Tales of the Late Tang: Blade and Umbrella

Xu Zhen had read countless fortunes in his life and killed more than a few bandits.

He'd tell whether there would be meat to eat that day, which direction had fewer bandits, and whether a battle would go well. He was almost always right. So right that sometimes he felt this was probably all his life would ever amount to. Before heading beyond the frontier to chop wood, his comrades in the camp always came to see him. No one ever said the reason aloud, and he couldn't be bothered to ask.

After all, once the wood was chopped, someone had to be buried.

He'd been doing the job for ten years. The wooden handle of his shovel had grown slick and shiny from the sweat of his palms.

There was only one thing he hadn't predicted.

He never expected to receive a letter one day. The handwriting was steady, so steady it seemed the writer had never cried.

The letter said his father was dead.

It was written by the girl who'd argued with him ever since they were children. Her voice was always gentle and sweet, at least with everyone else.

He returned to Chang'an with just one question: Who killed him?

Xu Zhen knew that in this world, people didn't need a reason to kill, and the dead didn't need one either. Still, he wanted to ask.

Deep in an alley, the girl who used to follow at his heels, drawing copper coins, now stood beneath a white lantern, holding a white umbrella and a needle for examining corpses, waiting for him.