Zhang Yang stood straight with his back straightened, his left hand loosely holding the leader line, while the wrist and arm of his right hand collaborated to exert force. With what seemed like a light flick, he cast the fishing gear out.
Despite at least a level three southern wind blowing head-on, after Zhang Yang cast the line, the bait's landing point was right in front of the fishing spot, almost unaffected by the external wind force.
After casting once, Zhang Yang didn't wait for the fishing gear to properly flip and land, he quickly lifted it up and repeated the process again.
Watching clearly, Meng Fan observed that the bait's landing points for both casts were definitely no more than ten centimeters apart. Even though he prided himself on understanding Zhang Yang's fishing skills, he was still amazed by this technique.
"Do you still doubt whether others can achieve this?" Zhang Yang put down the fishing rod and looked calmly at Meng Fan.
