Chapter 80 — The Talisman Painter Who Guards the Village

What Remains

Tạ Vân Khê's cremation ceremony was held seven days after the battle, in an empty space on the slopes of Vân Tiêu Peak overlooking Cảnh Linh Đài - the place she spent most of her life guarding. The entire sect, from novice disciples to elders, were present, along with representatives of the imperial army led by Cố Bạt Nguyên himself, and a group of Vụ Ẩn clan led by Lãnh Vũ standing in a separate corner, participating for the first time in a major human ceremony.

Diệp Sương stood in the front row, wearing a white funeral outfit and holding an incense stick in her hand, her eyes watching the fire gradually flare up and swallow the entire funeral pyre. She did not cry, even though the pain in her heart was still as fresh as the first day; she simply stood there, her back straight, as Tạ Vân Khê had taught her to stand firm in the face of all adversity.

*

Grand Master Thư Khải Dương read the eulogy, his solemn voice echoing throughout the empty space. "Tạ Vân Khê, the elder of the Tông Vân Các, who was in charge of searching and appraising spiritual talismans throughout Cửu Vân for more than thirty years, sacrificed herself to protect her disciples, and through that, protected both the sect and this kingdom from the greatest disaster in history. Her merits will be recorded in the history books of the Tông Vân Các, and her spirit will forever light the way for future generations of disciples."

When the fire faded, the ashes would be collected and placed in a white porcelain vase, then buried at the foot of the stone stele at Cảnh Linh Đài—where she had spent countless nights on guard duty and once sat with Diệp Sương and Thanh Việt during rare peaceful evenings.

*

After the funeral, when the crowd gradually dispersed, Diệp Sương lingered alone at the new grave, placing there a small piece of tree bark engraved with the first An Mien talisman she ever learned to draw - the last gift she could give to the teacher who believed in her from the first days.

"I promise," she whispered, her voice quiet but firm, "I will not let any other child have to go through what I went through because of the injustice of a system that is slow to change. I will continue on the path you believe in, no matter how long it takes."

The afternoon wind blew, carrying the faint scent of wildflowers growing around Cảnh Linh Đài, like a gentle response from somewhere far away.

*

That evening, a small, informal meeting took place in a quiet corner of the sect's yard — Diệp Sương, Thanh Việt, Âu Bội Nhi, Chung Nhã Trúc, Tất Bá Kỳ, Miên Trà, Du Khinh, and even Wei Bá Tuân, who quietly brought a small bottle of wine to toast in remembrance.

"The elder once told me," Âu Bội Nhi said, her voice still a little choked but mixed with a nostalgic smile." that her favorite thing was to see the young disciples gathering and laughing, because it reminded her that, no matter how strict the sect is, in the end it is still a place that nurtures people, not just warriors."

"Then," Chung Nhã Trúc said, raising her glass of wine, "let's laugh a little tonight, for her sake."

*

Tất Bá Kỳ, sitting at the corner of the table, pulled out a letter from his pocket that he had just received from Tiêu Sa Pass. "Captain Sầm Nguyên Trạch sends his condolences," he said, his voice low. "He said, the fluctuations in the Linh Mạch around the Hạn Thủy ravine have subsided significantly since the Khuyết Nguyên Abyss was largely healed. Perhaps, all the wounds across Cửu Vân are more closely connected than we once thought."

"How's baby To?" Diệp Sương asked immediately, remembering the orphan girl in Diêm Cốc village.

"It still talks about you," Tất Bá Kỳ replied, smiling slightly. "Mr. Mười Khoan said, he still keeps the talisman she drew for him, hanging it right next to his bed, and still practices drawing every day, even though his strokes are still very clumsy."

Diệp Sương smiled, a rare warm smile amid the gloom of the past days, silently vowing to find a way to visit Tiêu Sa Pass and Diêm Cốc Village again when she had the opportunity, to keep her promise to those who had trusted her long before.

*

The group gradually relaxed, recounting memories of Tạ Vân Khê - the times she was strict in class but secretly saved cakes for poor students, the stories she told about her youth traveling around Cửu Vân in search of spiritual talismans, and the times she argued with other conservative elders because a certain child was treated unfairly.

Du Khinh, still a bit awkward in a group of people, raised a cup of filtered water instead of wine and spoke softly. "I never thought that one day I would sit here, among people, remembering someone I only met in the last few moments of her life. But I think, that's what she sacrificed for — a world where such boundaries no longer matter."

*

Miên Trà, sitting next to Diệp Sương, rested her head on her shoulder, her voice tight with sleepiness after a long, emotional day. "Miss Sương, what do you plan to do next?"

Diệp Sương was silent for a moment, looking around at the familiar faces that had gone through so many challenges with her—people from the old sect and new friends from the wandering journey. "I think," she said slowly, "I will continue to find the person behind the Special Coordination Line. But this time, I'm not going alone, and I'm not in a hurry anymore. The elder taught me that real change takes time, patience, and many hands—not just mine."

Thanh Việt, sitting across the table, listened quietly, his eyes following Diệp Sương with deep respect. His father, before withdrawing his troops to return to the capital Lệ Dương this morning, told him to stay at the sect for a while longer to assist in the upcoming investigation, a decision that he probably would never have approved of before.

"Then," he said, raising his cup of water, "let's move on together, step by step, without haste, but never stopping either."

The whole group raised their cups, relieved laughter mixed with sad eyes gradually spreading throughout the small yard, like a warm prelude to the difficult days ahead.

*

Late at night, when everyone had gradually dispersed to rest, Diệp Sương stood alone on Cảnh Linh Đài, looking down at the Khuyết Nguyên Abyss, which had now narrowed into a small scar, still smoldering and radiating a gentle warmth as a reminder that the wound, even though it had been soothed, was still not completely healed.

She took out the old inkstone, ground the remaining ink, drew a simple An Mien talisman on the last remaining piece of paper in her pocket, and placed it next to the induction stone, as a farewell to the teacher who had just passed away, and also as a promise to herself about what was still unfinished ahead.

*

Far away, under the silver moonlight, a strange figure stood quietly observing the entire scene of Vân Tiêu Peak from a hidden position out of anyone's sight. His eyes carried a cold calculation that did not waver before the painful scene that had just taken place. That person observed Diệp Sương for a long time, then quietly turned around and disappeared into the darkness, leaving no trace other than a vague feeling of insecurity lingering in the air.

Diệp Sương, unaware of those watching eyes, stood still for a moment on the observation deck, took a deep breath, and felt the cool night breeze blowing through her hair. She was completely unaware that even in the seemingly most peaceful moment after a life-and-death battle, other eyes were still silently following her every move from the darkness. The biggest battle was over, but she knew this was only the beginning of an even longer journey—the journey to find the true mastermind and heal not only the Linh Mạch but also the rifts between people and what they had once considered different.

She turned and walked down the mountain, the moonlight following each step, bringing with it both the pain of loss and a new determination, stronger than ever, for the journey still ahead.

Behind it, the newly erected stone stele still stands there quietly under the moonlight, the deeply engraved words serving as a reminder that will echo through many generations of disciples to come: "The one who believes when no one else dares to believe." And somewhere, between the first strokes of ink a six-year-old child once tremblingly drew on tree bark, to the giant map that had just healed a wound of the entire kingdom, a journey is still going on, with no end in sight, only new pages waiting to be written by the same hands that have learned to both fight and heal.