Chapter 26 — The Talisman Painter Who Guards the Village

Amidst the Siege

Linh Căn Temple appeared before Diệp Sương's eyes in a completely different scene from the previous night - no longer quiet, but shaking slightly with each wave, the mossy tiled roof creaked softly, and the shallow well in the middle of the yard now emitted a dim black gas, swirling slowly like a miniature tornado.

She stopped at the edge of the yard, breathing heavily, immediately realizing that she had guessed correctly: this was the point where the pressure was the strongest, where the weakened Linh Mạch flow was being sensed by the demons and drawing them like moths to a light.

Three small monsters had gathered around the mouth of the well, growling and scratching the surrounding soil as if trying to dig deeper into the chaotic energy source below. If they let them continue, Diệp Sương had a clear premonition: the rift would widen, and tonight's demon tide would not stop at its current level.

*

"Stop!" she screamed, not because she thought screaming could stop the demon, but because she had an instinctive urge to do something immediately. One of the three turned around, its hazel eyes locked on her, let out a threatening roar, and charged.

Diệp Sương dodged to the side, her hand quickly drawing a shorthand talisman on the ground, enough to block the first rush, but the pain in her shoulder made her movements slower than usual, and the second beast was able to close in from the other side.

She knelt down, her trembling hands quickly mixing the remaining ink in the bowl and trying to add a layer of protection, but the spiritual ink she had brought with her was almost exhausted after a whole night of non-stop fighting. This talisman only created a weak halo of light, enough to make the beast falter for a moment, not enough to repel it completely.

"Not enough," she muttered, cold sweat breaking out on her forehead. "Not enough ink, not enough time..."

She looked up at the growling beast approaching, sharp claws scratching streaks on the dry ground, and for a brief moment, memories of the night the village gate was torn open when she was thirteen years old came back - the same helplessness, the same feeling of being alone in the midst of danger. But this time, she was no longer a child who just trembled and waited for the worst. She forced herself to stand up, her legs shaking, trying to find some solution in her head, even if it was vague, rather than standing still and enduring the battle.

*

Just as the third demon was about to charge from behind, a familiar scream rang out from the trail.

"Sương!"

Mr. Tám Mực, holding a bamboo cane, staggered quickly toward the temple. His gait was wobbly with age, but he did not slow down; Mrs. Chín Lài and Mộc followed him, carrying a long wooden stick as a weapon.

"Uncle! Auntie! Why are you here?" Diệp Sương panicked, trying to repel the beast while screaming.

"I saw you running in this direction," Mr. Tám Mực replied, his breath ragged because of his old age and the distance he had just run. "I knew right away what you were planning to do. I won't leave you alone here!"

"It's very dangerous—please go home!" she screamed, but it was too late—the third monster changed direction and rushed straight toward Mr. Tám Mực, the slowest and weakest in the group.

There was no time left to calculate. Diệp Sương threw herself into the middle, screaming in pain when the beast's claws grazed her injured arm, but she did not retreat. She braced herself and stood firm, her other hand still trying to draw the last stroke of the unfinished talisman.

*

"Sương, don't be so reckless!" Mrs. Chín Lài shouted, her voice cracking with panic — a rare panic Diệp Sương had never heard from this always calm woman.

But that scream, and the sight of the people she loved most standing right behind her in the middle of a dangerous siege, made something inside Diệp Sương flare up stronger than ever. She remembered what her grandmother had told her years ago—if you save people, save them all—and realized that perhaps she had misunderstood those words all this time. She did not have to save everyone alone or carry everything on her small shoulders.

"Grandpa, Grandma, Mộc," she shouted, her voice unusually decisive amid the chaos, "everyone do me a favor! Stand in a circle around me, hold hands, and don't let go no matter what happens!"

"What are you going to do?" Mr. Tám Mực asked, but he complied immediately, holding Mrs. Chín Lài's hand as he stood beside her.

"I don't have enough ink to draw alone," Diệp Sương replied, kneeling down in the middle of the circle, placing both hands on the wet ground next to the dry well. "But I remember what you once taught me - ink is not valuable in the place of purchase, but in the hands of the person who mixes it and the heart of the person who draws it when writing. Perhaps the hearts of people, if there are enough, can also replace the missing ink."

*

She closed her eyes, no longer drawing with an empty ink bowl, but drawing directly with her trembling fingertips on the moist soil around the mouth of the well, each line carrying a memory - the first line that Mr. Tám Mực held her hand to draw on the bark of a tree, the instinctive talisman she drew in the middle of a panic when she was thirteen years old, the talisman that merged with the water in Đá Trắng village, the talisman that sealed the crack with Thanh Việt at the Vân Tiêu battlefield.

The circle of people behind her—Mr. Tám Mực, Mrs. Chín Lài, and Mộc—stood firm. No one let go, even though the three monsters were still growling loudly just outside, waiting for an opening to pounce.

When the last stroke closed into a complete circle around the mouth of the well, a stream of silver-white light mixed with warm golden light flared up, not fierce like a large formation, but spreading gently and gently, just like the night light that drew the first An Mien talisman on the bark of the tree next to the fire at Mrs. Chín Lài's house.

*

The swirling black air above the well's mouth stopped, then gradually disappeared, sucked back into the ground like a long, liberated breath. The three monsters, losing the source of attraction that brought them here, suddenly became panicked, roared in pain and then fled in disarray towards the forest, no longer in the mood to attack the group of people standing in the middle of the temple yard.

Diệp Sương collapsed immediately afterward, her strength completely drained, but she still had time to feel familiar arms supporting her before falling completely to the ground—Mrs. Chín Lài on one side, Mộc on the other, while Mr. Tám Mực knelt in front of her, his hands trembling as he checked the wound on her shoulder.

"You did it," he whispered, his voice choked with undisguised pride. "You have done something I never dared to dream of."

His hands were trembling, not necessarily because of age, but because of an emotion that had been pent up for many years - from the days when he was young, trading ink around big towns, dreaming of being accepted by a certain sect but never having the chance, until today, standing and watching his young student draw something far beyond anything he himself had ever thought of. "The roots I passed on to you turned out to be bigger than I imagined," he added, his voice hoarse.

In the distance, the roar of the main battle still echoed, but something had changed in the air—softer, less oppressive, as if the whole village had just relieved some of the invisible burden that had been weighing it down for days.

"East gate," Diệp Sương whispered, trying to get up even though her legs were still shaking. "Nhiêu Bá Tường and everyone... are still there..."

"You can't go anywhere in this condition," Mrs. Chín Lài said, her voice strict while her arm held Diệp Sương tightly, unwilling to let go. "Let Mộc run to tell the news. I've done my part tonight." Diệp Sương no longer had the strength to argue. She only nodded slightly, resting her head on her grandmother's shoulder and looking toward the sky, where the purple halo of light in the distance seemed to be gradually narrowing like a fragile promise that the longest night was about to end.

Cái Mận, who had just rushed over with a few other villagers, knelt beside Diệp Sương and hugged her, tears streaming down her face. "I thought you were risking your life again," she said, her voice both reproachful and relieved. "Why does it always have to be you who rushes in first?"

"I'm used to it," Diệp Sương replied, trying to give a weak smile, even though her whole body was still shaking from exhaustion. "But this time I'm not alone. There's grandpa, grandma, you and Mộc too."

She looked around at the group of people surrounding her in the middle of the temple grounds - faces covered in dust and sweat, but everyone's eyes shone with something more solid than the fear she had just experienced - and for the first time in this long night, a warm feeling crept through the tired layer, reminding her that no matter how many techniques she learned on Vân Tiêu Peak, what kept her standing tonight were always the familiar hands from this small village.