Konoha: Superman template, the spoiled brat becomes strong.

She turned and ran out of the village, the ends of her hair whipped by the wind, "The seal of the underground water dungeon..."

"Girl, please stay!"

A hoarse voice came from behind the tree.

Onodera Ren drew his blood-ink brush from his waist, but the brush stopped when he saw who it was—a one-eyed youth holding a painting, with a pale pink scar in his empty eye socket.

“Mr. Tanaka’s messenger.” He handed over the scroll. “He said you should take a look at this.”

The moment the scroll was unfurled, Onodera Ren's breath caught in his throat.

In the charcoal sketch, Bai Ye stands in front of the broken monument, but his shadow has the face of Qingye Ba, with the same curve of his lips.

"Thanks." She stuffed the scroll into her bosom, and as she turned around, she caught a glimpse of a strange light flashing in the young man's empty eyes—like a sealed fragment of memory.

Moonlight streamed through the broken windows of the abandoned post station, illuminating the long-white knuckles of the field.

He held half a charred remnant of a diary page in his hand. Under the magnifying glass, the tiny characters stung his eyes: "Seven days before the death of each generation of those who bear the pain, their pain will spur new growth, which can only be continued by those of the same bloodline."

"Baiye belongs to Qingye Ba..." He suddenly stood up, knocking over the broken wooden box next to him.

Dust settled down as he trembled as he pulled out the communication scroll Bi had left behind, biting his fingertip and pressing it onto the seal.

The moment the chakra surged in, the scroll emitted a puff of blue smoke, and half of the charred pages fell to the ground.

He crouched down and, by the moonlight, could see the words on it: "Two people emerged from the fire, one tall and one short. The tall one was embracing the short one, and the short one had a birthmark on his face—just like that 'cleaner' now."

"The fire thirty years ago..." Tanaka Hisashi's throat tightened, "...so it was the bloodline of the one who bore the pain..."

Kazama Shin's "The Lost List" suddenly felt hot in my arms.

He straightened up, touching the edge of the well, the moonlight stretching his shadow long.

On the moss by the well, a damp footprint was clearly visible—it wasn't there when we were drawing water.

He crouched down and gently touched the water stains in the footprints with his fingers.

A chill crept up his fingertips, like someone blowing a breath on the back of his neck.

A "ding-dong" sound came from the well, like the sound of a pebble falling into the water.

"Who?" He gripped the "List of Unknowns" tightly and leaned towards the well.

The moonlight couldn't penetrate the well; only a dark shadow could be seen moving in the depths, like... the outline of a person.

He pulled out a tinderbox from his waist, lit it, and sparks flew into the well.

Just as the flames lit up, he saw clearly—vines covered the well walls and were slowly climbing up the slippery stones towards the well opening.

Kazama Shin got goosebumps on the back of his neck.

Amidst the rustling sound of vines climbing the well wall, he heard himself swallowing.

The slippery moss melted on his fingertips, and he groped his way down in the direction the footprints extended—the footprints were not ordinary water stains, but vine sap with a sticky texture, which had solidified into translucent threads between the bricks.

"Click."

My knuckles suddenly touched a dented brick.

He held his breath, his fingernails digging into the cracks in the bricks. The blue bricks made a dull turning sound, and a hidden door, about half a person's height, slowly cracked open.

A musty smell mixed with the smell of rust wafted out. He took out a tinderbox and blew on it. The flickering flame illuminated the scene inside: in the center of the palm-sized stone chamber, a wooden table carved with cherry blossom patterns held half a wooden sign for a child. The edges of the sign were charred black, but under the firelight, it shone with a mother-of-pearl-like halo.

"A gift for Chisui's third birthday." He read out the small characters on the wooden plaque. As soon as his fingertips touched the plaque, a sharp pain shot from his palm to the top of his head.

The illusion came without warning.

He saw himself standing in an unfamiliar room, with twelve wooden chairs arranged in a semicircle, each chair with a child strapped to it, the youngest being no more than four years old and the oldest only ten.

They had bluish-gray vine tubes inserted into the back of their heads. The tubes wriggled like living things and eventually converged into a main vine as thick as a thumb, which climbed up the ceiling to the back of the wall.

The child on the last chair wore a bronze mask and was convulsing violently. Blood seeping from under the mask soaked into the collar in the shape of plum blossoms—exactly the same shape as the brand on Bai Ye's left shoulder.

The screen suddenly flipped.

Chapter 134 Reporting an Accident

He stood behind the glass of the monitoring room, where Chiyo, dressed in a gray robe, was recording data with her head down, the pen scratching on the paper.

A man stood with his back to him in front of the control panel, his sleeves rolled up to reveal half of a hideous scar—a centipede-shaped scar that stretched from his elbow to his wrist, exactly the same as the old wound on Bai Ye's right arm.

“The Watchers family…” Kazama Shin staggered and steadied himself against the hidden door, his forehead pressed against the cold brick wall.

The Lost Names Book was burning hot in his arms. He finally understood why his heart always raced when he copied the names in the book—the erased names held a secret shared by the Watchers and the Purifiers.

The moonlight outside the well was suddenly blocked.

Kazama Shin suddenly looked up and saw that the vines had climbed out of the well and wove a green net under the night sky.

His attention was drawn to an unusual movement in another direction—a cloud of black mist rose from the direction of Cloud Village on the eastern mountain ridge, which was the location of the prison dungeon.

Bi's boot heels slammed heavily against the stone bricks.

The air at the bottom of the dungeon still smelled of burning. Where the old doctor had been devoured by the vines, there was only a pool of dark brown slime left, stained with half a blood-stained white coat.

He gripped the Cloud-Hidden Headband at his waist, his Adam's apple bobbing – this was the third time he had come to verify the scene, the first two times he had his men lie and report it as an "accident".

"My lord, the fragments of the portrait have been pieced together."

The guard's voice came from behind.

As Bi turned around, a gust of wind arose, causing the parchment on the table to rustle.

In the ritual diagram pieced together from twelve fragments, eight people wearing bronze masks form a circle, with vines sprouting from their spines and connecting to the central "container" like an umbilical cord.

The person inside the container had a blurred face, but the plum blossom brand on their left shoulder was clearly visible.

"Check the medical records." He pointed to the location of the brand, his voice hoarse.

Two hours later, the guard rushed into the dungeon carrying a stack of yellowed scrolls: "My lord, the comparison results... Mr. Baiye, Lord Qingye, and even your childhood medical records all have this mark!"

Bi's fingers dug deeply into his palm.

He remembered his mother kneeling before the shrine and crying when he was three years old, saying that he was "the child chosen by God"; he remembered the day he became a Jonin at sixteen, when the old advisor touched his shoulder and said, "Your life is more important than Kumogakure"; he remembered the drunken words he heard in the tavern last night—"The blood of the Purifier is bitter, the blood of the Watcher is poisonous."

"Burn these." He suddenly grabbed all the scrolls and threw them into the brazier in the corner.

The guard stood frozen in place, but he drew his dagger, sliced ​​his fingertip, and wrote a new order on a blank scroll: "Suspend the purge operation, activate the reverse alert." Before the ink was dry, he added, "Send someone to Snowfield Village to protect that schoolteacher."

At the very bottom of the underground water dungeon, Fujiwara Shizuka's fingernails were filled with blood.

She huddled in the damp corner, the vibrations coming from above her growing more intense—the sound of her memories being loosened.

The blood-stained notebook in his arms had been turned to the last page, each page densely filled with the last words of the person being wiped out: "My son should be able to call me 'Mother' today," "The candy I've been saving is buried under the old locust tree at the village entrance," "Please let me see the moon one more time."

"The time has come." She pulled the short knife from her waist, and as the blade sliced ​​across her wrist, drops of blood splattered onto the rusted bronze bell in the corner of the wall.

The bells rang out, as if countless hands were pulling at her hair, and sealed memories flooded back like a tidal wave—she saw herself kneeling by the pool of blood at sixteen, listening to the Otsutsuki messenger say, "You will witness all the erased souls"; she saw a winter night thirty years ago, two babies being placed in different cradles, one wrapped in a swaddling cloth embroidered with cherry blossoms, the other wearing a bronze mask; she saw a white-haired woman holding a baby and weeping: "I am not his substitute... I am his mother."

"boom!"

The bronze bell suddenly exploded.

Fujiwara Shizuka was thrown to the ground by the shockwave, but she saw a beam of blue light pierce through the dungeon ceiling and straight into the night sky.

At the end of the beam of light, two figures slowly emerged—one was Bai Ye, a child dressed in coarse cloth and short clothes, whose eyes shone like stars; the other was draped in a black robe, whose face was blurred like mist, but the scar from his brow bone to his jaw matched the wounds on Qing Ye Ba's face perfectly.

They both reached out at the same time, one trying to grab the other's face, the other trying to choke the other's throat.

At that moment, Bai Ye, who was far away at the top of the giant vine, suddenly clutched his chest.

The fluorescent light flowing through the vines suddenly turned scorching hot. He looked down at the ground, where the erased names were climbing up the vines. In front of him, two overlapping shadows became clearer and clearer—one was the blood pool body he had seen in the shrine cellar when he was seven years old, and the other... was Aoba Hachi's face wearing a bronze mask.

The night wind lifted the hem of his clothes, and he heard a faint sobbing coming from the vines, much like the cry of a baby.

As the night wind lifted the hem of his clothes, a metallic taste suddenly rose in Bai Ye's throat.

The fluorescent light flowing through the veins of the giant vine instantly turned scalding hot, like countless red-hot silver needles piercing into a blood vessel.

He staggered and grabbed the vines for support, only to see the erased names climbing up the vines at an abruptly faster pace—the two overlapping shadows at the front were now clear enough to make out their outlines: one was the blood pool body he had seen in the shrine cellar when he was seven years old, with bluish-purple veins floating beneath pale skin; the other... was Aoba Hachi's face wearing a bronze mask, which was now cracking, revealing half of a jawline that was exactly like his own.

"Cough!" He covered his mouth, and the blood that seeped from between his fingers dripped onto the vines, where it was quickly absorbed.

The next second, his consciousness was suddenly pulled into a state of chaos.

There is no up, down, left, or right here, only countless fragments of memories floating around: charred tatami mats, blood-stained swaddling clothes, a woman's trembling hand stroking his face as she says, "Yoru, be good."

In the center of all the fragments, a pitch-black iron cellar door floated—he recognized the door; when he was seven years old, he had hidden behind it and watched as the swollen body in the pool of blood suddenly opened its eyes.

At this moment, the body was slowly sitting up, water dripping from the ends of its hair, splashing dark red ripples on the ground.

Its lips moved, and its voice was like a rusty gear: "Brother...you've finally come."

That "brother" hit Bai Ye's heart like a heavy hammer.

He had never had any brothers, yet the Wood Release bloodline within him trembled violently because of this title, as if something sealed away was banging against the door.

He took a half step back, only to bump into another figure—the moment he turned around, he met the eyes of a face exactly like his own.

It's Aoba Hachi.

Chapter 135 The Ritual of Division

At this moment, the other party's bronze mask had shattered into dust, and the dark brand on his left shoulder gleamed with a cold light. The pattern was exactly the same as the scar on his left shoulder that he would unconsciously touch on a full moon night.

Between the two, countless broken threads of memory intertwined like living things, some with wooden plaques bearing the words "Guardian of Guiyuan Shrine" at their ends, and others stained with blood-stained documents reading "Eighth Cleaner".

"The splitting ritual." Aoba Hachi's voice was hoarse, like a piece of iron polished by sandpaper. "We were originally one, but the Otsutsuki used a forbidden technique to separate us into 'vessels' and 'watchers'."

"You carry the memories of life, and I..." He ran his fingertips across his heart, "carrying all the pain that has been erased."

Bai Ye's pupils contracted sharply.

He recalled that every time he used Wood Release, he felt another voice whimpering inside him; he remembered that Fujiwara Shizuka had said that his bloodline "carried the taste of sacrifice"; and he also remembered that three days ago, when he fought Aoba Hachi in the forest, the moment his opponent's sword pierced his left shoulder, he felt an absurd sense of familiarity that "this injury should have happened this way".

"So you're going to kill me?" His voice trembled.

“It’s not killing.” Aoba Hachi’s finger hovered three inches above his heart. “It’s awakening.”

When the container recognizes the pain core, the ritual will restart—you will return to the blood pool, and I… “He suddenly gave a bitter smile,” he said, “will live in the sunlight in your place.”

How ridiculous! We've been arguing for twenty years, and all we've done is help those old fogies complete their cycle of reincarnation.

"boom!"

Suddenly, a crack appeared in the space of consciousness, and Onodera Ren's voice came in through the crack: "Byakuya!"

Grab my hand!

Bai Ye suddenly opened his eyes and found himself sitting on the ground, having fallen from the top of the vines, his back soaked in cold sweat.

Above him, giant vines were lashing wildly at the night sky. At the end of a blue pillar of light, Onodera Ren was climbing down a broken vine, her right hand tightly clutching half a piece of blood jade, blood still seeping from her fingertips.

"The dungeon's seal has broken!" She landed beside him, the crimson light of the blood jade making her eyes bloodshot. "Fujiwara Shizuka's memories have surged forth. I used 'Memory Guidance - Netherworld Connection Array' to locate her, but when the array patterns reassembled..." She suddenly grabbed his left shoulder, her nails almost digging into his flesh. "Bai Ye, have you been injured here before?"

He instinctively tried to dodge, but she pressed him even tighter: "The ritual record from thirty years ago says 'one twin stays and one goes,' the one who survives is the shell of guardianship, and the one who dies is the core of suffering."

"You always touch your left shoulder on full moon nights, is it because of that...?" Her voice suddenly choked, "...the mark of a container branded there?"

Bai Ye's breathing suddenly became rapid.

He remembered his mother holding his hand and saying "I'm sorry" before she died, he remembered the old priest of the shrine always looking at him with pity, and he remembered that when he first awakened Wood Release, what came from the vines was not vitality, but overwhelming despair.

"Prevent them from recognizing each other...or the container will restart." Onodera Ren suddenly recited the warning from the array's core, her thumb tracing the pale pink old scar on his shoulder and neck. "Aoba Hachi is waiting for you in the pillar of light, isn't he?"

Bai Ye did not answer.

He looked up at the pillar of light and saw that Aoba Hachi's figure was still suspended there, like a tombstone nailed to fate.

Further away, a small flame rose from the direction of the ruins of Guiyuan Shrine—that was where Tanaka Hisashi was.

“Let’s go to the shrine.” He suddenly stood up, and Wood Release chakra surged from his palms, lifting the two of them onto the vines. “What Tanaka Hisashi is looking for might hold the answer to who we are.”

The tremors from the underground water prison are still ongoing.

Fujiwara Shizuka used the wall for support to get up. Blood was still dripping from the wound on her wrist, but she stared intently at the pillar of light in the dome.

The last words she had recorded suddenly floated out of the blood-ink book, turning into specks of light that pierced into the pillar of light, like countless small fish swimming towards the deep sea.

“Ye Ming is not a name, it’s the number of the sacrifice…” she murmured, repeating the words of the blood ink array’s reconstruction. Suddenly, she remembered the white-haired woman from thirty years ago on a winter night—she was holding a baby wrapped in cherry blossom swaddling clothes and crying, saying, “I am not his substitute, I am his mother.”

Meanwhile, another infant wearing a bronze mask was being carried into the blood pool by the Otsutsuki messenger.

It turns out that the one that was taken away was never the one that was "alive".