In the green rain curtain, Cheng Yan's oil-paper umbrella had a hole.
The cold rain slid down the umbrella ribs, leaving dark traces on his white-washed green shirt. The left hand is protecting the bundle in his arms, and the knuckles of the right hand clenching the handle of the umbrella are turning white - the bundle is wrapped with half of a remnant inkstone picked up last night, and is now emitting abnormal heat through the burlap.
