Both sides of the law

Konoha Year Seven, winter.

On the third floor of the Konoha Military Police Force building, a stove blazed in the division chief's office, and a layer of white mist clouded the windowpanes. Yinglang lounged in a broad leather chair, both feet propped on the edge of his desk, flecks of mud from the melting snow still clinging to his boot soles. He held a pen, his eyes half closed as he listened to a subordinate's report.

"...Seven arrested in a tavern brawl in the southern district. Three from the Sarutobi Clan, four civilians. Under the regulations, they should receive three days' detention and a fine of five thousand ryo." The young Uchiha police officer delivering the report stood ramrod straight, holding a notebook.

"Oh." Yinglang spun the pen between his fingers. "Those three Sarutobi-has their family come to get them out?"

"Yes. A steward from the Sarutobi Clan came and slipped us an envelope."

"How much?"

"Ten thousand ryo."

Yinglang's mouth twitched. "Tch. Cheapskates. Tell them that under the new rules, violent disruption of public order with serious repercussions warrants ten days' detention and a twenty-thousand-ryo fine. Have that steward add another ten thousand to round it out. Tell him those are my orders as division chief. I went easy on them because we're from the same village."

The young officer froze, his pen pausing over his notebook. "But... the regulations say..."

"People make regulations, and people interpret them." Yinglang lowered his feet, sat upright, and stared at him. His voice was quiet, but every word struck like a little hammer against the heart. "What is our Police Force here for? Maintaining order in Konoha and protecting the villagers. Right?"

"Yes..."

"Then tell me, which is better? Letting a few drunken, brawling bastards eat and sleep in jail for free for three days, then sending them out to cause more trouble? Or making their families bleed a little money so they learn their lesson, while our Police Force gets extra funding to buy the men winter clothes and upgrade their equipment, so we can better 'serve Konoha'?"

The young officer opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

"Go take care of it." Yinglang waved a hand and leaned back in his chair again, closing his eyes to rest. "Rules are rigid. People aren't. We need flexible enforcement suited to local conditions."

The officer swallowed, bowed his head, and answered, "Yes." He hurried out, gently closing the door behind him.

Once the door shut, Yinglang opened his eyes. Not a trace of languor remained in them; they were clear and bright, with a hint of mockery. He reached into a drawer, took out a small ledger, opened it, and picked up his pen to add "+20000" after the entry marked "Southern district tavern."

The ledger was densely filled with neatly sorted categories: fines, bail, special donations, venue management fees, public security maintenance fees... the headings were endless. Figures followed them, some round, others not. The latest total was already quite substantial.

"Unruly scum." He shut the ledger, tossed it back into the drawer, locked it, and muttered the curse. He had seen right through Konoha's villagers. When everything went smoothly, they sang praises; at the slightest setback, they could curse a hero like White Fang into taking his own life and drive the Hokage's son into that sorry state. They feared force but felt no gratitude for kindness, remembering beatings but not the hand that fed them. Treat them politely, and they took it for weakness. Only harsh laws and ruthless measures would make them afraid, make them hurt, and keep them in line.

And in his eyes, the prison had long since become more than a place to lock people up. It was a mountain of gold, the Police Force's "revenue-generating department."

Several days later, at an internal Police Force meeting, Yinglang proposed his "prison reform plan."

The squad captains and the official in charge of the prison sat in the conference room. Yinglang did not take the seat at the head of the table; he leaned at an angle against one end of the long table, playing with a kunai.

"Everyone, our Police Force shoulders a heavy responsibility." He spoke as the kunai spun nimbly between his fingers. "Arresting people alone won't keep Konoha peaceful. We also have to manage them properly and reform them properly. The prison is the front line of reform."

Everyone nodded, unsure what he was getting at.

"But what is our prison like now? A great mob crammed together, the good learning to be bad and the bad getting worse. How is that reform? It's breeding venomous creatures in a jar!" Yinglang drove the kunai into the tabletop with a thunk, leaving it quivering slightly. "So I propose reform! A tiered management system based on 'contribution'!"

He rose, walked to the map of Konoha hanging on the wall, and tapped the prison area with a finger.

"Simply put, from now on, prisoners' treatment will depend on their 'contribution.' How do we calculate 'contribution'? Resources! Money, ninjutsu scrolls, rare materials, intelligence... all of it counts! We assess its value and convert it into contribution points."

He turned and swept his gaze across the room. "Those with high contribution points get private cells with windows, meat with their meals, and an hour outside every day. Those with middling points share a cell with a few others. Ordinary conditions, but livable. As for those who contribute nothing, or stubbornly refuse to repent..." He smiled, a little coldly. "Dozens packed into communal sleeping quarters, eating, drinking, and relieving themselves all in the same place. We can talk again when they come to their senses."

Someone could not help speaking up. "Division Chief Yinglang, this... this isn't in line with the rules, is it? Prison treatment has always been based on offenses and conduct..."

"Rules?" Yinglang cut him off, walked back to the table, and pulled out the kunai. "The old rules made the prison a burden, a source of chaos. Our new rules will encourage prisoners to repent and use their surplus resources to contribute to Konoha and the development of the Police Force! It's a win-win! Besides-"

He paused, lowering his voice a little, though it became even clearer. "Resources are contributions. Ninjutsu can strengthen the village; wealth can improve conditions in the Police Force so we can better serve Konoha. What's wrong with giving priority in our limited prison resources to inmates who make greater 'contributions' to Konoha? Isn't that another form of... fairness?"

Silence filled the conference room. Some eyes shone, some brows furrowed, and more people lowered their heads to look at the teacups before them, not daring to meet Yinglang's gaze.

"That settles it." Yinglang sat back down, his tone allowing no argument. "Draft the details as soon as possible. Once I've reviewed them, put them into effect. Remember, everything is for Konoha's future, so the Police Force can better protect everyone."

After the meeting, Yinglang remained alone in the conference room, watching fine snow begin to drift down again outside the window. Konoha's winters really were cold and long. But the colder the winter, the hotter the stove needed to burn. The stove that was the Police Force was gradually getting enough firewood now.

With a shift of his thoughts, his awareness blurred for an instant. Far across the ocean, on the British Continent, inside the largest wooden house at the center of the New London camp, the Shadow Clone "Yinglang" put down his rough charcoal pencil and rubbed his dry, tired eyes.

A hide map lay spread before him, with a rudimentary harbor, residential area, reclaimed farmland, training ground, and scouting routes into the depths of the rainforest drawn in charcoal. Compared with the warmth of the stove in his Konoha office, this place was stiflingly hot and damp, with mosquitoes buzzing everywhere. Yet the air was filled with the scent of growing vegetation and freshly turned soil, and a kind of... free, untamed vitality.

"My lord," Yutian's voice sounded outside the door, accompanied by the smell of sea wind and sweat. "The third batch of iron farming tools has been distributed. The headman of the Great Lake Tribe to the west has come again. He wants to trade furs and dried meat for more salt and those small iron knives. Also, I've inspected the site for that 'salt evaporation field' you mentioned. Behind the rocky beach to the east, the ground is level and gets plenty of sunlight. We could give it a try."

The Shadow Clone "Yinglang" stood and stretched his body, stiff from sitting too long. Though this body was sustained by chakra and dragon essence, the mental fatigue of spending long hours handling practical affairs was shared.

"Trade with him. We can give him a couple of extra iron knives, but make it clear that they can only be exchanged for game and specified medicinal herbs. They also have to send people to learn how to use and maintain them. As for the salt field, take two quick-witted people and try a small patch first. Be careful. Don't get swept away by the tide," he instructed. His voice was the same as the original's, but carried less of Konoha's repression and more of a pioneer's decisiveness.

"Yes," Yutian answered, then asked, "A few of the boys in the 'guard' are doing well in training, especially that native called Shiya. He learns fast and is strong, too. Should we... make him a team leader?"

"Yes. Follow the rules we established: contribution, ability, loyalty. If he meets the standards, give him the position. But keep a close eye on him. Repeat the rules often, and make rewards and punishments clear. Here, we're both pioneers and the people who set the rules. Only once the rules are firmly established will we have less to worry about later."

"Understood."

After Yutian left, the Shadow Clone walked to the window. Outside the wooden house was a scene of bustling activity. Bare-chested natives and the few core workers brought over from the Uchiha were moving timber, tamping down the ground, and building new storage sheds under Yutian's direction. Farther away, the seedlings in the reclaimed fields already showed a pleasing green. Everything was rough and primitive, yet full of flourishing life and hope.

Here, there were none of Konoha's tangled clan relationships, no lofty Hokage or watchful Tobirama Senju, no "unruly scum" he had to deal with behind a false smile. Here, there was land, resources, absolute control, and a group of primitive people who could slowly be shaped into Great Britain's first subjects.

Though everything began from nothing, though they had to face disease, wild beasts, and an unknown environment, every step fell on land he had chosen, advancing toward the blueprint he had drawn.

The Shadow Clone drew a deep breath of the humid, hot, free air, and a faint smile touched his lips. In the larger prison that was Konoha, his original danced in shackles, desperately raking in capital and power. Here, he was building a country that truly belonged to him, without chains.

Both sides were working hard, and both were important. Konoha was the mire of the present, and the humus that nourished his ambition. Great Britain was the pure land of the future, the far shore beyond all restraints.

He withdrew his gaze, sat back down at the desk, picked up the charcoal pencil, and began planning the next exploration route-the outlines of the mountains to the south, in the natives' vague descriptions, seemed to hold exposed, glittering stones...

Konoha, the Police Force division chief's office.

Yinglang's original lifted his thoroughly cold tea and took a sip, its astringency making him frown. He put the cup down, his fingers tapping unconsciously on the desk.

Both sides of the law. In Konoha, he reached into the shadows while erecting a monument to his virtue in the light. In Great Britain, he drew on a blank sheet, setting the rules himself.

Both kept him busy, both were difficult, but both were... worth it.

Outside the window, the snow fell more thickly. Winter still had a long way to go, but the stove blazed, and the woodshed was filling little by little.

He smiled. That smile held Konoha's coldness, and the fervor of untamed growth far across the ocean.