Chapter 1181: Beating Tiles

Shangguan Mo crouched before the rubble beneath Hokage Rock, his fingertips still stained with mortar from the freshly repaired roof. His newly acquired Konoha forehead guard hung askew from his wrist, its dark blue fabric lightly stained with sweat, and the wind clung to his forearm like a restless fish. "Picking up these broken tiles again?" a passing Uchiha boy kicked the broken pottery at his feet, his red Sharingan glaring in the sunlight. "Shouldn't everyone in the Shangguan family learn sealing techniques? And you, on the other hand, deal with clay and tiles every day." Shangguan Mo didn't look up, his fingertips gripping half a glazed green tile—an old tile washed off by last week's heavy rain, its edges still bearing the distinctive spiral patterns of the Uzumaki clan. He turned the tile over, examining the cracks against the sunlight, his voice as soft as cotton wool drifting on the wind: "Tiles can keep out rain, more practical than sealing techniques." The boy scoffed, and as he turned, the Uchiha family crest brushed against the rubble on his clothes, sending up a fine cloud of dust. Shangguan Mo watched his back disappear at the alley entrance before carefully putting the half tile into the canvas bag. The bag already contained seven such broken tiles, some with the patterns of the Akimichi clan, some with the antlers of the Nara family, each of which he had picked up in the corners of various villages in the past half month. As the sun set, Shangguan Mo walked home with his bag on his back. Passing by the wall of the Ninja School, he heard the laughter of children and the voice of the teacher explaining the seals. He stopped and his fingers unconsciously stroked the raised edges of the tiles on the outside of the bag - he should have entered this school last year, but his father said, "The Shangguan family's craftsmanship cannot be interrupted," and insisted on keeping him in the carpentry workshop to teach him how to plane wood, mix mud, and mend tiles. "Hey, over there!" A crisp female voice came from above his head. Shangguan Mo looked up and saw Tsunade crouched on top of the wall, her twin ponytails dangling, clutching a half-eaten meatball. "What's in your bag? You carry it around every day, like it's a treasure." "Tiles." Shangguan Mo held up the bag so she could see the broken pieces inside. "I picked them up and wanted to try to piece them together." Tsunade's eyes lit up, and she jumped down in front of him, not caring that the sugar residue from the meatballs fell on her clothes. "Putting tiles together? I know there's a place with a lot of old tiles! The last time I went to the back mountain with Grandpa, I saw an abandoned ancestral hall. The roof tiles were all old!" That evening, the two of them squatted in the cobweb-covered ancestral hall for two hours. Tsunade helped remove the broken beams that were weighing down the tiles, while Shangguan Mo sorted the tiles one by one, grouping those with similar patterns. As dusk deepened, they had actually pieced together half a complete roof tile, the green glaze glowing warmly in the moonlight. "Look, this will keep out the rain." Shangguan Mo placed the assembled tiles on the leaky windowsill of the ancestral hall. The rain dripped down the eaves and landed right in the dirt pit outside, splashing tiny drops of water. Tsunade held her chin and looked at him, and suddenly said, "I'll be a medical ninja in the future, and you'll be a house repair ninja, okay? I'll save people, and you'll build them a house that can shelter them from the wind and rain." Shangguan Mo looked down at the mortar on his fingertips, and the corners of his mouth curled up slightly. He remembered his father always saying "crafts nourish people", and at this moment he suddenly understood that whether it was planing wood or patching tiles, the best skill was the one that could make people feel at ease. The night wind blew in with the fragrance of Konoha, and the moonlight in the ancestral hall shattered on the rubble, like a handful of stars. Shangguan Mo carefully put the remaining broken tiles into his bag, and he finally tied the forehead protector on his forehead properly. The dark blue fabric set off the light in his eyes, brighter than the sunset on the Hokage Rock.