Nighttime Note

Night fell.

Lin Feng returned to the Uchiha Clan Grounds and pushed open his front door.

His fingers touched a folded note tucked into the gap of the door.

He froze, turned sideways to block the moonlight, and unfolded it.

The familiar brush-and-ink handwriting—Shisui's.

"At midnight tonight, meet alone at the entrance to the back mountain. There is an important matter to discuss."

After reading it, Lin Feng folded the note and pushed the door open to enter.

The door closed behind him.

He did not rush to light a lamp. He stood still and listened to the sounds around him—apart from the occasional insect chirp in the distance, there was nothing unusual.

He walked to the table and unfolded the note again.

The handwriting matched. Shisui habitually slanted his opening strokes slightly to the right, ended them with an extremely subtle hooked turn, folded notes in the Diamond Seal style commonly used for internal Uchiha communications, and used pine-soot ink supplied exclusively by the clan stationery shop.

All three traits matched.

Lin Feng pinched the note, his gaze darkening slightly.

But Root might already have obtained samples of Shisui's handwriting, or someone among the Uchiha radicals might have imitated it to set a trap.

He rose and paced around the room twice.

Shisui had taken the initiative to arrange this meeting. The time and place both carried a sense of urgency. If he missed tonight, Shisui might not contact him again.

And Lin Feng's current situation—the surveillance at Naka Shrine had not been lifted, Root could act at any time, and the clan's radicals were accelerating their push for a coup.

He needed allies.

Shisui was the only one who was both close to the truth and capable of stopping the coup.

Lin Feng raised his eyes, his gaze falling back on the note.

He decided to go.

But he had to prepare.

He walked to the wardrobe, pulled open a drawer, and dug out a set of dark night clothes.

He changed out of the light-colored coat he had worn during the day, tightened his cuffs and trouser legs, and attached sound-dampening cloth to the soles of his boots.

He took three sets of kunai from a hidden compartment and strapped them to the outside of his thighs, then stuffed smoke bombs into concealed pockets.

He checked himself in the mirror to make sure every piece of equipment fit snugly against his body without any unnecessary movement.

After checking every detail, Lin Feng went to the rear window.

He pushed it open, and cold wind rushed in.

Bracing one knee on the windowsill, he silently flipped out and landed in the shadows behind the house.

He did not move immediately.

He crouched at the corner of the wall and listened to the sounds from the rooftop and alley. Once he confirmed there were no footsteps, he lowered his body and moved toward the western side of the clan grounds.

The route had already unfolded in his mind.

He would leave through the rear window, travel twenty meters along the rooftop shadows, vault over the courtyard walls of two houses, and slip into a narrow alley in the western residential district.

That alley had no streetlights. The gap between its walls was only a palm's width wide, and an adult could pass through only by turning sideways.

Lin Feng moved close to the dusty wall, fast but light on his feet.

After passing through the alley, he turned north and circled toward the back mountain along the outer path.

Throughout the entire journey, he avoided the main roads and never crossed any open ground.

Fifteen minutes later, he left the clan grounds.

He entered the dense forest on Konoha's outskirts.

Moonlight filtered through the canopy in scattered fragments, falling across the dirt path beneath his feet.

Lin Feng maintained a normal pace, his breathing steady.

But his ears remained alert.

About two hundred meters behind him, from the direction of the rooftops.

There came the faintest sound of a roof tile being set back into place.

Not a ninja cat. A person.

Lin Feng did not turn around, speed up, or look about.

He adjusted his breathing rhythm and maintained his original pace, as though he had noticed nothing.

That presence lingered at a distance, always hovering around two hundred meters away.

The other party neither approached nor disappeared.

Lin Feng continued toward the entrance to the back mountain.

His fingers hung at his sides, ready to draw a kunai at any moment.

The night wind swept through the treetops, masking the sound of footsteps.

The entrance to the back mountain was fifty meters ahead.

That trailing presence still had not disappeared.