Konoha: Superman template, the spoiled brat becomes strong.

Chapter 129 Tsushima Sakura

The wind of the wasteland whipped up sand that lashed against the back of Bai Ye's neck, and the soles of his boots rolled over half a broken brick engraved with cloud and thunder patterns—the ancient altar had arrived.

He rubbed the dark Wood Release seed in his palm with his fingertips; the veins still contained ice shards injected by Fujiwara Shizuka using a sealing technique.

He had dug this out from between the ribs of that skeleton three days ago when he sneaked into the underground water dungeon. At that time, Fujiwara Shizuka's blood-written letter was still stuck to the bone: "The blood of the one who bears the pain is the key to awakening dormant memories."

"Names never die, they merely sleep." The whispers I heard in the shrine's cellar when I was a child suddenly became clear.

At that time, he squatted in a moldy pile of straw, listening to the old priest mutter to the stone wall, where water seeping from the cracks always revealed blurry names on rainy nights.

Later, the Otsutsuki scavenger burned down the shrine, and the old priest's blood splattered on the stone wall, and those names truly "slept".

Bai Ye knelt on one knee, his fingertips crushing the surface of the sand.

The stones beneath the cracked earth gleamed coldly, like the breaths of countless people buried alive.

He pressed the Wood Release seed into the crack in the rock, and just as his fingertip was about to leave, he stopped—the seed remained motionless, as dark as a dead fish's eye.

“We need the blood of those who have suffered.” He recalled what Fujiwara Shizuka said while coughing up blood in the water dungeon: “When they erased memories, they also sealed the pain into their blood.”

The moment the dagger sliced ​​through his palm, drops of blood fell onto the seed like water dripping into hot oil.

The seed suddenly trembled violently, and a bluish-gold light burst forth from the crack in the rock, crawling up his wrist and arm, leaving vine-like patterns on his skin.

"boom--"

The dried-up riverbed cracked open with spiderweb-like fissures, and green vines burst forth as if alive, instantly wrapping around the half-buried tombstone.

As Bai Ye looked up, grains of sand rolled down the vine leaves, while the marks on the monument where names had been scraped off were being filled back in with vine sap—"Sato Hikaru," "Kawakami Megumi," "Watanabe Isamu," each name with rough edges, as if they had been dug into the stone with fingernails.

"So you were all here." He said softly, as drops of blood spread across the sand, overlapping with the shadows of vines and leaves to form a blurred flower.

The oil lamps in the underground bookstore flickered on and off, and Tanaka Hisashi's fingertips trembled as he traced the tattered family genealogy scroll.

The ink marks from the blood-ink rubbings were distorting at a speed visible to the naked eye. The originally neat surnames such as "Fujiwara" and "Sarutobi" were now connected into a string of curved symbols—the "memorial language" he had seen in ancient books, which could only be deciphered by those who had come into contact with the blood-ink vine.

“The eighth cleaner...not an executor, but a container..." As he read it aloud, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

Aoba Hachiso claims to be a "memory eraser," but it turns out he's the one who's actually the jar containing erased memories.

"Boom, boom."

Footsteps came from the stairwell, mixed with the crisp sound of metal clashing.

The inspector's gray mask flashed around the corner, and Tanaka Hisashi's hands moved faster than his mind—the rubbing paper was crumpled into a ball and stuffed into the furnace, the flames leaped up with a "whoosh," but the charred edge of the paper was deliberately left sticking out of the ashes.

"Sir, this bookstore is full of old storybooks." He hunched over and retreated to the door, his nails digging into his palms. "Look at this charcoal brazier, it's burning useless scraps of paper..."

The gray-masked man tapped the scabbard on the table: "Some people say there are 'living names' circulating here."

"A living name?" Tanaka Hisashi feigned ignorance, glancing out of the corner of his eye at the charred edge curled up in the fire. "I only know that a name written on paper dies, but a name written in a person's heart lives."

The inspector's knife suddenly pressed against his Adam's apple, the cold metallic touch sending a chill down his spine.

But the next moment, the knife was put away again—their attention was drawn to the charred edge, and as they bent over, the gray mask rubbed against the blood and ink on the table, leaving a blurry mark.

"Let's go." The leading inspector kicked the charcoal brazier, sparks flying near Tanaka Hisashi's feet. "Next house."

As the footsteps faded at the top of the stairs, Tanaka Hisashi slumped onto the straw mat and pulled out the brass whistle from his pocket—the charred edge was a false clue; the real rubbing of the memory had long been hidden in a secret compartment in the roof beam.

A group of children gathered under the blood-red vine at the village entrance. Onodera Ren's voice was like cotton thread soaked in warm water: "Close your eyes, gently touch the vine leaves, like touching a sleeping butterfly."

The thin girl, Sakura, pulled her fingers back as soon as they touched the tip of the vine. "I...I heard someone call 'Sakura,'" her voice trembled, "but Grandma said my name is 'Xiao Sui'..."

Pale red sap seeped from the vines and flowed slowly on the bluestone slabs.

Lian held her breath, watching as the sap condensed into three words—"Tsushima Sakura".

"It's Mom!" Sakura suddenly rushed over, tears falling onto the word "Sakura." "Mom always calls me that when I have a fever..."

The children opened their eyes one by one.

The boy with pigtails shouted, "I remember now!"

"My name used to be 'Kenta,' not 'Stone'!" The girl in patched clothes knelt on the ground, tracing the name "Lin Misaki" that suddenly appeared on the stone slab with her finger, and cried uncontrollably.

As Lian watched this scene, she quietly crushed the tiny blood talisman inside her hairpin.

The talisman shattered into a bloody mist that seeped into the roots of the vine. This was a fragment of a forbidden technique she had copied from the underground water prison, which could extend the memory resonance for another half an incense stick's time—enough for more children to hear the erased names.

“Sister Lian,” Aying tugged at her sleeve, tears still streaming down her face, “Can we tell these names to Kazama-sensei?”

He said he wanted to write his name on the school wall...

Lian knelt down and wiped away Aying's tears.

At the Yukihara Village School, Kazama Shin had just received a letter from him two days ago, saying that when he wrote his name on the blackboard with charcoal, the chalk would automatically fill in the strokes that were scraped off.

“Of course we should tell Kazama-sensei.” She patted Sakura’s head and looked at the snow-capped mountains outside the village. “All the names that have been erased should be exposed to the sunlight.”

Just then, a mountain breeze swept a blood-red vine leaf past the village entrance, with a few words faintly visible on its surface—it was "Tsushima Sakura," which A-Ying had just remembered. It was drifting with the wind toward the direction of the snowfield village.

Kazama Shin's charcoal pencil paused on the parchment paper, and the last stroke of the "Tsushima Cherry" hook was blurred by sweat.

Snowflakes leaked through the wooden windows of the school, dampening the copy of "The List of Lost Names" that had just been copied—these were the names of the fifth batch of children to be reported today, from "Kenta" to "Misaki," each name carrying a warmth, like a sweet potato just dug out from the frozen ground.

"Teacher!" The door was flung open, and Aying's face was as red as a frozen raspberry. "The bricks on the back wall of the village temple are loose!"

I was digging around with the rocks, and it looks like there's something inside!

When Kazama Shin shoved the list into his arms, his heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was hitting his ribs.

He followed the child to the back of the temple. In the moonlight, half a blue brick lay askew in the snow, and a corner of yellowed paper peeked out from a crack in the wall.

Chapter 1030 Sleep Now, Little Sugarball

The moment my fingertips touched the paper, a musty smell wafted in—it was old paper from fifty years ago, with dark red stains on the edges, like dried blood.

The manuscript in the interlayer was thicker than he had imagined.

The first page reads: "In the winter of 1942, the Scavenger visited the school at night and burned all the textbooks with names on them."

They say 'names are a burden,' but I know we haven't forgotten history; we've been taught to forget.

Kazama Shin's knuckles turned white.

He took out a candle from his pocket, and the light shone on the paper, revealing golden patterns in the writing—hidden text written in blood ink. "The blood of the one who bears the pain can awaken memories, but who will awaken the one who bears the pain?" The date on the last page was scraped off, leaving only a line of crooked small words: "If anyone sees this, please tell Chiho that Grandpa hasn't forgotten her nickname 'Sugar Ball'."

"Chiho..." he murmured, and suddenly felt a burning sensation on the back of his neck.

This is the third name that has made his heart pound today. The first two were "Tsushima Sakura" that Sakura remembered and "Watanabe Kenta" that Ishigaki shouted.

He took out the "List of Lost Names" from his pocket, added "Chisui" to the end, and the ink smudged into a small circle, like a tear that had not yet fallen.

A crisp sound of a snow-covered branch breaking came from outside the temple.

Kazama Shin abruptly shoved the diary back into the interlayer and mixed mud with snow water to plaster the wall.

As he turned around, a blood-red vine leaf clung to the back of his hand, the "Tsushima Cherry" inscription still damp—it was a vine from the entrance of Sakura Village, carried by the mountain wind.

"Teacher?" Sakura peeked out from the corner of the wall. "Should we write 'Chiho' on the wall too?"

Kazama Shin crouched down and wiped the snow off the tip of her nose with his thumb: "If it's written on the wall, it will be erased, but if it's written here..." He tapped his own chest, then hers, "it won't be erased."

The observation deck of the Hidden Cloud Tower was drafty, causing Bi's cloak to flutter wildly in the wind.

He held three petitions in his hand, the top one bearing twenty-three bloody handprints—the people wanted to check the "list of purifiers" to find out who had erased their names.

"Lord Kage." A crow from the Anbu landed on the railing, clutching a piece of paper in its claws. "Iwagakure and Kirigakure are also showing similar movements."

It's better to slam the petition on the table.

He remembered that three days earlier, in the same night wind, an old woman knelt at the foot of the tower, crying and saying, "My grandson should be named 'Xinyi,' not 'Agou.'"

Back then, he thought the people were crazy, but now he understands—the crazy ones are those who sweep names down the drain like garbage.

"Old man Inuzuka from the former purification group." He took out a kunai, cut his fingertip, and dripped blood onto the summoning contract. "I want to ask him myself."

When the old ninja was brought up, he was still wearing the purifier's black eye patch over his left eye.

As soon as Bi's illusion invaded his consciousness, he crashed into a sea of ​​blood—countless names floated in the blood, each one biting at the old ninja's soul.

"Aoba Hachi... he willingly bore the curse back then." The old ninja suddenly opened his eyes wide, black blood seeping from beneath his black eyepatch. "He said... he wanted to avenge everyone..."

Before he could finish speaking, blood began to gush from his seven orifices.

Taking a half-step back, looking at the old ninja's corpse like a drained sack, he finally understood why purifiers never lived more than three years after a mission—their bodies had long since become graveyards for their names.

"Block the news." He waved to the Anbu and added, "Send three elite teams to the ruins of the Guiyuan Shrine to investigate the origin of the Wood Release seeds."

As the ANBU retreated, Bi pulled out the black eye patch that the old ninja had dropped.

The inside of the eye patch was engraved with a line of small print: "Remember for me, my name is 'Shinichi Inuzuka'."

The candlelight in the secret chamber of Sunagakure flickered, and Chiyo's fingernails dug into Sasori's puppet joints.

This is her most treasured work, containing a recording worm of the first generation of purifiers' meeting.

As she turned the mechanism in the puppet's heart, a younger version of herself suddenly emerged from the chirping of insects: "If memories cannot be erased, then let them become poison."

"I was so ruthless back then." She laughed at the air, her fingertip pressing on the spot where the insects chirped the loudest—where her daughter Chiho's experimental records were hidden. "Using a child for memory erasure experiments, saying things like 'for the future of Sunagakure'..."

The chirping of insects suddenly rose in pitch, mingling with the cries of a baby.

Chiyo's hand paused; it was Chiho's sobbing, a sobbing that had been sealed in her memory for forty years.

She abruptly snapped off the insect's wing, plunging the secret chamber into deathly silence, leaving only the two characters "Chiho" carved on the puppet's chest, gleaming blue in the moonlight.

The soft rustling of vines sprouting came from outside the window.

Chiyo didn't turn around. She knew it was Blood Ink Vine—three days ago at the village entrance, she saw Sakura touching the vine leaves and calling "Mom." Her eyes were just like Chiho's when she was taken away, clinging to her clothes.

"Should we turn it on?" she asked the air, her finger hovering over the puppet's mechanism.

In the end, he simply stroked the engraving of "Chiho" gently, as if caressing his daughter's face: "Sleep well, little sugarball."

Night falls early in the wilderness.

Byakuya squatted by the altar, the "Tsushima Cherry" on the vines still glistening with dew.

He took out the "List of Lost Names" from his pocket—it was sent by Kazama through a messenger, and there was an extra line of small print at the bottom: "Remember for Chiho, Grandpa hasn't forgotten."

The wind swept the blood-ink vine leaves past his shoulder, and the "Tsushima Cherry" on the leaves drifted with the wind toward the depths of the altar.

Bai Ye gazed in the direction where the vines and leaves had disappeared, and the Wood Release Seed in his palm suddenly became hot, as if something was scratching at his bones inside—it was a new name, awakening underground.

The moment Bai Ye's fingertips touched the three characters "Tsushima Sakura" on the vine, a gust of wind swept in, carrying grains of sand.

He squinted, only to see the ink-like name suddenly tremble, as if grasped by an invisible hand, crawling along the vines into the depths of the altar.

"Wait." He shouted in a low voice, using his knees to press against the gravel and leap up.

Wood Release chakra seeped into the earth through his palm, and the withered grass in the wasteland immediately grew wildly, forming a green carpet at his feet.

As they chased the vines to a bend, several strands of silver thread emerged from the crack in the rock—not chakra, but human hair finer than a strand of hair, each end of which had a misty outline, like a crumpled paper doll, all drifting in the same direction.

He suddenly stopped in his tracks.

The scene of being locked in the cellar as a child, listening to the old priest's ramblings, suddenly flooded back: "When the name is clear, the soul awakens; when the soul awakens, the pain returns... Those whose names have been erased will crawl back with their torn memories." His Adam's apple bobbed, his fingertips dug into his palms, and the Wood Release Seed burned in his flesh, burning so intensely that even his bones ached—this was not an ordinary revival; someone was forcibly tearing open the seal on his memories.

A faint sob could be heard on the wind.

Bai Ye looked in the direction the green hair extended, and the illusory figure in front was drifting towards a half-buried stone tablet.

Chapter 131 Unavoidable

He recognized it as a broken monument from the Guiyuan Shrine, which had been smashed to pieces by Aoba Hachi's purification team three years ago.

As the phantom touched the surface of the monument, stone chips fell in a flurry, revealing a line of characters, half of which had been chiseled away: "Dog's Tomb..."

"Xinyi?" Bai Ye blurted out.

A few days ago, I showed him the old ninja's eye patch, and those two words were engraved on the inside.

The phantom suddenly solidified, revealing the blurry outline of dog ears, and uttered a muffled "thank you" from its throat.

The wind in the wasteland suddenly changed direction.

As Bai Ye turned around, a short blade was already drawn from his sleeve—not out of hostility, but out of some more dangerous aura.

He heard his own heartbeat drown out the sound of the wind, and the Wood Release Seed burst open in his palm, sprouting tiny green shoots that raced up his arm along his veins.

This was a warning; he realized that a more powerful being was approaching.