The forest light dimmed further with the setting sun, and the afterglow of the evening sun sprinkled on the lake, dyeing the slightly rippling water a golden hue.
Chen Zhou stared intently at the fishing float, deeply puzzled—where have all the fish gone today?
"Is it the wrong time?
Or have I been sticking to one fishing spot for too long and caught all the fish here?"
He pondered whether to change the bait or cook some barley to lure fish into the spot, hoping to save face in front of the two indigenous people.
Turning his head, Chen Zhou suddenly noticed that one of the indigenous people squatting by the lake was missing, leaving only his clothes and shoes on the ground.
"Where did he go?"
As he wondered about the indigenous people's movements, Chen Zhou seemed glued to his tackle box, his gaze uncontrollably drifting back to the fishing float.
Fishing, once you get into it, is hard to stop.
