The boat was stationary in the river, the water's surface smooth and undisturbed.
Here, far from the city, the world around was pitch-black, not a single ray of light to be seen, quiet as if the entire world had receded, an extreme void, a deep, profound silence.
On the boat, flames flickered. The charcoal in the stove burned, casting a warm orange glow. On the iron plate, sizzling meat dripped with oil, its rich aroma intertwined with a slight scent of char—you couldn't help but drool.
Beside this, a fridge was blasting cold air with expensive wines from the Wine God Association inside, each bottle valuable enough to get an extraordinary person thoroughly drunk.
Two candles were dyed on the table, put there by Zhou Yuan, who thought it gave a great atmosphere.
Splash.
Chen Guangxi cast his fishing rod and hooked a palm-sized, ancient turtle shell covered with cracks, nearly useless.