”

Yun Zhuoran summoned the Taiyin True Fire, sheathing the Demon-Slaying Sword in golden flame. Ignoring the formation’s backlash, he advanced step by step toward the core. His expression was calm, eyes burning with resolve.

Rong Wuduan’s tiny figure stirred. The flame mark between his brows flickered uneasily. “Yun Zhuoran,” he said, his voice low, “I can spare you—and that little shadow of yours. He’s dying. No one can save him. But if I succeed—if I become the Heavenly Dao—I can bring him back.”

Yun Zhuoran pressed a hand to his ear, shielding the Heart Demon from the words. He knew it was true—Weiran was dying. The thought made his heart ache, but he refused to falter.

Rong Wuduan’s panic showed through his calm. “Even if you kill me, the formation will continue! I’ve poured everything into it. There are no flaws! Yun Zhuoran, I can resurrect Gu Shenshu, Yun Peiran, and free Penglai Immortal and Lu Yu! As long as you—”

“Enough.” Yun Zhuoran’s voice cut him off—flat, cold, absolute. “Right now, all I want is to kill you.”

Rong Wuduan’s face contorted in fury.

The Heart Demon’s weak voice whispered through the link, trembling but steady. “Brother… do whatever you want. Remember—Weiran really loves you. Very much.”

Yun Zhuoran’s throat constricted. “Me too.”

Weiran chuckled faintly, catching a snowflake in his palm where he lay at the mountain’s foot, watching it melt between his fingers.

Within the hall, Yun Zhuoran raised the Demon-Slaying Sword, its blade gleaming with golden fire. His hair and robes fluttered soundlessly in the charged air.

Rong Wuduan hesitated—complete the formation or defend himself. 

In the end, instinct won. He turned to flee.

The sword fell.

“Yun Zhuoran!” Rong Wuduan screamed, invoking countless incantations, but the strike was already upon him.

A blinding light swallowed the palace. The storm froze midair. Time itself seemed to stop. The golden-red pillar shattered into dust.

At the mountain’s base, the Heart Demon pressed the Lingxi Mirror to his ear, smiling faintly as the connection flared once more.

The formation collapsed. Rong Wuduan’s body fell back into the circle, the Demon-Slaying Sword driven through his chest. The Taiyin True Fire roared, consuming flesh, spirit, and soul alike. The palace burned with blinding light before all fell silent.

When it ended, the sword broke apart with a dull, ringing crack.

Yun Zhuoran staggered. Blood dripped from the corner of his lips. 

Even with the formation destroyed, the backlash tore at his spirit. He wiped the blood away and turned toward the steps. The Heart Demon was waiting for him below.

He forced his body to move. But before he reached the base, his knees buckled. He fell backward, staring up at the darkened sky. 

The Tianyan Palace barrier dissolved with Rong Wuduan’s death, and a rain of fire cascaded over the snow-covered peak, painting his pale face in red-gold light.

He bit his tongue, struggling to stay awake. Reaching for the Lingxi Mirror, he found it shattered in his palm.

He froze. “Weiran…”

A wisp of black mist drifted down, curling around his fingertips. 

Yun Zhuoran’s lips parted in a faint, trembling smile. He gathered it gently into his hands, cradling it like something precious.

Firelight washed over the mountain. In that haze between dream and waking, he saw a red-clad figure walking toward him through the flames, smiling as he came closer.

When the youth embraced him, Yun Zhuoran didn’t know if it was real.

But in his ear, he heard it clearly—Brother, I’m here.