The snow had not stopped falling.
A bone-chilling wind swept through the mortal realm.
Chen Yang knelt, letting the white snow cover his head. In the eyes of countless onlookers, he remained as resolute and unyielding as ever, his domineering aura undiminished by the years.
Everyone else couldn't help but kneel as well.
This scene seemed normal enough, yet it stirred a maelstrom in the hearts of many, an unspoken shock and horror.
Wherever I, Chen Yang, am, I face the wind and snow head-on; no one else may hold an umbrella here.
I kneel. Who dares to stand?
I expect this funeral to be shown the respect it deserves. Anyone wearing brightly colored clothes will either take them off on the spot, get out, or die.
That was all there was to it.
...
Because of Chen Yang's forceful intervention, many who had come with ulterior motives ultimately fell silent, respectfully following the procession to see the Great Elder off.
