The scene shifts.
An isolated, desolate island.
By the beach.
Under a star-studded night sky.
The bone-chilling sea breeze carries along countless seashells and shrimp.
"God-grandpa, try this grilled sea fish I made for you. Tell me how it tastes?" Ye Wudao handed over a crispy, golden-brown fish to the old rascal, who sat nearby picking his nose with one hand and scratching his foot with the other, completely devoid of the typical demeanor of a powerhouse.
"If it doesn't taste good, I'm not teaching you anything!" The old rascal took a casual bite and then his eyes lit up, emitting a surprised shout: "Not bad at all!"
"Of course! I'm not exaggerating—my grilled fish has earned praise even from seven senior masters!" Ye Wudao thumped his chest proudly.
"Alright, stop bragging. What kind of taste do your seven masters even have?" The old rascal mocked, finishing the massive ten-pound fish in just a few bites.
