Who Wants to Be the Affectionate Cannon Fodder?! [Quick Transmigration] - Chapter 49

Zhou Yao failed to find Yu Lin in his room the next morning, and the fright nearly sent his soul flying.

After all, Shen Xingzhuo had a prior record of running away mid-filming. Although he and Jiang Shiyan had already broken up—and judging by his decisiveness, it was unlikely he would return to “press a warm face against a cold surface”—Zhou Yao still had no idea where he could have gone so early.

Before he could even call to find him, he heard the news that Jiang Shiyan had visited the Song of the Broken Array set last night. His heart, which had just settled, instantly shot back into his throat. Zhou Yao performed a hundred-meter sprint to the stairwell, frantically stabbing the elevator button.

In the next second, the door behind him opened with a click. Yu Lin, clutching his script and sporting a pair of bleary eyes, looked at Zhou Yao’s panicked back and called out in confusion, “Brother Zhou Yao? Where are you going in such a rush?”

Zhou Yao whipped around. The joy on his face had not even begun to form before it plummeted to rock bottom upon seeing the room number above Yu Lin’s head. The other half of his soul flew away in shock.

“How did you come out of that room!” Zhou Yao shouted, startled. He cut himself off halfway, suddenly lowering his voice for fear of being overheard.

Just as he spoke, Ning Jinghe walked out behind Yu Lin. He was frowning, looking somewhat impatient, and one side of his face was pressed pink, the clear look of someone who had just woken up.

“Brother, you are awake?” Hearing footsteps, Yu Lin looked back at him. “I saw you were sleeping soundly, so I did not wake you.”

Ning Jinghe gave a low grunt, rubbing the back of his head which ached from sleep. “Mhm.”

Yu Lin guessed the reason for his discomfort and asked, “Actually, you could have just slept with me.”

The last bit of hope in Zhou Yao’s heart finally died. He snatched Yu Lin’s wrist, his gaze sharply scanning the exposed neck, arms, and even his calves. Only after confirming there were no suspicious marks did he let out a long breath of relief.

Yu Lin looked at him, puzzled. “What are you doing?”

“We were discussing the script last night,” Ning Jinghe explained, having recovered his wits and understanding what Zhou Yao was worried about. “Shen Xingzhuo got sleepy later on, so I gave him the bed and let him sleep there for the night.”

Realizing he had misunderstood again, Zhou Yao gave an awkward smile. “Sorry for the trouble, Teacher Ning. Thank you for looking after Xingzhuo last night.”

“It is nothing.” Ning Jinghe’s dark, unreadable gaze swept over Yu Lin’s face. He reached out and smoothed a stray tuft of hair by Yu Lin’s ear. As he pulled his hand away, his well-defined knuckles brushed against the curve of Yu Lin’s earlobe.

Ning Jinghe simply said, “Go back and wash up. See you on set.”

Yu Lin raised a hand to touch the spot that had been brushed. Even though Ning Jinghe’s hand had already left, there was still a strange sensation. But before he could ponder it, he was pulled away by the once-again-alert Zhou Yao.

The Climax of the Plot

Xiao Jingyan’s scenes were more than half finished. Conspiracy surged in Jinling City as the court grew turbulent. While following Xiao Xiyun in the investigation of the major case, Xiao Jingyan gradually discovered his brother Xiao Jingke’s shadow behind it all, along with the truth of their father’s death in battle.

After that night of Xiao Jingke’s poison flare-up, Xiao Jingyan finally understood that his brother, who pretended loyalty to the Wende Emperor, had never forgotten their parents’ deaths. His years of dormant submission were only to personally settle the blood debt of the Marquis of Anding’s manor.

The once-innocent second young master resolutely cast aside his carefree, stable life, determined to help his brother complete his revenge and ascend to the throne. Because his image as someone unconcerned with worldly affairs was so deeply ingrained, neither Xiao Xiyun nor Luo Heng realized that Xiao Jingyan was the one pushing the subsequent pieces of the board.

However, Xiao Xiyun eventually cracked Xiao Jingke’s schemes one by one. Just as she was one step away from the truth, she was forced to leave the capital due to urgent military matters in the Northern Desert. The following “March Spring Hunt” became Xiao Jingke’s last and only opportunity in his plan.

The journey was too dangerous; failure meant death without a burial. Xiao Jingke wanted to leave a final bloodline for the Marquis’s manor and was unwilling to let Xiao Jingyan risk his life, so he ordered his personal guards to forcibly send him out of Jinling. If he succeeded, their next meeting would be in the Golden Throne Hall; if he failed, today would be their final parting in this life.

But how could Xiao Jingyan be willing? They were only one step away. Whether it was life or death, he would accompany his brother through the final stretch. The result, naturally, was Xiao Jingke forcibly knocking him unconscious and sending him off on a carriage leaving the capital.

Because of the countless rehearsals the night before, today’s filming was extremely smooth. Yu Lin and Ning Jinghe entered their roles with incredible speed, pulling everyone on set into that “black clouds pressing down on the city” atmosphere.

Xiao Jingke tore off his refined mask, revealing ruthlessness and gloom. Every move he used to subdue his brother was sharp and merciless. Meanwhile, Xiao Jingyan’s anger and obsession began to surface bit by bit.

Xiao Jingyan was indeed an extroverted character, but he understood his brother’s intentions. His resistance was not hysterical or roaring; it was a nearly tragic, suppressed rage. Only in the final moment, when his brother personally shackled him in iron chains and was about to knock him out, did Yu Lin finally vent all his emotions. His voice nearly broke from the force of his shout.

When the scene ended, the crew noticed that Yu Lin’s hands were marked with a startling red welt from the iron chains, and the skin had broken in some places. He seemed to be constantly getting injured during these few days of filming.

Also, several iron rings had actually been pulled out of shape by him. The prop master, collecting the now one-time-use prop, fell into a deep silence.

Yu Lin, however, seemed to have been too immersed in Xiao Jingyan’s emotions. When Ning Jinghe wanted to come over and treat his injuries, he had not fully exited the character. He unilaterally gave Ning Jinghe the cold shoulder for half an hour, only to be finally won over by a cup of milk tea.

Ning Jinghe watched him holding the milk tea with one hand, his face blank as he sipped through the straw, while his other hand hung limp and boneless for the staff to tend to. He was nearly made to laugh with irritation.

The Fall of the Marquis

After this scene, Yu Lin had only one scene left: learning of Xiao Jingke’s death. Originally scheduled for tomorrow, a scheduling conflict at the studio city meant the “March Spring Hunt” venue had been booked by another crew in two weeks. Consequently, Ning Jinghe’s schedule was shifted to film Xiao Jingke’s ending early.

Yu Lin was given another day off by the director. This time, he went nowhere. He brought Zhou Yao to the Group B set early in the morning to watch.

Ning Jinghe had changed into a suit of black iron armor, his dark hair bound tightly atop his head. He no longer suppressed his ambition or hatred. A sharp, murderous intent shrouded his cold, deep features; one look was enough to see he was a general who had emerged from a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood.

From preparation to the start of filming, Yu Lin’s eyes never left Ning Jinghe. It made Zhou Yao, standing beside him, feel uneasy. Though he had suspected it, seeing it was another matter entirely.

“Xingzhuo, if you are thinking of investing in a new prairie,” Zhou Yao began.

“Shh,” Yu Lin cut him off, staring at Ning Jinghe’s performance with quiet devotion.

Early in the rebellion, Xiao Jingke held the winning hand. But just as he broke through the gates of the traveling palace and was about to step onto the palace stairs to reach the Wende Emperor, the sound of a massive troop of iron hooves thundered from outside. Xiao Xiyun, who should have been at the Northern Desert, had somehow received word and rushed back early.

A silver spear grazed his shoulder as Xiao Jingke and Xiao Xiyun engaged in battle. Both were descendants of Marquises who guarded the borders of Great Wan, and both were blood-related juniors of the Wende Emperor, yet their fates were diametrically opposed.

“If the Prince of Zhenbei and the Heir Apparent had not died on the battlefield long ago, your fate, Xiao Xiyun, would surely be the same as mine,” Ning Jinghe said mockingly.

Xiao Xiyun replied, “I know the Marquis of Anding’s manor was wronged. But your actions today will not clear the Old Marquis’s name; they will only invite the scorn of future generations. In the history books, you, Xiao Jingke, will be a traitor and a rebel. Your truth will be nothing but an excuse for rebellion. Who will truly believe you!”

“What of it? A general’s success is built on ten thousand bleached bones. History is written by the victors.”

The battle grew fiercer, and Xiao Jingke was finally defeated. The Wende Emperor hurriedly ordered men to surround him. Standing on the ninth level of the stairs, the Emperor gazed down at the kneeling Xiao Jingke as if looking at an ant.

“Jingke, I have treated you well.” Even his tone was thin and cold.

Xiao Jingke tried to lunge forward in desperation, a sword glinting as it pointed toward the Emperor’s throat. But it was too late. Iron chains from all directions caught his wrists and dragged him to the ground. He looked up at the high-and-mighty Emperor, gasping for breath. After a long silence, he finally spoke. His tone was unusually calm but resonant.

“In the thirteenth year of Jingtai, my father, Xiao Langying,” he began. Word by word, piece by piece, he spoke of the Old Marquis’s contributions to the throne and his feat of stabilizing the Southern Border.

“When my father’s body was brought back, there were three arrows in his back!” Ning Jinghe’s voice suddenly trembled, his tone rising. Recalling the scene of his father’s tragic death, he could barely suppress the urge to tear the Emperor on the stage to shreds. “A general! He could block ten thousand enemy troops in front of him, but he could not block a cold arrow from his own people behind him! He could not block the baseless suspicion of an Emperor safe in the capital!”

“Xiao Yuanqi, Royal Uncle, Your Majesty, in your midnight dreams, have you ever seen your old friend? Have you seen my dull, loyal father?” Ning Jinghe spat out a mouthful of blood and let out a nearly manic laugh. “As you sit on that high throne, planning your schemes in the court, have you ever thought of the soldiers who died for their country on the borders of Great Wan?”

“Victory and defeat are decided. I accept it.”

The Wende Emperor slowly walked down the steps, seemingly moved by those words. His voice carried a feigned dryness. “I,” he began.

Suddenly, Xiao Jingke used his final strength to break the chains, his hands reaching like claws for the Emperor who was only a step away. At that moment, a cold arrow whistled through the air, piercing through his heart.

Blood surged in his mouth, gushing out and blocking his throat. He opened his mouth, unable to say a single word.

The moment he collapsed, he seemed to see a goshawk flying across the blue sky. It was another spring and summer, and the grasslands of the Southern Border were growing lush. A young Xiao Jingyan had not yet learned to ride, trotting behind him, while his father’s silver spear traced a sharp arc in the air, only to be knocked off his horse by his mother in the next instant.

It was just that those days could never be returned to.

He, Xiao Jingke, was born in the Marquis of Anding’s manor in the Southern Border and grew up in the vast mountains and grasslands. He had once whipped his horse and come and gone as he pleased. Later, with both parents dead, the carefree youth gradually lived as the respectful, gentle Marquis Xiao, and the kind yet strict elder brother.

Now, he died on the steps of a narrow traveling palace in a pool of blood, his hair in disarray, fallen into the dust. The only thing he could not let go of was his worrisome younger brother.