Wei Wuxian lowers his flute, quirking up his brows. "Mm, not necessary. It'll be gone come morning anyway." Bathed in blood for an evening was unpleasant, but also not the worst when it was a passing sort of illusion. Not the right terming for it, perhaps, but whatever magic fueled the lukewarm rain would return the world to rights within a handful and some of hours.

He pats the log being used as a seat, with the banked fire at their backs. Looking out into the rain and to where the ghost army camps, he clucks his tongue. "An umbrella, that's what we're lacking in abundance. Let's see about making a few, ah? That would be useful!"