In the murky eyeballs, that glimmer of light was like a burnt-out candle, quickly dimming and returning to silence.
No disappointment, no regret.
He slowly reeled in the fishing rod, his movements becoming slow and hunched once more.
It was as if the burst of Power just now was a mere illusion.
The elderly man sat back on the small stool, carefully putting away the empty hook.
As if the thrilling battle from earlier had never happened.
Then, he picked up the open bait box beside the fishing rod, emitting a fishy sweet scent mixed with plant powder.
His withered fingers slowly stirring the segments of blood-red earthworms, gray-white powder, viscous honey-like substance, and tiny glowing crystals.
Seemingly pondering what formula to use next time.
Just as Fang Qingyu thought the elderly man was lost in the world of bait, forgetting the previous conversation.
Hong Qitian's aged, hoarse voice suddenly rang out again.
This time, he didn't look up.
