"Oh!" Xiaobao responded, and his speed of lifting the rod and organizing the line clearly picked up a beat.
Another three hundred rods later, Xiaobao felt like his two arms were no longer his own—hot, numb, and sore. The originally lightweight 12-foot rod seemed to weigh a thousand pounds.
"Another one hundred eighty rods left, don't lose heart! Once the warm-up is over, you'll get a ten-minute break!"
Zhang Yang's persistent presence came once more.
Forcing himself to finish the thousand rod warm-up, Xiaobao was no longer cocky. The second Zhang Yang announced the completion of a thousand, he directly tossed the rod onto the competitive stand, seizing the time to let his constantly tense arms rest.
"Warm-up's done, how do you feel?" Zhang Yang handed Xiaobao a bottle of Wahaha purified water, grinned, and asked.
"Tired! I never thought casting was such a burden when fishing before. I didn't realize intensive, high-frequency casting was this tiring! My arms are sore!"
