At noon, the scorching sun bathed down, bathing the Xujiahui Church in sunlight and giving it a sacred feeling.
In the sunlight, the two crosses at the top of the Gothic-style church sparkled; plate-shaped reliefs resembling a Roman clock from afar, were complex and gorgeous; many stone sculptures similar to the Saint Heir and God on the roof and the outer walls, appeared pure and peaceful.
Outside the church, devout followers, there due to the arrival of Saint Monica, still waited at the door.
In the church, including Susan, the devout followers still participated in the Mass presided over by the Archbishop with sincere faces.
The first room under the Holy Cross on the top floor of the church.
Saint Monica's white robe and face veil had long since been taken off, and the divine glow from her body had faded away.
At this moment, she was like a satisfied kitten, curled up in Chen Fan's arms.