Chapter 9 — The Talisman Painter Who Guards the Village

The One Who Came Down the Mountain

News of the night when monsters attacked Tùng Lĩnh Village spread to Lam Thủy Town in just two days, brought by panicked people who ran to ask the government for help and buy more materials to reinforce their houses. But what made the story spread farther and faster than anyone in the village could have imagined was not the demon beast, but the story of a thirteen-year-old child who drew a life-saving charm with her bare hands in the middle of the chaos.

"It's not true," many people in Lam Thủy Town did not believe at first, thinking it was just an exaggerated rumor from frightened countryside people. But as more people from Tùng Lĩnh Village confirmed it, and when even the remains at the village gate — a strange scorched circle imprinted on the ground, unlike any mark one had ever seen from a normal town monument — were seen with their own eyes by a few passing merchants, the story began to be taken more seriously.

And then, five days after that fateful night, a lone horseman appeared at the beginning of Tùng Lĩnh Village, wearing a simple ash-gray shirt but sewn from a smooth fabric different from the rough fabric of the villagers, and on his shoulder was a long pen holder, carved with delicate scrolling rattan patterns.

*

"I am Tạ Vân Khê, elder of Tông Vân Các," the middle-aged woman briefly introduced when Chief Lý Đoài and a few elders in the village came to greet her at the gate. Her voice was calm but there was an indescribable majesty emanating from her standing posture, from her sharp eyes scanning the village gate still littered with traces of hasty repairs. "I received reports of an incident happening here. Please let me meet the person who committed the crime that night."

The whole village was in an uproar, no one had ever seen a person from Tông Vân Các in real flesh and blood in front of them, except for a few old people who vaguely remembered their visit more than twenty years ago.

Diệp Sương was called out, held Mrs. Chín Lài's hand tightly, and walked with shaky steps in front of the elder. She bowed her head, not knowing how to address herself, just mumbled: "My... my name is Diệp Sương."

Tạ Vân Khê looked at her, her expression thoughtful. "The sect does not usually accept disciples from villages like yours, but your talent is unusual. If you are willing to endure the training and the rules, I can recommend you."

"You were the one who cast the spell that night?" she asked.

"Yes... I'm not sure if I drew it correctly," Diệp Sương replied, her voice still shaking. "I just used my bare hand to dip in a puddle of ink on the ground. I didn't have a pen, so I don't remember what I drew."

Tạ Vân Khê was silent for a moment, then signaled one of the two disciples to follow her to bring a large cloth and several different ink bottles. "Then draw it for me, whatever you want, in whatever way feels most natural to you."

*

The interrogation lasted all afternoon until late at night. Tạ Vân Khê not only asked Diệp Sương to redraw the talisman that saved people that day, but also presented a series of different hypothetical situations - from as simple as inducing sleep to as complex as suppressing a ferocious creature - carefully observing each stroke of the pen, each way Diệp Sương mixed the genuine spirit ink she brought with her with the familiar homemade ingredients that she still used.

"Who did you learn to draw from?" she asked, after looking through more than a dozen test talismans.

"From Mr. Tám Mực," Diệp Sương replied, pointing to him standing nervously at the edge of the watching crowd. "He made paper and ink for the whole village. He learned a few spiritual talismans himself when he was young while doing business."

"Do you still remember the strokes you drew when you suppressed the demon beast?" Tạ Vân Khê continued asking, pointing to one of the talismans Diệp Sương had just drawn from memory. "I think it looks a bit like the official town talisman, but it lacks the two outer edges that any disciple of the sect is taught to have."

"I didn't mean to leave that part out," Diệp Sương replied, somewhat worried that she had done something wrong. "I just drew according to... the right feeling in my head at that time."

"Don't worry," Tạ Vân Khê said, her voice suddenly softer. "I don't blame you. I'm just trying to understand. Those two lines, in orthodox drawing, are used to lock the power of the talisman in one place, preventing it from spreading beyond the artist's will. You left it out—perhaps unintentionally—so your talisman spreads into a protective circle instead of affecting only a single point like a normal talisman does."

She stopped, her deep eyes looking at Diệp Sương as if trying to decode a complicated puzzle. "That's not wrong. It's a different approach, one I've never seen in any of the disciples I've evaluated in over twenty years of doing this job."

Tạ Vân Khê turned to look at Mr. Tám Mực, her eyes flashed with surprise and then turned to something almost guilty. She stepped forward, clasped her hands and bowed to him, a gesture that stunned both Mr. Tám Mực and the surrounding crowd.

"His teaching style is not orthodox, but it is strangely correct," she said. "You have preserved for this child the most important root that many of our orthodox disciples, despite their formal education, can still lose: drawing spells comes from compassion, not from pure technique."

Mr. Tám Mực bowed his head, his voice choked and unable to speak, his old eyes sparkled with something both proud and bitter - as if his own unfinished dream had now finally found another form to complete.

*

Diệp Sương stood quietly, even though she did not dare to look directly at the elders, and listened to every word of the discussion.

"I want to accept your granddaughter as a disciple of the Tông Vân Các," Tạ Vân Khê said frankly, without beating around the bush. "Her talent is rare, even rarer than the initial reports describe. If properly trained, she could become one of the best spellcasters of her generation."

Mrs. Chín Lài was silent for a long time, her hands tightening her shirt, her eyes looking down at the ground.

"She's still young," she said at last, her voice hoarse with suppressed emotion. "She's all I have."

"I understand," Tạ Vân Khê replied, her voice softened compared to the original majesty. "I won't force it. The decision is up to you and her. But I want you to understand one thing: if this gift isn't properly channeled, it's not only wasted, it's dangerous—for her and possibly for those around her. You've seen what happens when she has to draw with pure, uncontrolled instinct in the middle of a panic attack. Next time, if there is a next time, the cost may not stop at just one injured person."

That statement was like a knife cutting into Mrs. Chín Lài's heart, because she knew, no matter how painful, it was the undeniable truth.

She sat silently for a long time, then finally raised her head, her eyes determined even though her voice was still shaking. "I need to ask her first. This is her life, not mine." Tạ Vân Khê nodded, respecting that answer more than anything she expected from a country healer. "I'll wait until tomorrow morning."

Outside the door, Diệp Sương stood silently in the dark, listening to the entire conversation, her heart filled with a million thoughts - both excited at a big door opening, and painful at the thought of having to leave the only place she had ever called home, away from the only woman who had ever called her child.

She quietly left the door, went out to the yard, sat down on the steps, and looked up at the starry night sky. A moment later, she heard footsteps, turned around, and saw Tạ Vân Khê had walked out and was standing a few steps away, quietly looking up at the same sky.

"You heard everything, right?" she finally spoke, without turning back.

"Yes," Diệp Sương replied softly, not daring to deny.

"So what do you think?" Tạ Vân Khê asked, her voice no longer carrying the majesty of an appraisal elder, but almost the voice of someone who truly wanted to listen.

Diệp Sương was silent for a long time, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her shirt as she tried to sort out the confused thoughts in her head. "I'm scared," she finally said honestly. "I'm afraid to leave Mrs. Chín Lài, Mr. Tám Mực, and the whole village. But I'm also afraid that if I don't go, and something happens that I cannot deal with, I won't be able to forgive myself."

"That's a much more mature answer than your age," Tạ Vân Khê commented, finally turning to look at her with rare gentleness. "I won't push you to make a decision tonight. But I want you to know that whether you choose to stay or leave, no one will blame you for that choice. Only you know what is right for you."

She turned and walked away, leaving Diệp Sương alone in the middle of the night yard, the starlight reflected in her watery eyes as she looked up at the distant Vân Tiêu Peak, where her fate had probably begun to be written long before tonight, from the morning dew that had not yet cleared when an old paper maker put a brush in the hand of a six-year-old child.