The Fitter Master in the Courtyard: Surrounded by Dead Men

The cobbled-together bicycle had a frame and body that clearly came from different years.

The two parts, one large and one small, were barely connected together, with one side higher than the other. Even with screws to secure them tightly, they could not fit together perfectly.

When you ride it, there's always a slight swaying sensation, as if the whole bike might fall apart at any moment.

Looking at that expression, he couldn't help but shake his head and chuckle.

But in his heart, he felt a certain admiration for Yan Fugui.

In those days, even if a bicycle was broken beyond repair, it would mostly be repaired and patched up again, and few people would easily treat it as scrap metal.

It was no easy feat for Yan Fugui to painstakingly put together such a rideable vehicle.

"Uncle, how much effort did it take to assemble this car?"

Yang Ping asked casually.

"About three years!"

Yan Fugui grinned, his tone somewhat ambiguous.

Actually, he underestimated the amount.

In total, it took about five years – starting from a single screw.

Over the course of five years, he made hundreds of trips to the scrap yard.

Bicycles are rarely sold as scrap metal, and even if you do find one, it's usually a broken piece of junk with hardly any intact parts left.

It's already a stroke of luck that things have come to this.

"You're really something."

Yang Ping praised her verbally, but in his heart he figured it would only take longer.

Everyone cares about their image to some extent; it's only natural.

I just don't know about this "A-Gui"

How did we get through those past five years, one after another?

"hey-hey."

When Yan Fugui heard the praise, he couldn't hide his pride.

For the past five years, he has persevered entirely because of his desire for a bicycle and his inexplicable fondness for them.

As for others saying he's stingy or calculating, that's not true at all—at least that's what he thinks.

Houhai is a body of water in Shichahai, an old body of water left over from the Yuan Dynasty capital 700 years ago, and also the most open lake in the city.

There are plenty of fish in the water, and occasionally you can even see ancient turtles.

When Yang Ping arrived here with Yan Fugui, a group of people had already gathered on the shore.

Some people come specifically to fish, while others just come for a walk, to relax, or to get some fresh air during the holiday.

"It's a day off today, so there will be more people."

It's not usually this lively.

"Come on, let's go over there, it's still empty."

As Yan Fugui pushed his clanging bicycle, he pointed to a deserted stretch of lakeshore in the distance.

Yang Ping looked around.

Houhai is still an undeveloped area, with a muddy yellow shoreline stretching into the distance and no decent buildings in sight.

The wild grass swayed up and down in the wind, giving it a natural and rustic charm.

"Why isn't anyone fishing over there?"

He noticed a deserted stretch of shore where only one fisherman sat alone, with no other anglers around.

"You can't go."

Yan Fugui glanced in that direction and lowered his voice, "That's Deng Gang, the fishing king. His skills are amazing."

Anyone who gets too close is essentially challenging him; they'll have to take a gamble, or he'll chase them away.

As he spoke, his gaze swept over the man's straight back, revealing a barely perceptible hint of timidity.

"So arrogant?"

Yang Ping was somewhat surprised.

"I heard his brother is a big shot, and he specially sent several good men to protect him—see those six standing in the back?"

Yan Fugui gestured with his chin to the silent figures behind Deng Gang.

Yang Ping then realized what was happening.

No wonder they're so arrogant; it turns out they have someone backing them up.

"Has no one ever beaten him?"

He asked again.

"People spend all their time here, they know exactly where the fish are and where they aren't in the water."

They were accurate in casting their lines and were willing to spend a lot of money, even using corn kernels to create a feeding area.

How many people are willing to spend that much money these days? The average person couldn't possibly outdo him in that.

As Yan Fugui spoke, he picked up his belongings and walked to the side.

Yang Ping nodded.

So this is what they make of a living, and they're willing to dedicate themselves to it.

These days, just having the capital to throw around is enough to leave most people behind.

"Let's cast our lines right here."

Yan Fugui took a liking to a location that he felt had good feng shui.

"become."

Yang Ping had no opinion; after all, he was an outsider to the field.

The two took a small stool from the back rack of the bicycle, threaded the earthworms they had just dug onto the hook, and then sat quietly.

Before I knew it, an hour had passed.

Yang Ping remained completely silent.

The earthworm on the hook remained curled up perfectly still, and not a single ripple appeared on the water's surface.

As the sun began to set, a cool breeze swept across the water.

Yan Fugui spoke with great enthusiasm, describing everything from the force of casting the rod to the movement of the float, even including folk remedies like throwing clods of dirt into the water to scare away fish. He spoke with such fervor that it was as if he were holding not a fishing line, but a rein that could control the entire river.

Unfortunately, the river wouldn't listen.

Three hours later, Yan Fugui's bamboo basket was still empty, but three wriggling red earthworms had been added to it.

On the other hand, Yang Ping's hook was still properly baited, and the fish didn't get any advantage.

"Uncle, still fishing?"

Yang Ping reeled in the line, his voice as calm as the surface of the water before him.

"Fishing! Why aren't you fishing!"

Yan Fugui stiffened his neck and gripped the pole even tighter. "Just do it my way, and I guarantee it'll work..."

Before he could finish speaking, he noticed the shallow pit he had dug at his feet—it was a fish trap he had prepared specifically for it. The water inside was crystal clear, reflecting the sky and clouds, but there wasn't a single fish scale in it.

"This...this fish is probably taking a midday rest."

He smacked his lips, his gaze drifting elsewhere. "Once they wake up, they'll be scrambling to bite the hook."

The words had barely left his mouth when a loud "splash" came from the middle of the river not far away.

A splash of water erupted.

A large blue-backed fish, leading three or five small fry, swirled slowly, then sank with a flick of its tail, leaving only a few ripples spreading outwards.

Yan Fugui opened his mouth, but the rest of his words got stuck in his throat.

"I'll walk to the side."

Yang Ping deftly lifted the fishing rod, turned around, and left the shore.

"Okay, okay..."

Yan Fugui readily agreed, secretly breathing a sigh of relief.

He couldn't come up with any new words, but he kept wondering to himself: It's strange, no matter how unlucky I am, I shouldn't have gone half a day without a catch.

Yang Ping walked along the grassy slope into the distance. When he looked back and saw Yan Fugui staring intently at the float, he turned around and headed downstream towards a reed bed.

There sat an old man wearing a straw hat, his back hunched, yet his pole remained as steady as if it were nailed to the water.

With a slight shift in his mind, he detected dozens of "sleeper agents".

Scattered nearby.

But when it comes to fishing skills, all those people combined probably can't compare to this silent old man—in his bucket, there are already two crucian carp swishing their tails, splashing tiny ripples of water.

Comrade Yang strolled along the lakeside and spotted that familiar figure in the distance.

He secretly thought that it would be better to borrow the memory-sharing ability and get the fishing tips from the old man, which would be more practical than the methods taught by Yan Fugui.

He took a few steps forward.

"Comrade Yang is here!"

The old man spotted him first and greeted him loudly.

"Hello, Comrade Jing."

Yang Ping smiled and agreed, her face showing affection.

He had inquired beforehand and learned that the old man's name was Jing Hongfu, a retired veteran who was seventy-two years old this year.

But looking at his robust physique and vigorous appearance, anyone who saw him would only think he was in his early sixties.

Yang Ping looked around and, seeing that no one else was nearby, lowered his voice and said, "Comrade Jing, I would like to borrow your memory—your fishing skills."

I'm not after anything else, I just want to catch a few fresh fish to satisfy my craving.

"Okay!"

Jing Hongfu answered readily, a hint of pride in his eyes, "With my skill, you can catch not only ordinary fish and shrimp, but even the old turtles lying in Houhai."

Although Yang Ping didn't understand how rare it was to catch a turtle, the old man's confident tone piqued his curiosity, prompting him to ask, "So... how does your skill compare to the legendary 'King of Fish' in this area?"

"hehe."

Upon hearing this, Jing Hongfu simply smiled faintly and waved his hand, saying, "He hasn't even mastered the basics of what I've learned; he's not worth mentioning."

Yang Ping was secretly surprised, but his heart was pounding with joy—if the old man was right, he had really struck gold this time.

"Of course it's true."

Jing Hongfu nodded, his expression becoming serious. "I've given this method a name: 'Spiritual Hook'."

To put it simply, it's about using internal strength to project externally, skillfully transferring a burst of energy to the fishing line and hook.

Once in the water, the hook seems to come alive; the fish will find it on their own.

He paused, gazing at the shimmering water. "You'll see for yourself when you try it later. Words can't fully describe its wonders."

Yang Ping listened in a daze, feeling as if his words had opened up a whole new world, and his heart was filled with unbelievable amazement.

The existence of internal energy in the world is truly beyond the realm of ordinary reasoning.

No wonder the fish king only learned some superficial skills from him—how could ordinary fishing methods compare to such mysterious power?

"Comrade Jing, where did you learn such skills from?"

He couldn't help but ask.

"It was all by chance."

Jing Hongfu cast his gaze into the distance, as if looking towards the past. "When I was young, I encountered a wild ginseng in the deep mountains that could move on its own. After swallowing it, a wisp of qi arose in my stomach."

Later, on the battlefield, when my life hung by a thread, in a moment of desperation, that energy spontaneously surged forth, saving me from certain death.

"Only through gradual exploration can one learn how to activate it."

However, his strength was ultimately limited; he could manage to move light objects, but he couldn't budge heavy ones.

Yang Ping was stunned.

The old man's few words were like opening a small door to a strange and wonderful world.

"Comrade Jing, let's find a quiet place. Would you share your fishing techniques with me?"

His words carried an barely suppressed urgency.

"This will do."

Jing Hongfu remained calm, saying, "Your ability to share memories is something that others cannot see."

There's no need to worry.

Yang Ping nodded.

He trusted the man before him—since he was a loyal follower, he had his life in his hands.

Otherwise, when the five-star array appeared earlier, the old man should have avoided it at all costs, instead of accompanying him to be "captured and dissected."

risks of.

Without saying another word, he subtly activated his talent.

A pentagram pattern emerged from the void and slowly enveloped Jing Hongfu's forehead.

In an instant, two dewdrops formed from memories quietly floated in the air, their light and shadows shifting within them, like a miniature stage—one rippling with the shadow of a pole on water, the other entwined with the trajectory of energy like strands of silk.

Yang Ping simply murmured, "Eh?"

He made a sound.

This time... how is it different from before? The water droplets are clean and dry, with no more trivial memories of life seeping in.

On the shore, Yang Ping and Jing Hongfu sat facing each other.

"Comrade Yang, would you like to see any other memories I have?"

Jing Hongfu spoke at the opportune moment.

"You can choose this yourself?"

Yang Ping was somewhat surprised.

"I am different from others."

Jing Hongfu gave a simple answer.

Yang Ping smiled knowingly; it was indeed different.

He said, "Those two sections are enough; nothing else is needed."

He only needed the memories related to the spiritual hook and fishing; the rest were private, and he had no intention of prying into them.

"it is good."

Jing Hongfu nodded.

Yang Ping then began to copy those two memories, and using the Five Stars Technique, he slowly introduced the copied memories into his sea of ​​consciousness.

To an ordinary person, the two were simply chatting casually, and there was nothing unusual about it.

Memories flowed in like a trickle, and the familiar throbbing pain resurfaced, but Yang Ping was now able to take it calmly.

Before long, the fusion was complete.

At this moment, he understood what "spiritual hook" meant.

The art of fishing also took shape in his mind.

When the two are combined, it is indeed as the old man said: almost anything in the water can be caught.