Year 5 of Konoha, winter.
This winter was unusually cold.
The snow had begun falling in the first half of the night, pattering against the paper windows like fine salt. By the second half, it had turned into goose-feather flakes, piling layer upon layer until the rooftops, courtyard walls, and training grounds of the Uchiha Clan Compound were all smothered in bulky white. Near dawn, the wind rose, swirling powdered snow through the lanes and stinging faces like a mass of fine needles.
Uchiha Yinglang woke earlier than usual.
Uchiha Yinglang was only four this year, but with the help of the Dragon-Slaying Breathing Technique, he looked a little like a five- or six-year-old. Dressed in thick, light-gray padded clothes, his cheeks slightly reddened by the cold wind, he looked no different from the other children his age in the clan, well-behaved and quiet.
Uchiha Yinglang had not slept well these past few days. His mother's intermittent coughing next door had gone on for much of the night. At first, she had tried to stifle it, but later she could no longer hold it back. One cough followed another, muffled deep in her chest, painful just to hear. He climbed out of bed quietly and peered through the crack in her door-his mother lay on her side, her back slightly hunched, one hand unconsciously pressed against her chest.
He knew how his mother had developed this lingering illness.
Last winter, when the clan distributed firewood and charcoal for the season, only damp wood scraps remained by the time their turn came, a widowed mother and her fatherless son. His mother had not argued. She had merely smiled and said, "That's enough," then gone into the mountains herself to gather firewood. When she returned, half her padded jacket was soaked through. She developed a fever that night and coughed for nearly half a month. Ever since then, her cough returned whenever the weather turned cold.
Yinglang retreated to his room and stood in the darkness, listening to the wind howl.
He needed a fish. Not because he absolutely had to eat one, but because he needed to "catch a fish."
Uchiha Yinglang knew perfectly well that what he wanted was not a fish, but an opportunity.
An opportunity to firmly establish his reputation within the Uchiha Clan as "filial, sensible, and upright."
The Shinobi World had no tale of a son lying on ice to obtain carp. The Warring States Period had been consumed by constant warfare, and ninja villages had existed for only five years, but human hearts worked the same way. What did the Uchiha Clan value? Strength, bloodline, and the Sharingan-those were the obvious things. Deep down, they valued a person's character too.
After all, dealing with good people was always easier than dealing with bad people.
Of course, hypocrites did not count as good people here.
A four-year-old child smashing through the ice in the bitter depths of winter to catch fish for his sick mother.
That act itself could warm hearts better than fish soup. What it warmed was not his mother's stomach, but the eyes of the onlookers, and that remark when the story was passed from mouth to mouth afterward: "Uchiha Ning's son is filial."
Early that morning, as dawn was just breaking, Uchiha Ning was still resting indoors.
As usual, Yinglang took a small wooden bucket and quietly left home. Rather than going where the children gathered to play, he headed straight for the little river at the edge of the clan compound.
The river had long since frozen solid. The thick ice gleamed a cold white; there was not even a wisp of moisture, let alone any fish.
Yinglang glanced around. It was still early, and there were few people on the road, but occasionally an Uchiha ninja on an early patrol or a clansman fetching water or gathering firewood passed by.
Now.
He set down the bucket, picked up a fist-sized stone from the roadside, gripped it in both hands, and struck hard at the thinnest part of the ice, once, twice, three times.
The ice was hard, and the blows left his little hands slightly numb, but there was not a trace of impatience on his face. He simply kept striking quietly, blow after blow.
Thud, thud, thud-
The dull sounds carried along the riverbank in the early morning.
Before long, he smashed a small hole through the ice, and freezing river water welled up through it, giving off white vapor.
Yinglang crouched down and slowly lowered the simple fishing hook he had prepared beforehand, made from thin hemp cord and small stones, into the hole, then waited patiently.
The cold wind cut painfully across his face like little knives, but he did not move, crouching quietly beside the hole in the ice like a tiny statue.
Before long, the cord gave a slight twitch.
His gaze calm, Yinglang slowly pulled up the cord. A live fish the size of his palm came out and flopped wildly on the ice.
He put the fish in the wooden bucket, secured the lid, brushed the ice chips and dirt from his hands, picked up the bucket, and turned to head back.
Two passing Uchiha clansmen happened to witness the whole thing.
"Isn't that... Uchiha Ning's child? The one called Yinglang."
"What's he doing by the river in weather this cold? He's even carrying a fish..."
"Looks like he broke through the ice and caught it. Such a little child, braving the cold for a fish?"
The two exchanged looks, both somewhat surprised.
The Uchiha Clan prized martial prowess and valued strength, loyalty, and character, but most children were taught from an early age to train and grow stronger. A child this young braving the bitter cold to smash ice and catch fish was truly rare.
As though he had noticed their gazes, Uchiha Yinglang lowered his head and walked quietly home, his little face red from the cold, without a single complaint.
When he arrived home, Uchiha Ning had just gotten up. Seeing her son come in carrying a wooden bucket, his hands still marked red by the cold, she was startled.
"Langlang, where did you go? Why are your hands so cold?"
Yinglang held the wooden bucket out to his mother and lifted the lid, revealing the fresh fish still wriggling inside. His voice was soft, but clear:
"Mom, you've been coughing these past few days and can't eat anything. I went to the river, broke through the ice, and caught a fish. I'm going to make soup with it for you."
Uchiha Ning froze, her eyes instantly burning with tears.
She crouched down and pulled her little son into her arms, stroking his icy little face. Her heart ached and softened, and she could not utter a word.
She had no idea that by smashing the ice, her son had broken open not only the river's surface, but also the first step toward making his name within the Uchiha Clan.
Before long, the story of "five-year-old Uchiha Yinglang smashing ice to catch fish in the bitter winter out of devotion to his mother" quietly spread through the clan compound.
Some said, "That child is only four this year. His hands were as red as freshly washed carrots, but he didn't make a sound."
Others said, "That child Uchiha Yinglang caught a fish and never once mentioned eating any himself. All he thought about was making soup for his mother. If my son were even half as filial, that would be enough for me."
Still others said, "Uchiha Yinglang has a steady temperament and doesn't show off. He went straight home after catching the fish, and when he met people on the way, he just nodded. He's certain to amount to something someday!"
As the story spread, it inevitably picked up a few embellishments. Four years old became "four or five," and one fish became "several," but the core remained unchanged: Uchiha Ning's son was a filial child who could endure hardship and had strength of character.
In the Uchiha Clan, which valued family bloodlines and personal character, such a reputation stood up to scrutiny better than a momentary display of ninjutsu talent, and was also "safer." Talent might provoke envy or draw excessive attention, while "filial conduct" and "being sensible" would only make people nod, say, "He was raised well," and then leave it at that without paying too much attention-who would look deeply into why a filial child was growing a little faster?
No one knew that what this five-year-old child held in his heart had never been a fish, but a vast, boundless new world in the future.
On the surface, however, Yinglang simply stayed quietly by his mother's side, his face showing the obedience and good sense appropriate to his age.
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