Konoha: Superman template, the spoiled brat becomes strong.

Nana stared at the flickering light within the fragments, suddenly recalling the scene she had spied on outside the paper mill three days ago—Bai Ye kneeling by the pulp vat, his pale face reflecting the pulp, his fingers bleeding as he pressed them into the water. "True peace begins with questioning authority." His words then overlapped with the voice within the fragments.

The night wind ruffled her hair and made the silk in the pottery jar rustle. It was the sound of paper from the book "The Book of Lord Shang," which the old daimyo loved most; it was the sound of bamboo slips clutched by the old scholar before he breathed his last; it was the sound of "The Will of Fire" being blown by the wind at the head of her mother's bedside as she breathed her last.

She closed her eyes, bent down to pick up the tinderbox, and blew it out.

As the morning light streamed into the ceremony hall, the sound of Nanami's wooden clogs was exceptionally clear on the red carpet.

The newly appointed daimyo sat on his golden throne, the jewels on his crown dazzling; Sojiro's remaining followers stood below the steps, holding up a newly revised edition of "A New Interpretation of the Will of Fire": "What the previous daimyo protected with his life is the unshakable legacy of our Land of Fire..."

"Unshakeable?" Nanami's voice was like a knife chilled to ice, piercing the silence of the hall.

She climbed the steps, the earthenware jar leaving a red mark on her palm. "So, what is the contents of this jar?"

The new king on the golden throne suddenly straightened up.

The faces of the remaining members of Sojiro's gang turned pale instantly—they recognized the jar; three days ago, when the historian was transferring clerks, the Thousand Hands Clan crest on the leader's sleeve was embroidered by them.

Qi Sui lifted the pottery jar, and the crisp sound of the silk fabric bursting through the hall.

She unfolded the tattered page, her voice clearer than the morning mist: "When the First Hokage, Hashirama Senju, made his covenant, he wrote: 'Only when ninjas and commoners share the torch can life endure.'"

'The Will of Fire is never about the shadows bearing the burden for the people, but about 'deciding together with the people!'

"Outrageous!" The senior minister on the right slammed his hand on the table, the jade pendant at his waist clanging loudly. "This is blasphemy against our ancestors!"

Chapter 922 Joint Decision with the People

“If truth is blasphemy, then what you worship has never been the Will of Fire.” Nana stared at the old minister’s trembling beard, recalling the bluestone slab under Kiyono’s fingernails, “It is your own ambition.”

A commotion erupted inside the hall.

The new daimyo's crown was askew, the pages of the book clutched by Sojiro's remaining followers were crumpled, and the old retainer's jade pendant clattered to the ground.

Looking at the distorted faces of these people, Qi Sui suddenly remembered what Bai Ye had said about "betting on people's hearts"—it turns out that those who are most afraid of the truth are never ordinary people, but those who sit in high positions and worship the truth as if it were a clay figure.

On the tower outside the city, Bai Ye's knuckles pressed against the stone wall.

The clamor from the main hall echoed through the spore network, like a tangled mess in his ears.

He didn't laugh; instead, he squinted and looked towards Konoha—there was a chakra fluctuation there, the frequency of which was so familiar that it made his heart clench.

That was Utara's "Memory Overwrite Technique." It was this technique that changed the first generation's "Joint Decision" into "Shadow Generation People Bear the Burden."

“They are not afraid of the truth…” He touched the pages of paper beside the tower, which were the “Ninja Way Compendium” blown in by the wind, “because they have already been rewriting history itself.”

The writing on the page suddenly glowed with a bluish light, and the four characters "to decide with the people" slowly faded and were covered by new ink.

The night wind swirled the pages of paper, carrying them toward the direction of the History Pavilion, where the eaves looked like a gaping mouth in the twilight.

Bai Ye reached for the spore capsule at his waist, his fingertip tracing the engraving inside—the word "tear" that his mother had drawn on his palm with her fingernail before she died.

He gazed at the dark clouds in the direction of the Shige Pavilion and said in a low voice, "Then let's tear it again."

Late at night, beneath the red walls of the Shige Pavilion, a dark shadow swept past the trees.

The red walls of the Shige Pavilion gleamed with a bluish-gray hue in the night, resembling a crouching giant beast.

Bai Ye lay in the shadows of the corner, his tongue pressed against his back teeth—just now he had tried to shatter a roof tile with his chakra, and the sound of armor rubbing against each other came from inside the wall after only half an inch of the shattering sound.

The Silent Barrier truly lived up to its name; even a pebble landing on the ground could be magnified into a thunderclap.

He reached for the spore capsules at his waist, his fingertips brushing against the indentation of the word "tear" carved by his mother.

The tattered pages that Nanaho had unfolded in the Daimyo Hall three days ago now appeared before his eyes: the altered ink gleamed with a bluish light, like a venomous snake devouring the original words of the First Emperor. "They didn't alter history books, they altered the spark of revolution." He chuckled softly, his Adam's apple bobbing as his gaze swept over the paper cart in the corner.

The paper deliveryman's panting, mixed with the smell of paper and ink, drifted over.

Bai Ye held his breath, lightly tapping the wall with his fingertips—three long taps followed by two short ones—this was the secret code he had exchanged with Qi Sui.

The next moment, the paper cart suddenly jolted, and the top layer of paper bundles scattered with a "snap," sending yellow paper flying all over the place towards the corner of the wall.

The craftsman grumbled as he squatted down to pick up the paper, and Bai Ye's shadow brushed past the back of his neck like a butterfly's wing.

“Use your excuse to be angry.” He whispered behind the craftsman’s ear, a crack appearing in the spore capsule in his palm.

The pale golden mist followed the craftsman's breath into his nasal cavity and instantly merged into his lungs—these spores, nourished by Wood Release, could travel with the airflow and were more like air than chakra.

The craftsman sneezed, completely unaware that he had become a living key.

The vermilion door of the Shige creaked open a crack, and as the craftsman pushed the paper cart in, Bai Ye's spores drifted toward the archives with his breath.

He leaned against the old locust tree outside the wall, his knuckles touching the bark, and the scene in the spore network gradually became clear: the ancient books on the carved wooden shelf gleamed with a cold light, and scribes were covering up old words with blue ink. Every time they made a change, new ink would automatically appear on the "Complete Mirror of the Way of the Ninja" on the desk.

Chapter 923 Can you change history books, or can you change poisonous ink?

"What a clever 'automatic overwrite' feature." Bai Ye squinted, his fingertip tracing a shallow mark on the tree trunk.

The moment the spores burrowed into the paper fibers, his pupils glowed with the unique emerald green of Wood Release—these tiny lives were recording every alteration through cell division: the deleted words "joint decision," the added "shadow on behalf of the people to bear the burden," and even the extra stroke added when the scribe's wrist trembled.

Meanwhile, a thousand miles away, at the Sunagakure ancestral home.

Chiyo placed the teacup heavily on the table, and fine cracks appeared on the celadon.

The letter in her hand still carried the scent of spores and wood, and the handwriting was Bai Ye's unique vigorous style: "Shi Ge is reading books, quickly copy the original." A sharp light suddenly appeared in the old woman's wrinkles. She clapped her hands, and a hundred puppets hanging from the beam fell down at the same time—these "hundred-machine copying" puppets, made with the meridians of living people as threads, were a forbidden technique passed down through the Qian family for generations.

"Activate." She touched the forehead of the front row of puppets with her fingertip, and dark purple chakra snaked around.

The puppets' wooden fingers suddenly grew three inches longer, dipped in ink laced with corpse poison, and flew across the blank scrolls.

Chiyo gazed at the characters they were copying in unison, a low chuckle escaping her throat: "They can alter history books, and they can alter poisonous ink."

Once this copy reaches the puppet regime, the ink will become visible when heated—letting them see just how rotten the foundations of the country they govern have become.

"You want me to keep an eye on things?" Ebizo's voice came from under the corridor.

Chiyo didn't turn around, but simply stuffed the sealed "iron cocoon" into his palm: "The carrier pigeons of the crow's descendants are best at flying through the wind, so you deliver it yourself."

The postscript reads, "If a person does not know the true history, how can he govern the country?"

"These eight words are enough to keep those old fogies up at night."

Ebizo touched the mechanism on the iron cocoon and suddenly caught a glimpse of tears in Chiyo's eyes.

He opened his mouth, but ultimately didn't ask.

As the moonlight climbed onto the eaves, twenty black-feathered homing pigeons fluttered into the night sky, their iron cocoons gleaming coldly beneath their claws.

In the morning mist of the capital, Nanami's blue robe was soaked.

She stood under the old locust tree at the street corner, watching the thirty apprentices holding the tattered pages of the "Original Text," her lips moving silently.

These boys were chosen by her from the bookstore; each of them had such a good memory that they could recite the entire "Chapter of Fire".

At this moment, their Adam's apples bobbed up and down, and their eyelashes were glistening with tears in the mist. When they recited "Ninjas and civilians share the torch," a girl with a ponytail had tears in her eyes.

"Arrest them!" The city patrol's gong rang out.

Twenty spear-wielding soldiers charged forward, but their spear tips stopped half a foot away from the boys—the squad leader flipped open the book in one of the boys' hands, then pulled out the official edition of "The Complete Guide to the Way of the Ninja" from his pocket, his pupils suddenly contracting: "This...this is different?"

“It should be different!” A choked voice suddenly came from the crowd from the elderly teacher.

He stumbled and pushed his way to the front, his gray beard glistening with dew. "I've taught 'Shadows Bear the Burden' for thirty years, and it turns out... it turns out the first master wrote 'Joint Decision'!" The old man fell to his knees with a thud, his forehead hitting the bluestone slab. "Did I deceive the children, or did they deceive me?"

Qi Sui watched the ripples spreading through the crowd: the old man selling steamed buns leaned over and squinted to look, the young man carrying water put down his carrying pole to listen, and even the tips of the city patrol guards' spears drooped.

She recalled Bai Ye's words about "betting on people's hearts," and now she finally understood—when the truth falls into the soil like a seed, even the morning mist can become its nourishment.

Late at night, the eaves of the Shige Pavilion still gaped open in the twilight.

Bai Ye retracted the spore network, his fingertips brushing against the word "tear" on his palm.

A gust of wind suddenly swept in from the direction of Guiyuan Shrine, carrying the dampness of the dry well.

Chapter 924 The Dominance of Shadow Power

He gazed at the pages of paper that drifted in the wind, the two characters “joint decision” gleaming with a pale gold—the genuine handwriting of the spores, heavier than any ink.

"It's time to return to the source," he murmured, his voice carried away by the night wind.

Suddenly, the old locust tree in the corner sprouted new branches, and tender green buds wrapped with spores drifted with the wind toward the shrine.

The wooden door of Guiyuan Shrine creaked softly under Bai Ye's palm.

He trudged through the moonlight, which shimmered like shattered jade, his boots crushing a few ginkgo leaves swept by the wind. When he left three days ago, there was only weeds and spiderwebs here, but now the copper bells on the eaves were coated with fresh tung oil, jingling softly in the wind.

“Someone has been here.” He stopped by the well and tapped the moss-covered rim with his knuckles.

The dampness seeping from the cracks in the rocks carried a faint scent of sandalwood, a "refreshing incense" commonly used by the nobles of the Land of Fire.

Bai Ye lowered his eyes to look at the bottom of the well. Suddenly, a faint light appeared in the bottomless darkness—it was a wood seed that he had scattered with the spores last night. It was climbing up the well wall, and the tender green branches wove starlight on the stone wall.

He untied the wooden scroll from his waist and ran his fingertips along the blood-stained lines on the edge of the scroll—the “living technique” seal that his mother had carved for him with her own blood essence.

“It’s time to let the truth take root.” He chuckled, and chakra flowed from his palm like a living spring, condensing into a green ball of light at the well’s mouth.

The moment the ball of light fell into the well, the ground of the entire shrine began to tremble, and the earth veins beneath the moss emitted muffled sounds, as if a giant beast that had been sleeping for thousands of years had been awakened.

A soft sound of wood fibers tearing came from the bottom of the well.

Bai Ye bent down and saw the first silver-white tree root emerging from the well, wrapped in black soil and small pottery shards—these were broken tiles from the time of the First Hokage, "useless things" deliberately buried by Shige.

The moment the tree root touched his fingertips, his pupils rippled with emerald light, and memories flooded back like a tidal wave: the altered words "joint decision" burning on his retina, the ink splattered when the clerk dipped his brush in blue ink, the wormholes along the edges of the tattered pages brought by Qi Sui...

"Go," he said softly, pressing his palm against the tree root.

Wood Release chakra spread wildly along the root system, and the branches on the well wall instantly grew ten feet long, forming an umbrella-like canopy on the shrine's open ground.

The leaves make a rustling sound as they unfold, and pale golden patterns emerge on the back of each leaf—these are the true historical records recorded by the spores: the First Hokage's words at the Valley of the End, "The hands of ninjas and civilians should be clasped on the same contract," the Second Raikage's secret letter opposing the "Kage's absolute power," and even the half of the headband left to his granddaughter by the Third Kazekage before his disappearance.

"The tree...the tree is glowing!"

Exclamations came from outside the shrine.

Bai Ye looked up and saw three villagers wrapped in coarse cloth shirts clinging to the fence. The old woman in the front had dropped her vegetable basket on the ground, and the radishes rolled into the grass.

He retreated into the shade behind the tree, watching the child in the red bib tiptoe to touch the leaves. The moment his fingertips touched the underside of the leaf, it suddenly shimmered with golden light, and an aged male voice echoed in the air: "The ninja world should not be the private property of the Kage, but a shared home for all those who wield blades and those who wield hoes..."

The child cried out and pulled his hand back, then turned and rushed into the old woman's arms: "Grandma! The leaves can talk!" The old woman trembled as she touched the leaves, tears falling onto their surface. The golden veins suddenly flowed even faster, as if responding to her joy and sorrow.

Bai Ye watched this scene, his Adam's apple bobbing—just three days ago he was outside the History Pavilion watching the city guards raise their spears, and now the truth had been embedded in the most ordinary soil in the most primitive way.

Chapter 925 Punished as a Traitor to the Village

In Iwagakure, a village in the Land of Earth a thousand miles away, Ebizo's carrier pigeons are soaring over thunderclouds.

He stood in the secret passage behind the training ground, looking at the man opposite him wearing khaki armor—the captain of Onoki's personal guard, with a scar on his Adam's apple, left from the battle with the Sand Village.

"Lord Tsuchikage said he'd only give you half an incense stick's worth." Scarface Captain reached for the short sword at his waist, his gaze sweeping over the iron cocoon in Ebizo's arms.

Ebizo placed the iron cocoon on the stone table, his fingertips tracing the mechanism lock: "Inside are witnesses and physical evidence of the History Bureau's alteration of records over the past decade." The lock clicked open, and thirty bloodstained papers fluttered out. The top one bore the clerk's fingerprint, the ink still wet: "By order of the Minister of Finance, the phrase 'joint decision' in the 'First Hokage's Notes' has been changed to 'Kage's successor.'" "Sunagakure doesn't interfere in the internal affairs of the Land of Fire," he took two steps back, the puppet strings in his sleeve slightly taut, "but if the Land of Earth wants to implement the 'Historical Facts Disclosure Order,' these are enough to expose the parasites hiding in the History Bureau under the Tsuchikage's Dust Release."

Scarface Captain's dagger clattered to the ground.

He grabbed the note and glanced at it, veins bulging on his neck: "Does Lord Ying know about this?"

“He will know.” Ebizo turned to leave, then stopped. “Tell Onoki that true reform is not about changing a few books, but about making sure that every old woman in every village can read the true history.” His voice, mixed with the echo of the secret passage, pierced the ears of the scarred captain like a fine needle.

That night, the firelight from the Tsuchikage's office illuminated half of Iwagakure.

Onoki gripped the blood-stained note, his knuckles turning white.

The three volumes of "The History of the Ninja" in gold lettering on the desk were curled up in the brazier, the charred words "Kage Daimin Chengzhong" being licked by the flames, like a group of struggling black butterflies.

"Issue my order!" He suddenly slammed his hand on the table, making the teacup jump. "From tomorrow onwards, all revisions to the history books of the Land of Earth must be jointly reviewed by scholars from the three villages. The History Pavilion must submit a catalog of its collection every quarter. Those who violate this order..." His gaze swept over the brazier, "...will be punished as traitors to their villages."

The historian kneeling at the foot of the steps trembled, his forehead pressed against the bluestone slab: "But...but what about the Minister of Finance..."

"Which is heavier, the Minister of Finance's head or the Root of the Ninja World?" Onoki grabbed the Dust Release scroll from the table, his chakra condensing into a yellowish-brown ball of light in his palm. "Go tell those old fogies that if they dare touch a single word of the history books again, I'll make them turn into ashes in the cracks of rocks along with these three scrolls."

The memory tree at Guiyuan Shrine shines even brighter in the dead of night.

Bai Ye leaned against the tree trunk, watching the first leaf being swept eastward by the wind—the direction to the Land of Wind. The two characters "Gong Jue" on the back of the leaf gleamed warm gold in the moonlight.

He touched the tattered wristband on his wrist, the last thing his mother left him; the word "tear" on the leather had been worn white.

“You burn books, kill historians, and seal off shrines…” he whispered to the shadows of the trees, his voice as soft as a leaf, “but as long as there are still people willing to read, the truth will not die.”

A new leaf suddenly fell into his palm.

Bai Ye lowered his head, and the golden patterns on the back of the leaf slowly condensed into words: "The original manuscript of the First Emperor's edict is hidden in the southern cave of Konoha." He suddenly looked up, and the evening wind swept fine sand past the treetops. The shadow of the distant mountain was faintly visible in the moonlight—he had never seen that mountain on any map, but its outline was like a blood-quenched knife, silently stuck between heaven and earth.