Konoha: Superman template, the spoiled brat becomes strong.

“He can seal off post stations and burn books, but he can’t plug every child’s ears.” Bai Ye gathered the seven puppets into his palm, and Chiyo’s spore fluctuations came from the chakra network—that was the signal that she had started the ritual.

He released his grip, and the sand scorpions immediately burrowed into the sand, leaving only seven barely perceptible crawling marks, like seven silver needles piercing the veins of the five kingdoms.

The bronze bell at the Sunagakure Ancestral Shrine suddenly rang.

Chiyo stood before the altar, her silver hair turned gray by incense ash, and twelve old ninjas sat cross-legged before her like bells.

She formed a "seal" seal with her left hand and placed her right hand on the "Thousand Machines" puppet mechanism at her waist. A dark red bloodstain was winding along her wrist bone where her sleeve had slipped down—that was the price for activating the "Word Cage".

"Ancestral spirits above, the descendants of Sunagakure dare not forget the scars of blood and fire." Her voice suddenly rose, and the rhythm of her prayer abruptly shifted by half a beat.

The pupils of the twelve old ninjas contracted simultaneously, then cleared again in the blink of an eye.

No one noticed that the frequency of their Adam's apple bobbing had been tuned to some kind of code: three long and two short, three long and two short, like prayer flags fluttering in the wind.

The glazed tiles of the observatory gleamed coldly in the moonlight.

Ebizo held a half-broken teacup in his hand, his knuckles turning white.

The spore residue on the bottom of the teacup had not completely dissipated, and mixed with the chakra powder he had just crushed, it condensed into a dark brown scab in his palm.

"Yan Long?" He looked at the rising incense smoke from the direction of the ancestral hall, a cold smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The twelve old ninjas should be saying in the market that "this autumn's sandstorm is cooler than in previous years," or in the teahouse that "the old well in Nishinoya remembers the rain from thirty years ago"—these seemingly unrelated words will be connected in seven days to form the truth that "the daimyo of the Land of Fire murdered his brother and seized the throne."

But he won't expose it, at least not now.

“Let them talk.” He tossed the shards of the teacup into the wind. “Only when the truth has spread like poisonous weeds all over the streets can we uproot it completely… that’s the only way to be clean.”

At Konoha Academy, a thousand miles away, the candlelight suddenly flickered.

Mr. Lin, who teaches arithmetic, was tidying up his lesson plans when his sleeve brushed against a hidden compartment on the podium, and his fingertips touched something icy cold.

He held his breath and opened the hidden compartment. A sand scorpion puppet was lying next to the ink bottle, its stinger still damp with a drop of cinnabar—it had dripped from it while he was grading homework.

Chapter 931 Trees Don't Lie

“This is…” He picked up the puppet and tapped its back armor lightly with his fingernail.

A faint blue light suddenly burst from the compound eyes, and a hoarse voice rang in his ears: "In the winter of the thirteenth year of the Fire Country calendar, the daimyo visited the residence of a high-ranking official at night. The next day, the official died suddenly. History records it as 'dying of illness,' but in reality..."

Mr. Lin's hands trembled violently, and the puppet almost fell to the ground.

He suddenly looked up at the window—the cherry blossom tree behind the school was swaying in the wind, but there wasn't a soul in sight.

He quickly closed the hidden compartment, stuffed the puppet into the bottom layer of the lesson plan, and the sound of his heartbeat made his eardrums ache.

Late at night, the light in his study remained on.

On the desk lay a copy of "The History of the Five Kingdoms," the page turned to the "Land of Fire" chapter, with annotations still wet in the ink covering the blank spaces: "Historical records state that 'suppressing the rebellion' was actually a massacre of the village to eliminate witnesses," "Under the 'Kage's Virtuous Rule,' 100,000 people starved to death in Sunagakure"... The last line was heavily underlined with three lines: "So what we taught was all lies."

White Night in the desert stood atop a withered tree, gazing at the gradually brightening eastern horizon.

Within the spore network, the activation fluctuations of the Konoha puppet, like a small sun, were slowly spreading.

He touched the bloodline of the word "tear" on his wristband—it had now climbed up to his shoulder, like a red snake about to emerge from its cocoon.

“The truth doesn’t need a savior,” he said to the wind, his voice as light as a feather falling on the sand. “It only needs the first person who dares to listen.”

Before he could finish speaking, a sharp, piercing pain suddenly shot through his chakra network.

His pupils contracted sharply, and he turned to look southwest—in the direction of the Guiyuan Shrine.

The spore residue there, which should have been as light as a thin mist, was now like a spider web torn apart by a sharp blade, broken into a tangled mess.

“Memory Tree…” he whispered, then leaped into the sandstorm with his toes touching the ground.

The wind whipped sand against his face, but he heard a distant, crisp sound of wood breaking, mixed with a familiar, ink-scented chakra fluctuation—it was Shige's unique sealing technique.

As the sandstorm engulfed his figure, in the direction of Guiyuan Shrine, the last ray of morning light was climbing the withered branches of the Memory Tree.

As the sandstorm tore open a gap, Bai Ye's boot tip slammed heavily onto the bluestone steps of Guiyuan Shrine.

The burnt smell hits your nose first—it's the bitter, fishy smell of burning dry wood mixed with resin.

He looked up and saw that the Memory Tree, which had once covered the entire shrine with its lush green canopy, was now reduced to a few withered branches. Its charred bark resembled a snake stripped of its scales, with semi-solidified amber-colored resin seeping from its cracks.

The main stem at the very top was broken in two, and there were still burn marks at the break, which were clearly the chakra burn marks unique to Shige's "Pure Fire Envoy".

His knuckles pressed against the tree trunk, the lingering warmth emanating from his palms.

Chakra spread along the wood grain, but suddenly stopped when it touched the root—there was a faint resonance of Wood Release there, like the heartbeat of a baby, one beat after another.

"It's burned thoroughly." He chuckled softly, running his fingertip across the scorched remnants of writing on the tree trunk.

Just a few days ago, he used Wood Release to carve the details of the Fire Country's massacre of a village twenty years ago into the bark. Now, the edges of those indentations are curled up with black ash, as if they had been branded hard with a hot iron.

A few scorched leaves were swept by the wind and brushed against his face.

He suddenly squatted down and stuck his fingertips into the gravel next to the tree roots.

The soil felt damp to the touch—the roots of the Memory Tree were drilling deep into the earth's veins, their tiny roots penetrating the rocks and spreading out into a network in the underground river.

He pulled out half a yellowed piece of silk from his pocket; it was a tattered page from the First Hokage's edict, with scorch marks from the battlefield still visible on the edges.

Chapter 932 Historical Records of Death

“The First Lord said that a tree’s memory is sharper than a knife.” He pressed the silk into the densest part of the roots, and sand fell down. “You can burn the leaves…” He looked up at the broken crown, a cold, hard smile curving his lips, “but you can’t burn the growth rings.”

The wind at Guiyuan Shrine suddenly changed direction.

Baiye's wristband was slightly warm, and a fluctuation came from the direction of the capital city through the spore network—it was Nanaho's chakra mark.

He stood up, his clothes brushing against the charred tree stump. As he turned, the sandstorm enveloped him again, leaving only a low murmur in the wind: "Time to go see the new seeds."

In front of the dilapidated temple in the western market of the capital, a corner of Qi Sui's blue robe was lifted by the draft.

She squatted on the muddy ground, surrounded by seven blind children, the youngest of whom was only six years old, with frost still clinging to his eyelashes from the previous night.

"Recite it again, Adou." She patted the boy's head, her voice as soft as snowflakes falling on roof tiles, "'In the winter of the thirteenth year of the Fire Kingdom calendar, the daimyo visited the residence of a high-ranking official at night. The next day, the official's throat was pierced by a silver needle, and history records that he died of illness—'"

“‘His throat was pierced by a silver needle, and he died of illness, according to historical records.’” A-Dou chimed in, her fingers unconsciously picking at the cracks in the temple wall. “Sister, what is a silver needle? Is it sharper than the needle my mother used to mend clothes?”

"Ten times sharper than that." Nanami's fingernails dug into her palm.

Three months ago, when she was still the head of the Fire Kingdom's secret police, she personally sorted through the case file of that "death from illness." The autopsy report inside was circled seven times with a vermilion pen. "But Adou remembers, it's real."

“I’ll remember that.” A-Dou tilted his head, his white cane tapping the ground with a crisp sound. “Sister’s words are true, they’re true.”

The other children followed along and recited.

Their voices, like clear spring water in a mountain stream, clashed together, shattering the sounds of the city outside the temple.

An old man selling sugar figurines passed by on his shoulder pole, stopped to listen for a moment, and the sugar figurines melted into sticky water in his hands; a woman washing clothes squatted by the well, her washing mallet suspended in mid-air, the splashing water wetting the hem of her skirt.

Qi Sui stood up, the hem of her blue robe stained with mud.

She pulled a coarse cloth bag from her bosom, filled with roasted soybeans, and gave two to each child: "Starting tomorrow, Adou will take Xiaotao to the well at the South Gate to carry them, and Ali and Azhu will go to the tea stall in the East Market. Remember, you have to do it like sparrows pecking at rice, over and over again."

"Like sparrows?" Ali smiled, touching the soybeans. "Then we're talking sparrows?"

“They are sparrows that can carry messages.” Qi Sui looked at the twilight gradually rising outside the temple, her ear tips turning red from the wind. “They will tell the truth to everyone under every roof.”

The winds on the border of the Land of Earth are fiercer than those in the desert.

Onoki stood before the newly erected giant rock, his brow furrows filled with grains of sand.

The rock surface had just been polished with a carving knife. The words "In the spring of the seventh year of the Earth Kingdom calendar, 317 people died in a mining accident, recorded in history as 'accident'" were still covered with stone dust and gleamed coldly in the setting sun.

"Lord Ying, there are two more scholars participating in the joint review..." The attendant's voice caught in his throat.

Onoki didn't turn around.

He knew that the bodies of the two scholars were hung on the city gate, with wooden plaques bearing the words "Historical Chaos Perpetrators" nailed to their chests—the same method used on the three last month and the five the month before.

He raised his hand and touched the rock surface, stone chips sticking to his palm: "Add another line, 'Those who wish to destroy this rock shall first destroy all the schools in the land.'"

"Lord Ying!" The attendant was sweating profusely. "The people from the History Museum said—"

Chapter 933 Trees don't lie, but people do.

"The people of Shige only know how to lie on the coffin lids of their ancestors." Onoki turned around, sparks blazing in his cloudy eyes. "Go and bring all the children from the village schools here, and have them recite these words to the rocks. If they dare to blast the rocks, I'll have all the children in the region carve these words into their bones."

When the news reached the desert along with the camel bells of the caravan, Bai Ye was crouching behind a sand dune.

His fingertips brushed over the branches of a wild bramble, and chakra seeped out along the veins of the leaves. Suddenly, pale green vine buds sprouted from the bramble, and fine patterns appeared on the surface of the vines—the characters on the Oonoki Rock.

“The stele-patterned vine.” He chuckled softly, watching the vine entwine around another red willow, the characters climbing up the trunk to the branches. “This way, even the tree will speak for you.”

Night falls early in Sunagakure.

Chiyo sat in the secret room, the candlelight casting flickering shadows on her face.

On her desk lay newly delivered intelligence, the ink still wet on the five characters "Transnational History Management Committee," making her squint.

The sound of light footsteps came from outside the window.

She quickly stuffed the intelligence into the hidden compartment, and when she looked up, she saw Ebizo's shadow flit across the window paper.

The sound of his wooden clogs was three degrees quieter than usual, and the ninja tool pouch at his waist tapped against the door frame with a very faint "click"—the sound of kunai clashing, unique to the Hidden Cloud Village in the Land of Lightning.

Chiyo touched the white hair at her temples.

She recalled meeting Ebizo at the training ground three days earlier, when he said he wanted to "contact other villages to discuss historical matters," which she dismissed as mere political platitudes.

At this moment, the information in the hidden compartment was burning hot. She suddenly remembered what Bai Ye had said: "Trees don't lie, but people do."

The night breeze lifted the window curtain, blowing an unfinished letter off the desk.

The letter was only half-written: "Pay attention these days—"

The candle flame popped and burst into sparks.

Chiyo's fingernails almost dug into the sandalwood table.

As Ebizo's wooden clogs stopped outside the door, her gaze fell on the still-wet ink on the intelligence report in the hidden compartment—"The Raikage envoy entered the sand three days ago, carrying a secret letter from the Cloud Shadow; at the Wind Shadow's morning class this day, Rasa had an attendant wearing a cloud-patterned hat by his side."

"Lady Chiyo." The door was pushed open half an inch, and Ebizo's voice, damp with the night dew, drifted in. "I just passed by the training ground and saw a new batch of medical ninjas practicing hand seals, which reminded me of how you taught Princess Tsunade back then." He lifted the curtain and entered, his ninja tool pouch swaying slightly, the crisp sound of kunai clashing clearer than during the day—it was indeed the "Lightning Blade" commonly used by Kumogakure.

Chiyo lowered her eyes, adjusting her sleeves, her fingertips brushing against the wooden bracelet on her wrist.

It was carved by Byakuya from a broken branch of the Memory Tree, and it was burning hot against her skin. "Lord Ebizo, you've come so late, is it for tomorrow's Five Kage Joint Statement?" She looked up and a smile of a seasoned politician had spread across her face. "I heard that the people in the History Museum are saying again that 'a unified view of history can stop wars'."

Ebizo's pupils contracted.

He walked to the candlestick, the firelight illuminating the fine lines at the corners of his eyes: "War originates in the hearts of the people, if even history books tell different stories..." He suddenly stopped, his gaze sweeping over the unfinished letter on the table—"Pay attention these days—" The words shone brightly in the candlelight.

Chiyo tapped the tea canister on the table with her fingertips: "My lord, please try the newly acquired rock tea."

I asked Kiku to cook it. She got up and walked to the tea cabinet, quickly locking the hidden compartment shut as her back was to Ebizo.

The tea cake in the tea caddy was wrapped in coarse hemp paper, with a very faint bluish-green powder stuck to the corner of the paper—that was the "truth spores" given by Bai Ye, which would seep into the meridians upon contact with body temperature and awaken the tampered memories in dreams.

Chapter 934 Shadow Needle Pierces Through

"No." Ebizo suddenly reached out and pressed her wrist, the calluses on his knuckles digging painfully into her. "Chiyo, we've worked together for forty years..." His voice softened. "The History Management Committee exists to prevent a repeat of the chaos in the Land of Fire."

Do you really think that young punk named Bai Ye can protect the truth with just a few trees?

Chiyo stared at his hand that was pressed against her wrist.

These hands had shielded her from wind blades during the Third Shinobi World War, but now they carried the distinctive scorching aura of Kumogakure kunai.

She suddenly laughed: "Ebizo, have you ever seen camel thorn in the desert?" She pulled her hand back and stuffed the tea cake into his arms. "Take this tea to Luosha for me. Just say it's a gift from an old friend. Don't doubt it."

Ebizo's Adam's apple bobbed.

He gazed at the mottled tea stains on the tea cake, then finally tucked it into his robes: "I'll be waiting for you at the morning meeting tomorrow." As he turned, the lightning-patterned blade at his waist grazed the doorframe, leaving a charred mark on the wood.

In the warm pavilion of Fengying Mansion, Luo Sha rubbed his temples and lifted the brocade quilt.

The teacup still sat on the table, the remaining tea tinged with a yellowish-green hue.

As he closed his eyes, the dream resurfaced—his father, the Fourth Kazekage, stood before the sand table, the Finance Minister's hand resting on the mark of "Uzushio Village Massacre": "My lord, if we simply say they colluded with Kirigakure, Sunagakure can rightfully take over the port." His father's brow furrowed: "But the Intelligence Division says..." "The people in the Intelligence Division have had too much Sunagakure sake." The minister smiled and handed him a wine cup, "The historian's pen is in our hands; the history books will wash away your blood."

Luo Sha sat up abruptly, his inner garment soaked with cold sweat.

The morning star hung high in the sky outside the window. He grabbed the joint letter on the desk, the ink still wet on the five characters "Transnational Historical Management Committee" stinging his eyes. "Send Shadow Guards." He pulled his robe, his voice carrying a coldness he hadn't seen in years, "Go tell the Thunder Shadow Envoy that the Wind Kingdom will not participate in any proposals for a 'unified view of history'."

In the ruins of Guiyuan Shrine, Baiye's blade sliced ​​open his palm.