Chapter 83 — The Talisman Painter Who Guards the Village

The Turbulent Night of That Year

Before dawn, Diệp Sương climbed alone to Cảnh Linh Đài, carrying Tạ Vân Khê's old notebook, and sat beside the newly erected stone stele, where the elder's ashes had been buried less than a week earlier. Night dew still lingered on the cold stone slab, wetting her shirt as she leaned her back against it.

"I just learned the truth," she whispered, her voice soft as if afraid of waking the sleeping mountain. "You've known for a long time, right? From the very first night you met me, sitting by the fire in Tùng Lĩnh Village, you suspected there was something wrong behind the death of my parents."

The morning wind blew through the observatory, carrying the faint scent of wildflowers, like a wordless answer from far away.

*

She opened the notebook, turned back to the exact page that recorded the tumultuous night that year, read and reread every word until she knew it by heart, trying to imagine the scene that she had no memory of, only hearing about it through Mrs. Chín Lài's words every time she mentioned her parents.

"You said, there was no warning sign that night," he whispered, recalling what Mrs. Chín Lài told her last year. "There was no strange fog, no animal panic like other times. It came suddenly, like an anger without warning. I thought it was the erratic nature of Linh Mạch. Now I understand, perhaps it wasn't erratic, but someone deliberately withdrew a large amount of energy at the same time, without knowing who the consequences would fall on."

*

Thanh Việt found her there when the sun had just risen. Carrying two cups of hot tea, he quietly sat beside her without saying anything and handed her one.

"I thought you were packing," he said, trying a weak smile.

"The luggage is ready," he replied, his voice gentle. "I just thought, maybe you need someone to sit next to you, more than you need an extra pair of hands to pack."

*

Diệp Sương leaned her head on her shoulder, letting the last remaining tears flow out instead of holding them back as before. "The six-year-old girl used to think that her parents died because of a disaster no one could prevent," she said, her voice cracking. "Now I know it was not a natural disaster, but the price paid for the greed of someone powerful enough to consider the lives of an entire village merely an extra number in a survey report."

"You don't have to carry that burden alone," Thanh Việt said, squeezing her hand. "The day I first met you, I saw a person who dared to stand up straight in front of those who looked down on his background. Today's truth, no matter how painful, cannot make that person fall, I believe."

*

She sat quietly for a long time, letting the warmth from the tea cup and from his shoulder gradually ease the pain rolling in her heart. "Do you ever think about your brother?" he asked softly, recalling the small details he once mentioned in passing years ago, never saying more.

Thanh Việt was silent for a moment, his eyes looking distantly towards the horizon. "I think about it, every day," he replied, his voice low. "My brother died in battle on the northern border, when I was young, not old enough to fully understand the meaning of death. Father still keeps his sword in the temple room at the palace, never mentioning it in front of anyone, but I know, every time father watches me practice martial arts, he is comparing, even if not intentionally."

*

"Is that why you chose to learn spirit talismans, instead of following the military career path your family expected?" Diệp Sương asked, her voice full of sympathy.

"Partly," he admitted. "I don't want to become a second shadow of someone who has passed away. I want to find my own path, even if it disappoints my father for a long time." He turned to look at her, his eyes filled with sincerity. "Maybe that was the first reason why I noticed you, in the middle of the crowded practice field that year. You were also finding your own path, in the middle of a system that only wanted to mold you into an existing mold."

*

Diệp Sương smiled, for the first time since hearing the news about the Special Coordination Line and the death of her parents, with a smile that truly reached the bottom of her heart. "Then," she said, "let us continue to find that path together, wherever it leads."

The two sat quietly together for a long time, watching the sunlight gradually rise above Vân Tiêu Peak, illuminating the stone stele engraved with the name Tạ Vân Khê with warm streaks of light at the beginning of the day.

*

That afternoon, before the group set off, Diệp Sương sat down to write a short letter to Tùng Lĩnh Village, her hand shaking slightly as she put the pen to the page.

"Dear Mrs. and Mr. Tám Mực," she wrote, "I have just learned a truth I never dared to imagine: the death of my parents, long ago, was probably not a random disaster. I won't explain the details in this letter, because I want to tell you myself when everything is over. I just want you both to know that, no matter how cruel the truth is, I will stand firm, as you have taught me all these years: if you draw a spell to save someone, draw it well; don't draw half-heartedly and leave it to torment them for the rest of their life. This time, I will see it through to the end," She folded the letter, asked the sect's messenger to carry it, then stood up, shouldered the prepared luggage bag, looked towards the south, where the capital Lệ Dương was waiting, carrying both truth and unknown danger.

*

In front of the sect gate, Chung Nhã Trúc and Âu Bội Nhi came to see her off. They both hugged her tightly, unable to hide their tears of worry.

"Be careful," Chung Nhã Trúc advised, her voice choked. "The capital is not Tông Vân Các, it is not a place where everything is black and white. There, power can take on any form."

"I know," Diệp Sương replied, squeezing both friends' hands. "But this time, I'm not going alone, and I'm no longer the thirteen-year-old child who didn't know what fear was but also didn't know how to prepare for a long battle."

*

Right at the mountain gate, when the group was just about to leave, a familiar figure stepped out to block the path, causing the group to stop. Húc Bá Nguyên stood there, his face more haggard than a few days ago, as if he hadn't had a full night's sleep since the meeting.

"I'm not here to get in your way," he said immediately, his voice hoarse, raising his hand to signal before anyone could raise their alarm. "I just want to say one thing, before you guys go."

Diệp Sương looked at him, her eyes still cautious but no longer filled with the fierce resentment of the days when she was first slandered. "Speak, Elder."

*

"I have received grants from Khâm Vân Ti for nearly twenty years," Húc Bá Nguyên said, his voice trembling with his own admission. "In the name of the sect development fund. I have never asked carefully about the source, because I believe — or rather, I want to believe — that it is just goodwill cooperation between two agencies serving the kingdom. I do not know, or do not want to know, the true price behind those supports."

He paused and took a deep breath before continuing. "But I remember that, about fifteen years ago, I received a request not to object to a special survey team passing through the foothills under the pretext of a routine inspection. I agreed without a second thought. If what Miss Sương discovered was true, perhaps my complacency contributed to the weakening of the battlefield around Vân Tiêu, making everything that happened afterward worse than it should have been."

*

The whole group was silent before that heavy confession. Thanh Việt was the first to speak, his voice could not hide the coldness. "What is the elder telling us this for? To ask for forgiveness before the truth is exposed publicly?"

"No," Húc Bá Nguyên replied, shaking his head. "I say this because you all deserve to know in advance, before entering a place where I myself don't know how many people like me have turned a blind eye in one way or another. I will personally present the whole thing to the council when you return, subject to whatever punishment the sect decides. I only ask that you be careful in Lệ Dương. If even an elder like me could be bribed so easily, I dread imagining how deeply the leader of that entire network has already planted it in the royal court."

*

Diệp Sương looked at him for a long time, the emotions in her heart more complicated than she had expected—not complete forgiveness, but no longer the pure anger of the days she had been detained awaiting trial. "I have taken note of what you said," she said at last, her voice calm. "And I hope that when you return, you will keep your promise."

Húc Bá Nguyên bowed his head low, did not say anything more, quietly stepped aside to let the group continue on their way.

*

The road down the mountain stretched through familiar slopes, where Diệp Sương had walked countless times during her years at Tông Vân Các, but this time each step carried a different weight, as if the journey had been only a prelude to the real road ahead.

Miên Trà walked next to her, occasionally looking up to see the trees change color with the seasons and trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere with a few small stories about Thâm Vụ Forest. Du Khinh quietly followed behind, his eyes always alert as he scanned both sides of the road. Tất Bá Kỳ and Chúc Nghi Lam walked in the middle of the group, occasionally chatting quietly about what might await them at the Khâm Vân Ti central archive.

The group of people — Diệp Sương, Thanh Việt, Tất Bá Kỳ, Chúc Nghi Lam, Miên Trà, Du Khinh — left Vân Tiêu Peak as soon as the sun rose, carrying Thư Khải Dương's letter, Tạ Vân Khê's notebook, and carrying an unshakable determination, heading straight towards the capital Lệ Dương, where the final truth was waiting to be revealed.