Eighteen hundred miles away.
There happened to be a natural magnetic field that could obstruct the probing of external perceptual powers.
The mist, ubiquitous in the mountain cliffs, resembled dormant fierce beasts, with the twilight's glow seeping through the vapors, revealing and concealing the view within.
A figure sat at the edge of the cliff, holding an exceedingly ordinary bamboo fishing rod.
At the tip of the rod, a silver quadruple-line descended the cliff's face, its length indiscernible, as if having no end in sight.
Next to him was a waterfall.
The water rushed fiercely.
Vague shadows could be seen darting through the waterfall, as quick as lightning, their nature a mystery.
The fishing elder suddenly lifted his head to look.
On the opposite cliff, a young man was climbing the mountain.
With his eyesight, he could easily pierce through the mist.
"He failed,"
