Chapter 12 — The Talisman Painter Who Guards the Village

Ash Ink and Linh Ink

The first class of newly initiated outer sect disciples took place in a large training ground, covered with gray tiles, surrounded by dozens of low stone tables, each table had a standard set of talisman drawing tools: marble inkstones, brushes divided by size, and a stack of pure white paper, different from the rough bark paper Diệp Sương was used to.

The teacher in charge of the class, a middle-aged man named Nhiêu Bá Tường, walked in with a stern look, his eyes as sharp as a caustic knife scanning dozens of new students' faces full of surprise.

"Today we start with the most basic thing: making spirit ink," he announced, his voice echoing clearly throughout the training ground. "Before you are allowed to draw any talisman, you must understand the ink you use and prepare it yourself according to the sect's standard formula."

He signaled an assistant disciple to bring each tray of ingredients—sparkling blue minerals, thinly pressed dried flower petals, and drops of fragrant essential oils—completely different from the kitchen ash, alum, and tree resin Diệp Sương had known throughout her years of studying with Mr. Tám Mực.

"The Tông Vân Các's official spirit ink is mixed from turquoise minerals picked at the places where Linh Mạch is strongest, combined with the essence of fuchsia flowers that only bloom in the spring in the high mountains," Nhiêu Bá Tường explained, his hands quickly measuring each ingredient according to a precise ratio. "This ink is stable, powerful, and most importantly, predictable — each talisman drawn with standard spirit ink will produce almost identical effects, regardless of the artist."

Diệp Sương listened attentively, trying to remember each step, but could not help feeling confused when it was compared with what Mr. Tám Mực had once taught—that the true power of a talisman came from the heart of the person drawing it at the moment of writing.

"Are there any questions?" Nhiêu Bá Tường asked after explaining the entire process.

A hand was raised in the front row — not Diệp Sương, but a skinny boy with a timid voice. "Teacher, if the ink is mixed to such exact standards, will everyone who draws it produce the same powerful charm?"

"Almost like that," Nhiêu Bá Tường nodded, seemingly satisfied with the question. "That is the biggest advantage of the official spirit talisman compared to the homemade inks floating around in the folk world. It eliminates much of the uncertainty caused by emotions and poor skills of the artist. A well-trained disciple, even without special talent, can still draw reliable, stable talismans - something that is extremely important when human lives depend on it." That lecture made Diệp Sương secretly think of what Mr. Tám Mực once said, about whether a charm is strong or weak depending on the artist's heart. She didn't dare raise her hand to ask in the middle of a crowded class, but that question kept lingering in her head: if she completely eliminated that uncertainty, would it also eliminate the "compassion" that Mrs. Chín Lài once reminded her not to lose?

*

When it was her turn to practice, Diệp Sương carefully followed Nhiêu Bá Tường's instructions step by step, but her hands, accustomed to quickly mixing ash ink, became clumsy and slow during the meticulous process of making traditional spirit ink. She failed to mix the first batch because she added too much essential oil, making the mixture too thin to reach the required consistency.

"What are you doing?" Nhiêu Bá Tường walked over, looked at Diệp Sương's broken ink bowl, his voice full of annoyance. "The ratio I just told you, didn't you listen carefully?"

"I'm sorry," Diệp Sương bowed her head, her face red with embarrassment as the eyes of the entire class were focused on her. "I will do it again."

"I heard you're a kid from a small village somewhere, teaching yourself to draw spells using ash ink and tree resin?" a voice rang out from behind, carrying a distinctly sarcastic tone. Diệp Sương turned around and saw a boy about her age, well-groomed and looking at her with undisguised contempt.

"That's right," Diệp Sương replied, trying to keep her voice calm even though her heart began to tremble because she was being noticed in this uncomfortable way.

"No wonder," he smiled faintly, "the skill of mixing ink is inferior to that of a beginner. I am Wei Bá Tuân, my family has been an official talisman artist for the royal court for three generations. I'm just curious, I don't understand why someone with a background like yours was personally recommended by Elder Tạ Vân Khê, while there are so many disciples from good families who still have to wait many years to be noticed."

The atmosphere in the training yard suddenly calmed down, a few other disciples secretly glanced at the two people, not daring to intervene.

*

"Wei Bá Tuân, what are you doing?" Another voice rang out, clear and somewhat stern, cutting through the tense atmosphere.

A girl about seventeen or eighteen years old, wearing an inner sect disciple's robe distinguished by a blue silk ribbon tied at the waist, stepped forward and stood between Wei Bá Tuân and Diệp Sương.

"Senior Sister Chung Nhã Trúc," Wei Bá Tuân paused slightly, his voice less arrogant when facing someone with a higher position. "I was just chatting."

"What kind of conversation makes a new disciple bow his head in embarrassment in the middle of his first lesson?" Chung Nhã Trúc asked, her eyes as sharp as her voice. "I have been assigned the task of tutoring new disciples for the first month. If you have free time to tease others, perhaps you should spend that time practicing your own brushstrokes - I remember last week you were criticized by instructor Nhiêu Bá Tường for drawing an off-center talisman."

Wei Bá Tuân blushed, did not dare to argue, mumbled something then turned away, his eyes glanced at Diệp Sương viciously before walking away completely.

Chung Nhã Trúc turned to Diệp Sương, her eyes softened. "Don't pay attention to him. Wei Bá Tuân comes from a famous family, but that's why he's always afraid of being surpassed by others. The more afraid he is, the more he bullies new kids, especially those with different backgrounds like me."

"Thank you, sister," Diệp Sương said, her voice still shaking from emotion and unresolved anger.

"No need to thank," Chung Nhã Trúc said with a smile, helping Diệp Sương clean up the broken ink bowl. "I've heard your story—the one about the night monsters attacked your village. You have real talent; you only need time to adapt to the way of working here. Don't let someone like Wei Bá Tuân make you doubt yourself."

*

At the end of the class, Diệp Sương finally mixed a batch of standard spirit ink, even though she had to do it a fourth time. When she tried drawing a simple talisman with the official ink, she realized something strange: the drawing was much smoother and the ink color more consistent than homemade ink, but something was missing that she could not describe—as if the talisman were beautiful and precise, yet lacked the familiar warmth of Mr. Tám Mực's ash-ink talismans.

That night, when Diệp Sương told this story to Âu Bội Nhi, her roommate just shrugged. "Maybe it's because you're not used to it yet. Anyone learning to use formal spirit ink for the first time will find it strange. You'll get used to it." Diệp Sương nodded, but in her heart there was still a small question that she did not dare to say aloud, even to the closest friend she had just met: was it true that the more she learned to follow orthodox rules, the more she would lose the roots that Mrs. Chín Lài had once told her to preserve?

That night, before going to sleep, Diệp Sương took Mr. Tám Mực's old inkstone out of her luggage and placed it on the windowsill, letting the moonlight shine on the worn stone surface. She didn't use it to mix ink — the sect's regulations required outer sect disciples to use only standard tools during their first year — but just seeing it and touching it was enough to calm her heart somewhat after a tumultuous day.

"Are you still awake?" Âu Bội Nhi asked softly from the next bed, her voice already drowsy.

"Yeah, I was just thinking about a few things," Diệp Sương replied, quickly putting the inkstone back in her luggage.

"Don't pay attention to Wei Bá Tuân," Âu Bội Nhi muttered, her eyes closed. "He's just a scared person disguised as pride. Sister Chung Nhã Trúc is right; don't let him make you doubt yourself."

Diệp Sương smiled in the dark, silently thanking her for being such an understanding friend from the very first days. She lay down, pulled the blanket over herself, and tried to clear away the chaotic thoughts, but the question about ash ink and spirit ink, about compassion and stability, still echoed in her head long before sleep finally came.