Konoha: Superman template, the spoiled brat becomes strong.

The location of the dry well on the east side is currently covered by half of a collapsed stone tablet, with only the water radical remaining of the two characters "Guiyuan" on the tablet.

He stood up, a corner of his black robe fluttering in the wind.

The Shadow Needle in his chest suddenly became hot, as if the original bloodline was resonating.

As he brushed his fingertips across the moss by the well, he could feel the vibrations coming from beneath the stone slab—a sign that the seal was loosening.

"It's time to pay back the debt." He chuckled softly, placing his palm on the stone slab beside the well.

Wood Release chakra seeped into the cracks in the rock like a living thing, causing the moss to peel away and reveal the Bagua (Eight Trigrams) patterns carved underneath.

A soft "click" sound came from under the stone slab.

As a soft "click" came from under the stone slab, Bai Ye's eyelashes cast dappled shadows beneath her eyes.

He tapped the edge of the well with his finger, listening to the hollow echo to confirm the space below, and then grabbed the Wood Release: Roots and slid down the well wall.

The musty smell mixed with the damp, earthy odor rushed into my nostrils. As I landed, the sole of my boot crushed a few pieces of broken pottery—fragments of sacrificial wine cups, their glaze color identical to that of the porcelain used in the palace banquets of the Land of Fire.

The secret room was smaller than expected, only big enough for two people to stand in.

The stone table in the very center was covered with a thin layer of dust, yet a perfectly square blank space remained in the center—the former location of the "Will of Fire: Original Edition".

Bai Ye's fingertips brushed against the stone surface, the touch cold and hard as frost, until his gaze swept over the half-burnt page on the corner of the table.

"Wait." He hissed, his chakra condensing into thin lines in his pupils.

The charred edges of the tattered pages were not from ordinary fire, but from the deliberate destruction by the secret technique "Burning Inscriptions"—it is clear that Sojiro's great-grandfather did not burn away all the evidence before his "death" twenty years ago.

He tore off his black robe to cover his hands, and as soon as his fingertips touched the cover of the tattered scroll, the pages unfolded on their own with a "whoosh".

The ink gleamed faintly in the dim light, and after the words "protect the villagers" in the original text, a line of smaller characters covered by a secret technique slowly appeared: "Determine the fate of the nation together with the people through shadow."

Chapter 918 Now, it's your turn.

The new characters superimposed on it are like maggots crawling over it: "The virtuous people bear the burden on behalf of the people."

“What a ‘sage’.” Bai Ye’s knuckles pressed against the stone table, the veins on the back of his fingers bulging. “They didn’t misunderstand the Will of Fire… they turned it into shackles.” His laughter hit the stone wall, startling a few specks of stone into falling.

When Hashirama Senju stood at the Valley of the End and said, "The village belongs to everyone," he probably never imagined that a powerful minister in later generations would use his ideals as a scabbard to hide his own ambitions.

Before the words were finished, black mist suddenly seeped from the walls of the secret room.

That wasn't chakra, but fragments of consciousness—the lingering obsessions left over from the collapse of the Shadow of the Nation, like a crushed beehive, a swarm of malice rushing towards us.

Byakuya's breath hitched. The moment the black mist entered his nostrils, he saw countless images flash back: finance ministers kneeling at the foot of the Hokage Rock burning scrolls, the statues of the old kage having the inscription "to decide with the people" chiseled off, and Sojiro standing on the top floor of the Fire Country Castle, stuffing the altered "Will of Fire" into the textbooks of young ninjas.

"Trying to stop me?" He tore off a fragment of the Shadow Needle, its sharp tip pressed against his palm.

The blood of the first generation boiled in his veins, like the warmth of his mother when she tied a wristband around his neck before she died. "Then let's see if your obsession is stronger, or if the blood of the first generation is hotter."

The moment the needle pierced the skin, blood dripped onto the tattered scroll.

Wood Release chakra rose like green flames, condensing into a mental image barrier in the center of the secret room.

As the fog dissipated, he saw a semi-transparent figure—the afterimage of Hashirama Senju, wearing the white haori of the First Hokage, with his headband split in two, just as recorded in history when he died in battle.

"Why did you allow them to distort your ideals?" Bai Ye's voice trembled, not because of pain, but because he suddenly remembered his mother's dying words: "The Will of Fire should not be a shackle."

The afterimage's gaze fell on the tattered scroll, a faint smile appearing on his lips: "Because I trust people... while they only trust order." His finger traced the four characters "Together with the People," and the ink shone brightly. "Back when I made the pact at the Valley of the End, ninjas from all the villages gathered around to sign it."

But later people got scared—scared that the villagers' voices were too loud, and afraid that Ying's power was too weak.

Their change from "joint decision-making" to "bearing the burden on behalf of others" is merely a veneer for their fear.

The black mist suddenly surged, causing the barrier to vibrate and hum.

The afterimage began to dissipate, and he gave Bai Ye one last look: "When your mother tied the spore wristband to your wrist, she said, 'This child will tear through all pretenses.'"

Now, it's your turn.

Byakuya gripped the tattered scroll tightly, wrapped the pages with Wood Release chakra, and sealed them into a pale green spore capsule.

He lifted his shirt and stuffed the capsule into an old wound under his ribs—a scar left three years ago when he saved children in Sunagakure. The flesh had long since healed, but a gap remained forever, a place where secrets could be hidden.

As he left the secret chamber, he carved a rune on the shrine's gatepost.

Chakra threads meander across the wood, leaving marks as fine as hair. This is the "True Word Unsealing" passed down through generations of Sunagakure puppeteers—only when Chiyo uses her puppet needle to pry open the surface of the wood can the four characters "The Original Has Been Obtained" be seen hidden inside.

As his figure disappeared into the forest mist, the bushes outside the shrine swayed gently.

A patrolling ninja removed his straw mask, revealing a centipede-shaped scar on his left cheek—he was "Splitter Throat," Ebizo's most trusted spy.

He stared at the runes on the doorpost for three breaths, then pulled out the communicator from his waist: "He found it...then they'll know soon too."

Chapter 919 The Truth About the Alteration of the Will of Fire

Deep within the Konoha high-ranking residence, a blue lamp illuminates the face of the "Inspector".

He unfolded the secret report with a split throat, his fingertips tracing over the words "Guiyuan Shrine" and "Masamoto," and a slow smile appeared on his lips.

The candlelight flickered suddenly, illuminating the pattern embroidered on his sleeve—not the emblem of the Land of Fire, but the crumpled Thousand Hands Clan crest.

As Bai Ye walked through the morning dew toward the abandoned post station, the faint sound of horses' hooves could be heard in the mist.

He touched the capsule under his ribs, recalling what Qi Sui had said three days ago in the alley: "I brought a Wind Release scroll to the old post station thirty miles away."

The wind suddenly changed direction, carrying a faint scent of wisteria blossoms—the scented powder that Nanaho often used, mixed with the aroma of wind-style chakra.

He quickened his pace, the spore capsules beneath his black robe radiating a slight warmth.

Before the morning mist had dissipated, the rotten wooden door of the abandoned post station creaked.

Nana stood behind the door, her fingertips gripping the sealing rope of the Wind Release scroll. The scent of wisteria mixed with the damp smell of wood mold wafted into her nostrils—a special mark she had prepared to ensure that Byakuya could find her way in the fog.

As the sound of horses' hooves drew closer, she caught a glimpse of the copper bells on the eaves swaying gently.

A figure in a black robe emerged from the mist, bloodstains spreading into palm-sized dark spots around his waist, his pale face appearing as thin as a sheet of paper in the morning light.

Qi Sui quickly stepped forward and reached out to help him, but he turned away.

"The injury is nothing serious." Bai Ye's voice was colder than the mist as he reached out and stuffed a pottery jar wrapped in coarse hemp into her arms.

The bloodstains under his ribs were still seeping out, and his fingertips pressed against the old wound, where the outline of the spore capsule was hidden. "This is not a weapon."

Qi Sui lowered her head, feeling the coolness of the earthenware pot emanating from beneath the coarse hemp.

She squeezed the jar, but couldn't find the mechanism. When she looked up, she met his deep, unfathomable eyes: "It's a knife."

A knife that cuts through lies.

"What lie?" she blurted out, her fingers unconsciously rubbing the clay seal on the jar's rim.

Three years ago, when they first met in the dark alley, those eyes were like ice, but now they burn with a fire she couldn't understand.

"The truth about the alteration of the Will of Fire." Bai Ye reached out and pressed down on the back of her hand, his fingertips calloused from years of holding chakra threads. "The daimyo succession ceremony will be held in three days, and it will be opened in front of all the ministers." He released her hand, took two steps back, and the hem of his black robe swept across the dusty wooden steps. "Don't trust anyone, including your superior."

Qisui felt a tightness in her throat.

Three months ago, she was still cleaning up dissidents for the Fire Country's Inspection Department. It wasn't until she met the old scholar being whipped in the torture chamber—as he breathed his last while shouting "Let's decide together"—that she suddenly realized that her knife had been aimed at those who spoke the truth.

The earthenware jar was burning hot in her arms. She thought of the "original copy" in the old scholar's blood and foam, and the runes that Bai Ye had carved at the shrine last night. A low laugh rolled down her throat: "You really dare to gamble."

“It’s a gamble on people’s hearts.” Bai Ye turned and walked into the mist, his steps unsteady yet firm. “Your mother said before she died, ‘The Will of Fire should not be a shackle.’ My mother said, ‘This child will tear away all pretenses.’” His figure melted into the mist, his voice scattered in the wind. “Now, it’s up to you.”

Qi Sui gripped the earthenware jar tightly.

The cawing of crows echoed through the morning mist, and she realized that her back was completely soaked with cold sweat, her undergarment drenched.

The Capital City Secret Service's headquarters has a dead archive on the third basement level. The iron door is locked with old case files from half a century ago, and the musty smell is pungent.

Holding a torch, Qi Sui stuffed the earthenware jar into the deepest sandalwood cabinet, with mugwort at the bottom for moisture protection—this was arranged by her own hand, and even her deputy didn't know about it.

As she locked the cabinet door, the brass key left a red mark on her palm. Staring at the shadow dancing on the wall, she suddenly felt that the shadow looked exactly like the dim lamp in the Ministry of Supervision.

Chapter 920 Joint Decision with the People

At the same time, in a secret pavilion somewhere in Sunagakure Village.

Ebizo held the communicator's antennae as he listened to Ripper's report: "The pottery jar has been put into the Dead Archives, hidden by Nanaho herself." He stroked the puppeteer's needle pouch on the table, a half-smile appearing at the corner of his mouth.

Chiyo always said he was too steady, but the Chinese character for "steady" can be broken down into "grain" and "urgency"—when things need to be urgent, someone always has to act first.

“Send a message to ‘Raven.’” He took out a silver needle as thin as a hair and heated it over the candle flame. “Tell the child that if Shichisui wavers, let her see the price.”

The consequences came sooner than Nanaho had anticipated.

Late at night, her roommate burst into her room. “Qingye is dead.” The young man was panting heavily, clutching a bloodstained bronze plaque in his hand. “He was found at the entrance of West Market Alley, his body was purple, and his hand…” He handed her the plaque, the two characters “Shige” engraved on it gleaming coldly in the moonlight.

Nana's blood instantly turned cold to her feet.

Kiyono was the first spy she trained; three years ago, he shielded her from an assassin's knife.

When she rushed into West Market Alley, the corpse was still warm, with bluestone slabs embedded in the alley entrance under her fingernails, and black blood smeared at the corner of her mouth—clearly, she had been poisoned by an extremely yin poison.

The "History Pavilion" is an institution in the Land of Fire dedicated to revising historical records, and it is directly under the jurisdiction of the daimyo.

Qi Sui clutched the bronze plaque, recalling the secret report she had seen at the Ministry of Supervision three days prior: the Shi Pavilion had transferred a new batch of clerks, the leader of whom had a crumpled thousand-hand clan emblem embroidered on his cuff.

She suddenly remembered Bai Ye's words: "Don't trust anyone."

The musty smell of the abandoned paper mill was stronger than that of the dead archives.

Bai Ye knelt beside the pool of wood pulp, his Wood Release chakra seeping into the pulp from his fingertips, and pale green mycelium spread out like a net.

His old wound under his ribs still ached, and the spore capsules clung to his flesh, each ink mark of the tattered pages of the original manuscript sealed inside.

“True peace begins with questioning authority.” He murmured the words on the tattered page, and suddenly the mycelium surged, imprinting the ink into the wood pulp fibers.

Three days later, these papers will be sent to the official printing house and mixed into the newly published "Ninja Way Complete Mirror".

“Mother, look.” He touched the pages floating in the pulp pool, a faint smile appearing on his lips. “I’m tearing away your disguise.”

Three days later, the academy in the capital of the Land of Fire was in an uproar.

The boys held up a newly published copy of "The Complete Guide to the Way of the Ninja," pointing to unfamiliar words that suddenly appeared in the "Will of Fire" chapter: "Back then, when the pact was made, all the ninjas gathered around to sign it..."

"That's not right!" The old scholar slammed his fist on the table, his beard trembling. "The history book says that the shadows of the people bear the burden!"

"But that's what the book says!" The boys huddled together, the pages rustling. "Look, sir, there's also 'decision-making with the people' here!"

When the news reached the secret agent headquarters, Nanaho was standing in front of the dead files warehouse.

The iron lock was in her hand, and the outline of the pottery jar was imprinted on her palm through the wooden door.

Kiyono's body was still lying in the mortuary, and Shi Ge's bronze plaque was digging painfully into her sleeve.

Tomorrow is the daimyo succession ceremony.

She took out the key, inserted it into the lock, and then suddenly pulled it back.

The moonlight streamed in through the window, illuminating the wavering in her eyes—like a flickering flame, ready to be extinguished at any moment.

As the moonlight spilled over the ruins of the old daimyo mansion, Nanaho's wooden clogs crunched over the broken tiles scattered on the ground.

The earthenware jar in her arms felt as heavy as ice, making her ribs ache from the impact—this was the third time she had dodged the hidden stakes, and the fourth time she had confirmed that there were no chakra fluctuations following her.

Chapter 921 Unshakable?

The smell of moss in the ruins mingled with the scorched earth of the fire, and the sealing wax marks on the broken pillars still bore the dark red of three years ago—the seal she had personally stamped on the night the old daimyo was assassinated.

“You always said that the Land of Fire should be a tree with roots that are deeply embedded in the soil.” She knelt down in front of the stone lampstand behind the broken wall, her fingertips tracing the worn cherry blossom pattern on the lamp base—the former daimyo always loved to read agricultural books in front of this lamp, saying that “the roots are invisible, but they are more important than the crown of the tree.”

The earthenware jar made a soft sound as it was placed on the lampstand. Qi Sui's hand trembled as she unsealed the clay seal, and Qingye's purplish face suddenly appeared before her eyes: the sound of his fingernails digging into the bluestone slab before he died was just like the sound of the blade scraping against her nail when he shielded her from a knife three years ago.

The tinder crackled and shot up a blue flame, illuminating the yellowish silk inside the earthenware jar.

Qi Sui's Adam's apple bobbed slightly. The tinder was only three inches away from the silk, and the heat made her eyelashes curl.

As long as this fire continues to burn, Shi Ge's poison needles will no longer target her; as long as this fire continues to burn, she can still be the secret agent who wipes the blood from the system—but the words "joint decision" suddenly exploded in the old scholar's blood and foam, and the warmth of her mother's grip on her wrist before her death surged up: "Xiao Qi, don't let the will of fire become an iron chain that binds people."

"Ding--"

My wrist suddenly felt hot.

Startled, Qi Sui let go of the tinder, which fell onto the rubble, sparks flying onto the rim of the earthenware pot.

It was a fragment of spore embedded in the wristband, now glowing with an eerie green light, as if someone had lit a small lamp inside the fragment.

The light and shadow distorted, revealing the voice of the White Night, mingled with the damp smell of wood pulp: "You once fought for loyalty, now you betray for the truth."