The Tale of the Umbrella

At three minutes to midnight, the vault guards in the rainstorm saw a green bamboo umbrella. The moment the umbrella bone turned, eighteen coins broke through the air and were precisely embedded in their danzhong points. When the black shadow swept over the eaves, a note floated out from the treasury of Yangzhou's richest man: “Take 8,000 taels of silver and exchange it for half a month's gruel for the starving people in three counties.”

This is the third time this month that the “Qing Fu Client” has made a move. The governor clutched the wet coins left at the scene and suddenly laughed out loud: “Prepare a sedan chair and go visit Shenji Satin Shop.”

The backyard of the satin shop, I rubbed the armrests of the wheelchair, look at the governor lifted the car of rain-soaked satin - the bottom of the wooden box is still stained with the official silver characteristic of vermilion sand seal. “Boss Shen's goods, how could they be soaked with rainwater?” The governor's fingertips traced over my crippled legs, suddenly lifting the blanket.

The empty pants swayed in the wind.

“Your Honor is joking.” I coughed and pointed to the green umbrella under the eaves, “How does a cripple fly?”

The real killers that night were at the City Temple. I wore a bronze mask and pushed open the merit box, but I saw that the silver that should have been distributed to the victims was piled up at the feet of the temple priest. Nine black-clothed dead soldiers leapt down from the beam, and the light of their swords reflected the governor's grim smile, “The green-footed guest has really come.”

Umbrella handle spinning out of the thin edge, I smelled the wind in the scent of acacia flowers - this is the flavor of the childhood home. Seven years ago, the Shen family refused to bribe the Salt Transportation Commissioner, was accused of banditry that night, the courtyard old acacia is also the same rustling flowers.

“Take from the rich and give back to the poor.” I cut the throat of the last person, but the mask was swept away by the wind of the sword. The temple priest who was about to silence me suddenly froze: “Shen... Miss Shen?”

I wasn't the only one who crawled out of the fire back then. When the old housekeeper stuffed the ten year old me into the dry well, he was still carrying half a copy of the Heavenly Worker's Umbrella Record in his arms. At this moment, the temple priest trembled as he tore off his human skin mask, revealing the right side of his burnt face - the very same mute servant who had taught me to build the organ umbrella!

“The account book left by the master...” He spat blood foam and pointed at the Buddha statue, and behind him the pursuers' torches were already approaching. I turned the umbrella mechanism, and the rainstorm turned into silver needles and shot at the pursuers, but when I caught a glimpse of the leader, I was chilled to the bone.

On the saddle of the Salt Transportation Minister's son was a string of familiar acacia wood beads - a chain I had personally carved for my brother to ward off evil spirits.

“Sister?” The young man's sword stopped an inch short of my throat. The merit box suddenly popped open, revealing a yellowed account book, with the evidence of the Salt Transportation Envoy's embezzlement clearly visible. My brother's sword began to tremble, while the soldiers behind him drew their bows and crossbows.

The bamboo umbrella blossomed into a lotus flower in the rain, and I threw out the last three coins to shoot down the crossbow arrows. My brother suddenly stabbed the Salt Commissioner in the throat with his backhand, splashing blood on the cover of the account book: “The ghosts of the Shen family are watching you!”

On the fifth day of the night, the governor died violently in his bedroom, with a rusty coin stuck in his heart. In the congee hut in the south of the city, the starving people spread a new myth: there is a pair of chivalrous robbers who specialize in robbing the rich and ungrateful, and where the coin passes through, the withered wood springs to life.

I pushed my wheelchair over the copper coins in the rain, and the handle of my umbrella was newly engraved with a small line: “The green money flew away and flew back again, and blood debts must be repaid in blood.” My brother laughed softly on the eaves, the acacia wood beads between his wrists clashed with the umbrella's bone mechanism, like an unfinished requiem.