The late autumn wind, wrapped in chill, rolled across the asphalt road of the Martyrs Cemetery, making the white chrysanthemums on the wreaths on both sides rustle. Gu Yan was dressed in a pure black suit, standing tall and tall in the crowd, with just the right amount of sadness on his fair face, his eyes were slightly red, and the knuckles holding the black umbrella were glowing with a faint bluish white color - it was not a sign of sadness that caused him to exert force, but a subtle restraint under extreme calmness.
