Looking at the calm lake surface, he felt his own emotions also gradually stabilize.
"Hey, got a bite." A man's voice came from upstream.
Vincent turned his head and saw an old Mexican man stand up, gripping the fishing rod with both hands, reeling in the line.
It looked like he had caught a fish.
The old Mexican man even glanced back at Vincent.
In Vincent's eyes, it was a blatant boast. How could he endure that?
It's just a fish, isn't it? As if nobody else could do the same.
Vincent wasn't about to show weakness, either; he started to fish more diligently.
After a while, the float suddenly sank, and Vincent pulled the rod while shouting, "Fish on!"
Vincent yanked up the rod, catching a small fish the size of a palm, which, although small, was better than nothing.
Vincent tossed the small fish into the basket, baited the hook again, and cast the line back into the river.
Vincent glanced at the old Mexican man and muttered quietly, "Even now."
