450

Peaks surrounded.

In the midst, there lay a pool of emerald-green water.

The surface of the water was more than a hundred yards from the ground, as if suspended in the sky, thus it was called Heavenly Pond.

It was the height of winter.

Heavy snow had been falling for three days, and all around were glaciers and snowfields; not a trace of any living creature could be seen.

Only by the side of Heavenly Pond was there an old man all alone, sitting cross-legged with a bamboo hat and straw coat covered in snow, holding a fishing rod three to four yards long, fishing.

The north wind howled past, whipping up a sky full of flying snow.

The old man remained unmoved, as if he had frozen solid by the lakeside.

From dawn to dusk, then seeing the daylight brighten, he had no idea how many days and nights he'd sat, as if he was the only one left in the vast expanse of white.

That day.