God-Tier Fishing System Chapter 4

After an eternity of trekking across a landscape growing increasingly desolate, Ethan reached his final destination.

The law enforcement disciples came to an abrupt halt before a site that served as a testament to immense power: the Ancestors’ Tomb of the Azure Origin Dao Sect.

Standing before them was a colossal stone tablet, twice the size of a man, covered in intricate etchings that seemed to flicker with residual spiritual Qi.

The characters carved into the stone were bold and authoritative, leaving no doubt about their meaning:

"This Tomb is the most sacred location in the Azure Origin Dao Sect, overwhelmed by extreme Yin energy. No one is permitted entry without explicit command from the Sect Leadership."

The very atmosphere surrounding the tablet pulsed with warning, as if the inscription possessed the weight of a divine decree.

Ethan felt a heavy spiritual pressure radiating from the monument, sending tremors of instinctive dread down his spine.

Pushing further into the restricted area, Ethan encountered a sight that stole his breath—the Serene Mirror Lake.

The lake lay before him like a vast sheet of obsidian, its stillness so absolute that it mirrored the overcast sky with unnerving precision.

The waters were a deep, unnatural blue-black, seemingly absorbing the very light around them. Ethereal mists drifted over the surface like ghostly fingers, and the temperature near the water was significantly sharper than the already biting air.

Ancient willows lined the bank, their heavy branches dipping toward the water in a gesture of reverence.

The entire vista held a haunting beauty that was both enthralling and deeply disturbing—as if glimpsing a realm never meant for the eyes of the living.

While Ethan stood contemplating the magnificence of his new prison, a figure manifested before him as if stepping out of thin air.

"Junior pays his respects to Senior!" Ethan immediately performed a deep bow, his survival instincts silencing his internal despair.

In the world of Cultivation, showing proper honor to one’s elders was the thin line between survival and annihilation.

The old man before him was ancient, his face a canvas of weathered age and his silver beard flowing like a waterfall to his chest.

However, his eyes remained sharp and alert, filled with a depth of wisdom that made Ethan’s own physical Cultivation feel rudimentary.

"Who are you, and what transgression led you to this place?" the Elder asked, his voice drained of all emotion, typical of one who had seen far too much to remain surprised.

Before Ethan could speak, one of the law enforcement disciples bowed low toward the Elder.

"Greetings, Elder. This is Ethan, an outer Sect disciple. He was caught... ogling the female hot spring area and has been sentenced here for fifty years as punishment."

The Elder turned his gaze upon Ethan, his ancient eyes becoming unreadable as he studied the youth.

Following an uncomfortable span of silence, he exhaled a heavy sigh that carried the weight of centuries.

"The Sect sends people to the ancestral tomb for such trivial matters nowadays," he muttered under his breath.

"Back in my time, a simple beating and extra labor duties sufficed."

He gestured dismissively at the disciples. "Very well, leave him in my charge. You may depart."

The two disciples offered one final bow before departing, leaving Ethan alone with the enigmatic Elder.

Their footsteps faded into the distance, leaving only the sound of water lapping against the shore.

"Follow me," the Elder ordered, heading deeper into the restricted territory.

As Ethan trailed behind him, the Elder’s tone shifted to one of mild amusement.

"You are a practitioner of physical Cultivation, aren't you?"

"Yes, Senior," Ethan replied, hesitant.

"Intriguing," the Elder mused.

"That is quite a rarity today. Most people choose a plain life once they find they lack spiritual roots and internal potential. Proving yourself through physical training shows intense determination... or perhaps foolish stubbornness."

They marched in silence for some time until Ethan caught sight of a small village tucked within a valley between low hills.

Dozens of simple wooden dwellings were scattered across the land, with thin trails of smoke signaling life.

Noticing Ethan’s reaction, the Elder gestured toward the cluster of buildings.

"There are many spare huts. Choose one and settle in. It will be your residence for the duration of your sentence."

He paused, his demeanor turning grave.

"Your task is to maintain and clean the ancestral tomb for six hours daily. Otherwise, your time is your own—fish in the lake, swim if you possess the immunity to the cold, read, or meditate."

The Elder’s voice turned stern. "However, leaving the ten-kilometer perimeter is strictly forbidden. I have placed a spiritual mark upon you; I shall know instantly should you stray beyond the border. Breach this boundary, and your sentence will be extended by twenty additional years."

Ethan felt a freezing sensation that had nothing to do with the weather as the gravity of his imprisonment sank in.

"And," the Elder added meaningfully, "do not commit the same acts that brought you here. Observe the rules carved upon the stone at the center of this village. Breaking those will lead to... severe consequences."

With that final command, the Elder vanished into thin air, leaving Ethan standing alone in the deepening dusk.

For several moments, Ethan stood immobile, the reality of his predicament taking hold.

Then, the biting cold began to pierce his clothing and penetrate his very marrow.

"This, this is simply too cold!" he thought with growing panic.

Rushed by fear, Ethan moved toward the village to find a hut.

As he passed the other structures, he saw faces watching him from the shadows—other outcasts observing the new arrival with a mix of pity and indifference.

"Who could the poor fool have offended?" their expressions seemed to murmur.

Ethan selected an empty hut on the village outskirts, avoiding the others.

The isolation was acceptable to him; he felt no need to explain his past or bear the mockery of others.

The interior was Spartan: bare timber walls, a cold fireplace, and a thin shroud on the floor serving as a bed. There were no comforts to be found.

Ethan collapsed onto the ground, wrapping the thin cloth tightly around himself while trying to organize his thoughts.

Mere hours ago, he was nearing the status of an inner Sect disciple. Now, he was a prisoner trapped in a frozen hell, facing fifty years of silence and misery.

As exhaustion finally conquered his despair, Ethan closed his eyes, wondering if he would ever feel the warmth of the sun again, or if he would even care to, given his bleak future.`