Chapter 95 — The Talisman Painter Who Guards the Village

Return to Tùng Lĩnh

The trail leading down to Tùng Lĩnh Village still winds through familiar hillsides, although both sides of the road are now shaded by trees much taller than in Diệp Sương's memories. She walked slowly, letting each step absorb the feeling of returning, after many years of only being able to convey nostalgia through short letters.

The smell of dried straw, the smell of young mud from newly planted fields, the smell of afternoon kitchen smoke wafting from distant rooftops - all rushed into her at the same time, awakening a layer of memories that had been dormant for a long time under the busy years in Tông Vân Các and the long trips. There was the idly barking of a dog somewhere, the sound of children playing in the fields, simple sounds that she never realized how much she missed until she set foot back.

"It's just like what you told me," Thanh Việt said, walking next to her, his eyes following the thatched roofs looming behind the bamboo groves at the beginning of the village. "Much more peaceful than I imagined the place that gave birth to someone as strong as you."

*

The news of the return trip had already spread to the village thanks to the sect's messenger, so when the group appeared at the beginning of the village, almost the whole village had gathered and waited, cheers rang out loudly. At the head of the crowd was an old woman with a small figure but still a straight back. Her eyes had become dim over the years but her gaze was still as sharp as ever.

"Grandma," Diệp Sương exclaimed, rushing forward, kneeling down in front of Mrs. Chín Lài, tears rolling down uncontrollably.

*

Mrs. Chín Lài raised her trembling hand to touch her hair, her voice choked even though she tried to maintain her familiar stern look. "You're home," she said, just that, but each word contained an ocean of unspoken things over the years of separation.

"I'm sorry for making you wait so long," Diệp Sương said, squeezing her hand.

"Don't apologize," Mrs. Chín Lài replied, her voice steady again. "You did exactly as I told you to do - if you cast a spell to save someone, you'll save them. I don't want anything more than that."

*

Mr. Tám Mực stood behind, his figure completely bent down compared to the image Diệp Sương remembered, his hand holding an old bamboo stick. When she came, he just quietly opened his arms, not saying a word, just letting the rare tears of a man who had spent his whole life quietly fall.

Diệp Sương hugged him tightly, feeling his thin shoulders trembling under the rough cloth shirt, the familiar smell of dried ink and bark paper still lingering on her body even though she had not worked as regularly as before for many years. She closed her eyes, letting that moment last a little longer, as if to make up for all the hugs he hadn't been able to give during the years of separation.

"I brought the inkstone all over Cửu Vân," Diệp Sương said, her voice choked, pulling the old inkstone from his pocket to show him, the small cracks and layers of wear over the years left traces of a long journey. "It has never left my side, not even for a day."

*

Mr. Tám Mực took the stone, tremblingly caressed each familiar stone pattern, then looked up at her, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I heard that you opened a teaching place for people like me in the past - talented but without opportunities." He stopped, took a deep breath. "I never dared to dream that one day such a place would exist, and I never dared to dream that you were the one who created it."

"I created it for you," Diệp Sương replied, holding his hand tightly. "Because I don't want another talented person to live her whole life with regret because of poverty, as you did."

*

The whole village gathered around, the elders asked questions, the children curiously crept closer to see with their own eyes the girl of the village who had climbed to the top of Vân Tiêu and had to confront the biggest conspiracy in Cửu Vân. In the middle of the crowd, two familiar figures stepped out, a burly young man with sawdust still on his hands and a gentle woman holding a small child in her arms.

"Mộc? Mận?" Diệp Sương exclaimed, unable to hide her joy when she recognized two childhood friends.

*

"You're home at last," Mộc said, although the smile on his lips betrayed his reproachful tone as he pulled her into a tight hug in his familiar straightforward manner. "Cái Mận and I have been married for three years, and our first child can already crawl."

Cái Mận, now a grown woman, gently held the baby close and smiled. "We named our child Sương to remember you, even though at that time we didn't know where you were on that long journey."

Diệp Sương hugged both friends, tears welled up again, this time they were tears of complete happiness that she had rarely had since the day she left the village for the first time.

*

*

Before it got completely dark, Diệp Sương stopped by the small Linh Căn temple at the beginning of the village, where villagers still worship and pray for Linh Mạch's peace every season. The temple still retains its simple appearance as in its memories, with only a few new layers of paint added and a few pots of wildflowers carefully tended by someone around the stone steps.

Chief Lý Đoài, now old and weak with white hair, walked with a cane to the temple gate to meet her, his voice trembling with age and emotion. "I still remember that when you were little, I saw your drawings as mere childish mischief," he said, his eyes full of regret. "I have been late too many times in my life—slow to believe and slow to act—causing my village to pay the price. Looking at you today, I only hope I have learned to react more quickly, even if it is too late to change who I am completely."

"The village is still peaceful, that's the most important thing," Diệp Sương replied, not wanting to deepen the regrets of a person who had spent his whole life shouldering responsibility that was not easy. "I think, changing slowly is better than never changing at all." Chief Lý Đoài nodded, his eyes following her for a long time before he turned back toward the temple, walking slowly but still retaining the remaining majesty of a man who had led an entire village for many years.

*

In the temple, Diệp Sương lit a stick of incense and knelt before the simple altar honoring the Linh Mạch branch flowing beneath the village, whispering a silent thank-you to the land that had nurtured her in her early years. She thought of her parents, who had never had the chance to see her grow up, and silently promised to keep that fire—not the fire of revenge, but the fire of understanding and healing—burning in her heart forever.

*

In the evening, the whole family gathered around the familiar fire in Mrs. Chín Lài's small house, where Diệp Sương had grown up. Flickering firelight reflected on the beloved faces, while kitchen smoke mixed with the smell of freshly cooked rice to create an atmosphere found nowhere else.

"Tell me everything," Mrs. Chín Lài said, sitting down next to her, her hands still mending an old shirt out of a habit of never stopping. "From start to finish—don't leave out a single detail."

*

Diệp Sương recounted the entire journey, from the day she left the village through her years in Tông Vân Các, exile, trial, and final battle at Khuyết Nguyên Abyss. Mrs. Chín Lài listened in silence, only occasionally nodding or sighing softly as her needle and thread continued to move.

When she told the part about her parents' real deaths, Mrs. Chín Lài put down the shirt she was mending and held Diệp Sương's hand tightly. "I've suspected that for a long time," she said, her voice low. "But I never had proof, and I didn't want to plant a hatred in your heart without a clear basis. Now that the truth is clear, I hope you can let go of some of that burden instead of letting it weigh you down even more."

*

"I've let go of most of it," Diệp Sương replied, resting her head on her grandmother's shoulder as she had in childhood. "Not because I forgot, but because I found a way to turn that pain into something useful—Quán Lai Mặc, new students, and a way to make sure no one else has to go through what I did." Mr. Tám Mực, sitting on the opposite side of the fire, nodded in agreement. "That's the difference between carrying a wound for life, and learning to let that wound become part of your strength."

*

That night, before going to sleep, Diệp Sương stood in front of the house and looked up at the familiar starry sky of Tùng Lĩnh Village, different from the light-filled sky of the capital Lệ Dương or the clear sky atop Vân Tiêu Peak. This was the sky she had first seen in her life—the sky of her first zigzag lines on tree bark, sleepless nights with Mrs. Chín Lài, and the childhood that had shaped the person she became.

Thanh Việt walked out and stood beside her, giving her a warm coat. "What are you thinking?" he asked softly.

"I'm thinking," she replied, smiling in the darkness, "that no matter how many places I've visited or how many great things I've witnessed, this place will always be my starting point and the most peaceful place in my heart. Perhaps that's the true meaning of calling somewhere home, no matter how far life's path takes us."

Thanh Việt wrapped her arms gently around his shoulders. The two stood quietly for a long time under the starry sky, listening to the chirping sounds of insects echoing from the field's edge, the sound of the wind blowing gently through the bamboo groves at the top of the village like a familiar lullaby from a long time ago.