Hong Lao was taken aback.
The fingers pinching the bait paused slightly, and the cloudy eyeballs finally shifted from the motionless float, slowly turning to look at Fang Qingyu who was sitting on the low stool.
The old face, etched with the ravages of time, first showed a slight start, then the corners of the mouth uncontrollably spread to the sides, revealing a smile tinged with a sense of helplessness.
"Cough, cough..." He cleared his throat, seemingly trying to suppress his laughter, but his voice still carried an unmistakable hint of amusement, "You don't need to kill them all."
The old man leisurely lifted the hook from the murky water, then slowly attached new bait, his actions imbued with a nearly stubborn focus.
"Gods themselves are not important." Hong Lao's voice returned to calm, as if recounting an ancient axiom, "What's important is the 'Power' they carry."
The fishing line once again sliced through the air with a slight sound, diving into the water surface.
