In a corner of the vast land of China, there was an ancient mountain village named Qingping Village, hidden among the surrounding mountains. Time here seemed to be gently washed away by the stream of years, flowing in a simple and tranquil rhythm. The green shadows of the mountains were reflected in the stream in front of the village, and wisps of cooking smoke rose punctually from the scattered houses every day. In the fields, the villagers were sweating, sowing hope and harvesting simple happiness. However, this tranquility was suddenly broken at a certain unforeseen moment, like a calm lake suddenly whipped up by a storm.

There was a young lad in the village named Huwa, who was clever and bold. One day, as usual, he went into the mountains to chop firewood to add some to his home. When he stepped into the forest that was as familiar to him as his own backyard, he inexplicably felt a chill running up from the soles of his feet to the top of his head. The once-intermittent bird songs had disappeared without a trace, and the surrounding silence was so eerie that only the rustling sound of his feet stepping on the fallen leaves could be heard. He muttered to himself, quickening his pace towards the place where he usually chopped wood. But when he swung his axe at a dead tree, the tree snapped in the middle with a "crack", gushing out a thick, dark-brown liquid that gave off a putrid smell and splashed all over him. Huwa was terrified and dropped his axe, scrambling and tumbling down the mountain.

At the same time, strange things were happening frequently in other parts of the village. Early in the morning, when the peasant woman Ahua got up to feed the chickens, she found that all the chickens in the coop were lying listlessly on the ground. Their usually bright combs had become dull and lifeless, and their eyes were filled with fear. No matter how much Ahua tried to shoo them, they no longer jumped around as lively as before. Even more strangely, the village well, which had always been clear and sweet and was the source of life for the whole village, had a layer of greenish scum floating on the surface overnight. When one got closer and smelled it, the stench was so pungent that it made people gag.

These bizarre phenomena occurred one after another, casting a shadow over the entire Qingping Village, and the villagers were plunged into deep panic. They gathered together, looking at each other blankly, their eyes full of helplessness and fear, and they all guessed that it was a punishment from heaven, yet they didn't know where they had offended the gods.

Just when everyone was in a state of constant anxiety, a young Taoist priest in a Taoist robe arrived gracefully. He was tall and straight, with a handsome face and deep eyes like an abyss, exuding an otherworldly temperament. This was Taoist Qingxuan. Taoist Qingxuan had been cultivating in a deep mountain Taoist temple since childhood, studying Taoist classics, and had profound attainments in the principles of yin and yang, the five elements and the eight trigrams. He was even more proficient in various esoteric techniques. This time, he was traveling down the mountain and happened to pass by Qingping Village.

Seeing the villagers so distressed, Taoist Qingxuan felt a surge of compassion. He looked around the village with a solemn expression, sometimes closing his eyes and calculating with his fingers, and sometimes squatting down to observe those strange signs. After a long while, he slowly stood up, faced the crowd, and said in a calm yet authoritative voice, "Don't panic, everyone. This is caused by the harassment of evil spirits. These evil spirits, due to the accumulation of grudges, escaped from the underworld, trying to stir up trouble in the mortal world, sucking the yang energy of the living and disrupting the peaceful world."

Hearing these words, the villagers were so frightened that they knelt down one after another, kowtowing repeatedly and begging Taoist Qingxuan to save them. Taoist Qingxuan slightly raised his hand to signal everyone to get up, his eyes showing firmness. "Don't worry, everyone. As a disciple of the Taoist sect, it is my duty to protect the common people. There is a way now that may resolve this calamity." With that, he took out his writing brushes, ink, paper and inkstone from his travel bag and placed them on the stone table at the entrance of the village.

Taoist Qingxuan washed his hands and burned incense, then picked up a writing brush, dipped it fully in cinnabar, and the tip of the brush danced like a dragon on the yellow paper. He chanted incantations as he wrote, and with each stroke, it seemed to carry tremendous power. The talismans on the paper gradually revealed mysterious and ancient patterns, seemingly containing the mysteries of heaven and earth. These talismans were of various shapes, some winding and twisting like lively snakes, some strong and forceful like majestic mountains, and the runes on them flickered with a faint red light, as if they had a spirit.

After finishing drawing the talismans, Taoist Qingxuan personally distributed them one by one into the hands of the villagers, and solemnly instructed, "Everyone, these talismans are formed by gathering the righteous qi of heaven and earth and the spiritual power of Taoism. Be sure to wear them close to your body and never take them off. They can protect you all around and dispel the evil qi of the evil spirits." The villagers treasured them as if they were precious jewels, carefully tucking the talismans into their bosoms, their eyes full of gratitude and awe.

Since that day, the atmosphere in Qingping Village remained tense, but the villagers had a glimmer of hope in their hearts. They strictly followed Taoist Qingxuan's instructions and wore the talismans day and night. At first, there were still strange noises coming from the village from time to time, as if the evil spirits were growling unwillingly, but the red light of the talismans would always flicker slightly at such times, warding off those evil qi.

As time passed slowly, the strange things in the village became fewer and fewer. The forest regained its former vitality, with melodious bird songs and gurgling streams; the chickens in the coop started scratching the ground cheerfully again, clucking non-stop; and the well became clear and bottomless once more. When you scooped up a handful of water, it was sweet and refreshing. A few months later, Qingping Village was already safe and sound, and the shadow that had once hung over it had completely dissipated. The sun shone brightly on this land again without reservation.

The villagers knew well that it was the talismans brought by Taoist Qingxuan that had protected them and saved the whole village. To express their gratitude, every year after the autumn harvest, the villagers would spontaneously gather together, bringing the best grains, fruits and vegetables from their homes, and go to the Taoist temple where Taoist Qingxuan was to give thanks.

The Taoist temple was located on the mountainside behind the village, surrounded by clouds and mist, like a fairyland. The villagers walked along the winding mountain path, chatting and laughing all the way, their hearts full of anticipation for the future. When they saw Taoist Qingxuan, they knelt down one after another to pay their respects, with tears glistening in their eyes.

An old man with white hair and a wrinkled face, representing the villagers, said, "Taoist priest, if it weren't for you, our Qingping Village might no longer exist. The talismans you bestowed upon us were like the protection of the gods, allowing us to survive that disaster. We, the whole village, will remember this great kindness and never forget it from generation to generation."

Taoist Qingxuan quickly stepped forward to help the old man up, a gentle smile on his face. "Dear villagers, please get up quickly. Eliminating demons and protecting the common people is our duty as Taoists. Seeing that you are now living and working in peace and contentment, I am also deeply gratified."

After that, the friendship between Qingping Village and Taoist Qingxuan grew even deeper. This story about dispelling disasters with talismans was passed down from generation to generation in the village, becoming the most precious memory in the villagers' hearts. During every festival, the Taoist temple would always be filled with the smell of incense offered by the villagers. The curling wisps of smoke seemed to tell the intricate connections between people and Taoism, between the mortal world and the fairyland, and also let the compassion and wisdom of Taoism flow on in this ancient land.