Zhang Yao's gaze turned to the young boy on the small fishing boat.
To be precise, it was the boy's long sword on his back. The color and pattern of its hilt made him feel familiar.
"It is... the Chixiao Sword."
Zhang Yao's expression flickered for a moment but quickly regained composure, thinking:
"Unexpectedly, after two hundred years, I can see this Chixiao Sword again."
"So... this boy might be a descendant of the Zhao Family, and I cannot just sit by idly."
Thinking so, he immediately stood up, flicked his sleeve, and stepped onto the waves.
The vast lake surface was as easy to traverse as flat land.
Miles away.
On the small fishing boat, an old man with gray hair and beard was furiously rowing, beads of sweat faintly visible on his forehead.
The boy beside him, looking around twelve or thirteen, was also helping row, but was clearly struggling.
"They're about to catch up..."
The boy glanced back and couldn't help but show a hint of despair.
