The wind and snow sway, the crowd surges like waves.
On the vast square, a dense mass of people.
Countless black umbrellas, seemingly creating an alternative space, with the heavy snow falling on the covers, never ceasing since the beginning.
The heavens and earth mourn together, with wisps of blue smoke rising.
The funeral bell tolls mournfully.
There stands the elder Li Jicen, his temples graying, his deputy on the topmost step, overlooking Chen Yang from on high.
As a foremost figure in the temple, he lacks any overbearing or arrogant demeanor.
Instead, he appears kindly and cultured.
If not aware of his identity beforehand, one's first impression would be of an old professor or a neighborly old man.
The funeral hall is to his left.
At this moment, he remains silent, simply staring at Chen Yang.
