Put away the catch, and the two woven bags were almost full again. In the morning, they had already put two bags on the car. The new spot that Boss skipped class to find really seemed pretty good—plenty of fish, and dumb ones at that, just biting the hook nonstop.

Speaking of the joy of fishing, it’s in the fishing, not the fish. But if you get both the fishing and the fish, then the fun is naturally even greater. When he sat back down, Victor Smith had just baited a hook and was about to cast the line when he saw Chad Bennett, who wasn’t picky about food, reach out and grab a piece of bait, tossing it into his mouth and chewing on it. Victor Smith couldn’t help but laugh and cry at the sight, and reminded him, “Bennett, don’t fight the fish for the bait. Boss said this is special dough bait for tilapia and bighead carp.”

“This stuff is delicious, even better than Want Want rice crackers. It’s a waste to give it to the fish.” Chad Bennett smacked his lips, savoring the taste, and after chewing, kept moving his jaw as if he still wanted more. When he reached for another piece, Victor Smith snatched it away. Junior kicked over another kind of bait and teased, “If you’re so tough, eat this one.”

It was yellow and sticky, bait for carp and grass carp. Chad Bennett saw it and got annoyed, shouting, “That’s wet cow dung bait, don’t think I don’t know. Gimme the other one.”

Of course, Chad Bennett wasn’t falling for it. He leaned over and tussled with Victor Smith for the bait. Victor Smith could never out-grab this Brother Chad, and in the end, Brother Chad ate quite a bit more of the fragrant fish bait. This was bad—before noon even arrived, they were running low on bait. BossDan Brooks was very picky about making bait, never making much of each kind, but all of it worked well. Most of what they’d caught overnight were grass carp and carp; as for tilapia, bighead carp, and the big whitebait unique to the Zhangze Reservoir, they hadn’t caught any big ones. Now there was no way to fish for them—the bait had been eaten up by Chad Bennett, leaving only the wet cow dung and live earthworm bait untouched.

After complaining a bit, Victor Smith had just cast the rod and adjusted the float when, as he sat down, he happened to look back and was startled, nervously pulling Chad Bennett to look as well.

What was it? A car was coming. The three of them had taken a shortcut over the mountain from the secondary road, and there was a simple road along the dam, built years ago for flood control and sandbag transport. The area was fenced off with posts and wire by the reservoir, so it was rare to see anyone around. But now, three vehicles appeared in sight, and as they got closer, they saw an old jeep. At that, the two of them immediately ducked their heads and instinctively started reeling in their rods.

Why? Well, that’s a long story. A few years ago, no one really managed this part of the Zhangze Reservoir, and people from neighboring cities and provinces would drive over in groups to fish. Some professional teams could haul away a whole freezer truck of wild fish in one trip. Later, as the price of wild fish soared, the reservoir managers realized the economic value, and what was once unclaimed became collective property. Now, anyone fishing had to go to designated areas, and anyone caught fishing or netting without permission would have their rods confiscated and be fined, according to local rules.

“Quick, hide! They can’t see us from that angle yet.” Victor Smith nervously grabbed the fish-filled woven bag and dragged it toward the reeds by the shore. Chad Bennett slung on his backpack and packed up his sea rod, grumbling as he did, “Don’t leave the rod behind, that sea rod cost thousands. If I lose it, my dad will butcher me like a bighead carp.”

They stashed the fish, packed up, and moved as quickly as rabbits. As the shadow of the car roof drew closer, the two of them crouched and slipped into a pre-dug hiding spot. Clearly, they’d come prepared—not only was there a man-high shelter to hide in, but it was covered with a pile of weeds, making it impossible to spot the two of them inside unless you looked closely. Once hidden, Chad Bennett let out a long breath and whispered that Boss really had foresight. If they’d been caught, losing the fish and paying a fine would be the least of their worries—if their rods were confiscated, that would be a huge loss.

At this moment, Victor Smith looked around again. Behind them, across the water, was a low hill, with a few ruins left from when people relocated. Back when the reservoir was expanded, it flooded seven townships and over sixty thousand mu of land. Now, they were at the mouth of a tributary of the Zhuozhang River, not far from the Tianji Mountains, more than ten kilometers from the reservoir management station, at the northernmost edge of the reservoir area. During flood season, this place was a high-risk area that would be submerged. In theory, no one should come here. If someone did... the only explanation, Victor Smith wondered uncertainly, could it really be a raid on illegal fishing?

With that thought, he quickly checked for anything that might give away their location. It was fine until he looked—then he smacked Bennett on the head and scolded, “You glutton, you didn’t clean up over there. There’s still a bread wrapper.”

Sure enough, a glaring white plastic wrapper stood out among the grass and rocks. He nudged Chad Bennett, who whispered uncertainly, “It’s just a tiny piece, they probably won’t notice, right? If they take our two bags of fish, that’d be a real loss.”

“Is this the time to worry about the fish?” Victor Smith complained in annoyance.

“It took Boss a lot of effort to catch them, how could I not care? We were supposed to have fish head soup tonight, that stuff’s good for the brain.” Chad Bennett was not only worried about losing the rods, but also about their hidden fish being discovered.