It rained heavily on the day the master died.
Almost everyone in the county came out. They joined the crowd silently, holding bright red umbrellas in their hands, as if adding red makeup to the rainy night.
Big raindrops slapped on the bright red umbrella, seeming to be mixed with the smell of blood.
I couldn't figure it out. In my impression, the master was just an ordinary little old man who worked in a mental hospital. How could he have so many people holding umbrellas at his funeral? The procession stretched for ten miles.
I am the master's only grandson. Even though I am not a relative, I still took over the master's class and became the new watchman of the mental hospital without any skills.
Then……
