Butterfly Valley.
It was as quiet and peaceful as ever. The sea of flowers, the lake, the grassland, the woods—everything remained unchanged.
At this moment, on the shore of the lake, an elderly man with white hair leaned against a sturdy willow tree, holding a fishing rod, intently focused on his fishing.
Suddenly, the float on the water's surface dipped sharply. The old man's spirits lifted, and he pulled upwards with force. A large fish, easily the length of an arm, was yanked ashore.
"What a great catch today!" the old man exclaimed, clearly pleased.
"Hm?"
But then, just as suddenly, the old man raised his eyebrows and looked up at the sky. A white figure had materialized out of thin air.
"Qin Feiyang?" he muttered. Are my eyes playing tricks on me?
The white-haired old man was stunned. He rubbed his eyes and looked again, his brow furrowing in surprise. The white figure was still there. This means I'm not just seeing things.
