Chen Siyao looked at the scrolling comments, then at Chen Hao's stiff back, laughing herself silly inside while keeping her face perfectly innocent. Yang Wanqing could no longer hold it in. She leaned over the railing, her shoulders shaking.
Chen Hao stood by the gunwale, fishing rod in hand, his face expressionless. But that face of his—the one that never changed, that would remain calm even if a mountain collapsed before him—had gone stiff.
How dare they!
Enough was enough. There was no need to put up with this anymore!
He closed his eyes, and his divine sense reached down like water. The sea was clear, and sunlight penetrated a dozen meters below the surface, illuminating the sand, rocks, and schools of fish beneath.
There were plenty of fish, but none were large. Even the biggest weighed only two or three jin. His divine sense continued stretching farther out, and deeper beneath the boat, he sensed a big one.
It was huge. It swam slowly along the seabed, its body streamlined, its back dark blue and its belly silvery white.
A bluefin tuna. At a glance, it weighed over three hundred jin.
Without giving anything away, Chen Hao used his divine sense to guide the hook toward it. He steered it through the seawater, past the schools of fish, and precisely to the tuna's mouth. Then—he yanked hard.
The line snapped taut, and the rod bent into a bow. The reel's drag let out a shrill whine as line tore out at a frantic pace.
"He's got one!" Yang Wanqing cried out first.
The women all hurried over to watch. Chen Hao held the rod, leaning back slightly, the muscles in his arms tensing. The line cut a white streak across the sea. The fish struggled with tremendous strength, but