Chapter 6 — The Talisman Painter Who Guards the Village

The Old Talisman at the Village Gate

A merchant named Tuất, specializing in selling fabrics and household items, strolled through the villages at the foot of Vân Tiêu Peak, stopping at Tùng Lĩnh Village one late afternoon, his face much more haggard than when he visited half a year earlier. He set up his goods right in the middle of the communal house's yard, and before he could display them for sale, he was surrounded by dozens of curious people asking about his recent trip.

"You guys don't know," Mr. Tuất said, his voice still shaking even though it had been a month ago, "I just passed from the East, that place is five or six days away from here. An entire large town, several times larger than my home Lam Thủy, is now just ruins." The crowd stirred, some shivered, some hurriedly called their children to stand closer.

"Love the dynasty?" one person asked, his voice filled with fear.

Mr. Tuất nodded, his hands trembled, he poured a cup of tea that someone had just given him, took a sip before continuing. "I heard from the people there that the ground under that town had been weak for a long time. Some people reported it to the higher authorities many times but no one was able to handle it. Then one night, the ground shook violently, cracking a large road, and from there... from there demons poured out like a flood. Not just one or two, but a whole herd, some as big as a house."

"So is there anyone coming to save us?" Chief Lý Đoài, standing at the edge of the crowd, asked, his voice a bit more serious than usual.

"Yes," Mr. Tuất replied, "The Tông Vân Các sent people down to suppress most of the demons, but it was three days late. During those three days, countless people died and countless houses were destroyed. I passed by there and saw people still rebuilding their houses and burying their loved ones. The scene... I don't dare to tell the details in front of children."

Diệp Sương stood in the crowd, listening to every word, her heart pounding. She looked around, saw many adults' faces were also pale, and the eyes of many people, upon hearing the words "three days late", began to look worriedly towards the village gate, where old talisman leaves still hung quietly on the crossbar.

"Have you seen anyone from Tông Vân Các?" Mộc, standing next to Diệp Sương, couldn't hold back his curiosity and asked.

Mr. Tuất nodded. "Yes, I saw it from afar. They were wearing gray clothes, holding pens larger than regular pens, drawing bright lines in the air as if there was fire in them. I have never seen such a scene in my life - both beautiful and terrifying. But the people there said, if the sect's people had come even one day earlier, perhaps a hundred more lives could have been saved."

"Why are you so late?" Mận asked in a small voice.

"Because of the distance, because the news was slow, because..." Mr. Tuất hesitated, glanced at Chief Lý Đoài before continuing, "because I heard that area was always considered a remote place, with little attention. The local government's report to the top was late, and by the time Tông Vân Các received the news, it was too late."

That answer made the crowd silent for a long time, no one dared to look at anyone else, because everyone implicitly understood that this Tùng Lĩnh Village, compared to Lam Thủy Town or areas near the capital, was no different from a "remote, little noticed" place as Mr. Tuất had just said.

*

That night, when the whole family had finished eating, Diệp Sương asked Mrs. Chín Lài about the talisman at the village gate—a question she had harbored for a long time but had never dared to ask directly.

"Grandma, when did the talisman at the village gate exist?"

Mrs. Chín Lài was sewing, stopped, thought for a moment before answering. "That happened before you were born, let me remember... it must have been more than twenty years ago. At that time, a member of Tông Vân Các passed through this area. Seeing that his village was located near a small branch of Linh Mạch, he stopped and drew a talisman to hang at the gate, telling the villagers to live in peace."

"So why doesn't anyone paint new leaves when the old leaves fade?"

Mrs. Chín Lài sighed and put down the needle and thread. "Because Tông Vân Các doesn't just have to come and visit wherever you want, my child. They have big things to do, there are so many villages throughout Cửu Vân that need help, not just Tùng Lĩnh Village. From then until now, no one from the sect has ever returned, perhaps because they don't have time to miss a small village like mine."

"So does that talisman still have any effect now?"

This question made Mrs. Chín Lài silent for a long time, and that silence, more than any answer, said everything Diệp Sương needed to know.

*

The next morning, when it was still early and few people were passing by, Diệp Sương went alone to the village gate. Standing under the crossbeam, she looked up at the sealing talismans, whose ink had almost completely faded, leaving only a few faint black streaks on the yellowed paper. The edges were worn in patches from years of sun and rain.

She stood there for a long time, trying to visualize what Mr. Tám Mực had taught her about sealing talismans—how to draw them, the meaning of each stroke, and where their power lay. She remembered the story Mr. Tuất had told the night before, about a large town destroyed just because it was "three days late." She thought of her small Tùng Lĩnh Village, where the only talisman protecting the gate had lost its effectiveness long ago without anyone knowing, or perhaps knowing but not daring to admit it.

"What are you doing here alone?"

Diệp Sương was startled and turned around to see Mr. Tám Mực standing behind her, carrying a bundle of firewood he had just picked up on his way to the market.

"I... I'm looking at this talisman," he replied, pointing to the crossbar. "Do you think it still works?"

Mr. Tám Mực looked up, squinted his eyes and observed for a long time, then slowly shook his head. "Honestly, I don't think so. Most of the ink has faded, the remaining lines are disjointed, no longer connected enough to retain their original strength. It is now just an old piece of paper hanging around for show, comforting people's spirit rather than actually protecting anything."

Diệp Sương was silent, her heart heavy. "So our village... has no real protection?"

Mr. Tám Mực put down the bundle of firewood and rubbed his chin in thought. "I can't say for sure. Perhaps the Linh Mạch branch under our village is still relatively stable, so nothing major has happened over the years. But after what you told me about the strange feeling you had at the market, and after the story Mr. Tuất told last night, I'm afraid I shouldn't be subjective anymore."

He looked at Diệp Sương, his eyes suddenly unusually serious. "Do you still remember everything I taught you about talismans?"

"I remember, but I've never actually drawn a large talisman, I've only practiced on scrap paper."

"So from today," he said, his voice decisive, "I will teach you to take drawing more seriously, not just to practice drawing, but to actually draw, to draw talismans that can actually be used when needed. I don't want you to have to face a dangerous night without anything to defend yourself, or worse, to protect others."

*

That day, the two of them spent the whole afternoon at the paper workshop, not practicing basic drawing as usual but practicing a complete talisman—the simplest type, yet the foundation for all more complex talismans. Diệp Sương drew over and over again, ink all over her hands and sweat beading on her forehead from intense concentration, until Mr. Tám Mực nodded in satisfaction at the talisman she had just completed.

"Okay," he said, holding up the talisman and shining it in the afternoon sunlight, "this one can be used. Hang it above your bed as practical practice."

Diệp Sương took the talisman and felt a gentle warmth spread from the paper into her palm — a feeling she had never noticed before, perhaps because this was the first time she drew a talisman with the clear knowledge that it would actually be used, not just a throwaway practice exercise.

That night, when hanging the talisman on the head of the bed, Diệp Sương lay looking at it for a long time before falling asleep, feeling both a bit proud and a vague, nameless anxiety, as if she was standing on the threshold of something much greater than what her tween years could prepare for.

Mrs. Chín Lài, passing by the room before turning off the light, stopped to look at the new talisman hanging above her nephew's bed for a long time. She didn't say anything, just gently touched the edge of the paper with her hand, feeling the strange warmth still lingering from the ink that hadn't completely dried. An indescribable mixed feeling arose in her heart - both relieved to know that her grandson could now draw something to protect himself, and sad because she understood that the twelve-year-old child was having to learn how to face things that at this age should only be concerned with playing around, learning to read, and carefree dreams.

She closed the door, walked out into the yard, looked up at Vân Tiêu Peak, engulfed in darkness, where the glimmering lit from Tông Vân Các flickered like small stars stuck halfway up the mountain. She wondered, not for the first time, whether her granddaughter would one day had to set foot in that place—and if that day came, whether she would have the courage to let her go.