When the Cannon Fodder Male Supporting Role Picks Up the Script - Chapter 175

Three years passed quietly.

The scars left by the apocalypse gradually healed, though the world’s spiritual energy remained weak, creating immense challenges for cultivators. Fortunately, the great sects had stabilized, and rebellious demons and wandering spirits were steadily suppressed. It is said that heroes arise in troubled times—and within these three years of hardship, countless young cultivators emerged, their names blazing across the newly updated Rising Cloud Rankings.

Among them, the name of Penglai’s Young Master, Yun Zhuoran, was frequently spoken.

According to rumor, the Young Master of Penglai, though cold and aloof, possessed a compassionate heart. He had saved countless mortals in disaster zones plagued by demonic miasma, and his upright nature won him the admiration of many. Wherever he appeared, there was always a young man in red by his side—identical in appearance, yet exuding a gentler, warmer aura. The two were a striking pair: one like frost, the other like flame.

Sometimes, they were even seen with a child. It was said the child was also one of Penglai’s island masters, leading people to wonder just how many masters the island truly had.

Recently, word spread of the Penglai Island Masters jointly subduing a high-ranked demon, and discussion of Penglai flared up once more across the cultivation world.

Three-year-old Yun Peiran, dressed in a bright red robe embroidered with Penglai patterns, skipped down the corridor. The pavilion’s doors and windows were open wide. Standing on tiptoe, he peeked through the window and spotted a white-robed figure seated cross-legged inside. He immediately darted to the door, beaming, and threw himself behind Yun Zhuoran.

“Brother! Brother’s here!”

His soft, childish voice carried a hint of mischief.

Even before he entered, Yun Zhuoran had already heard the thumping of small feet on the polished floorboards. Without turning, he sighed, tucked the half-refined magic weapon into his storage ring, and looked over his shoulder at the plump little boy clinging to him, his arms looped around his neck.

“Let go.”

Little Yun Peiran ignored his frosty tone and tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Can’t I even hug you?”

Yun Zhuoran had long since seen through his act. Beneath his adorably soft exterior was a cunning, shameless little rascal who caused chaos wherever he went.

Ever since he discovered Yun Zhuoran’s relationship with Weiran, Yun Zhuoran and Weiran had moved to the sea of flowers behind the old wooden building, living in their own residence. 

Yun Peiran stayed with Penglai Immortal in the front pavilion, though Yun Zhuoran and Weiran still doted on him. After he learned to speak, he never asked to move in with them, but whenever he wanted something, he would immediately come running to find them.

For three years, Yun Peiran had occasionally accompanied them on expeditions to subdue demons, and rumors of his presence soon spread throughout the cultivation world. 

When Gu Shenshu and Tong Ye heard of it, they laughed. 

Months later, Lu Yu came all the way to Penglai to ridicule him—and only then did Yun Zhuoran learn of their old feud.

It turned out that before Penglai Immortal fully took human form, Lu Yu had known him as a spirit beast. Back then, Penglai Immortal’s spiritual consciousness had only just begun to awaken. Because Penglai Island was rich in spiritual energy, a young Kunpeng had been born in the surrounding seas, yearning to transform. Lu Yu had already transformed a thousand years earlier and had personally prepared the clothes Penglai Immortal wore upon his transformation. The two had grown up together, always sharing a close bond.

Yun Peiran’s grudge against Lu Yu stemmed from Lu Yu’s habit of reading too many romantic stories and his ridiculous desire to become Penglai Immortal’s Dao companion. Yun Peiran, even as a baby, had firmly rejected the idea—without understanding what a Dao companion even was.

Lu Yu, petty as always, bore the insult and made a wager: if he lost, he would not set foot on Penglai for a hundred years. 

Naturally, he lost.

Three years ago, Yun Peiran could only respond with an indignant “Pah!” when mocked.
Three years later, now able to speak, he was even more of a nuisance—and Yun Zhuoran, long-suffering, endured his chatter daily.

At present, Yun Peiran released his hand with a sigh, plopped down in front of him, and tugged on his sleeve pitifully. “Take me off the island.”

His small, sorrowful face might have moved a softer heart—but not Yun Zhuoran’s.

“What are you leaving the island for?”

“The Immortal Palace’s Grand Assembly!” he said, eyes gleaming. “They’ve invited young cultivators from every sect to compete in a small sword trial.”

As Penglai’s Young Master, Yun Zhuoran naturally knew of it. “That’s next month.”

“But preparations have already started,” Yun Peiran said eagerly. “Guests are arriving early. There’s even a small auction outside—they’re selling rare treasures you can’t find on Penglai! Brother, please take me to see!”

Yun Zhuoran’s expression didn’t change. “I’m busy. Ask Penglai Immortal to take you.”

“No, not Xian’er!” he protested, clutching his arm. “I need to buy Hundred Flower Dew, Ebony Vine…” He counted on his fingers, reciting a list of spiritual herbs.

“What are those for?” Yun Zhuoran interrupted.

He produced a folded paper from his sleeve and handed it over solemnly. “They’re for the Hair Growth and Blackening Pill. You must help me gather them.”

Yun Zhuoran couldn’t help laughing. “Is that your way of asking for help?” He opened the note and glanced at it—a detailed list of rare spiritual herbs and a pill recipe. Looking at the soft tuft of hair atop his head, he said dryly, “You’re not bald.”

“You and I are family,” Yun Peiran said gravely, touching his little tuft. “It’s embarrassing to beg. My hair grows so slowly… what if it all falls out before I’m grown? I don’t want to be bald.”

“You were bald before,” Yun Zhuoran reminded him.

“That’s why I don’t want to be bald again!” he huffed, stroking his sparse hair mournfully. “I don’t know what that Tianqing Sect monk used when they shaved my head—it never grew back properly.”

Yun Zhuoran chuckled quietly.

He didn’t mind. Taking both of Yun Zhuoran’s hands in his own, he said with mock solemnity, “Brother, I’ll leave this to you.”

“No,” Yun Zhuoran said flatly, pushing the note back. “I’m busy. Go find Penglai Immortal.”

“I can’t let Xian’er know!” he exclaimed. “I’m the island master! How can I reveal my hair crisis? I still have dignity!”

“Then sleep beside Xian’er every night,” Yun Zhuoran said coolly. “You already act like a child—might as well complete the image.”

In front of Yun Zhuoran and Weiran, he was utterly shameless. But in front of Penglai Immortal, he maintained perfect composure—deceiving even the sharpest eyes. When traveling, he could feign such innocence that strangers gifted him spiritual candies on sight.

Clinging to Yun Zhuoran’s arm, he pleaded, “Brother! Please take me off the island.”

Yun Zhuoran’s mouth twitched. “You’ll go this far just to avoid going bald?” He tapped his forehead lightly and pushed him away. “No. I’m busy. Find someone else.”

Even as a Great Ascension cultivator, he used only the gentlest force, and Yun Peiran felt no pain. Still, he stubbornly leapt back up, clinging again. “Little Zhuoran, take me! I raised you with my whole life—how can you refuse me? Don’t you love me anymore?”

Yun Zhuoran’s eyelid twitched. Where on earth had he learned such shameless lines?

“Yes,” he said simply.

Yun Peiran froze, scandalized. “That’s too much! I’m angry! I won’t forgive you unless you take me and refine my elixir!”

Yun Zhuoran ignored him and closed his eyes, focusing his breathing.

Before he could gather his spiritual energy, Yun Peiran seized his hand again and declared through gritted teeth, “If you don’t take me, I won’t let you cultivate!”

“You’re not really three years old,” Yun Zhuoran said calmly.

“I am three!” he snapped.

Yun Zhuoran was speechless. Rising, he walked out.

Startled, Yun Peiran chased after him. “Are we leaving the island?”

Yun Zhuoran sat at the pavilion’s edge, lowering his gaze to the koi pond below.

He followed and sat beside him, swinging his short legs. “So we’re leaving?”

“No,” Yun Zhuoran said.

When denied cultivation time, fishing was his next best option. 

His excitement faded into gloom. Sniffling, he wiped at imaginary tears with his sleeve. “Brother’s leaving the island without me!”

Yun Zhuoran didn’t even glance at him.

When Weiran arrived, he saw Yun Peiran pretending to sob. Smiling, he walked over and slipped a spiritual fruit into the boy’s hands.

“Why is Big Brother crying again?”

He also handed one to Yun Zhuoran, who was fasting but accepted it without protest. 

Glancing at the boy, he said, “He’s leaving the island.”

The sun was high, light glimmering on the pond’s surface, reflecting Yun Zhuoran’s white robe and Yun Peiran’s red one. Weiran sat beside them, watching with quiet fondness—the scene reminded him of Yun Zhuoran’s childhood, when he had looked almost the same.

“Why are you leaving the island?” he asked gently.

“I’m going to the auction,” Yun Peiran complained.

“I don’t have time,” Yun Zhuoran replied. Casually, he handed the recipe to Weiran. “He wants these herbs. Refine them into pills if you can.”

Weiran unfolded the paper and scanned it quickly. After three years of cultivation, he had solidified his foundation. The abundant aura of Penglai had greatly accelerated his progress. Though his realm remained low, his control over spiritual energy and crafting skills had become exceptional.

“Is this what Big Brother wants?”

Little Yun Peiran’s eyes rolled, his gaze fixed on Weiran. 

He knew Yun Zhuoran was his younger brother, but Weiran also felt like a younger one to him, and he often treated both equally. Excitedly, he grabbed Weiran’s sleeve. “Take me off the island!”

“Are you in a hurry?” Weiran laughed, turning toward Yun Zhuoran. “I’ve seen this recipe. It’s suitable for children, just a bit tricky to refine.”

Little Yun Peiran had no spiritual power, so refining the elixir himself was impossible.

Over the past three years, Weiran had grown calmer—especially around Yun Peiran. 

Yun Zhuoran, long accustomed to it, could already tell that Weiran was about to agree to the boy’s request. A faint sourness welled up inside him. Was Weiran his heart demon, his Dao companion, or Yun Peiran’s wet nurse?

The heart demon noticed Yun Zhuoran’s displeasure. He patted little Yun Peiran on the shoulder and said with a smile, “I’ll take Big Brother with me. Let Brother focus on training.”

“Great!” Overjoyed, little Yun Peiran jumped up and ran out of the pavilion. “I’ll go back and change my clothes! Little Weiran, you must wait for me!”

Weiran chuckled. “Alright.”

Yun Zhuoran watched them quietly.

After a pause, Weiran coughed softly, his smile faint and resigned, then sat beside Yun Zhuoran. Without the child there, he naturally reached out and embraced him, murmuring gently, “Brother.”

Yun Zhuoran allowed the embrace, his tone indifferent. “Little Weiran, having Big Brother is enough. Why do you still care about me?”

The heart demon froze, a light flush creeping across his pale face. “Why did Big Brother call me that…? Brother, are you jealous?”

Yun Zhuoran only asked calmly, “Why did you agree to everything he said—and even offer to accompany him off the island?”

“Big Brother is stubborn,” Weiran explained, smiling softly. “If we didn’t agree, he’d pester me all day, and neither of us would get any proper training. Leaving the island is just a small matter. I’ll handle it quickly.”

Though he knew Weiran spoke the truth, Yun Zhuoran still felt uneasy. “Then come back soon,” he said quietly.

Weiran smiled and was about to rise when Yun Zhuoran reached out, grabbed his collar, and pulled him back. Their faces were close; Yun Zhuoran tilted his chin slightly and bit lightly at the corner of Weiran’s lips.

The brief pain startled him. Before Weiran could react, Yun Zhuoran released him, acting as if nothing had happened, and gave him a faint push. “Alright. Go.”

This time, Weiran didn’t move. He hesitated, sitting back down, eyes fixed on Yun Zhuoran’s lips. “Brother, can you kiss me again? That was too fast. I didn’t even feel it.”

Yun Zhuoran said nothing. He reached out, but Weiran caught his hand midway, fingers warm and sure. Taking the initiative, he leaned forward and kissed him deeply.

Caught off guard, Yun Zhuoran yielded slightly as Weiran pressed him back onto the smooth mahogany floor beneath the pavilion, where the water murmured and golden-red koi glided beneath the lotus leaves.

It wasn’t until distant footsteps echoed—little Yun Peiran’s return—that Weiran reluctantly pulled away. 

Yun Zhuoran’s lips were flushed, his breath unsteady, a faint blush coloring the corners of his eyes.

“Big Brother’s coming,” Weiran murmured.

He couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else seeing Yun Zhuoran like this—so beautiful and defenseless.

“I’m leaving first,” he said quickly.

Yun Zhuoran’s lips still tingled, and he shot Weiran a sullen glance. His usually cool face now carried a trace of warmth, his dark eyes bright and moist, exuding an unintentional allure.

Weiran’s gaze darkened, but before he could speak, Yun Zhuoran grasped his hand.

Weiran paused. “Brother, what’s wrong?”

“Come back soon,” Yun Zhuoran said, his voice rough and low. After a breath, he added, “You’re mine.”