Konoha: Superman template, the spoiled brat becomes strong.

He closed his eyes and sensed that the pulsating light in the earth's veins was no longer the dark red pain of the shadow figures, but eleven clusters of bright yellow, much like the smoke rising from a tea stall in the city.

“Old Zhou, who sells sugar figurines, said his mother’s name was Aju, and Atie, the blacksmith, remembered his younger sister, Xiaohe.” Onodera Ren, who had been standing next to him at some point, suddenly spoke up.

The crystal fragment she held was emanating a pale pink mist, a projection of Aoba Hachi's last memory.

"They said these names had been burning in their dreams for three years, and they suddenly woke up today."

Bai Ye turned her head and saw that her hair was covered with pebbles from the archives that hadn't been swept away.

Lian always tucked her stray hairs behind her ears, but a few strands fell down at this moment, brushing against the newly added blood-ink patterns on her neck—marks left by the vines that had grown alongside her when she set up the formation in the ruins.

“You went to the archives.” He wasn’t asking a question.

Lian tapped the crystal fragment lightly with her fingertips: "In the sealing record of the eighth purifier, there is a passage of text corroded by wood release." She pulled out half a roll of charred paper from her sleeve, and blood ink automatically appeared on the back of the paper. "I used the blood ink vines to reverse the deduction and complete it... 'The purifier is not the end, but a transition - when the people's memories spontaneously ignite, there will be many who inherit the memories, and there will be no need for a master.'"

Her voice suddenly trembled, and the scrap of paper shook slightly in her palm.

Bai Ye saw a light welling up in her eyes, just like when she held up a kerosene lamp and said, "I want to find out the truth," in the dark dungeon years ago.

“The First Generation didn’t choose a successor.” Lian looked up, her gaze piercing through the broken pillar to the sky. “He was waiting for the Awakener. Waiting for the pain to reach enough people, waiting for the memories to take root and sprout on their own…”

Before she finished speaking, the blood-red vines on her wrist suddenly grew rapidly.

Lian instinctively grabbed the vine, but the green vine tip curled up and withdrew as soon as it touched the ground, and dark red blood beads seeped from the leaf tips—the earth was rejecting her.

“The communication has been blocked.” She frowned, pressing her fingertips against the center of the array. “It’s not a deliberate seal… it’s like the ley lines have gained consciousness and no longer want to be guided.”

Bai Ye's fingers curled slightly at her side.

He could feel the bright yellow light flowing within the earth's veins, like a flock of kites that had broken free of their strings, drifting in different directions.

One of the brightest rays was piercing through the underground of the Fire Kingdom's capital, heading straight towards the South Market—where Tanaka Hisashi's bookstore was located.

"To the water dungeon," he suddenly said, as his Wood Release roots sprouted from his feet, wrapped around the two men's waists, and swept them toward the underground vault.

The water dungeon where Fujiwara Shizuka was located was colder than usual.

She knelt in the knee-deep water, drops of blood from her fingertips falling onto the bluestone slab. The blood that spread was not the usual crimson of blood ink, but a reddish-brown with gold spots—a mutation resulting from absorbing the remnants of the "memory graveyard."

Just as the seventh line of the "blood ink circuit" on the wall was being drawn, stone chips suddenly began to fall.

Jing looked up and saw that the talisman array she had just drawn was being cut off by a crack. What seeped out of the crack was not the damp smell of earth, but hundreds and thousands of different ink marks: there was a child's crooked "Father", an old woman's trembling "Ah Xiu", and a ninja's powerful "Oni Maru".

These words climbed like living things, eventually forming a sentence on the dome of the water dungeon: "We do not want rest, we want our names to come home."

Jing's breathing suddenly became rapid.

She recalled that three days ago, fragments of her brother Fujiwara Shuichi's memories were still curled up in the deepest part of her consciousness, like a frightened young animal; and now, those images that she had sealed away for ten years were hitting her temples, burning hot.

"Xiuyi," she called softly, as drops of blood dripped from the vines on her wrist onto the wall.

This time, instead of using a technique to "transfer" the memory, she released the restrained chakra.

The cub in the sea of ​​consciousness suddenly grew up.

Shizuka saw ten-year-old Shuichi holding her hand as they ran across the cherry blossom path, saw him fall down at the ninja academy graduation ceremony, and saw him say, "Shizuka, if I don't come back, remember this for me."

As these images followed the blood-red vines into the earth's veins, Jing heard a muffled sound from above—the dome of the water prison had cracked open.

The moonlight filtered in and shone on her face, giving it a warm glow.

“Returning is more painful than passing it on.” She chuckled softly, tears falling into the puddle, the ripples shimmering faintly. “But it’s also more…free.”

Heading towards Guiyuan Shrine, Baiye released Ren's waist.

He gazed at the faint light rising from the direction of the basement, his Adam's apple bobbing.

Suddenly, a very faint chiseling sound came from afar, as if someone was hammering stones underground.

“It’s the South Market,” Lian said, tilting her head. “The direction of the underground bookstore.”

Bai Ye didn't say anything.

He gazed at the sky, where the bright yellow lights were still moving. The brightest cluster of lights was now resting on the ground beneath the South Market, perfectly coinciding with the frequency of the chiseling sounds.

"We should go and see," he said, his voice filled with anticipation.

In an underground bookstore in the South Market, Tanaka Hisashi's hand trembled slightly as he touched the carving knife.

On the bluestone slab in front of him, the first line of the "True History Collection" had just been carved up to "Spring of the third year of Dayong, Fisherwoman Atao"—when a stone chip fell on the last stroke of the character "Tao," he heard a very faint sound from above, as if something had broken out of its shell.

Chapter 118 Joint Trial

The oil lamps in the underground bookstore cast swaying shadows on the stone wall. The broken edge of Tanaka Hisashi's carving knife was still covered with stone powder, and the golden light seeping from the earth's veins was drilling into the bluestone slab along the broken line.

His Adam's apple bobbed, and he suddenly shouted at the top of his lungs, "Old Chen!"

Call all the engravers from the back room over!

Six engravers in short gray robes filed in through the hidden door. Old Chen, the leader, wiped the sweat from his brow: "Manager Tian, ​​it's already past midnight..."

"Bring out the 'True History Compilation'." Tanaka Hisashi bent down and lifted the straw mat spread in the corner, revealing a half-person-high blue stone tablet. "We're going to carve these words into a stone tablet and erect it at the south gate of the Fire City." He took out a ceramic bottle from his pocket and poured out some dark red powder to mix into the stone powder—it was "Memory Ink" made from the shadow blood ink collected over the past ten years.

Old Chen frowned as soon as his carving knife touched the stone powder: "Shopkeeper, this ink is wrong." He made a shallow mark on the stone tablet, and the dark red powder seemed to crawl out from the cracks in the stone like a living thing, floating on the surface and refusing to sink.

Tanaka Hisashi's fingers tightened suddenly.

He remembered that three days ago, when he was carving "Little Sister He" for the blacksmith Atie, the ink seemed to seep into the stone's veins.

At this moment, the stone surface seemed to be covered by an invisible membrane, pushing the memories outward.

With a clang, Old Chen's carving knife fell to the ground.

Everyone followed his trembling finger and looked—the surface of the stone tablet had cracked with spiderweb-like fine lines at some point, and in the very center of the crack, three ink marks were slowly appearing: "Li Chengyan".

"It's...it's the name Kazama Shin mentioned!" suddenly shouted Afu, the young engraver in charge of compiling oral accounts from the public.

Three months ago, before Kazama Shin was executed, he shouted at the execution ground, "Li Chengyan should not be erased," which everyone thought was madness.

Tanaka Hisashi's temples throbbed.

He reached out and stroked "Li Chengyan," feeling a slight warmth emanating from the stone surface, as if someone were gently tapping his palm from below.

Memories suddenly flooded back: three days ago, A-Tie said, "My sister Xiao-He's name has been burning in my dreams for three years," and two days ago, Old Zhou, the candy seller, said, "A-Ju's name was sent to me in a dream by the Kitchen God"—it turns out it wasn't a dream, but these names themselves wanted to emerge.

“No need to carve anymore.” He suddenly pulled off the cloth from his waist and vigorously wiped away the undried ink from the stone surface. “Carry the stone tablet out and place it in the open space of the South Market.”

Old Chen's eyes widened: "In the middle of the night, on guard..."

“They can’t stop them.” Tanaka Hisashi picked up an oil lamp, the light illuminating the burning in his eyes. “It’s not us writing it, the names just want to appear on their own.”

As the seven men carried the stone tablet and broke open the hidden door of the underground bookstore, the moonlight of the South Market was shining through the bluestone slabs.

As soon as the stone tablet touched the ground, a line of golden-red ink suddenly seeped out from the crack at the very top, like an invisible pen beginning to move.

Old Zhou, the sugar seller, ran from the street corner with his sugar jar in hand, while Blacksmith A-Tie rushed out of the alleyway carrying his hammer. Even A-Xiu, the embroiderer who usually stayed at home, stood on the steps, leaning against the door frame—their shadows overlapped in the moonlight and fell on the stone tablet.

"Aju," Old Zhou said softly.

"Xiao He," Atie repeated.

"Ah Xiu." The embroiderer's voice was choked with sobs.

The ink stains on the surface of the stone tablet began to grow wildly.

First came the crooked and twisted "Aju," then the forceful "Xiaohe," and then the delicate "Axiu," quickly spreading into a dense array of names, like spring buds breaking through frozen soil.

Tanaka Hisashi retreated to the corner of the wall, and looking at the three characters "Tanaka Hisashi" on his palm appearing at the bottom of the monument, he suddenly laughed out loud—it was the name his mother had embroidered in his swaddling clothes that he had never told anyone.

At the same time, the preparatory meeting for the "True History Garden" in Sunagakure Village was in full swing.

Chiyo's puppet "Salamander" stood beside her, its bronze joints gleaming coldly in the candlelight.

Representatives from more than twenty countries sat around a straw mat. Yunyin leaned against a pillar with his arms crossed, his gaze sweeping over the mountain of old historical documents piled up on the stage.

"So, Lady Chiyo means to have the surviving family members from various countries jointly examine these altered files?" The Iwagakure representative scoffed. "A mere double doesn't deserve it..."

"match."

All eyes immediately turned to the corner.

An old woman with a gray headscarf stood up, holding onto the back of a chair. Her hands were covered with age spots, but she was tightly clutching a roll of paper wrapped in yellow sand.

“I am the younger sister of the Third Kazekage’s stand-in.” Her voice was like sandpaper scraping against a stone slab. “I was fifteen years old when he died in place of the Kazekage.”

The room fell into dead silence.

Chiyo's pupils contracted slightly—she knew that there were thirty-seven families of imposters in Sunagakure, but no one dared to admit their identities in public.

The old woman untied the yellow sand, revealing a yellowed family letter.

She didn't unfold it, but threw it directly into the brazier.

Flames shot up high into the air.

Everyone saw it clearly—a figure wearing a Kazekage hat floated in the flames, his face bearing a seven-tenths resemblance to the third Kazekage recorded in the History Pavilion, but with an extra scar running from his brow bone to his jaw.

“I am willing to die in your place, but I do not wish to be forgotten.” The voice carried the hoarseness characteristic of Sunagakure. “On the third day after I took your place, I wrote this letter in the sandstorm of the Wind Desert.”

Sister, if you could see...

The old woman suddenly covered her mouth, her tears falling onto the straw mat.

The Cloud Village representative suddenly straightened up, his Adam's apple bobbing; the Iwagakure representative dug his fingers into the mat; even the most stubborn old-school elders of Sunagakure stared wide-eyed.

"Sorcery!" The old-fashioned elder slammed his hand on the table and stood up, reaching for the brazier.

But just as he raised his wrist, a piece of green vine suddenly sprang out from Chiyo's sleeve, wrapped around his wrist, and pulled him down.

The old woman's letter burned even brighter in the fire, and her figure in the flames became clearer, even the wear and tear on the edge of her straw hat was clearly visible.

“The memories have taken root; you can’t burn them away.” Chiyo’s voice was like a poisoned needle. “Even if you burn this roll of paper, it has already lived for forty years in the memories of the thirty-seven stand-in families.”

The night deepened at the Fire City Inn.

Bai Ye peered down from the eaves and saw the "Blood Name Talisman" in the backyard of the post station burning without any wind.

The talismans that were originally used to suppress the memories of the shadow clones now twisted like living things. The flames were not the usual orange-red, but had an eerie cyan-gold hue, and they branded three large characters on the stone wall: "Azure Leaf Guardian".

He flipped and leaped down, and the moment his fingertips touched the flames, the Wood Release core in his chest suddenly trembled violently.

That was the location of the original bloodline seal, but now it felt like someone was stabbing him hard with an awl, causing him to stagger half a step in pain.

"...I'm not the last one..."

"...You're not the only one..."

Whispers emerged from the flames, mingling with burnt paper ash that pierced the eardrums.

Bai Ye suddenly looked up, gazing at the mountains to the northeast of the Land of Fire.

Chapter 119: Name not recorded, but remembered

There was a faint yet clear chakra fluctuation there, unlike the cold hardness of the candidates, but rather like a new sprout emerging from freshly turned soil, carrying the damp scent of blood and vitality.

He gripped the hilt of the knife at his waist tightly, his knuckles turning white.

The vines from the earth veins had somehow wrapped around his calves. This time, instead of a tentative touch, they gently wrapped around him like an old friend, as if responding to some kind of resonance.

In the water dungeon of the Fire City, Fujiwara Shizuka looked up at the dome.

A line of words appeared on the blood-ink circuit on the wall, written with sharp, knife-like strokes: "He didn't come to replace you... he came to become himself."

She reached out and touched the words, feeling a warm sensation on her fingertips.

Suddenly, hurried footsteps came from outside the water dungeon; the guards had noticed the unusual movement of the stone tablet.

Jing looked down at the blood-red vines on her wrist. The vines were growing towards the ground, their roots winding beneath the bluestone slabs—leading to the South Market, to Sand Village, and to the mountains to the northeast.

The broken pillars of Guiyuan Shrine cast long shadows in the moonlight.

Byakuya sat cross-legged on the rubble of the foundation, closed his eyes, and adjusted the chakra of the Wood Release core in his heart to the lowest level.

The bright yellow light spots in the earth's veins were still flowing. This time, he didn't use Wood Release to guide them, but quietly felt those light spots brushing against his senses—like a spring breeze brushing over newly awakened seeds, like a tide washing over a long-parched beach.

The muffled sound of a morning bell could be heard in the distance.

He opened his eyes and saw the first rays of dawn shining through the broken pillar onto the vine leaves in his palm.

The words "My name is not recorded, but I remember" in Ye Luoli suddenly shone brightly, as if to say: The story has only just begun.

As the morning light spilled over the broken pillars of Guiyuan Shrine, Baiye's eyelashes trembled.

He looked down at the vines in his palm. The light traces in the veins that read "My name is not recorded, but I remember" had faded, replaced by a tingling sensation in his wrist—nine green vines were creeping up his ankles into the cracks in the stone, each one wrapped around a half-person-high broken stele.