Archbishop An Lin stepped forward and placed a cloak over Chen Changsheng's shoulders.
Time slowly passed. The snowstorm showed no signs of slackening, and actually intensified, transforming Wenshui City into a vast expanse of white and causing the temperature to rapidly drop.
The layer of snow on the umbrella grew thicker and thicker, but Chen Changsheng's grip on the umbrella remained steady, not trembling in the slightest.
He naturally had no intention of leaving.
The dark papal robe, the white cloak, and the shabby umbrella formed a very pleasing sight.
But as they saw this, the people of both the Orthodoxy and the Tang clan grew more and more concerned.
A tense atmosphere gradually settled around the old estate. Even the hill behind it became somewhat chilling and threatening.
At present, still no one was able to confirm what Chen Changsheng was truly thinking.
