The middle-aged man, though dressed plainly, looked extremely imposing with his thick eyebrows and broad mouth. In his hand, he held a straight, glossy fishing rod, inlaid with gold where he gripped it. He sat on a comfortable bamboo couch, and beside it was a black lacquered food box decorated with gold. Even through the box, Henry Thompson could smell the aroma of the food inside, making his mouth water uncontrollably. It took great effort for him to tear his eyes away from the food box.

Truly, comparison is the thief of joy. Henry Thompson looked at his own extremely simple fishing rod, then at the other man's gold-inlaid one. If he sold that rod, it would probably be enough to feed him for a year. This made him feel a bit resentful, so he couldn't be bothered to look for another fishing spot and simply sat down ten feet to the left of the other man. Besides, he hadn't eaten for two days, and the walk just now had left him dizzy and faint. He really didn't have the strength to go any further.

Henry Thompson didn't rush to cast his line. Instead, he pulled up some wild grass that hadn't completely withered from the ground, as well as some reeds from the riverbank. He then picked up a stone and smashed these things, finally kneading them into a ball and tossing it into the water. This was called "baiting the spot." Normally, using fish bait would be best, but unfortunately Henry Thompson had none, so he could only use wild grass. It was better than nothing.

"Kid, why are you throwing grass into the river instead of fishing properly?" At that moment, the middle-aged man sitting under the willow tree suddenly turned his head and asked. Only then did Henry Thompson notice that, although the man was sitting, it was clear he was very tall and sturdy. Especially with the fishing rod in his hand, he gave the impression of holding a sword or saber, exuding a murderous aura. He didn't look like an ordinary person.

"Sorry, uncle, I'm baiting the spot with grass. If I've disturbed you, please forgive me!" Henry Thompson replied politely. After all, they were sitting so close together, and the commotion from baiting the spot could easily scare the fish. Plus, judging by the man's intimidating appearance, he might be a gangster from the Tang Dynasty. Henry Thompson had no desire to provoke such a person.

"Baiting the spot?" The imposing middle-aged man was quite curious about this new term. He seemed to want to ask more but held back. Henry Thompson didn't bother to explain further; after all, they weren't acquainted, and he really didn't have the energy to talk.

Henry Thompson then threaded an earthworm onto his hook. The middle-aged man beside him was once again stunned, as it was the first time he'd seen someone hang so many hooks on a single fishing line. But he quickly showed a look of disdain. He'd been fishing for many years—though not very skilled, he was at least experienced. He'd never heard of this young man's fishing method before. He figured the kid was just trying to be clever, thinking that more hooks meant more fish. But how could things be that simple?

With that thought, the middle-aged man lost interest in watching Henry Thompson and focused on his own fishing.

"Gurgle~ gurgle~" But to his surprise, just as he turned his head, he heard a strange sound coming from nearby. He looked around and realized the noise was coming from Henry Thompson's direction.

At this moment, Henry Thompson was staring intently at his fishing float, but his flushed face betrayed him. The sound was actually coming from his empty stomach. He'd only had a few sips of cold water earlier to stave off hunger, but now he was even hungrier, and his stomach was rumbling like a rebellion. He even discovered that his stomach had a musical talent—the rumbling was rhythmic, like a drumbeat, making one want to get up and dance to it.

Fishing is supposed to be a quiet activity, but with Henry Thompson's stomach drumming away, the middle-aged man grew more and more irritated. His good mood was completely ruined. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. He simply took a roast chicken from his food box and tossed it onto the grass beside Henry Thompson, saying, "Eat it. Once you're done, be quiet for a while and stop disturbing my fishing!"

When you're starving and a roast chicken suddenly lands in front of you, it's probably the happiest feeling in the world. But when that roast chicken is tossed over as if in charity, and the other person looks at you like a beggar, it's hard to take.

Dignity or life—though life seems more precious, many would rather choose the former. So Henry Thompson, with a look of righteous resolve, retorted, "A gentleman does not eat..." As he said this, his eyes inadvertently swept over the glistening roast chicken, and his mouth involuntarily filled with saliva, which he swallowed loudly. His voice immediately lost its confidence as he continued, "...does not eat food given in contempt!"

"Oh~ I didn't expect you to be a man of principle, a scholar even. But if you could say that without swallowing your saliva, you'd seem even more dignified!" The middle-aged man couldn't help but tease when he saw Henry Thompson acting all righteous while clearly starving. Henry Thompson tried hard not to turn his head toward the man, to avoid embarrassment and, more importantly, to keep from drooling at the sight of the roast chicken.

However, the middle-aged man had now taken an interest in him. Seeing that Henry Thompson was ignoring him, he put down his fishing rod, walked over, bent down, picked up the roast chicken from the ground, and handed it over, saying, "Kid, I was wrong just now. Now I'm formally inviting you to eat. How about it?"