After boarding the public bus, passengers, each armed with a black umbrella, scattered and took their seats. Li Changhe sat in the second-to-last row.
In the last row sat the black-garbed priest who had been the first to board the bus.
When Li Changhe looked his way, the black-garbed priest smiled, all his previous harsh energy from facing the old man gone.
He looked at the marks on Li Changhe's neck, a pitying expression on his face, "May the Lord forgive you."
"Father, are there difficulties you struggle to escape from as well?" Li Changhe asked quietly, fishing for information.
Regrettably, the priest shook his head and averted his gaze to the old man. One hand was clutching a silver cross at his chest, though his intentions were unclear.
From Lǐ Changhe's vantage point, he observed the bulging veins of the old man's arm as he clung to his walking stick.
