Chapter 48 — The Talisman Painter Who Guards the Village

Feedback

The two days of delay passed in a tense atmosphere that was very different from the familiar peace of Tiêu Sa Pass - soldiers patrolled more densely, the gate closed earlier than usual, and Diệp Sương found that she could no longer sleep a full night without being startled awake by a small noise.

On the first day, Diệp Sương spent most of her time with Vệ Chinh reviewing the entire operating procedure of the observation station one last time, showing him and the group of young people from Diêm Cốc village how to handle every situation that could arise without her—from reading the touchstone indicator to sending emergency messages to Lam Thủy Town if the Hạn Thủy ravine showed signs of instability again.

"You talk as if you'll be gone for a long time," Vệ Chinh commented, sounding somewhat worried.

"I'm not sure how long I'll be gone," Diệp Sương admitted, trying to keep her voice gentle even though she wasn't sure about anything ahead. "But I want you guys to be able to take care of everything yourself, whether I'm here or not."

On the morning of the second day, the veteran soldier riding a donkey who had brought Tất Bá Kỳ's letter the last time appeared again at the gate, this time much thinner and haggard because of the long distance, clutching an envelope sealed with dark red wax - Elder Tạ Vân Khê's own wax color that Diệp Sương had seen only once on the acceptance decree that year.

*

Diệp Sương opened the letter on the spot, her hands shaking with excitement. Tạ Vân Khê's handwriting appeared, strong and decisive like its author, although a little more hurried than usual.

"Diệp Sương," the letter said, "I received a short letter from you and Cố Thanh Việt, even though it was only a few lines, it was enough for me to understand that this is not a small matter. I have arranged to meet you two privately as soon as you return to the foot of the mountain, in a private place outside the main campus, away from all unnecessary eyes." Diệp Sương breathed a sigh of relief, but the next line made her pause.

"I have to confess one thing to you," the letter continued, "recently, I have also begun to notice some unusual things within the council of elders—secret meetings without my name on the invitation list, decisions on survey budget allocation being passed unusually quickly without enough discussion. I don't dare to confirm anything yet, but the hunch of someone who has lived long enough in this sect tells me that something is silently moving beneath the peace we are all used to seeing."

*

Diệp Sương read that letter over and over again, feeling both comforted because she was not alone in her doubts and worried because she knew that even an elder with a position like Tạ Vân Khê was groping in the dark.

"I want you to understand one thing clearly," the letter said at the end, "no matter how big this matter is, no matter who it involves, I will always stand on the side of the truth, and on your side - the first student I personally went down the mountain to find. But I also have to say frankly, the road ahead will not be easy. Once you are committed to exposing what others want to hide, you must be mentally prepared for even the things you cannot foresee. Come here safely. I will wait."

Diệp Sương folded the letter and pressed it tightly to her chest. A warm feeling mixed with a vague, nameless worry rose up in her heart at the same time.

*

She immediately found Thanh Việt and read the entire contents of the letter to him under the rare shade of a large rock in the yard.

"'The road ahead will not be easy'," Thanh Việt repeated, his voice thoughtful. "She didn't specifically say what she was afraid of, but the way she used that word made me feel uneasy."

"I think she doesn't know exactly what's waiting for her," Diệp Sương replied. "It's just that, for someone as experienced as you, when you sense something is wrong, you're usually more right than wrong." Thanh Việt nodded, was silent for a moment, then looked straight at her, his eyes unusually serious. "No matter what happens in the sect," he said, "I will not leave your side. No matter what pressure comes from either side, no matter who wants me to choose another side."

Diệp Sương looked at him, an emotion filled her heart, but at the same time, a vague fear also crept in - fear that promise, no matter how sincere, could face greater challenges than either of them could imagine at the moment.

*

Sầm Nguyên Trạch found the two people in the late afternoon, carrying a hand-drawn map marking the safest route to Lam Thủy Town, along with a list of guard stations along the way that could be trusted.

"I sent someone to report to each of these stations in advance," he explained, his fingers tracing each marker on the map. "If anything goes wrong, you can go to any of these stations, say my name, and they will help immediately."

"Thank you, General, for taking such thoughtful care," Diệp Sương said, bowing her head in gratitude.

"I just regret not being able to do more," Sầm Nguyên Trạch replied, his voice low. "The place you are about to enter, the internal politics of the sect and the royal court, is not the battlefield I am familiar with. There, sometimes the most dangerous enemy is the one who smiles at you every day." Those words made Diệp Sương shiver, but she just nodded, remembering, trying not to let fear overwhelm her long-standing determination.

"If there is any important news," he said, "I will find a way to report it to the general, through the channels we discussed. And if the general discovers anything unusual here, please do not hesitate to immediately report it to Elder Tạ Vân Khê, whether I am present or not."

"I will," Sầm Nguyên Trạch promised, squeezing his shoulder like a father sending his child on their way. "Now go get some rest, both of you. There's a long way to go tomorrow."

*

In the afternoon, while preparing the final items for the trip, Diệp Sương took the opportunity to write another short letter to Tất Bá Kỳ, informing him that she would soon be at the sect, asking him to keep this a secret and not reveal to anyone in the council the specific date and time of her return.

She also wrote a short line to Âu Bội Nhi, this time no longer keeping the harmless tone like the previous letter, writing only one sentence: "I'm about to return. Don't tell anyone, even the person you trust the most, until I meet you in person." She knew Âu Bội Nhi would immediately understand the seriousness behind those short words.

The veteran soldier rode the donkey and set out again, carrying both letters, promising to take a detour past a few familiar guard posts to avoid being followed. Diệp Sương stood and watched the figure of the skinny donkey disappear, once again clearly feeling that all communication paths now had to go through shortcuts, trusts were carefully considered, nothing could be considered obviously safe anymore.

*

That evening, before the official departure day, Diệp Sương sat alone at the familiar window sill, looking out at the desert landscape in the darkness, her hand caressing the inner blue silk that still smelled of new fabric.

She thought about the four months that had passed - from the first days of confusion, to the battle of Hạn Thủy ravine, to Little Tơ, to the little creature waiting to be set free, to all the people who had become an inseparable part of her life in this seemingly strange land.

Tomorrow, she would leave this place, carrying not only the precious documents she had received through a strange scribe's courage, but also a part of her heart that had silently taken root here, along with a question bigger than anything she had ever faced: whether the truth she was about to reveal would cause her to lose more than she had gained.

She took out the old inkstone that Mr. Tám Mực had given her and placed it on the windowsill, her fingers gliding lightly over the stone surface worn smooth by years of use. "This inkstone is not precious, but it remembers your hand from the first stroke," he had once advised. "No matter where you draw, don't forget how your hand started," she wondered what advice Mr. Tám Mực would give her at this threshold—to continue to engage, or to step back to keep herself safe.

But she had known the answer for a long time, from the way he had lived his whole life—silently, forgotten by the system, but never once stopping believing in the value of doing the right thing, even when no one recognized it. She carefully put the inkstone in her luggage, along with a package of documents and a personal notebook, then turned off the light and tried to sleep before the long journey ahead.