Meanwhile, Shangjing City, Chang'an Ancient Street.
The riverbank in the deep of night had long lost the bustle of daytime.
The dim streetlights stretched the shadows of the willows long onto the silent stone-paved road, and the river flowed silently, reflecting distant neon lights from tall buildings and a few scattered stars.
Hong Qitian still sat on his worn-out small stool.
His murky old eyes were half-closed, with the fishing rod slanting on the stand, as if it merged with the night, becoming a frozen stone sculpture by the river.
Suddenly, the light and shadow beside him twisted ever so slightly.
A middle-aged man, dressed in a washed-out coarse cloth jacket spotted with fresh mud, with pants legs rolled high revealing strong calves, appeared silently on the riverside beside him, as if he grew out of the ground.
