Chapter 8 — The Talisman Painter Who Guards the Village

The Night the Village Gate Torn Apart

The fierce barking of a dog woke Diệp Sương in the middle of the night, not the usual alarm barking but a high-pitched, panicked sound, as if the dogs in the village were witnessing something terrible at the same time.

She jumped up from the bed, her heart pounding, and looked out the window. The moonlight that night was unusually pale, covered by a thick layer of mist that spread from the open forest toward the village, so thick that it could almost be seen swirling in the air.

"Grandma!" She shook Mrs. Chín Lài, who was sleeping in the next bed, and called out to her.

Mrs. Chín Lài woke up immediately, perhaps because she had also been sleeping restlessly for the past few nights. She looked outside, her face immediately pale.

"The ground is turning," she said, her voice shaking but still trying to stay calm. "Put on warm clothes, hurry up."

Outside, the sound of people screaming began to echo throughout the village, mixed with the sound of alarm gongs and drums coming from the village communal house. Diệp Sương quickly dressed, her trembling hands reached for the talisman hanging at the head of the bed, stuffed it into her pocket, then ran out with Mrs. Chín Lài.

The scene before their eyes made both of them freeze for a moment: from the village gate, a strange green light was erupting, and in the midst of the thick fog, a giant figure was struggling and roaring - a demonic beast with the body of a hybrid between a wolf and a bird of prey, jet-black feathers mixed with rough skin, eyes as red as embers, ramming straight into the sturdy wooden gate of the village.

*

"Boys follow me!" Chief Lý Đoài shouted loudly, holding a sharpened bamboo stick in his hand, leading a group of men to run towards the village gate, everyone's faces were pale but still trying to maintain their spirit.

Diệp Sương looked and saw Mr. Tám Mực also rushing out from the direction of the paper factory, holding a stack of bark paper and an ink bottle, his face tense.

"Grandfather!" he called out loudly, running towards him despite Mrs. Chín Lài trying to hold his hand back.

"Sương, don't go out there!" Mrs. Chín Lài screamed, but the girl broke free from her hand and ran toward the village gate, where the crowd was in chaos.

When it got closer, it saw more clearly: the wooden gate had been cracked in a large chunk, and the old talisman left hanging from the crossbeam, which should have glowed to suppress the demon beast, only glimmered a bit of weak light and then went out, like a candle nearly running out of oil before a strong wind.

"The spell doesn't work!" someone shouted in the crowd, his voice filled with despair.

The demon beast, as if sensing the human's helplessness, howled even more fiercely, giving another powerful blow, causing the gate to tear a large chunk apart, splintering wood everywhere. Several men holding sticks rushed forward to stop it, but were thrown away like rag dolls, falling to the ground, some people losing consciousness on the spot.

"Back off! Everyone back off!" Chief Lý Đoài shouted loudly, his face was now pale, the bamboo stick in his hand trembled without any confidence of a village leader.

*

Diệp Sương stood frozen in the middle of the crowd of people fleeing in panic, eyes glued to the monster that was tearing the rest of the gate apart, preparing to rush straight into the village. She saw a small child, the child of a family living near the village gate, standing still in the middle of the road, too scared to run, right in the monster's path.

Without having time to think any more, she rushed forward, not to save the child by strength—she knew she did not have the strength to do that—but because an instinct stronger than fear was taking over.

"Mr. Tám Mực!" she shouted. "The ink! Give me the ink!"

Mr. Tám Mực, standing nearby, did not have time to ask anything and immediately threw the emergency ink bottle he always carried toward her. But the bottle fell to the ground amid the chaos, shattered, and black ink spilled onto the wet ground.

Diệp Sương looked at the child, then knelt down slowly, trying not to frighten him.

These were not the strokes she had practiced hundreds of times on bark paper. This was something else—faster, more instinctive, as if her hand no longer belonged to her but to some greater current that was borrowing it to take shape. Black lines spread on the ground, overlapping and forming a complex shape, but she did not even have time to realize what she was drawing; she only knew that her hand was moving in an irresistible rhythm.

A silvery-white light burst from the ground, enveloping the dumbfounded child and forming a circle of light that separated him from the oncoming demon beast.

*

The monster rammed straight into the circle of light, letting out a painful roar. Its body was thrown back, rolling several times on the ground before getting up and staggering away, its red eyes now showing more confusion than aggression.

The pain spread over her body, draining the strength from her limbs. She collapsed, her ears ringing, but she still struggled to catch the faint sound of Mr. Tám Mực calling her name.

In a half-awake, half-conscious state, she could still hear people screaming, and the beast roaring more intensely when several men in the village, encouraged by the ring of light that had just appeared, rushed forward to attack it with old bamboo sticks and spears. She heard someone scream in pain—not the beast, but someone from the village who had been scratched by its claws during the melee.

The circle of light that protected the child remained strong, but it was not strong enough to spread out to protect the entire village, not strong enough to stop the demon beast completely — it was only strong enough to delay, enough strength to give the villagers a few more precious moments to regroup, so that the bravest men could finally corner the demon beast, seriously injured from the battle, fleeing back into the thick fog from where it had appeared.

*

When Diệp Sương woke up, it was almost dawn. She lay in her house, covered with a thin blanket, with Mrs. Chín Lài sitting next to her and a bowl of warm water on the floor.

"You're awake," Mrs. Chín Lài breathed, holding her hand tightly.

"That child... is he okay?" Diệp Sương asked immediately, her voice hoarse.

"It's okay, thanks to you," Mrs. Chín Lài replied, her voice trembling. "But..." she hesitated, not wanting to continue.

"But what?" Diệp Sương tried to sit up, even though her whole body was still exhausted.

"Someone is seriously injured," Mrs. Chín Lài finally said, her voice low. "Uncle Sau, you rushed in to fight the monster when it was at its most ferocious. The scratch on his shoulder was very deep, I tried to stop the bleeding and bandage it as best I could, but..."

Diệp Sương understood. She lay still, feeling guilt settle on her chest—Mr. Tám Mực had saved her again, and she was not yet strong enough to protect herself, let alone the people around her.

"You did very well," Mrs. Chín Lài said, hugging her tightly, her voice both choked and determined. "No one can save everyone, Sương. You saved a life and prevented something worse from happening many times. Don't let the sadness of what you couldn't do overshadow what you did do," Diệp Sương did not answer, just cried, tears rolling down in the pale light of the rising dawn, while out there, the entire Tùng Lĩnh Village was still littered with traces of a night no one in the village could forget.

A moment later, Mr. Tám Mực walked in, his gait slower and heavier than usual, his hands still covered in dried black ink that had not yet been washed. He sat down by the bed and looked at Diệp Sương for a long time without saying anything, then spoke, his voice hoarse from shouting throughout the chaotic night.

"Do you know what you did last night?" he asked, not as a reproach, but as a genuine question, full of surprise and concern.

"I... I don't remember clearly anymore," Diệp Sương replied, her voice still shaking. "I just remember putting my hand in the ink, and then everything faded away."

"You drew with your bare hands, without a pen, without following any of the strokes I taught you," he said, his eyes filled with both fear and something almost awe. "I've been teaching you how to draw spells for three years now, but I've never seen you draw anything so powerful. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn't have believed it."

"Did I do something wrong?" he asked, his voice worried.

"No," he shook his head immediately, holding her small hand, which still had some black ink stains that hadn't been completely washed off under his fingernails. "You didn't do anything wrong. You just showed me that the talent you have is much greater than either you or I ever imagined. That both comforts and makes me more worried than ever."

Mrs. Chín Lài squeezed Diệp Sương's hand tighter, as if wanting to hold it firmly, very close, before the outside world could take it further than she could imagine.