Chapter 5 — The Talisman Painter Who Guards the Village

Strange Mist at the Village Entrance

Uncle Tư Đàng's buffalo reared up in the middle of the night, knocked down the barn fence, and ran wildly all over the yard before anyone could calm it down. Not once, but three consecutive nights that week, and it wasn't just Mr. Tư Đàng's house - the chickens next door were also crowing in the middle of the night, dogs all over the neighborhood were barking for no reason, and the sparrows that were used to nesting on thatched roofs suddenly ran away, leaving behind empty nests swaying in the wind.

"It must be windy," Chief Lý Đoài said when several people came to his house to report the news, his voice calm as if he were discussing the harvest. "Animals are more sensitive to the weather than people, it's not strange."

But Mrs. Chín Lài, standing in the corner of Chief Lý Đoài's yard with a few other old people, did not think so. She had lived in Tùng Lĩnh Village for nearly fifty years, long enough to clearly remember this feeling - the feeling of the air being indescribably thick, as if someone was holding their breath waiting for something to happen.

"Do you remember the night when the earth turned violently last year?" she asked softly, just loud enough for the elderly people standing nearby to hear. "Three days before that day, the cattle in the village were as restless as they are now." A few old people nodded, their eyes clearly showing concern, but Chief Lý Đoài just waved his hand, not wanting to hear more. "Mrs. Chín Lài, I understand you're worried, but don't make the villagers panic for no reason. That happened more than ten years ago, it doesn't happen every year."

*

Diệp Sương, now twelve years old, heard the whole story through Mộc, who had secretly followed his father to the meeting at Chief Lý Đoài's house and overheard most of it.

"I saw that Mrs. Chín Lài was very worried," Mộc recounted, his voice whispering even though the three of them were sitting in a hidden corner behind Mận's house's garden. "But Chief Lý Đoài refused to listen. He said to leave it alone, don't make a fuss."

"If Mrs. Chín Lài is worried, there must be something real," Diệp Sương said, her hand unconsciously clutching the hem of her shirt. She remembered the story Mrs. Chín Lài had told at the Linh Căn temple festival, about "the earth turning violently" - a phrase she had never heard Mrs. Chín Lài mention so directly, always just vague implications.

"Are you scared?" Mận asked, sitting closer.

Diệp Sương did not answer immediately. She looked down at her hands, her fingers stained with black ink from the habit of never being able to clean them completely. Then she said, her voice slow as if she were convincing herself: "Yes, but I think that if anything happens, at least I know how to draw a few things. It's better than knowing nothing."

*

The next morning, Diệp Sương asked Mrs. Chín Lài for permission to go with her to Lam Thủy Town at the foot of the mountain, the nearest place with a busy market, to buy some more alum and tree sap to make ink, partly because she had run out of reserves, partly because she wanted to see for herself if the situation outside the village was any different.

Mrs. Chín Lài agreed, gave careful instructions, and then they set out early in the morning, walking for nearly two hours to reach Lam Thủy Town. Different from the usual peace, the small town that day was a bit more bustling - several groups of patrol soldiers of the local government were gathering and chatting in the corner of the market, and on a notice board set up in the middle of the market, a new notice had been posted, the handwriting still fresh.

Diệp Sương was not very literate, but she recognized a few familiar words in it, enough to understand the general idea: there were reports of signs of instability in Linh Mạch in some surrounding areas, and people were advised to be careful, not to enter deep forests or areas near weak ground veins.

"Grandma, this..." she said, pulling Mrs. Chín Lài's sleeve and pointing to the notice.

Mrs. Chín Lài skimmed through it - she knew a little bit of writing from when she was young, enough to roughly understand the content - her face suddenly darkened, but she quickly hid her emotions, pulling Diệp Sương to continue towards the shop selling ink and paper.

"It's nothing, child," she said, trying to sound calm. "Just a general warning, these things happen from time to time."

But Diệp Sương noticed that her hand was shaking slightly when she held the alum package and gave it to the seller, a small detail that perhaps she herself did not realize.

The ink seller, a thin old man familiar with Mrs. Chín Lài through many years of trading, could not hide his concern. "Mrs. Chín Lài, a few days ago someone from the town came down here to buy up all my alum and cinnabar supplies," he whispered, glancing around as if afraid someone would hear. "They said it was for backup, but I heard rumors that several groups of soldiers were surveying the western mountains for signs of Linh Mạch instability."

"Survey for what?" Mrs. Chín Lài asked, trying to keep her voice calm.

"I don't know," the old man shook his head, packing the remaining alum for her. "I've only heard rumors that in recent years, for some reason, Linh Mạch in many places has become more erratic than before, unlike when I was young, when it only changed once every ten years. Now..." he stopped, didn't finish his sentence, just shook his head again.

Diệp Sương stood next to her, silently listening and remembering every word even though she did not fully understand the meaning. She looked around the market and saw a few people's faces with similar expressions of anxiety. Conversations in other stalls also vaguely mentioned words like "strange dew," "cattle panic," and "newly posted notice"—as if the entire area around Lam Thủy Town was simultaneously feeling something uneasy that no one dared to name directly.

On the way out of the market, the couple passed by a group of patrol soldiers standing guard in front of the town gate, armed with swords and spears and a few small talismans hanging on their belts - new talismans, fresh ink, different from the old faded talisman hanging at the gate of Tùng Lĩnh Village. Diệp Sương looked at them for a long time, a question arose in her heart that she did not dare to ask out loud: why was a big town given a new talisman, while a small village like Tùng Lĩnh was left alone with an almost useless talisman?

*

On the way home, while passing through a clearing near the border of Tùng Lĩnh Village, Diệp Sương suddenly stopped walking, a feeling that something was wrong spread throughout her body - an indescribable feeling, as if the surrounding air was vibrating with very small beats that the ears could not hear but the skin could feel.

"What's wrong?" Mrs. Chín Lài turned around and asked, seeing her stop.

"I don't know," she replied, her voice confused, her hands automatically raised as if holding an invisible pen. "I just feel... like something is pulling my hand."

Mrs. Chín Lài looked at her intently, then looked around the open forest, seeing nothing unusual except a few thin layers of dew that still lingered even though it was almost noon - strange, because the dew usually dissipated early in the morning during this season.

"Go home now," she said, her voice resolute, holding Diệp Sương's hand tightly and pulling her away faster. "Don't linger here."

Diệp Sương looked back at the thin mist still lingering on the treetops, a vague uneasiness arose in her heart that she couldn't name, she only knew that the feeling was the same as the feeling every time she was about to draw a stronger than usual charm - as if there was some invisible current stirring to awaken, slowly but surely, under the layer of soil where the whole Tùng Lĩnh Village still walked, plowed, and lived every day without many people really paying attention.

*

That night, Diệp Sương recounted her strange feeling to Mr. Tám Mực, without hiding any details.

He sat silently for a long time, his eyes looking out into the dark yard, where the crescent moon shone faintly.

"I'm not sure," he said at last, his voice lowering, "but I think you're starting to feel something that only those with a deep connection to spirit talismans can feel — the movement of the Linh Mạch itself. Not everyone who's good at drawing talismans has this feeling; it's much rarer than drawing talent."

"So that means something is about to happen?" Diệp Sương asked, her voice trembling.

Mr. Tám Mực did not answer right away, just reached out and rubbed her head, a familiar gesture of comfort that carried a different heaviness this time.

"I don't know, child," he said honestly. "But if you feel that way, then maybe it's time for me to teach you more seriously and faster, even though I don't want to push you beyond your age. I'm afraid we have less time than I thought."

Outside, the night of Tùng Lĩnh Village was still as quiet as ever, with the chirping of insects and flickering oil lamps in each roof. But under the deep soil, something was moving very slowly, very patiently, like a large animal that has just woken up from a long sleep, not in a hurry to act, just quietly feeling its own strength before deciding on the next step.