I, Uchiha, will not be whitewashed!

At two o'clock in the morning, the assembly whistle did not sound.

No one needs to be woken up—everyone is awake.

Shuoge leaned against the corner of the tent, a knife across his knee, his eyes closed.

Footsteps came from outside, light and frequent, like raindrops hitting withered leaves. Someone lifted the curtain, and a cold wind rushed in, carrying the smell of earth and gunpowder.

"Assemble." Zhonglin's voice was deep, like a stone hitting the ground.

Shuoge opened his eyes.

The three people in the tent were already in position—Tetsuma gripped a kunai, his knuckles white; Natsuko squatted on the ground, performing a final check on her ninja tools; and Nakabayashi stood at the door, the old scar on his face gleaming coldly in the moonlight.

Shuoge stood up, his knife hanging on his back, and walked into the ranks.

No one speaks.

Zhonglin glanced at it, then turned and walked out of the tent.

They followed behind, crossing the edge of the camp.

There were people everywhere, but it wasn't chaotic—everyone was doing their own thing; some were checking ninja tools, some were putting on headbands, and some were applying the final coat of oil to their swords.

A deathly silence.

The pre-battle silence was heavier than any sound, pressing down on my chest, making it hard to breathe.

Shuoge walked in the middle of the group, with Tie Ma in front of him and Xia Zi behind him.

Iron Horse's kunai spun in his hand, his knuckles turning white. Xiazi's breathing was steady, even more steady than during the day. Zhonglin walked at the front, his pace neither fast nor slow, exactly the same as during the day.

Nearly a hundred people had already gathered at the camp gate.

They split into three routes: a feint attack on the left, a flanking maneuver on the right, and a surprise attack in the center.

Zhonglin led the fourth squad along the central route.

It wasn't a raid, it was a breakthrough.

Cross the battlefield, circle behind enemy lines, and kill the medics.

Zhonglin spread the map out on the ground; under the moonlight, only a few lines and circles were visible.

His finger touched one of the lines.

"After breaking through the middle, the enemy's attention will be drawn to the front. We'll go around from here; this is their medical tent." He looked up at the three members of his squad.

"No wounded. No medics. Not a single one can be left alive."

Tie Ma's hand trembled slightly. It was very slight, but Shuo Ge noticed it. Xia Zi nodded, her face expressionless.

"Is there a problem?" Zhonglin asked.

No one answered.

"Set off."

The group dispersed, like water droplets merging into the night.

Shuoge followed Zhonglin, passing through the camp gate, the cordon, and the very front of their own position.

There was no road ahead, only weeds and darkness.

There were faint lights in the distance, like lanterns about to go out. That was the enemy camp.

Zhonglin stopped and squatted down in the grass.

Shuoge crouched behind him, the knife already drawn from his back and held in his hand. Tiema and Xiazi stood on either side, the four of them lying prone in the grass like four stones.

"Wait for the signal." Zhonglin's voice was so low it was almost inaudible.

Once the feint attack on the left flank begins,

Once the enemy camp's attention is drawn to them...

Wait until the light comes on from the left.

waited for so long.

Tie Ma's breathing became heavy. Xia Zi kicked him, and he gritted his teeth and remained silent.

Shuoge's breathing was steady, and had been steady ever since he set off. It was like practicing swordsmanship under a waterfall, like wielding a sword under the moonlight, like doing something he had done many times before.

The sky on the left suddenly brightened.

It wasn't firelight, but the glow of ninjutsu—orange-red, illuminating half the sky.

Then came an explosion, a muffled sound, coming from a distance, like thunder.

"Let's go." Zhonglin darted out.

The four people shot out like four arrows from the grass, through the weeds, and through the darkness.

Through the shouts of battle coming from the front of the enemy camp.

Zhonglin was in the lead, Xiazi was in second, Shuoge was in third, and Tiema was in last.

No one fell behind, and no one spoke up.

Shuoge's feet trod silently on the mud. He had practiced this before. He had practiced under the waterfall, under the moonlight, on the river. He had practiced for a long time for this day.

The enemy camp's rear was closer than we had imagined.

Zhonglin stopped behind a row of tents, his knife already drawn.

He peeked out for a moment, then withdrew.

"Three tents. The left is for the wounded, the middle is for medical equipment, and the right is for the medics' quarters." He glanced at Xia Zi. "Left. Iron Horse. Right. I'll handle the middle."

Then he glanced at Shuoge, "You come with me."

Shuoge nodded.

Zhonglin didn't say anything more.

The three of them rushed out of their hiding place at the same time, with Shuoge following behind Zhonglin.

The curtains of the medical tent were white, but had been stained dark red with blood.

Zhonglin slashed open the curtain and went inside.

Shuoge followed behind.

There were no lights in the tent, only moonlight shining in through the holes, appearing eerily pale.

People were lying on the ground, sitting on the ground, and curled up on the ground.

Some were bandaged, some had severed hands, and some were breathing with their eyes closed. When they saw Zhonglin and Shuoge, the light in their eyes changed from fear to despair, and from despair to—

Zhonglin's knife had already fallen.

The first person's neck was broken, and blood spurted out, splashing onto the white tent fabric.

The second person struggled to stand up, but his leg was broken and he couldn't stand; the knife went through his chest.

The third, the fourth, the fifth.

Zhonglin's knife was swift, each cut clean and decisive, without hesitation. It was like chopping vegetables, like mowing grass, like doing something he had done many times before.

Shuoge did not take a liking to Lin.

He was looking at the corner of the tent.

There was a young female medical ninja, about seventeen or eighteen years old, holding a scalpel in her hand, which was trembling.

She looked at Shuoge, her eyes filled with fear, anger, and something more complex. Her lips moved as if she were saying something, but her voice was too soft to be heard.

Shuoge walked over.

She raised the scalpel and stabbed him.

very slow.

In Shuoge's eyes, it was as slow as a snail's pace.

He dodged to the side, and the knife slashed upwards, severing her wrist. The scalpel fell to the ground.

She didn't scream, but looked down at her hand, watching blood spurt from the cut, watching the hand fall to the ground, its fingers still twitching. Then she looked up at Shuoge.

Her eyes were bright, so bright that she didn't look like someone who was about to die.

Shuoge's knife pierced through her chest and emerged from her back.

Her eyes were still open, her mouth agape, as if she wanted to say something.

Blood spilled from the corner of his mouth, dripping down his chin onto the back of Shuoge's hand.

It's warm.

He drew his knife, and her body went limp, collapsing among the wounded. Blood gushed from her chest, mingling with the blood of the other wounded, indistinguishable from theirs.

Zhong Lin was at the other end of the tent, his knife covered in blood. He glanced at Shuo Ge and nodded. Then he walked out and headed for the next tent.

Shuoge followed behind.

He glanced down at the female medic's body as he passed by.

Her eyes were still open, staring at the tent ceiling. The moonlight shone on her face, making it appear deathly pale. His hand still bore her blood, warm, now cold.

The second tent contained no wounded, only medical equipment. Zhong Lin glanced at it, then turned and left. Shuo Ge followed behind.

The third tent. Tie Ma went in first.

As Shuoge reached the door, he heard someone calling from inside. Not screams, but sobs. The kind of desperate sobs that come from knowing one is about to die. He lifted the curtain and went in—

Iron Horse stood in the middle of the tent, holding the kuwu (a type of weapon) aloft, not letting it fall.

Opposite him was a man in his forties, wearing a medical ninja's white coat, kneeling on the ground with his hands raised above his head.

He was begging for mercy.

Iron Horse's hands were shaking.

The man saw Shuoge, and the light in his eyes changed—from pleading to despair, from despair to madness. He lowered his hand and reached into his white coat.

The iron horse was still shaking.

Shuoge rushed forward, slashing at him from the side with his blade.

The man had just pulled his hand out of his white coat, and he was holding a detonating tag in his hand.

The blade sliced ​​across his wrist, his hand flew out, and the explosive tag floated in the air before landing on the ground.

It didn't explode.

Shuoge's blade didn't stop; with a backhand strike, it pierced the man's chest. His body stiffened, his mouth gaped, his eyes staring at Tie Ma, before slowly going limp.

The tent fell silent.

Only the heavy breathing of the iron horse remained, like a bellows.

He looked down at the corpse, at the severed hand, at the unexploded detonation tag. His hands were still trembling. The kunai slipped from his grasp and fell to the ground with a clink.

Shuoge looked at him. "Next time, you'll be the one lying here."

This kind of person is not suitable to be a ninja.

Tie Ma's lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. He squatted down, picked up the kunai, stood up, his hands still trembling.

Zhonglin walked in, glanced at the corpse on the ground, then at Tie Ma, and then at Shuo Ge.

Without saying a word, he turned and walked out of the tent.

Outside, the shouts of battle gradually subsided.

The direct combat is almost over.

Zhonglin stood outside the tent, looking at the distant firelight. The blood on his knife had dried, forming a dark red scab. Xiazi walked over from the left, her clothes stained with blood, but it wasn't hers.

She glanced at Tie Ma, then at Shuo Ge, and stood behind Zhong Lin.

"Withdraw," Zhonglin said.

The four people returned the way they came.

We traversed the wild grass, the darkness, and the edge of our own territory.

Extremely quiet.

Iron Horse walked at the very back, his steps much heavier than when he came.

Xia Zi walked ahead of him, glancing back at him every now and then. Shuo Ge walked in the middle, his sword already sheathed, the blood on the back of his hand dried, forming a thin scab that would fall off at the slightest touch.

By the time they returned to camp, the sky was already beginning to lighten. Zhonglin stopped at the camp gate and looked back at them.

"Rest. We have tasks to complete tonight."

He left. Xia Zi followed behind him, took a few steps, stopped, and glanced back at Tie Ma.

Go back and get some sleep. Don't think about anything.

Tie Ma nodded. He glanced at Shuo Ge, his lips moved as if he wanted to say something.

Thank you? I'm sorry? I'm okay?

The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he didn't know what to say. He turned and walked away in silence.

His shoulders slumped, his steps were dragging, as if he were carrying a mountain on his back.

Shuoge stood there, watching Tie Ma's figure disappear between the tents. He looked down at the back of his hand; the scab was still there, one corner curled up.

He peeled it off with his fingernails, revealing the pink new skin underneath. It didn't hurt. He flicked away the scab and turned to walk towards his tent.

Its daybreak.

People started moving around in the camp; some were making fires and cooking, some were organizing ninja tools, and some were bandaging their wounds.

Everything is normal, as if nothing happened last night.

Those who died in the tents never truly lived.

Shuoge sat in the tent, with Dao leaning against him.

He closed his eyes, his mind filled with the image of the female medic's eyes.

It's very bright.

He was so bright he didn't look like someone who was about to die.

And there was that severed hand, the fingers still twitching. And that unexploded detonation tag. He opened his eyes and pulled Shisui's shuriken from behind his waist.

The one engraved with the character "mirror". He gripped it tightly, then released it.

Close your eyes. Go to sleep.

There are new tasks after I wake up.

-

There is no third way on the battlefield.

Either you die or I die.

Men must be killed, women must be killed, the elderly must be killed, and children must be killed—as long as they are wearing the enemy's clothes and headbands, only the dead enemy is a good enemy.

There's only one chance to survive; it's better to hold it in your own hands than to leave it in someone else's.

……

……

……

Three days after the mission ended, Shuoge received a letter.

The logistics ninja who delivered the letter pulled a crumpled envelope from his pocket, searched through the list for a long time, and then handed the letter to him.

"Uchiha Sakugo? Yours. From the village."

After saying that, he ran away, as if a dog was chasing him.

Shuoge took the letter, walked to the edge of the camp, and sat down on a rock.

The envelope was small, smaller than a normal letter, with wrinkled edges and a crooked seal. The glue had overflowed from the side, sticking the envelope and the letter together.

The words were written crookedly on it: "Uchiha Sakugo received."

The handwriting looks like it was drawn stroke by stroke by a child who has just learned to write. The roof radical of the character "宇" is written too wide, the skin radical of the character "波" is missing a stroke, and the slanted hook of the character "戈" is written as a vertical hook.

The entire name was squeezed into the middle of the envelope, as if afraid of writing it in the wrong place.

He opened the envelope; inside was only a single sheet of paper, folded three times with deep creases, as if it had been folded and unfolded many times.

The paper was torn from a workbook, with rough edges and a red pen mark remaining in the upper left corner.

There were only a few lines of text on the paper. The characters were large and filled the entire page. Every stroke was made with great force. A few characters were written incorrectly and then crossed out and rewritten, leaving a dark, messy mess.

"Brother Shuoge, you've been gone for several days. Uncle Feng said he couldn't tell you about your family, that it would distract you. But I couldn't help it. Don't get distracted."

"I threw sixty shuriken today, and hit them all. Ten more than yesterday. Uncle Feng said I'm a genius. I don't believe it. You're the genius."

"I can't sleep at night. Before, my house was very lively, and when I couldn't sleep, I would go to the yard to practice shuriken. Now I'm afraid to go. It's too dark in the yard."

"Uncle Feng said you're killing bad guys. Killing lots and lots of bad guys. When will you finish killing them all? Will you be able to come back after you're done?"

"Do you still have the shuriken I borrowed from you? Don't lose it. It's mine. It's the only one I have."

"I won't ask you anymore. Be careful. Don't get hurt. If you do get hurt, get treatment. Don't die."

"Still water".

There was no "Yours sincerely" or "Wishing you peace".

The last two characters, "止水" (Zhi Shui), were written very small, tucked away in the lower right corner of the paper, as if afraid of taking up too much space. The vertical stroke of the character "止" (Zhi) was crooked, and the vertical hook of the character "水" (Shui) was written as a straight hook, making the whole name look crooked and squeezed together.

Shuoge turned the paper over; the back was blank.

He flipped back and read those lines again.

Four- or five-year-old children write as if they have just learned to hold a pen. Every stroke is crooked and distorted. The character for "bad" is missing a dot, and the radical for "complete" is written as a bald radical.

The character “睡” was written incorrectly three times, and three black marks were made before the fourth one was written correctly.

He saw a word.

Next to the character “止水”, there was a very small character “快”, which was written in half and then crossed out.

Come back soon. Come back soon.

I wrote half of it, then crossed it out.

I was afraid he would be distracted.