Chapter 263: Purple Yang Flower: Just Kill Me Already
Rainwater drummed against the horse carriage’s roof, producing an incessant hum, like an endless lament.
A damp, cold aura seeped into every inch of the air, mingled with the faint musty smell of dust and cargo.
Menma hid in the shadows of the towering sackcloth bags, his aura restrained like a lifeless object. The perception of Kagura Shingan spread silently like invisible ripples centered on him, reflecting the chaotic slaughter outside entirely into his heart.
The bandits’ ferocity, the Rain Village ninjas’ resistance, the displaced people’s terrified wails.
And that purple-haired girl hiding behind the overturned horse carriage, nervously throwing shuriken.
Her chakra was faint yet clear, like a stubborn glimmer in the hazy rain curtain.
Menma watched her precise shuriken restraining the enemies, watched her anxiously furrow her brows due to her companion’s injury, watched her finally join other ninjas to repel the bandits.
The battle ended, rainwater washing away the bloodstains on the ground.
The other Rain Village ninjas silently began scavenging money and ninja tools from the corpses, clearly divided and not interfering with each other.
Only that purple-haired girl, after quickly checking the bandit she had dealt with, actually rummaged out a few shriveled rice balls and a hard piece of bean cake from his sackcloth bag.
She hesitated for a moment, her gaze sweeping over the displaced people huddled among the ruins with numb expressions, especially several sallow-faced, emaciated children.
She pursed her lips, and in the end, walked over, quietly stuffing the rough food into their hands.
“Eat…” Her voice was very low, almost drowned by the rain.
A Rain Village middle-aged ninja counting silver coins glanced at her actions and sneered: “Konan, being kind-hearted again? You can’t save them. In this hellhole, people die every day. Better to pocket a few more coppers.”
Konan didn’t turn back or argue, just silently distributed the last bit of food, kicked the empty sackcloth bag aside, as if that could block those cast gazes.
She clapped her hands, stood up, and reverted to the slightly tense little ninja, walking toward the merchant caravan leader and conversing softly.
Soon, the caravan set off again.
Menma withdrew his perception, his figure blending into the cargo shadows, gradually approaching the Rain Village with the bumpy horse carriage.
This village was shrouded in massive pipes and tall towers, never seeing sunlight year-round, even the rainwater carrying the taste of rust and oppression.
The caravan entered a spacious but rundown warehouse district.
Menma took advantage of the porters unloading cargo to stealthily slip to the back of a pile of discarded building materials in the deepest part of the warehouse, where auras were mixed, more conducive to hiding.
He sat cross-legged again, closing his eyes.
The power of Kagura Shingan fully expanded, like an extremely fine invisible net, slowly enveloping the entire Rain Village.
Countless chakra light points lit up in his perception.
Most were faint like candlelight, ordinary villagers and low-level ninjas.
A few brighter, like torches, scattered at patrol points and watchtowers throughout the village.
And in the depths of the tallest black tower in the village center, a cold, venomous, snake-like powerful chakra lurked, surrounded by over a dozen elite guards.
Clearly, that was Hanzo of the Salamander’s lair.
The perception continued downward and outward.
Underground, in the depths of the intricate pipe system, several abnormally powerful chakra reactions appeared.
One was cold and vast, with a deity-like indifference, subtly resonating with the surroundings—Deva Path.
Nearby were several slightly weaker but still prominent light points, one carrying a sharp, light aura like paper—Konan.
The others had varied auras, some violent, some cold, likely other Akatsuki members.
“Hm?” Menma’s perception paused slightly when it brushed over a cold, slippery chakra with a snake-like stench.
Orochimaru?
‘This guy’s quick on the move. As expected, he couldn’t resist his greed for the Rinnegan and infiltrated so fast.’
He carefully marked the positions of these key targets, then began a more meticulous scan.
The perception combed through every corner of the Rain Village like a comb, searching for any chakra with Otsutsuki traits or abnormally deep and obscured.
However, after repeated scans, nothing was found.
‘As expected… Able to evade Kaguya’s search and hide in the Ninja World for a millennium unknown even to the Sage Brothers and Black Zetsu, this guy’s stealth is top-tier. Either he’s not in the Rain Village now, or he has a special method to completely shield chakra perception.’
Menma furrowed his brows.
Jigen could hide for a millennium, his stealth undoubtedly masterful, perhaps not just simple chakra concealment.
So he shifted targets, starting to search for clues related to the “shell” organization, especially the scientist Sanzu Amado.
‘According to the original trajectory, Amado should already be obsessed with cloning technology due to his daughter Akebi’s death and received funding from Jigen. Sustaining such a money-burning research as clones requires massive financial backing and a secret laboratory.’
Just as Menma concentrated on pondering, Kagura Shingan perceived a chakra fluctuation approaching the warehouse he was in.
The fluctuation was very faint, genin-level, and…
Very familiar.
Clear and faint, it was that girl called Konan.
‘Konan? What is she doing here?’ Menma’s heart stirred.
Perfect, he also needed to leave the warehouse, find some Rain Village ninjas for more valuable intelligence—staying hidden here wasn’t viable.
So Menma quickly formed hand seals, performing Transformation Jutsu.
A puff of white smoke flashed, and his form turned into an about eleven- or twelve-year-old boy in ragged clothes with a malnourished face, looking like a wandering orphan common in the Land of Rain.
He restrained all strong practitioner aura, curling up in the cargo box shadows, waiting.
From the warehouse door direction came the sound of a lock turning with a key, then being forcefully pulled open with a creak.
Konan entered hugging several somewhat heavy wooden boxes, seemingly helping transport supplies.
Rainwater had wet her purple hanging curly short hair, water droplets clinging to her bun.
After setting down the boxes, she wiped the sweat from her forehead, turned her head, and spotted the boy Menma was disguised as in the corner.
She was clearly startled, then vigilantly looked around, relaxing slightly upon seeing only him, though her brows furrowed.
“You…” She lowered her voice, quickly stepping closer: “You’re one of those with the displaced group earlier? How did you get in here? You’re asking for death! If the patrol finds you, you’re done for!”
The boy Menma played merely shrank back, lips trembling.
Seeing his appearance, Konan’s eyes flashed with a trace of reluctance.
She sighed, softening her tone: “Hungry?”
She set down the box, rummaged in her ninja tool pouch at her waist, pulling out a small cloth bag containing three somewhat hard rice balls wrapped in oiled paper.
She hesitated, then handed over two.
“Here, take them, eat quickly. Finish and find a way out. You really can’t stay here.” Her voice was light, urging: “Crawl out that broken vent over there, the alley outside has few people, be careful and you should make it… Don’t get caught.”
Menma lifted his head, looking at the rice balls held before his eyes, then at the girl’s face full of worry and kindness.
He suddenly chuckled softly, the sound abrupt in the empty warehouse.
Konan froze.
The next moment, her vision blurred!
The boy who had been shrunk in the corner vanished like a ghost, an irresistible force suddenly gripped her nape acupoint, chakra instantly stagnated, her whole body numbed, and she was lightly lifted up.
“You…!” Konan opened her eyes in terror, only managing a short syllable.
In just two breaths, the spinning sensation vanished; she found herself thrown onto a cold, wet rooftop, at an extremely high position overlooking much of the Rain Village’s distorted outline.
That black-haired boy stood before her, the panicked, dazed expression gone without a trace, replaced by a chilling calm and scrutiny.
Rain fell on him but oddly didn’t wet his clothes, as if an invisible barrier separated them.
“You… who the hell are you?” Konan’s voice trembled as she tried to crawl up and grab a kunai, but her body was limp, unable to muster strength, gripped by immense fear.
That speed, that power…
Absolutely a terrifying enemy!
Menma didn’t answer, just looked at her with interest, his gaze sweeping over her Rain Village headband and unique purple training clothes: “How long have you been a ninja?”
Konan bit her lower lip, face pale, but straightened her slender back with effort, closed her eyes, and said stubbornly: “Don’t… waste your effort! I won’t say anything! Kill me if you want!”
Seeing her fierce but inwardly flinching, ready-to-die-yet-shivering appearance, Menma suddenly found it interesting.
He stepped forward, his boot sole splashing lightly on the pooled water rooftop.
Raindrops densely drummed on the rooftop cover where they stood, rippling countless in the puddles.
“You seemed courageous enough giving food to the displaced earlier.” His tone was flat, emotionless.
Konan abruptly opened her eyes, looking at him in shock and suspicion: “You… how do you know? Were you in the caravan then?”
She immediately realized the opponent had likely been lurking nearby, seeing her actions clearly.
Menma neither confirmed nor denied, just continued: “For genin like you in the Rain Village, life must be tough, right? Hanzo of the Salamander’s subordinates or Akatsuki members—which scares you more?”
Konan’s lips pursed tighter, suppressing fear, eyes closed with resolve: “Guh… just kill me!”
Menma wasn’t hurried; watching the girl clearly terrified yet pretending to be tough, the corner of Menma’s mouth curved slightly.
This Rain Village genin girl was more interesting than he’d expected.
Perhaps he could learn some Rain Village intelligence from her.
He had planned to use illusion technique on Konan, but this child was too pure—pure enough that Menma felt a bit reluctant.
Raindrops continued drumming on the tall tower’s tin roof, producing urgent, cold sounds.
Konan slumped on the ground, rainwater blown into the shelter soaking her purple training clothes, outlining her slender shoulders.
She squeezed her eyes shut, teeth clenched, awaiting the expected sharp pain or death.
However, the anticipated pain didn’t come; instead, an almost inaudible light sigh, as if carrying a trace of… pity?
She tremblingly opened her eyes, seeing the mysterious boy had turned, back to her, gazing at the hazy, distorted village outline in the rain curtain.
His profile appeared unusually calm in the dim light, even somewhat bored.
“Your chakra,” he suddenly spoke, voice flatly piercing the rain: “doesn’t match the courage you show. It doesn’t suit this place.”
Konan was stunned, not understanding.
Menma said no more, just turned toward the stairwell, gesturing for Konan to follow.
“Come on, follow me.”
Konan hesitated; the other showed no immediate intent to harm, and that unfathomable speed earlier made escape futile.
She bit her lip, ultimately choosing to follow.
Menma seemed very familiar with the Rain Village’s underground structure, leading Konan through intricate alleys full of pipes and condensation, finally arriving at a noisy, bustling place.
The air mixed with food grease, cheap tobacco, damp clothes, and crowd sweat smells.
Overhead, crisscrossing thick pipes dripped condensation; below, throngs squeezed through, stalls lining the edges of a vast underground space, brightly lit and clamorous.
This was the Rain Village’s underground market, gathering place for the poor, wandering ninjas, and black market merchants.
Menma led Konan into an unassuming noodle shop in a corner.
The greasy cloth curtain couldn’t block the rich bone broth aroma from inside.
He lifted the curtain, sat at the innermost, shadiest table, gesturing her to sit opposite: “Don’t be nervous. I’ll treat you to some food.”
Konan, still shaken, hands and feet icy, subconsciously obeyed, shrinking on the stool like a startled bird.
“Two bowls of tonkotsu ramen, one with extra bamboo shoots.” Menma said to the approaching boss in a dirty apron, without asking Konan’s opinion.
He even pulled out several banknotes printed with the Land of Rain daimyo from his pocket, tossing them on the table—clearly pocketed from some unlucky guy.
“Please wait, customers.” The boss glanced at them, asked no more, pocketed the money with a smile, and left.
The narrow space held only them for the moment.
The boiler’s bubbling and the distant market clamor formed background noise.
Konan kept her head down, hands tightly clutching her soaked hem, not daring to look across.
“I’m not here to kill you, nor to probe Rain Village military secrets.” Menma’s voice broke the silence, remarkably calm: “I’m looking for someone—a scientist named Sanzu Amado. Have you heard of him?”
Konan jerked her head up, eyes flashing confusion, then shook her head hard, lips still trembling: “N-no… Never heard that name.”
Menma wasn’t surprised; a scientist of Amado’s level would have secretive movements.
He changed tack: “Then, after eating, show me around. Tell me, what large-scale companies are in the Rain Village, especially… those in medicine or biological research.”
“N-no… I can’t!” Konan recoiled as if scalded, voice trembling yet stubborn: “I can’t… take you…”
“How many years has Hanzo of the Salamander truly left that tall tower?” Menma interrupted, gaze piercing her feigned composure.
“He and his loyal subordinates, huddled at the pinnacle of power—do they care about you low-level ninjas struggling in the mud, living day to day? Look at those displaced outside, those orphans—they increase daily, die silently daily. Is this Rain Village worth your life to protect?”
These words hammered her heart.
She herself was an orphan, knowing well the hardship of surviving in the Land of Rain.
She recalled the numb yet desirous eyes of the displaced when she distributed food, the nameless corpses dead by the roadside…
She fell silent, hands under the table clutching her hem tightly.
Menma watched her struggling expression, continuing: “If you get the chance, leave here, go to the Land of Stars. A kind-hearted ninja like you staying in a place like Rain Village will die sooner or later.”
“Land of Stars?” Konan jerked her head up, eyes full of surprise: “You… you’re a Star Ninja?”
Menma neither admitted nor denied; just then, the noodle shop boss brought over two steaming, aromatic bowls of tonkotsu ramen, the rich bone broth scent temporarily dispelling the conversation’s heaviness.
“Sorry for the wait, enjoy!”
The hot ramen aroma wafted over.
Menma picked up chopsticks, looking at the milky-white thick soup, chashu, soft-boiled egg, and green onions, inhaling deeply with a satisfied expression: “I love tasting ramen from everywhere; each flavor represents different cultures and lives.”
He picked up a chopstick of noodles, blew on them, and ate heartily, sighing in satisfaction.
This sudden, almost everyday action inexplicably relaxed Konan’s taut nerves a bit.
She glanced at him.
Menma now looked like an ordinary starving boy, worlds apart from the abyss-like terrifying figure earlier.
The food’s aroma and her actual hunger made her pick up chopsticks too, eating small bites.
The warm food settled her stomach, dispelling some chill and fear.
“And you?” Menma swallowed a mouthful, suddenly asking casually like chit-chat: “Besides being a ninja, what do you like? Or, anything you want to do?”
Konan kept her head down, gently stirring her noodles with chopsticks, voice soft with a trace of longing: “I… want to raise a pet.”
“Oh?” Menma raised a brow, seeming interested: “Cat? Or dog? In a place like Rain Village, raising a ninja hound might be more practical.”
Konan gently shook her head, voice even smaller, almost shy: “…I want to raise a panda.”
“Pfft—” Menma nearly choked on a mouthful of soup, looking up in astonishment at the serious yet bashful girl opposite.
“Panda?” The answer truly surprised him.
That kind of creature wasn’t something you could just raise, right?
This girl’s hobby… was quite unique.
Konan seemed embarrassed by Menma’s reaction, cheeks flushing as she lowered her head, softly explaining: “I saw one in a very old picture book before; they looked fluffy, cute, and very quiet…”
Menma looked at her and smiled: “Pandas are cats too.”
Perhaps that fluffy, seemingly carefree creature could bring a bit of imagined warmth and companionship to her cold world.
In the little noodle shop corner, only the subtle sounds of them eating and faint market clamor from outside remained; the atmosphere turned strangely peaceful for a moment.
………………
Meanwhile, in an obscure corner of the Rain Village, deep underground in a company with a “Regenerative Medicine” sign.
In a laboratory filled with various precision instruments and culture tanks, the lighting was cold.
Sanzu Amado, wearing orange glasses, in a white coat, stood before a massive cylindrical glass culture tank.
The tank was filled with pale green nutrient solution, immersing a clone that looked about seventeen or eighteen, indistinguishable from a human girl.
Amado pushed up his glasses, eyes focused and calm behind the lenses, recording the constantly fluctuating data on the instruments.
Suddenly, a piercing alarm shattered the laboratory’s silence!
Several screens by the culture tank lit up red, showing curves of plummeting vital signs.
Amado’s brows locked instantly, hands flying over the control panel, adjusting nutrient solution ratios, injecting first aid medicine, trying to stabilize the clone’s vitals.
His actions were precise and swift, no panic, but the fine sweat beading on his forehead showed his inner tension.
However, it was all in vain.
On the monitor, the heartbeat curve ultimately flattened into a cold straight line.
Immediately, the clone’s body began visibly collapsing and dissolving in the nutrient solution…
Amado stopped all actions, slowly removed his glasses, rubbing his brow with fingertips.
The laboratory held only the instruments’ ongoing alarms, especially grating.
He sighed deeply, wearily leaning on the cold metal control panel, gazing at the increasingly turbid liquid in the tank, eyes flashing unconcealed despair.
“Failed again…” he murmured lowly, voice echoing in the empty laboratory, full of endless frustration.
But soon, he put his glasses back on, eyes regaining prior calm and focus, beginning to clear experimental data for the next attempt.
That’s just who he was—no complaints, just burying failure in his heart and pressing on.
Only his tightly pursed lips revealed his inner turmoil far from surface calm.
His daughter’s shadow seemed to flicker in and out of that failed clone.
