If they could prove that the attacker was the same Uchiha who had caused the Nine-Tails’ rampage years ago, they could finally show the village that Konoha’s Uchiha clan had nothing to do with the incident.
Everyone looked at Fugaku with expectation in their eyes.
“I’m not certain.
The enemy did not reveal any bloodline limit or ninjutsu that could definitively identify him as an Uchiha.”
“That’s enough.
Stop indulging in baseless speculation.
Strengthen the security around the clan compound for the time being.
We absolutely cannot allow something like this to happen again.”
Fugaku cut off the clan elders before they could continue.
“Yes, Clan Head!”
The elders turned and left, their reluctance plain to see.
Watching the clansmen depart, Fugaku rubbed his brow before looking toward his two sons, one held in each of Mikoto’s arms.
“Itachi, Qiyu, you should both go to bed if there’s nothing else.
It’s already late.”
Qiyu nodded, took Itachi by the hand, and slipped out of their mother’s embrace.
Under Mikoto’s reluctant gaze, the two brothers headed upstairs.
When they reached the door to his room, Qiyu looked at the ever-obedient Itachi and turned toward his younger brother.
“Itachi, do you want to sleep with your big brother tonight?”
Itachi considered it for a moment, then nodded without hesitation.
The brothers had slept together since they were little.
It was only within the past year or so that they had begun using separate rooms.
That night, the two brothers lay quietly in bed.
Moonlight slipped through the narrow gap in the window, draping the room in a thin, mysterious veil.
Neither of them felt particularly sleepy.
One barely needed sleep at all.
The other had too many thoughts weighing on his mind.
“Itachi, what do you want to do when you grow up?”
Qiyu asked the question softly.
Itachi remained silent for a moment before answering.
“Big Brother, I want the village to remain peaceful forever.”
Peace, huh?
As expected, even at his age, he’s already thinking about something so heavy.
“Itachi, if one day you were forced to choose between the clan and the village, what would you do?”
Qiyu finally asked the question whose answer he desperately wanted to know.
Itachi’s small brows furrowed.
“Big Brother, can’t the village and the clan live together in peace?”
“I said if.
I never said it was definitely going to happen.”
Qiyu replied helplessly.
“I would stop both sides, Big Brother.”
Itachi’s answer was firm.
Qiyu quietly breathed a sigh of relief.
It seems the clan and the village still carry equal weight in Itachi’s heart.
“Hah!
What can a little brat like you possibly do after making such a grand declaration?
Go to sleep.
Peace isn’t something children like us should be worrying about.
Graduate from the Academy first.”
With that, Qiyu closed his eyes and fell asleep almost immediately.
Now that he thought about it, it had probably been more than a year since he had last truly slept.
“Itachi, I hope you have a good dream tonight.”
Itachi wanted to argue with what his brother had said, but when he saw that Qiyu had already closed his eyes, he held the words back.
“Mm.
Good night, Big Brother.”
Itachi closed his eyes as well.
The next morning, Qiyu woke as soon as the sky began to brighten.
Sleeping again had not felt nearly as refreshing as meditating and cultivating.
His head even felt a little heavy.
Cultivation really is the only path to happiness.
Qiyu glanced at Itachi, who was still sleeping peacefully beside him.
Without disturbing his younger brother, he quietly climbed out of bed and headed downstairs.
He found his mother already busy in the kitchen.
After greeting her, Qiyu hurried toward the backyard.
By the time Mikoto heard him and turned around, he had already disappeared.
“That child…”
Mikoto shook her head helplessly.
In a secluded corner of the backyard were four neat, square plots of tilled soil, surrounded by a wooden fence.
These plots contained the precious medicinal herbs Qiyu had cultivated.
Ever since awakening his four auxiliary professions, Qiyu had placed tremendous importance on each of them.
Artifact refinement and alchemy both required rare materials.
As a young child, Qiyu had possessed no way to improve his proficiency in either profession through practical training.
Formations and cultivation techniques were different.
For the former, he only needed to practice drawing various restrictions.
With cinnabar and yellow talisman paper, he could arrange simple formations.
As for the latter, anything he planted would grant him at least a small amount of experience.
That was why Qiyu had developed a passion for farming from a very young age.
As the head of the Uchiha clan, Fugaku naturally possessed an estate with an enormous backyard.
Aside from the training ground, there was still plenty of unused space behind the house.
The four plots covered seven or eight mu in total and were almost completely filled with the flowers and plants Qiyu had dug up in the wilderness over the years.
Of course, he had not collected them at random.
Every plant possessed at least some medicinal property.
With the Hundred Herbs Compendium provided by his cultivation profession, Qiyu could clearly distinguish the effects and medicinal nature of each plant.
Unfortunately, the medicinal potency of herbs in the shinobi world was simply too weak.
He had to nourish them little by little with spiritual energy, strengthening their innate essence before they could possibly become suitable ingredients for pill refinement.
After entering the garden, Qiyu first inspected the Spirit-Gathering Formation he had arranged with talismans, checking whether insects or ants had damaged it.
After examining the entire formation and confirming that all the restrictions remained intact, he breathed a sigh of relief.
Setting up a formation was extremely time-consuming.
More importantly, a Spirit-Gathering Formation built from paper talismans was fragile compared to one powered by spirit stones.
It could easily be damaged by insects.
Among the Intermediate-grade formations he currently knew, none could repel vermin or contain lethal defenses.
As a result, checking the formation’s integrity had become part of his daily routine.
Qiyu looked across the lush, brightly colored plants, and his mood immediately improved.
After a little more time, these herbs should finally be usable for alchemy.
They would only be enough to refine basic pills, but for someone like him, whose spiritual energy reserves were still limited, even basic pills could become vital life-saving trump cards.
Qiyu carefully loosened the soil around each plant according to its particular needs.
From time to time, he used the Minor Cloud-Rain Technique, a Water Release spell, to irrigate the herbs and nourish their roots.
Every movement was filled with focus and care.
What he did not know was that Fugaku stood silently by the window, watching his every action.
When did my son develop this hobby?
Fugaku fell into thought.
It must have been when Qiyu was a little over three.
He could still remember returning home after finishing his work.
His eldest son had approached him holding a weed plucked from the roadside, arms raised as he demanded to be carried.
Fugaku had laughed and lifted him into his arms.
Then, in his soft, childish voice, Qiyu had announced that he wanted to grow crops in the backyard.
Fugaku had looked at his wife in confusion, only to find Mikoto wearing an equally helpless expression.
His first instinct had been to refuse.
But when he saw the pleading look in his son’s eyes, he agreed without hesitation and even rubbed his bearded cheek against Qiyu’s tiny face.
Their relationship had not always been so distant.
Whenever Fugaku picked Qiyu up as a child, the boy would grin from ear to ear.
It was only after Qiyu turned four and began his shinobi training that the distance between them had gradually grown.
Itachi trained diligently and followed every instruction Fugaku gave him.
Qiyu, however, was mischievous.
Apart from completing the most basic training, he always seemed to have an endless number of other things to do.
It was that apparent lack of diligence—his seemingly perfunctory attitude toward becoming a shinobi—that had changed Fugaku’s treatment of him.
Whenever Fugaku criticized him for it, Qiyu would argue back.
Worse still, there were times when Fugaku found himself unable to outreason a four-year-old child.
Qiyu always had an endless supply of twisted logic.
“The village is pressing us too hard.
It’s understandable that the clansmen are angry.
If only the Fourth were still alive.”
Fugaku frowned and sighed.
“I wonder how Kushina’s child is doing.
He lost both of his parents at such a young age.
I don’t know whether he’s living well.”
Mikoto’s voice carried a trace of sorrow.
He was the child of her dearest friend.
“Haah…”
Fugaku did not answer his wife directly.
He only released a deep sigh.
As the commander of the Konoha Military Police Force, he naturally knew about Naruto’s circumstances.
But what could he do?
The village guarded against the Uchiha as though they were enemies.
“I only hope Qiyu and Itachi grow up quickly.
With their talent, perhaps they’ll be able to change the clan’s situation one day.”
The couple quietly watched Qiyu working in the backyard, gratified smiles appearing on their faces.
“It’s time to call the children in for breakfast.”
After a long while, when Mikoto saw that Qiyu was almost finished, she spoke softly.
Fugaku nodded and headed toward a grove outside the house.
He knew Itachi was probably training there in secret.
“Qiyu!
Breakfast is ready!”
Qiyu had just finished loosening the soil around the final medicinal herb and was about to stand when he heard his mother calling from the window.
“Yes!
I’m coming, Mother!”
Qiyu quickly placed the small hoe beside the garden fence.
With a casual gesture, he cast the Cleansing Technique from the Five Elements Dao Arts, removing every trace of dirt from his body.
Then he dashed toward the living room.
After all, to a child, nothing was more important than hearing his mother call him in for breakfast.
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