The Cannon Fodder Also Has a Will to Survive [Rebirth] - Chapter 25

Although the Yao King’s private quarters existed as a severed space much like a pocket dimension it was no different from the outside world. It possessed its own wind, its own moon, and a galaxy of stars hanging high above.

Perhaps because of the elevation, the wind up here was exceptionally strong, making the red-clothed youth’s hem rustle loudly. For some reason, An Jiu felt that the way this boy was standing there was a bit too “deliberately cool.”

He whispered to Han Zhong, “Is that the City Lord?”

Han Zhong shook his head. Though he had never met the City Lord personally, he knew the ruler of Demon-Spirit City was a Azure Dragon a Great Yao of the water attribute. Such a creature would never wear such flamboyant red robes.

Han Zhong pondered for a moment before speaking. “He’s a fox.”

No one aside from the City Lord should be able to enter this place. The only other creature that had fallen down here with them was that fox, yet it had been missing until now.

The red-clothed youth’s peach-blossom eyes swept over them, his gaze lingering on Han Zhong with undisguised distaste. “Cuddling and hugging in front of outsiders isn’t that a bit improper?”

An Jiu snapped out of his daze and quickly patted Han Zhong’s arm, signaling him to put him down. It wasn’t just because of the fox’s words; he was starting to feel self-conscious.

Han Zhong looked down at him. He didn’t say a word, but An Jiu felt a wave of pressure, and the arm holding him seemed to tighten its grip. An Jiu immediately went silent. His greatest virtue in this life was knowing when to quit while he was ahead.

Once An Jiu settled down, Han Zhong turned his gaze back to the fox. “Since you know you are an ‘outsider,’ what right do you have to comment on the affairs of a husband and wife?”

An Jiu thought, Junior Uncle is certainly committed to the bit. Does he plan to keep this lie going every single day until we leave the city?

He expected a casual retort, but even Han Zhong didn’t anticipate that this one sentence would provoke the fox youth so much. The boy let out a cold laugh, manifested a longsword in his hand, and lunged at Han Zhong.

He’s a swordsman too? Han Zhong narrowed his eyes, feeling a spark of interest. Yao tribes usually had their own unique ancestral inheritances; few chose to study other disciplines. Those who left to join human sects were even rarer. In the Wan-Yan Sword Sect the top sect in the cultivation world Han Zhong was the only Yao of his generation.

Han Zhong set An Jiu down and summoned his own natal sword to parry the strike. Just like Han Zhong, the fox could not use spells here; his ability to maintain human form was based on the same principle as Han Zhong’s serpent tail.

The two clashed with raw skill and strength. After a few exchanges, Han Zhong noticed something: this fox was no ordinary youth. Not only was his foundation rock-solid, but the fact that he didn’t show any instinctive fear when facing Han Zhong spoke volumes.

Han Zhong began to feel a sense of appreciation for this Yao youth who had chosen the same path as him. He asked curiously, “Are you from the Tu-Shan clan or the Lan-Ze clan?” These were the two Great Yao lineages of the Fox Tribe, and only they possessed bloodlines strong enough to withstand his Ba-Serpent pressure.

The red-clothed youth let out a snorting laugh, berkata with arrogant audacity, “I’m your grandfather!”

Han Zhong’s face darkened instantly. Just as he was about to teach this disrespectful junior a lesson, the two walls of the palace behind them began to grind together, nearing total closure. Han Zhong retracted his serpent tail and returned to his human form.

“Stay there and don’t move,” he instructed An Jiu before plunging back into the fierce battle with the youth.

As one set of traps in the palace concluded, another was quietly approaching.

An Jiu nodded and shrank into a seemingly safe corner, determined not to interfere. Trying to stop a fight was a job for a “Protagonist Shaman”; for a “Cannon Fodder” like him, it was a thankless task that no one would listen to anyway.

A faint mist began to rise within the pavilion, silently enveloping An Jiu in a hallucinatory world. At first, he didn’t notice anything wrong until he heard the two men talking and saw lines of “subtitled commentary” appearing above their heads. It was absurd. Even in a world as bizarre as the Cultivation World, this was beyond his comprehension.

“This is too ridiculous” An Jiu muttered.

The star clouds above vanished, replaced by heavy, dark snow clouds. In an instant, snow began to fall in heavy flakes. The red-clothed youth parried a strike and retreated half a step, his expression suddenly changing.

His other self was waking up. He couldn’t let “him” discover this strand of Divine Sense. He glanced at the heavy snow and hissed at Han Zhong through gritted teeth: “The exit is in the spring below, protect him.”

With that, the red-clothed youth transformed into a streak of red light and fled. Han Zhong stood his ground, gripping his sword while pondering the fox’s identity. When he turned back to find An Jiu, the boy looked muddled, as if he were drunk.

An Jiu stared at Han Zhong with misty eyes, his expression innocent. “Junior Uncle, did I do something wrong? Why are you punishing me?”

Han Zhong looked at the surrounding mist, waved it away with a flick of his hand, and pulled An Jiu up. “How have I punished you? For Xiao Jiu to wrong me like this it truly breaks your Junior Uncle’s heart.”

An Jiu blinked slowly and said in a sluggish voice, “My heart is the one that’s ‘breaking’ no, it’s actually just very cold. Junior Uncle, why won’t you let me wear clothes?”

“Pfft…” Han Zhong choked on his own breath.

An Jiu hugged his shivering self, his voice growing smaller. “What did I do wrong?”

Han Zhong found An Jiu in this state quite amusing and couldn’t resist teasing him. “Because you didn’t dress properly and tried to seduce someone. So, I’m punishing you by making you go without clothes.”

An Jiu was shocked. This logic was incredibly forced. But the word “seduce” hit a hidden nerve; he hunched his shoulders guiltily and buried his head even deeper.

Looking at the crown of the boy’s head, Han Zhong felt an irresistible urge to keep teasing him, yet something felt missing. “Let me see if you are following the punishment correctly.”

An Jiu thought about it for a long time before slowly looking down. It seems I’m not… I’m wearing clothes. Was he secretly wearing them without knowing? His mind was a mess; since he felt cold, he assumed he was naked, but seeing the fabric now made him feel he had failed his “punishment.”

But it was so cold. He feared the cold, he feared hunger, and he feared death. With tears in his eyes, An Jiu looked up at Han Zhong. “Junior Uncle, please don’t punish me anymore, okay?”

“Then will you be a good boy?” Han Zhong said it casually, but he actually realized that the little thing had no temper, he was the obedient, submissive type.

An Jiu took this to heart. Han Zhong had led him quite a distance before he finally figured out how to be “good.” Han Zhong, walking half a step ahead, felt a sudden warmth against his palm. An Jiu had reached out with both hands to grab his, much like a child clinging to an adult.

Han Zhong looked down. His first thought was that An Jiu’s hands were smaller than his own, and having both of them hold on didn’t feel out of place. His second thought was that they were warm.

As a serpent, Han Zhong’s body temperature was low. The palm of an ordinary person usually felt too hot for him, which was why he generally disliked physical contact. But An Jiu was truly freezing; as he held onto Han Zhong, the warmth he transferred was a temperature a serpent found comfortingly addictive.

Han Zhong’s expression wavered. He felt a sudden, profound realization that this sensation would become an indelible mark in his memory.

He really is a good boy, Han Zhong thought. He used his free hand to touch the boy’s earlobe—it was also warm.

They walked along the outer corridor of the pavilion, with Han Zhong using his body to shield the boy from the flying snow. They descended slowly to the courtyard below. Through the falling frost, Han Zhong could see a spring in the center of the yard, but he was confused. Why did it suddenly start snowing? There’s no other offensive power here. Is it just to freeze the exit?

By now, the surface of the spring was covered in a thick layer of ice. An Jiu’s snow-dusted eyelashes trembled. He pursed his lips but said nothing.

Standing under the eaves, Han Zhong released An Jiu’s hand to inspect the frozen spring. He worried there might be more traps; if he triggered one, his serpent body was tough enough to handle it, but he feared hurting An Jiu.

He repeated his earlier warning: “Stay here. Don’t come out.” He paused, then added, “No matter what trap I trigger, don’t worry about me.”

An Jiu shivered and looked at him sluggishly. He muttered something, but Han Zhong didn’t catch it and assumed the boy was trying to argue. “Didn’t we just agree? You have to be ‘good’ and listen.”

Han Zhong didn’t realize that from the moment the snow started, An Jiu’s state had changed. He had become quiet. Before entering the palace, he had been a chatterbox, insisting Han Zhong pet the “cute” fox.

Hearing Han Zhong, An Jiu finally gave a slow nod. However, his gaze grew even mistier, as if there were a veil between him and the world.

Han Zhong cleared the immediate area of any hidden dangers and walked toward the spring. In just that short time, the snow had grown deep; with each step, Han Zhong’s feet sank into the soft powder. If An Jiu were out here, he’d be complaining about the cold again, Han Zhong thought. He decided that once he confirmed the path was safe, he’d just carry the boy over again.

Reaching the spring, he saw a stone dragon curled at the bottom, its eyes closed in sleep. Han Zhong sensed something was off about the statue, but he had to test it. He had considered the possibility that the fox was lying, but Han Zhong trusted his own strength. Even if this spring was a giant trap, he was unafraid.

He reached out and touched the thin ice on the surface. Sensing spatial energy flowing through his fingertips, he confirmed it was indeed the exit. He turned back to look at An Jiu. Just as he met the boy’s anxious gaze, the ice beneath his hand began to crack.

Beneath the water, the stone dragon snapped its eyes open. A faint, clear dragon’s roar echoed in the air.

Before Han Zhong could react, An Jiu stood up. “Don’t come over! Stay there!” Han Zhong shouted. But when he turned back, the stone dragon had already lunged at him.

His serpent tail manifested in a flash. He blocked the dragon’s strike, but black scales, stone fragments, and ice shards scattered everywhere. Han Zhong frowned. This stone dragon’s attack power is this high?

While his tail wrestled with the dragon, he glanced at An Jiu. The boy had already ignored his warning and was staggering into the snow toward him.

“Don’t…” Han Zhong’s heart leaped into his throat. With An Jiu’s current physical state, he couldn’t survive a single blow from that dragon.

Because of this distraction, he failed to dodge a blast of dragon breath. A wave of intense cold seeped into his organs. His tail reverted to legs, his face was instantly covered in frost, and even his hair froze into icicles. Seeing he could no longer resist, the stone dragon slowly retreated to the bottom of the spring.

Ice built up around Han Zhong until he was encased in a massive block. Aside from being unable to move and feeling a bit chilly, he wasn’t in any real pain. Through the ice, he could vaguely see An Jiu running toward him. The boy hadn’t been attacked.

Han Zhong realized the dragon only attacked those it deemed a “threat.” Once he was immobilized, it returned to its dormant state to wait for its master to deal with the intruders. He breathed a sigh of relief; at least An Jiu was safe. He planned to lecture the boy for being so reckless once he broke free, but he couldn’t speak or move yet.

Then, An Jiu threw himself against the ice.

“Ma…” (Mother/Cold – In Chinese, ‘Ma’ and ‘Liang’ sound similar, and in his daze, An Jiu is calling for his mother).

Han Zhong thought: I’m the one frozen, why are you calling out that it’s cold?

At this distance, even through the ice, he could see An Jiu’s expression clearly. He realized the boy was crying. He stared with misty eyes, tears silently streaming down his face. Han Zhong felt a strange, inexplicable tightness in his chest.

An Jiu hugged the block of ice, pressing his entire body against it. He was shivering violently, yet he refused to let go. Han Zhong watched helplessly, chanting in his mind for the boy to release him. There’s no need for this. I’m not that cold; I’ll break out in a moment. This kid used to be so smart, why is he doing something so stupid?

An Jiu looked at the frozen Han Zhong with growing panic. “What do I do… it’s so cold…”

He began to mutter to himself, and Han Zhong finally realized the boy was no longer in reality.

“Yes, it’s too icy. I just need to melt the ice. Once it’s melted, she won’t die.”

Han Zhong thought silently: I won’t die even if the ice stays.

At that moment, Han Zhong’s calm shattered. He watched as the boy unbuttoned his tunic and pressed his bare chest against the ice. That was the spot closest to the boy’s heart, where his hot blood could radiate life.

Thump— Thump—

Han Zhong felt his own heartbeat syncing with An Jiu’s. Then, An Jiu tilted his head and pressed his soft lips against the ice over Han Zhong’s nose, licking the surface repeatedly, trying to use the warmth of his mouth to melt the frost. Occasionally, he missed the mark and licked Han Zhong’s eyelids or lips.

Han Zhong watched the boy’s pale pink tongue gradually turn a deep red from the cold. He felt a sense of dizzying enchantment. Amidst the sound of two hearts beating as one, Han Zhong saw a vision of the past.

A cold winter. A dilapidated courtyard with barely a few intact roof tiles, yet the snow in the yard had been swept perfectly clean. A seashell wind chime hung from the eaves, and charcoal drawings of flowers and grass decorated the brick walls. The yard was old, but not neglected.

Han Zhong’s perspective was from above, like a deity watching from the sky. Soon, a group of burly men in uniforms burst into the yard, entered the house, and dragged a beautiful woman outside.

“This woman is truly restless. Discarded by the Master, yet still trying to hook up with other men. A born harlot.” “Exactly. She only became a concubine by climbing into his bed; how could she ever endure loneliness?” “Drown her in the pond!” “Drown her! Drown her!” the intruders shouted with excitement.

The woman struggled, her hair disheveled and her expression full of despair. The men, annoyed by her resistance, kicked and beat her. Once she lost her strength, they dragged her toward the gate by her hair.

“Wait, what about that bastard brat she birthed?” “Shh! He’s the Master’s blood, after all. He’s to be brought back. Watch your mouth.”

Hearing this, the woman stopped struggling. She stared blankly at the sky as she was dragged away.

Han Zhong’s vision followed them to a pond covered in a thin layer of ice. They stuffed the woman into a bamboo cage. “Throw her in. It’s freezing out here; let’s finish this and go home.”

Just as they were about to do it, a stone hit one of the men in the forehead. A small boy, about six or seven years old, came running. He was exquisite and beautiful, but aside from a hint of baby fat on his face, he was skin and bone. Even in thick winter clothes, his emaciation was obvious. Yet his eyes were bright, burning with rage and terror.

Han Zhong, previously a detached observer, felt a sudden tension. He stared at the six-year-old child and realized the truth… this was An Jiu’s memory. He had triggered a trap in the pavilion, which was why it had started snowing. The snow was a catalyst for his most terrifying memories.

The woman was An Jiu’s mother. He was lost in the past and couldn’t distinguish between the past and reality. When he had called out “Ma” earlier, he wasn’t saying it was cold; he was calling for his mother.

Han Zhong anticipated the ending, but he hadn’t expected the process to be so cruel. Through the gaps in the bamboo cage, the woman watched her son. Her fingers gripped the bamboo so hard they were shredded and bloody. “Xiao Jiu, don’t come here. Xiao Jiu, don’t move.”

The child wouldn’t listen. He was grabbed by the men and tied tightly to a withered tree by the pond. The snow began to fall, growing heavier by the minute.

“Don’t look,” Han Zhong wanted to cover An Jiu’s eyes, but he knew he was powerless to change the past.

An Jiu watched his mother being drowned. His eyes turned bloodshot. Afterward, they dragged the cage back up to dump the body in a mass grave. The released child bit and clawed at them like a cornered wolf pup, refusing to let go even when he was beaten. Fearing they would kill him, the men decided to tie him up again.

One man laughed. “Since he can’t bear to leave his mother, why not just stuff him in the cage too?” The others cheered.

But there was already a body in the cage. An Jiu was small, but his clothes were bulky. The men stripped him of his winter coat, leaving him in a thin tunic that offered no protection against the cold, and shoved him inside. An Jiu didn’t fight back. He crawled through the cage until he reached the woman’s lap and curled up against her.

His tunic was soon soaked. The cold from the corpse seeped into his body. He whispered “Ma” over and over. “It’s so cold, you’re so cold too.” Soon, he succumbed to the freezing temperatures and lost consciousness.

Han Zhong followed them, every step a dull ache in his chest that made it hard to breathe. He never saw the boy being released from the cage, because the scene shifted again.

Another winter. A mountain cave.

Han Zhong scanned the area and saw a six-year-old child curled into a ball against the stone wall. He walked over, only to find it wasn’t An Jiu. This is An Jiu’s memory; he has to be here, Han Zhong told himself. Not seeing the child for a moment made him incredibly restless.

Finally, a sound came from outside the sound of a small animal clumsily trudging through deep snow. Han Zhong hurried to the entrance. When he saw an even smaller An Jiu, he felt a strange sense of relief.

This must be an even earlier memory. He looked about five years old, his limbs short and not yet emaciated. The snow outside was so deep the child was practically crawling through it. He struggled into the cave, not even stopping to shake the snow off his clothes before rushing to the back.

“Brother, I checked. The path down the mountain is buried. Your leg is hurt; you can’t walk down.” The five-year-old’s voice was soft and sweet.

But the boy lying there didn’t appreciate the effort. “Are you a waste? My leg is hurt, but yours isn’t! Why can’t you go down and find someone to help me?” The boy sat up and began to berate An Jiu.

Han Zhong finally saw the boy’s face: it was a young An Yunge.

An Jiu sniffled, his nose red from the cold, and gave a submissive “Oh” before heading back out into the snow. Han Zhong frowned, thinking An Yunge was being far too much. Even if he was hurt, he was the one who chose to climb the mountain. To send a five-year-old out into a blizzard to find help without a second thought for the child’s safety.

Han Zhong’s impression of An Yunge hit rock bottom. He ignored the injured An Yunge and followed An Jiu. Just as he feared, An Jiu slipped on the way down, tumbled down a slope, hit his head, and lost consciousness. He was found by a passing elder and taken away.

When An Jiu woke up two days later, he had forgotten that An Yunge was waiting for him. By the time he returned to the An Manor, An Yunge had already been home for two days. As the legitimate eldest son, he was found by the family servants before nightfall. From that day on, An Yunge loathed An Jiu. Not long after, An Jiu and his mother were kicked out of the manor and sent to a rural estate.

Combining these memories, Han Zhong finally understood the grievances between An Jiu and An Yunge. Because of An Yunge’s misunderstanding, the lives of An Jiu and his mother became unbearable, ultimately leading to her death. An Jiu had grown to hate An Yunge in return, and their feud was set there were likely other events, but these two memories were the most indelible in An Jiu’s mind.

Beneath that simple, heartless exterior lay a soul riddled with scars. Yet no one had ever reached out to touch them.

The vision faded. The real An Jiu was still pressed against him, kissing and licking the ice like a desperate puppy. Han Zhong looked at him, his heart melting. An Jiu wasn’t born “bad”; quite the opposite—he was kind. It was his environment that had forced him to either be a villain or a superior who could control his own destiny.

Thinking of himself in his shoes, Han Zhong felt that what An Jiu had done to An Yunge wasn’t even “vile.” If it were him, he wouldn’t rest until his enemy was dead.

Time passed. Finally, as An Jiu’s face began to turn a sickly pale blue from the cold, Han Zhong felt the restriction reach its breaking point. He exerted his strength, and the ice shattered bit by bit.

The moment he could move, Han Zhong pulled An Jiu up, wrapped his tunic, and draped his own outer robe over the boy’s shoulders. Han Zhong thought back to his previous offer and made it again, this time with absolute sincerity.

“When we return, come to Fengyuan Peak. I will protect you.”

An Jiu tilted his head, looking at him with confusion. “Master won’t allow it.”

“Then don’t have him as a Master,” Han Zhong blurted out. He had a sudden, joyous thought. “Acknowledge me as your Master. I will speak for you.”

Previously, he wanted to take An Yunge as a disciple because he thought the boy had the right temperament for a sword cultivator. Later, he only fought for him to spite Si Xuanye. Now, Han Zhong felt he had found an even better solution: Si Xuanye didn’t value An Jiu, so he would take him.

Si Xuanye could keep his precious An Yunge. It was the perfect outcome for everyone.