Chapter 40 — The Talisman Painter Who Guards the Village

The Unnamed Thing

The small observation station near Hạn Thủy creek, built of rudimentary but sturdy stone and wood, completed after nearly two weeks of continuous construction, stands tall like a new promise in a land that has been neglected for too long.

Diệp Sương stood on that small observation deck on a rare clear morning, looking down at the crack that had now been reinforced with a solid layer of talisman, combining the standard sect technique and the variations she had developed during the long journey from Tùng Lĩnh Village to here.

"The sensing stone is ready," Vệ Chinh reported, pointing to a small stone placed in the middle of the observation station, brought down from the sect at Diệp Sương's special request. "If the Linh Mạch around the crack fluctuates abnormally, it will change color, exactly like the system in Jing Linh Đài."

"Who will be on duty here?" Sầm Nguyên Trạch asked, standing next to him, looking around at the small observation station with satisfaction.

"I discussed with Mr. Mười Khoan," Diệp Sương replied, "a few young men in Diêm Cốc Village volunteered to learn how to read the indicators on the touchstones, taking turns to be on duty with a soldier of the pass. So, even if Thanh Việt and I have to leave later, the warning system will still be maintained."

"You think really far ahead," Sầm Nguyên Trạch commented, his voice somewhat emotional. "Not every disciple thinks about what will happen after they leave."

"I learned that from this place," Diệp Sương replied, looking out at the once arid land that now showed signs of revival. "Once one begins to care about a place, one cannot think only about the present."

*

The last meeting before the regular postal mission to bring reports to the sect was held right at the new observation post. Tất Bá Kỳ reread the detailed report he had painstakingly drafted over many days, documenting everything that had happened at the Tiêu Sa Pass—from the initial state of exhaustion, to the battle at Hạn Thủy Ravine, to long-term recommendations for the area.

"I will personally bring this report back and present it directly to the council of elders," he said, folding the thick stack of papers. "No intermediaries at all."

"Thank you," Diệp Sương said, sincerely. "For everything you've done, not just for this report." Tất Bá Kỳ nodded slightly, his eyes carrying a pensive look. "I came here with the intention of monitoring, looking for mistakes," he said frankly. "But what we have seen has changed many things we once believed to be true. Perhaps, sometimes, rigid norms need to be challenged by reality, instead of just existing on paper."

*

Before Tất Bá Kỳ set off, Diệp Sương pulled Vệ Chinh close and told them both what she and Thanh Việt had recorded during a deeper survey of the area around Hạn Thủy Ravine—a small detail whose meaning she did not completely understand but felt needed to be recorded carefully.

"There are a few old marker stakes, the same design as the wooden stakes I saw Khâm Vân Ti's people put up in Lam Thủy Town, scattered near the fissure area, but they have been abandoned for a long time, no one in the survey team knows who put them there or when," Diệp Sương said, her voice thoughtful. "I think this detail should be clearly stated in the report, even though I don't know what it means." Tất Bá Kỳ nodded and took careful notes. "I'll put it in the appendix," he said. "Who knows, someone at the sect or Khâm Vân Ti will notice something we haven't seen yet."

Thanh Việt, standing next to listen, contributed more. “I also sensed something strange in the area around those stakes,” he said, his voice thoughtful. "It's not like the feeling of the Linh Mạch naturally weakening. It's like... someone has deliberately interfered with it, even though it's been a long time."

Diệp Sương and Tất Bá Kỳ both turned to look at him, both were silent for a moment before that comment. "Are you sure?" Diệp Sương asked, her voice lowered.

"I can't be completely sure," Thanh Việt admitted, "my intuition is sometimes vague with old traces. But I think it's worth recording, in case someone with more sensitive abilities than me can confirm it later."

*

After the post army left, Diệp Sương and Thanh Việt walked together along the citadel wall, admiring the Tiêu Sa Pass under the gentle afternoon sunlight - a scene that has become more familiar and dearer than the first days when they first arrived.

"We've been here for almost four months now," Diệp Sương said, sounding somewhat surprised when she realized how quickly time passed.

"These four months have been more eventful than any other period in my life," Thanh Việt replied, smiling slightly, his eyes looking far away toward the newly built observation station at Hạn Thủy ravine. "But it's also four months where I don't regret a single moment."

Diệp Sương turned to look at him, her eyes filled with deep sympathy. "Me too," she said softly. "Even though many things remain unclear—the Hạn Thủy ravine, those mysterious wooden stakes, and the future of both of us—I don't regret choosing to come here."

*

In the evening, before it was completely dark, Little Tơ came to the gate carrying a small basket of wild fruits picked from a rare bush that had just begun to bear fruit after the recent rain - the first sign that this land, although slowly, was beginning to revive.

"For my sister and brother," she said, handing the fruit basket to both of them, her eyes shining with simple joy.

"Thank you," Diệp Sương replied, receiving the fruit basket, her heart warmed by that small but meaningful gift. She remembered herself years ago, bringing a basket of wild vegetables to Mrs. Chín Lài after her first trip to the forest, and realized that gratitude—the cycle of giving and receiving—always seemed to repeat in different forms, places, and people.

"Can you teach me how to draw more?" Little Tơ asked, her eyes sparkling, her hand already taking out a small piece of cloth from her patched shirt pocket.

"Okay," Diệp Sương replied, sitting down on the steps beside her, under the sunset that dyed the whole yard yellow. Thanh Việt stood looking at them, a rare warm smile on his lips, saying nothing, just quietly enjoying the peaceful scene amid these tumultuous days.

*

That night, when Diệp Sương sat by the familiar windowsill, she wrote a long letter to Mrs. Chín Lài, Mr. Tám Mực, Mộc, and Cái Mận, recounting everything that had happened during the past four months - from the first days of confusion, to the battle of Hạn Thủy ravine, to Little Tơ, and even the unnamed things between her and Thanh Việt that she only dared to write vaguely, saving the rest to tell directly when she had the opportunity to return. She felt a strange sense of peace, even though she knew there were still many challenges ahead.

She put down her pen, looked out at the desert landscape engulfed in darkness, the twinkling starlight stretching to the horizon, and thought about the journey that had gone by - from an orphan drawing her first ink on tree bark, to an outer sect disciple who was once suspected, to the person who had just passed through the night of life and death with an entire border gate and a small village. She knew the road ahead would be even longer, with questions about Khâm Vân Ti, mysterious wooden stakes, and bigger threats that might be silently forming somewhere out of sight.

But for the first time since the night the Vân Tiêu battlefield collapsed, Diệp Sương felt she was no longer walking alone through the darkness of unanswered questions. There was Thanh Việt, Âu Bội Nhi, Tạ Vân Khê, and a whole new land gradually learning to trust her. With all of them beside her, even though she did not know what tomorrow would bring, she believed she was ready to face it step by step, just as Mrs. Chín Lài had taught her: if you draw a spell to save someone, draw it completely; do not draw half-heartedly and leave it to torment them for the rest of their life.

She folded the letter, put it in a small wooden box next to the old inkstone, intending to send it with the next postal service. Outside the window, the night wind still blew across the desert land, bringing with it the familiar cold air, but this time, in the sound of that wind, Diệp Sương heard not the desolation and loneliness of the early days, but a new rhythm of peace, as if this land itself was gradually learning how to breathe evenly again after many years of exhaustion, and she, along with all the people who had stood by her side for the past four months, had contributed a small but undeniable part to that rhythm of revival.