A Record of Hidden Mysteries and True Affection

I gripped my wolf-hair brush, focusing my energy in my fingertips. The cinnabar-red tip gleamed as it swept across the yellow talisman paper with a soft rustle. A Demon-Quelling Talisman required a clear mind, but just as the brush drew the final stroke, a scene from twenty years ago flashed through my mind. In the dead of night, I had cowered in the corner of a ruined temple, the claws of a green-faced, fanged demon almost at my throat. Then Master Xuanxu had swept in on the wind, flicked his horsetail whisk, and unleashed a burst of golden light that tore the demon apart.

“A cultivator’s first duty is to help the world and save lives.” My master’s words echoed in my ears. I tightened my grip on the brush until my knuckles turned white, and a tiny spot of cinnabar bled across the paper like a drop of hot blood. That was right. All these years, I had kept watch over Qingxu Temple, exorcising evil, drawing talismans, and helping the villagers below the mountain overcome their troubles. I had never once stepped out of line. How could I possibly forget my master’s teachings?

I had just set the Demon-Quelling Talisman on the table to dry when the copper bell outside the window suddenly clanged wildly, shattering the peace of Qingxu Temple.

“Bang! Bang! Bang!”

Someone pounded on the temple gate with such force that the door panels trembled. A chorus of shouts followed, surging toward the entrance like boiling water.

“Open up! People from Qingxu Temple, come out!” “Hiding because you’re afraid to face us? What kind of cultivator uses evil arts to hurt people?” “Hand over the antidote! Or we’ll smash this dump to pieces!”