Stronger with More Jobs

Hong Lao was taken aback.

The fingers pinching the bait paused slightly, and the cloudy eyeballs finally shifted from the motionless float, slowly turning to look at Fang Qingyu who was sitting on the low stool.

The old face, etched with the ravages of time, first showed a slight start, then the corners of the mouth uncontrollably spread to the sides, revealing a smile tinged with a sense of helplessness.

"Cough, cough..." He cleared his throat, seemingly trying to suppress his laughter, but his voice still carried an unmistakable hint of amusement, "You don't need to kill them all."

The old man leisurely lifted the hook from the murky water, then slowly attached new bait, his actions imbued with a nearly stubborn focus.

"Gods themselves are not important." Hong Lao's voice returned to calm, as if recounting an ancient axiom, "What's important is the 'Power' they carry."

The fishing line once again sliced through the air with a slight sound, diving into the water surface.

"Otherwise, even if you kill this batch, the cycle of heaven's rules will inevitably lead to new gods emerging sooner or later."

He then paused, his gaze still fixed on the water, as if speaking to the fish beneath the surface.

"The best method..." Hong Lao slowly uttered a few words with a worldly-wise air of an old fox, "Pull some in, beat some down, kill some."

After speaking, Hong Qitian finally turned his head again, looking Fang Qingyu up and down.

He let out a few short and hoarse chuckles.

"Cough, cough... you kid..."

He shook his head, his skinny fingers fiddling with the fishing rod, his cloudy gaze still fixed on the unmoving float on the water.

"You've broken through to be a Martial Artist, yet your temper hasn't changed..."

Fang Qingyu listened, his gaze also shifting from the murky river water to Hong Qitian's timeworn side profile.

The river wind blew by, carrying the smell of water and the distant faint noise of the bustling city.

"Do you want me to change?" Fang Qingyu's voice was light, as if asking the old man, and also asking himself.

Hong Qitian's hand holding the fishing rod did not move at all.

The cloudy eyes reflected the murky water.

He neither nodded nor shook his head, and did not speak.

As if Fang Qingyu's question, like the float, was just an insignificant ripple on the water's surface.

Silence flowed by the riverside, with only the faint sound of the murky river water gently lapping against the stone bank.

After a long while.

Just when Fang Qingyu thought the old man would not answer, or had simply forgotten the earlier question.

Hong Qitian's ancient voice rang out again, plain and indifferent, as if casually chatting about the weather.

"How does it feel to enter the 'Abyss'?"

Fang Qingyu's gaze returned to the bottomless murky water.

The violent electric light of Thunderstorm Cloud Sea, the absolute silence of Eternal Silence Abyss, the desperate fleeing like an ant horde, the desolate wail of Abyssal Level Life Ghost falling, the bloody battle within the ruins passage, the glint of blades during the core struggle, and those whom at the bottom levels of the stronghold decisively stepped into the land of death for a slim hope...

Countless fragments of images flashed quickly through his mind.

Finally, they resolved into a formless chaos.

Fang Qingyu pondered for a while, then slowly opened his mouth, uttering four words:

"A bit chaotic."

This was his truest and most condensed feeling after living in that bizarre and perilous world for a month.

"In reality." Fang Qingyu's voice was calm, like stating an objective fact, "Although the Life Ghosts cause havoc, at least the ordinary people's lives still maintain order, laws still exist, and life can go on."

"Inside the Abyss..."

Fang Qingyu paused, as if searching for a more fitting description.

"It's like a refugee camp barely set up with a few shacks after a wasteland. The so-called stronghold, the so-called order, are but rules set by those with the hardest fists and the fastest blades. Killing and treasure snatching, the survival of the fittest, backstabbing... there, what would get you jailed or beheaded in reality happens routinely."

"Living is the greatest order. Everything else... is bullshit."

After Fang Qingyu finished speaking, he fell silent.

The murky river water still flowed slowly, reflecting the grayish sky.

At this moment.

The seemingly motionless fishing rod in Hong Qitian's hand, and the fine silk of the float at its tip, suddenly plunged downward!

The motion was extremely abrupt, the force so strong that the seemingly ordinary, old bamboo fishing rod in Hong Qitian's hand instantly bent into a breathtakingly perfect arc!

The rod emitted a strained "creaking" groan from the pressure!

"It's a bite!"

Hong Qitian's cloudy eyes suddenly shone with a hint of brightness.

His skinny arm muscles instantly swelled, as steady as a rock.

With a sudden flick of his wrist, a supple yet overwhelmingly irresistible force traveled down the fishing line.

Then he began to reel in the line with skill and composure, his actions possessing a unique rhythm.

The fishing line tightened, violently pulling left and right underwater, creating hurried white waves.

Clearly, the one that bit was not a small fish.

Fang Qingyu's gaze was also drawn to it.

Hong Qitian held his breath, focusing, his arm steadily wrestling with the power underwater.

The veins on the back of his skinny hand jutted out like the gnarled roots of an ancient tree.

That strength, not something an ordinary old man could possess.

Finally, the struggling force underwater seemed to have exhausted itself.

Hong Qitian gave a sharp lift to the rod!

Splahhh——!

Water splashed everywhere!

A silver shadow burst from the water, tracing a temporary arc in the dim light of the sky.

Fang Qingyu fixed his gaze.

The hook emerged from the water.

On it, there was nothing at all.

Only a single drop of murky water, following the curve of the hook, slowly dripped down, striking the stones on the riverbank, splattering into a small, deeper stain.

Hong Qitian maintained the posture of lifting the rod, staring at the empty hook.